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STORIES FROM THE ITALIAN POETS. 
 
LONDON : 
 iTED BT LEVEY, ROBSON, AND FRANKLYf 
 Great New Street, Fetter I,ane. 
 
STORIES 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 ITALIAN POETS 
 
 LIVES OF THE WRITERS. 
 
 BY LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186 STRAND. 
 
 MDCCCXLVI. 
 
%2. 
 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 BOIARDO. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Critical Notice of his Life and Genius ... 1 
 
 The Adventures of Angelica 27 
 
 The Death of Agrican 57 
 
 The Saracen Friends . . . . . . . 71 
 
 Part the Second 90 
 
 Seeing and Believing 27 
 
 ARIOSTO. 
 
 Critical Notice of his Life and Genius . . . 107 
 The Adventures of Angelica : 
 
 Part I. Angelica and her Suitors 177 
 
 IL Angelica and Medoro 196 
 
 in. The Jealousy of Orlando 213 
 
 AsTOLFo's Journey to the Moon 225 
 
 Ariodante and Ginevra 243 
 
 Suspicion 263 
 
 Isabella 275 
 
 164237 
 
VI CONTENTS OF VOL. II. 
 
 TASSO. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Critical Notice of his Life and Genius . . . 287 
 
 Olindo and Sophronia 379 
 
 Tancred and Clorinda 397 
 
 RiNALDO and Armida ; with the Adventure of the 
 Enchanted Forest : 
 
 Part I. Armida in the Christian Camp . . . 419 
 
 II. Armida's Hate and Love .... 432 
 
 III. The Terrors of the Enchanted Forest . . 438 
 
 IV. The Loves of Rinaldo and Armida . . 445 
 V. The Disenchantment of the Forest, and the 
 
 Taking of Jerusalem, &c 466 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I. The Death of Agrican 477 
 
 II. Angelica and Medoro . 488 
 
 Translation 494 
 
 III. The Jealousy of Orlando .... .500 
 
 IV. The Death of Clorinda 509 
 
 V. Tancred in the Enchanted Forest . . . .511 
 
BOIARDO: 
 
 Critical /f>otice of lji0 Tiitt antr dBmin^, 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
Critical il^otice 
 
 BOIARDO'S LIFE AND GENIUS/ 
 
 While Pulci in Florence was elevating romance 
 out of the street-ballads, and laying the founda- 
 tion of the chivalrous epic, a poet appeared in 
 Lombardy (whether inspired by his example is 
 uncertain) who was destined to carry it to a graver 
 
 ' The materials for the biography in this notice have been 
 gathered from Tiraboschi and others, but more immediately from 
 the copious critical memoir from the pen of Mr. Panizzi, in that 
 gentleman's admirable edition of the combined poems of Boiardo 
 and Ariosto, in nine volumes octavo, published by Mr. Pickering. 
 I have been under obligations to this work in the notice of Pulci, 
 and shall again be so in that of Boiardo 's successor ; but I must 
 not a third time run the risk of omitting to give it my thanks (such 
 as they are), and of earnestly recommending every lover of Italian 
 poetry, who can afford it, to possess himself of this learned, enter- 
 taining, and only satisfactory edition of either of the Orlandos. 
 The author writes an English almost as correct as it is elegant ; 
 and he is as painstaking as he is lively. 
 
though still cheerful height, and prepare the way 
 for the crowning glories of Ariosto. In some re- 
 spects he even excelled Ariosto : in all, with the 
 exception of style, shewed himself a genuine though 
 immature master. 
 
 Little is known of his life, but that little is very 
 pleasant. It exhibits him in the rare light of a 
 poet who was at once rich, romantic, an Arca- 
 dian and a man of the world, a feudal lord and an 
 indulgent philosopher, a courtier equally beloved 
 by prince and people. 
 
 Matteo Maria Boiardo, Count of Scandiano, 
 Lord of Arceto, Casalgrande, &c.. Governor of 
 Reggio, and Captain of the citadel of Modena (it is 
 pleasant to repeat such titles when so adorned), is 
 understood to have been born about the year 1434, 
 at Scandiano, a castle at the foot of the Apennines, 
 not far from Reggio, and famous for its vines. 
 
 He was of an ancient family, once lords of 
 R-ubiera, and son of Giovanni, second count of 
 Scandiano, and Lucia, a lady of a branch of the 
 Strozzi family in Florence, and sister and aunt of 
 Tito and Erole Strozzi, celebrated Latin poets. 
 His parents appear to have been wise people, for 
 tliey gave him an education that fitted him equally 
 for public and private life. He was even taught, 
 or acquired, more Greek than was common to the 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 
 
 men of letters of that age. His whole life seems, 
 accordingly, to have been divided, with equal suc- 
 cess, between his duties as a servant of the dukes 
 of Modena, both military and civil, and the prose- 
 cution of his beloved art of poetry, — a combination 
 of pursuits which have been idly supposed incom- 
 patible. Milton's poetry did not hinder him from 
 being secretary to Cromwell, and an active partisan. 
 Even the sequestered Spenser was a statesman ; 
 and poets and writers of fiction abound in the 
 political histories of all the great nations of Europe. 
 When a man possesses a thorough insight into any 
 one intellectual department (except, perhaps, in 
 certain corners of science), it only sharpens his 
 powers of perception for the others, if he chooses 
 to apply them. 
 
 In the year 1469, Boiardo was one of the no- 
 blemen who went to meet the Emperor Frederick 
 the Third on his way to Ferrara, when Duke Borso 
 of Modena entertained him in that city. Two 
 years afterwards, Borso, who had been only Mar- 
 quis of Ferrara, received its ducal title from the 
 Pope ; and on going to Rome to be invested with 
 his new honours, the name of our poet is again 
 found among the adorners of his state. A few 
 days after his return home this prince died ; and 
 Boiardo, favoured as he had been by him, appears 
 
6 BOIARDO. 
 
 to have succeeded to a double portion of regard in 
 the friendship of the new duke, Ercole, who was 
 more of his own age. 
 
 During all this period, from his youth to his 
 prime, our author varied his occupations with 
 Italian and Latin poetry; some of it addressed to a 
 lady of the name of Antonia Caprara, and some to 
 another, whose name is thought to have been Rosa; 
 but whether these ladies died, or his love was 
 diverted elsewhere, he took to wife, in the year 
 1472, Taddea Gonzaga, of the noble house of that 
 name, daughter of the Count of Novellara. In 
 the course of the same year he is supposed to have 
 begun his great poem. A popular court-favourite, 
 in the prime of life, marrying and commencing a 
 great poem nearly at one and the same time, pre- 
 sents an image of prosperity singularly delightful. 
 By this lady Boiardo had two sons and four 
 daughters. The younger son, Francesco Maria, 
 died in his childhood ; but the elder, CamilJo, suc- 
 ceeded to his father's title, and left an heir to it, — 
 the last, I believe, of the name. The reception 
 given to the poet's bride, when he took her to 
 Scandiano, is said to have been very splendid. 
 
 In the ensuing year the duke his master took a 
 wife himself. She was Eleonora, daughter of the 
 King of Naples ; and the newly-married poet was 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 
 
 among the noblemen who were sent to escort her 
 to Ferrara. For several years afterwards, his time 
 was probably filled up with the composition of the 
 Orlando InnamoratOy and the entertainments given 
 by a splendid court. He was appointed Governor 
 of Reggio, probably in 1478. At the expiration 
 of two or three years he was made Captain of the 
 citadel of Modena; and in 1482 a war broke out 
 with the Venetians, in which he took part, for it 
 interrupted the progress of his poem. In 1484 he 
 returned to it ; but ten years afterwards was again 
 and finally interrupted by the unprincipled descent 
 of the French on Italy under Charles the Eighth ; 
 and in the December following he died. The Or- 
 lando Innamorato was thus left unfinished. Eight 
 years before his decease the author pubhshed what 
 he had written of it up to that time, but the first 
 complete edition was posthumous. The poet was 
 writing when the French came : he breaks off' with 
 an anxious and bitter notice of the interruption, 
 though still unable to deny himself a last word on 
 the episode which he was relating, and a hope that 
 he should conclude it another time. 
 
 ** Mentre che io canto, o Dio redentore, 
 Vedo 1' Italia tutta a fiamma e foco, 
 Per questi Galli, che con gran valore 
 Vengon, per disertar non so che loco : 
 
Pero vi lascio in questo vano amore 
 
 Di Fiordespina ardente poco a poco : 
 Un* altra volta, se mi fia concesso, 
 Racconterovvi il tutto per espresso." 
 
 But while I sing, mine eyes, great God! behold 
 
 A flaming fire light all the Italian sky, 
 Brought by these French, who, with their myriads bold, 
 
 Come to lay waste, I know not where or why. 
 Therefore, at present, 1 must leave untold 
 
 How love misled poor Fiordespina's eye.* 
 Another time. Fate willing, I shall tell, 
 From first to last, how every thing befell. 
 
 Besides the Orlando Innamorato, Boiardo wrote 
 a variety of prose works, a comedy in verse on 
 the subject of Timon, lyrics of great elegance, 
 with a vein of natural feeling running through 
 them, and Latin poetry of a like sort, not, indeed, 
 as classical in its style as that of Politian and the 
 other subsequent revivers of the ancient manner, 
 but perhaps not the less interesting on that ac- 
 count; for it is difficult to conceive a thorough 
 copyist in style expressing his own thorough feel- 
 ings. Mr. Panizzi, if I am not mistaken, pro- 
 mised the world a collection of the miscellaneous 
 poems of Boiardo ; but we have not yet had the 
 pleasure of seeing them. In his life of the poet, 
 
 1 She had taken a damsel in male attire for a man. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 
 
 however, he has given several specimens, both 
 Latin and Italian, which are extremely agreeable. 
 The Latin poems consist of ten eclogues and a 
 few epigrams ; but the epigrams, this critic tells 
 us, are neither good nor on a fitting subject, being 
 satirical sallies against Nicolo of Este, who had 
 attempted to seize on Ferrara, and been beheaded. 
 Boiardo was not of a nature qualified to indulge 
 in bitterness. A man of his chivalrous disposi- 
 tion probably misgave himself while he was writ- 
 ing these epigrams. Perhaps he suffered them to 
 escape his pen out of friendship for the reigning 
 branch of the family. But it must be confessed, 
 that some of the best-natured men have too often 
 lost sight of their higher feelings during the plea- 
 sure and pride of composition. 
 
 With respect to the comedy of Timoriy if the 
 whole of it is written as well as the concluding 
 address of the misanthrope (which Mr. Panizzi 
 has extracted into his pages), it must be very 
 pleasant. Timon conceals a treasure in a tomb, 
 and thinks he has baffled some knaves who had 
 a design upon it. He therefore takes leave of 
 his audience with the following benedictions : 
 
 " Pur ho scacciate queste due formiche, 
 Che raspavano T oro alia mia buca, 
 Or vadan pur, che Dio le malediche. 
 
 b2 
 
10 EOIARDO. 
 
 Cotal fortuna a casa li conduca, 
 Che lor fiacchi le gambe al primo passo, 
 E nel secondo 1' osso della nuca. 
 
 Voi altri, che ascoltate giuso al basso, 
 Chiedete, se volete alcuna cosa, 
 Prima ch' io parta, perche mo vi lasso. 
 
 Benche abbia 1' alma irata e disdegnosa, 
 Da ingiusti oltraggi combattuta e vinta, 
 A voi gia non V avro tanto ritrosa. 
 
 In me non e pietade al tutto estinta : 
 Faccia di -vol la prova chi gli pare, 
 Sino alia corda, che mi trovo cinta ; 
 
 Gli presterb, volendosi impiccare.'* 
 
 So ! I've got rid of these two creeping things, 
 That fain would have scratched up my buried gold. 
 They're gone ; and may the curse of God go with them ! 
 May they reach home just in good time enough 
 To break their legs at the first step in doors, 
 And necks i' the second ! — And now then, as to you, 
 Good audience, — groundlings, — folks who love low places, 
 You too perhaps would fain get something of me, 
 Ere I take leave. — Well ; — angered though I be, 
 Scornful and torn with rage at being ground 
 Into the dust with wrong, I'm not so lost 
 To all concern and charity for others 
 As not to be still kind enough to part 
 "With something near to me — something that's wound 
 About my very self. Here, sirs ; mark this ; — 
 
 {^Untying the cord round his uaist. 
 Let any that would put me to the test. 
 Take it with all my heart, and hang themselves. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 11 
 
 The comedy of Timoriy which was chiefly taken 
 from Luciaii, and one, if not more, of Boiardo*s 
 prose translations from other ancients, were writ- 
 ten at the request of Duke Ercole, who was a 
 great lover of dramatic versions of this kind, and 
 built a theatre for their exhibition at an enormous 
 expense. These prose translations consist of Apu- 
 leius's Golden Ass, Herodotus (the Duke's order), 
 the Golden Ass of Lucian, Xenophon's Cyroptsdia 
 (not printed), Emilius Probus (also not printed, 
 and supposed to be Cornelius Nepos), and Ricco- 
 baldo's credulous Historia Universalis, with ad- 
 ditions. It seems not improbable, that he also 
 translated Homer and Diodorus ; and Doni the 
 bookmaker asserts, that he wrote a work called the 
 Testamento deW Anima (the Soul's Testament) : 
 but Mr. Panizzi calls Doni " a barefaced impos- 
 tor;" and says, that as the work is mentioned by 
 nobody else, we may be " certain that it never 
 existed," and that the title was " a forgery of the 
 impudent priest." 
 
 Nothing else of Boiardo's writing is known to 
 exist, but a collection of ofiicial letters in the ar- 
 chives of Modena, which, according to Tiraboschi, 
 are of no great importance. It is difficult to sup- 
 pose, however, that they would not be worth looking 
 at. The author of the Orlando Innamorato could 
 
12 BOIARDO. 
 
 hardly write, even upon the driest matters of go- 
 vernment, with the aridity of a common clerk. 
 Some little lurking well-head of character or cir- 
 cumstance, interesting to readers of a later age, 
 would probably break through the barren ground. 
 Perhaps the letters went counter to some of the 
 good Jesuit's theology. 
 
 Boiardo's prose translations from the authors 
 of antiquity are so scarce, that Mr. Panizzi him- 
 self, a learned and miscellaneous reader, says he 
 never saw them. I am willing to get the only 
 advantage in my power over an Italian critic, by 
 saying that I have had some of them in my hands, 
 — brought there by the pleasant chances of the 
 bookstalls ; but I can give no account of them. 
 A modern critic, quoted by this gentleman (Gam- 
 ba, Testi di Lingua), calls the version of Apuleius 
 " rude and curious ;" but adds, that it contains 
 " expressions full of liveliness and propriety." By 
 " rude" is probably meant obsolete, and compara- 
 tively unlearned. Correctness of interpretation 
 and classical nicety of style (as Mr. Panizzi o~b- 
 serves) were the growths of a later age. 
 
 Nothing is told us by his biographers of the 
 
 ^ Crescimbeni himself had not seen the translation from Apu- 
 leius, nor, apparently, several others. — Commentari, S^c. vol. ii. 
 part ii. lib. vii. sect. xi. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 13 
 
 person of Boiardo : and it is not safe to determine 
 a man's physique from his writings, unless per- 
 haps with respect to the greater or less amount 
 of his animal spirits; for the able-bodied may 
 write effeminately, and the feeblest supply the 
 defect of corporal stamina with spiritual. Por- 
 traits, however, seem to be extant. Mazzuchelli 
 discovered that a medal had been struck in the 
 poet's honour; and in the castle of Scandiano 
 (though '^ the halls where knights and ladies lis- 
 tened to the adventures of the Paladin are now 
 turned into granaries," and Orlando himself has 
 nearly disappeared from the outside, where he was 
 painted in huge dimensions as if " entrusted with 
 the wardenship") there was a likeness of Boiardo 
 executed by Niccolo dell' Abate, together with 
 the principal events of the Orlando Innamorato 
 and the JEneid. But part of these paintings (Mr. 
 Panizzi tells us) were destroyed, and part removed 
 from the castle to Modena " to save them from 
 certain loss;" and he does not add whether the 
 portrait was among the latter. 
 
 From anecdotes, however, and from the poet's 
 writings, we gather the nature of the man ; and 
 this appears to have been very amiable. There 
 is an aristocratic tone in his poem, when speaking 
 of the sort of people of whom the mass of soldiers 
 
14 BOIARDO. 
 
 is wont to consist; and Foscolo says, that the 
 Count of Scandiano writes like a feudal lord. But 
 common soldiers are not apt to be the elite of 
 mankind ; neither do we know with how good- 
 natured a smile the mention of them may have 
 been accompanied. People often give a tone 
 to what they read, more belonging to their own 
 minds than the author's. All the accounts left 
 us of Boiardo, hostile as well as friendly, prove 
 him to have been an indulgent and popular man. 
 According to one, he was fond of making personal 
 inquiries among its inhabitants into the history of 
 his native place ; and he requited them so gener- 
 ously for their information, that it was customary 
 with them to say, when they wished good fortune 
 to one another, " Heaven send Boiardo to your 
 house !" There is said to have been a tradition 
 at Scandiano, that having tried in vain one day, 
 as he was riding out, to discover a name for one 
 of his heroes, expressive of his lofty character, 
 and the word Rodamonte coming into his head, 
 he galloped back with a pleasant ostentation to 
 his castle, crying it out aloud, and ordering the 
 bells of the place to be rung in its honour ; to the 
 astonishment of the good people, who took " Ro- 
 damonte" for some newly-discovered saint. His 
 friend Paganelli of Modena, who wrote a Latin 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 15 
 
 poem on the Empire of Cupid, extolled the Go- 
 vernor of Reggie for ranking among the deity's 
 most generous vassals, — one who, in spite of his 
 oiEce of magistrate, looked with an indulgent eye 
 on errors to which himself was liable, and who 
 was accustomed to prefer the study of love-verses 
 to that of the law. The learned lawyer, his coun- 
 tryman Panciroli, probably in resentment, as Pa- 
 nizzi says, of this preference, accused him of an 
 excess of benignity, and of being fitter for writing 
 poems than punishing ill deeds ; and in truth, as 
 the same critic observes, *' he must have been con- 
 sidered crazy by the whole tribe of lawyers of that 
 age," if it be true that he anticipated the opinion 
 of Beccaria, in thinking that no crime ought to 
 be punished with death. 
 
 The great work of this interesting and accom- 
 plished person, the Orlando Innamorato, is an epic 
 romance, founded on the love of the great Paladin 
 for the peerless beauty Angelica, whose name has 
 enamoured the ears of posterity. The poem in- 
 troduces us to the pleasantest paths in that track 
 of reading in which Milton has told us that his 
 " young feet delighted to wander.'* Nor did he 
 forsake it in his age. 
 
 " Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp, 
 When Agrican with all his northern powers 
 
16 BOIARDO. 
 
 Besieged Albracca, as romances tell, 
 
 The city of Gallaphrone, from whence to win 
 
 The fairest of her sex, Angelica." 
 
 Paradise Regained. 
 
 The Orlando Innamorato may be divided into 
 three principal portions : — the search for Angelica 
 by Orlando and her other lovers ; the siege of her 
 father's city Albracca by the Tartars ; and that of 
 Paris and Charlemagne by the Moors. These, 
 however, are all more or less intermingled, and 
 with the greatest art ; and there are numerous 
 episodes of a like intertexture. The fairies and 
 fairy-gardens of British romance, and the fabu- 
 lous glories of the house of Este, now proclaimed 
 for the first time, were added by the author to 
 the enchantments of Pulci, together with a pervad- 
 ing elegance ; and had the poem been completed, 
 we were to have heard again of the traitor Gan 
 of Maganza, for the purpose of exalting the ima- 
 ginary founder of that house, Ruggero. 
 
 This resuscitation of the Helen of antiquity, 
 under a more seducing form, was an invention 
 of Boiardo's; so was the subjection of Charles's 
 hero Orlando to the passion of love; so, besides 
 the heroine and her name, was that of other in- 
 teresting characters with beautiful names, which 
 afterwards figured in Ariosto. This inventive fa- 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 17 
 
 culty is indeed so conspicuous in every part of the 
 work, on small as well as great occasions, in fairy- 
 adventures and those of flesh and blood, that al- 
 though the author appears to have had both his 
 loves and his fairies suggested to him by our ro- 
 mances of Arthur and the Round Table, it con- 
 stitutes, next to the pervading elegance above 
 mentioned, his chief claim to our admiration. 
 Another of his merits is a certain tender gallantry, 
 or rather an honest admixture of animal passion 
 with spiritual, also the precursor of the like inge- 
 nuous emotions in Ariosto ; and he furthermore set 
 his follower the example, not only of good breed- 
 ing, but of a constant heroical cheerfulness, looking 
 with faith on nature. Pulci has a constant cheer- 
 fulness, but not with so much grace and dignity. 
 Foscolo has remarked, that Boiardo's characters 
 even surpass those of Ariosto in truth and variety, 
 and that his Angelica more engages our feelings ;i 
 to which I will venture to add, that if his style 
 is less strong and complete, it never gives us a 
 sense of elaboration. I should take Boiardo to 
 have been the healthier man, though of a less de- 
 termined will than Ariosto, and perhaps, on the 
 whole, less robust. You find in Boiardo almost 
 
 ^ Article on the Narrative and Romantic Poems of the Ita- 
 lians, in the Quarterly Review, No. G2, p. 527. 
 
18 BOIARDO. 
 
 all which Ariosto perfected, — chivalry, battles, 
 combats, loves and graces, passions, enchantments, 
 classical and romantic fable, eulogy, satire, mirth, 
 pathos, philosophy. It is like the first sketch of 
 a great picture, not the vvorse in some respects 
 for being a sketch ; free and light, though not so 
 grandly coloured. It is the morning before the sun 
 is up, and when the dew is on the grass. Take 
 the stories which are translated in the present vo- 
 lume, and you might fancy them all written by 
 Ariosto, with a difference ; the Death of Agrican 
 perhaps with minuter touches of nature, but cer- 
 tainly not with greater simplicity and earnestness. 
 In the Saracen Friends there is just Ariosto's ba- 
 lance of passion and levity ; and in the story which 
 I have entitled Seeing and Believing^ his exhibi- 
 tion of triumphant cunning. During the lives of 
 Pulci and Boiardo, the fierce passions and severe 
 ethics of Dante had been gradually giving way to 
 a gentler and laxer state of opinion before the 
 progress of luxury ; and though Boiardo's ena- 
 moured Paladin retains a kind of virtue not com- 
 mon in any age to the heroes of warfare, the lord 
 of Scandiano, who appears to have recited his 
 poem, sometimes to his vassals and sometimes to 
 the ducal circle at court, intimates a smiling sus- 
 picion that such a virtue would be considered a 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 19 
 
 little rude and obsolete by his hearers. Pulci's 
 wandering gallant, Uliviero, who in Dante's time 
 would have been a scandalous profligate, had be- 
 come the prototype of the court-lover in Boiar- 
 do's. The poet, however, in his most favourite 
 characters, retained and recommended a truer sen- 
 timent, as in the instance of the loves of Bran- 
 dimart and Fiordelisa ; and there is a graceful 
 cheerfulness in some of his least sentimental ones, 
 which redeems them from grossness. I know not 
 a more charming fancy in the whole loving circle 
 of fairy-land, than the female's shaking her long 
 tresses round Mandricardo, in order to furnish 
 him with a mantle, when he issues out of the en- 
 chanted fountain. 1 
 
 ^ " E' suoi capelli a se sciolse di testa, 
 Che n' avea molti la dama gioconda ; 
 Ed, abbracciato il cavalier con festa, 
 Tutto il coperse de la treccia bionda : 
 Cosi, nascosi entrambi di tal vesta, 
 Uscir' di quella fonte e la bell' onda." 
 
 Her locks she loosened from her lovely head, 
 For many and long had that same lady fair ; 
 And clasping him in mirth as round they spread, 
 Covered the knight with the sweet shaken hair : 
 And so, thus both together garmented, 
 They issued from the fount to the fresh air. 
 
 Readers of the Faerie Queene will here see where Spenser has 
 been, among his other visits to the Bowers of Bliss. 
 
20 BOIAP.DO. 
 
 But Boiavdo's poem was unfinished : there are 
 many prosaical passages in it, many lame and 
 harsh lines, incorrect and even ungrammatical ex- 
 pressions, trivial images, and, above all, many 
 Lombard provincialisms, which are not in their 
 nature of a *^ significant or graceful" sort,i and 
 which shocked the fastidious Florentines, the arbi- 
 ters of Italian taste. It was to avoid these in his 
 own poetry, that Boiardo's countryman Ariosto 
 carefully studied the Tuscan dialect, if not visited 
 Florence itself; and the consequence was, that his 
 greater genius so obscured the popularity of his 
 predecessor, that a remarkable process, unique in 
 the history of letters, appears to have been thought 
 necessary to restore its perusal. The facetious 
 Berni, a Tuscan wit full of genius, without omit- 
 ting any particulars of consequence, or adding a sin- 
 gle story except of himself, re-cast the whole poem 
 of Boiardo, altering the diction of almost every 
 stanza, and supplying introductions to the cantos 
 after the manner of Ariosto ; and the Florentine 
 idiom and unfailing spirit of this re-fashioner's 
 verse (though, what is very curious, not till after 
 a long chance of its being overlooked itself, and 
 a posthumous editorship which has left doubts on 
 the authority of the text) gradually effaced almost 
 ^ Foscolo, ut sup. p. 528. 
 
HIS LITE AND GENIUS. 21 
 
 the very mention of the man's name who had sup- 
 plied him with the whole staple commodity of his 
 book, with all the heart of its interest, and with 
 far the greater part of the actual words. The first 
 edition of Berni was prohibited in consequence of 
 its containing a severe attack on the clergy ; but 
 even the prohibition did not help to make it po- 
 pular. The reader may imagine a similar occur- 
 rence in England, by supposing that Dryden had 
 re-written the whole of Chaucer, and that his re- 
 construction had in the course of time as much 
 surpassed the original in popularity, as his version 
 of the Flower and the Leaf did, up to the begin- 
 ning of the present century. 
 
 I do not mean to compare Chaucer with Boi- 
 ardo, or Dryden with Berni. Fine poet as I think 
 Boiardo, I hold Chaucer to be a far finer ; and spi- 
 rited, and in some respects admirable, as are Dry- 
 den's versions of Chaucer, they do not equal that 
 of Boiardo by the Tuscan. Dryden did not appre- 
 hend the sentiment of Chaucer in any such degree 
 as Berni did that of his original. Indeed, Mr. Pa- 
 nizzi himself, to whom the world is indebted both 
 for the only good edition of Boiardo and for the 
 knowledge of the most curious facts respecting 
 Berni's rifacimentOy declares himself unable to pro- 
 nounce which of the two poems is the better ci.e. 
 
22 BOIARDO. 
 
 the original Boiardo, or the re-modelled. It would 
 therefore not very well become a foreigner to give 
 a verdict, even if he were able ; and I confess, after 
 no little consideration (and apart, of course, from 
 questions of dialect, which I cannot pretend to look 
 into), I feel myself almost entirely at a loss to con- 
 jecture on which side the superiority lies, except 
 in point of invention and a certain early simplicity. 
 The advantage in those two respects unquestion- 
 ably belongs to Boiardo; and a great one it is, 
 and may not unreasonably be supposed to settle 
 the rest of the question in his favour; and yet 
 Berni's fancy, during a more sophisticate period 
 of Italian manners, exhibited itself so abundantly 
 in his own witty poems, his pen at all times has 
 such a charming facility, and he proved himself, 
 in his version of Boiardo, to have so strong a 
 sympathy with the earnestness and sentiment of 
 his original in his gravest moments, that I cannot 
 help thinking the two men would have been each 
 what the other was in their respective times ; — 
 the Lombard the comparative idler, given more 
 to witty than serious invention, under a corrupt 
 Roman court ; and the Tuscan the originator of 
 romantic fictions, in a court more suited to him 
 than the one he avowedly despised. I look upon 
 them as two men singularly well matched. The 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 23 
 
 nature of the present work does not require, and 
 the limits to which it is confined do not permit, 
 me to indulge myself in a comparison between 
 them corroborated by proofs ; but it is impossible 
 not to notice the connexion : and therefore, beg- 
 ging the reader's pardon for the sorry substitute 
 of affirmative for demonstrative criticism, I may 
 be allowed to say, that if Boiardo has the praise 
 of invention to himself, Berni thoroughly appre- 
 ciated and even enriched it; that if Boiardo has 
 sometimes a more thoroughly charming simplicity, 
 Berni still appreciates it so well, that the differ- 
 ence of their times is sufficient to restore the claim 
 of equality of feeling; and finally, that if Berni 
 strengthens and adorns the interest of the com- 
 position with more felicitous expressions, and with 
 a variety of lively and beautiful trains of thought, 
 you feel that Boiardo was quite capable of them 
 all, and might have done precisely the same had 
 he lived in Berni's age. In the greater part of 
 the poem the original is altered in nothing except 
 diction, and often (so at least it seems to me) for 
 no other reason than the requirements of the Tus- 
 can manner. And this is the case with most of 
 the noblest, and even the liveliest passages. My 
 first acquaintance, for example, with the Orlando 
 Innamorato was through the medium of Berni ; 
 
24 BOIARDO. 
 
 and on turning to those stories in his version, 
 which 1 have translated from his original for the 
 present volume, I found that every passage but 
 one, to which I had given a mark of admiration, 
 was the property of the old poet. That single 
 one, however, was in the exquisitest taste, full of 
 as deep a feeling as any thing in its company (I 
 have noticed it in the translated passage). And 
 then, in the celebrated introductions to his cantos, 
 and the additions to Boiardo's passages of descrip- 
 tion and character (those about Rodamonte, for 
 example, so admired by Foscolo), if Berni occa- 
 sionally shews a comparative want of faith which 
 you regret, he does it with a regret on his own 
 part, visible through all his jesting. Lastly, the 
 singular and indignant strength of his execution 
 often makes up for the trustingness that he was 
 sorry to miss. If I were asked, in short, which 
 of the two poems I should prefer keeping, were 
 I compelled to choose, I should first complain of 
 being forced upon so hard an alternative, and 
 then, with many a look after Berni, retain Boi- 
 ardo. The invention is his; the first earnest im- 
 pulse; the unmisgiving joy; the primitive morning 
 breath, when the town-smoke has not polluted the 
 fields, and the birds are singing their " wood-notes 
 wild." Besides, after all, one cannot be sure that 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 25 
 
 Berni could have invented as Boiardo did. If he 
 could, he would probably have written some fine 
 serious poem of his own. And Panizzi has ob- 
 served, with striking and conclusive truth, that 
 " without Berni the Orlando Innamorato will be 
 read and enjoj'ed; without Boiardo not even the 
 name of the poem remains." 
 
 Nevertheless this conclusion need not deprive 
 us of either work. Berni raised a fine polished 
 edifice, copied and enlarged after that of Boiardo ; 
 — on the other hand, the old house, thank Heaven, 
 remains ; and our best way of settling the question 
 between the two is, to be glad that we have got 
 both. Let the reader who is rich in such posses- 
 sions look upon Berni's as one of his town man- 
 sions, erected in the park-like neighbourhood of 
 some metropolis; and Boiardo's as the ancient 
 country original of it, embosomed in the woods 
 afar off', and beautiful as the Enchanted Castle of 
 Claude — 
 
 *' Lone sitting by the shores of old romance." 
 
 A late amiable man of wit, Mr. Stewart Rose, has given a 
 prose abstract of Berni's Orlando Innamorato, with occasional 
 versification ; but it is hardly more than a dry outline, and was, 
 indeed, intended only as an introduction to his version of the 
 
 VOL. II. C 
 
26 BOIARDO. 
 
 Furioso. A good idea, however, of one of the phases of Berni's 
 humour may be obtained from the same gentleman's abridgment 
 of the Animali Parlanti of Casti, in which he has introduced a 
 translation of the Tuscan's description of himself and of his way 
 of life, out of his additions to Boiardo's poem. The verses in the 
 prohibited edition of Berni's Orlando, in which he denounced the 
 corruptions of the clergy, have been published, for the first time in 
 this country, in the notes to the twentieth canto of Mr. Panizzi's 
 Boiardo. They have all his peculiar wit, together with a Lutheran 
 earnestness ; and shew him, as that critic observes, to have been 
 *' Protestant at his heart." 
 
 Since writing this note I have called to mind that a translation 
 of Berni's account of himself is to be found in Mr. Rose's prose 
 abstract of the Innamorato. 
 
ADVENTUEES OF ANGELICA. 
 
Angelica, daughter of Galafron, king of Cathay, the most beau- 
 tiful of womankind, and a possessor of the art of magic, comes, 
 with her brother Argalia, to the court of Charlemagne under false 
 pretences, in order to carry away his knights to the country of her 
 father. Her immediate purpose is defeated, and her brother slain ; 
 but all the knights, Orlando in particular, fall in love with her ; 
 and she herself, in consequence of drinking at an enchanted foun- 
 tain, becomes in love with Rinaldo. On the other hand, Rinaldo, 
 from drinking a neighbouring fountain of a reverse quality, finds 
 his own love converted to loathing. Various adventures arise out 
 of these circumstances ; and the fountains are again drunk, with a 
 mutual reversal of their effects. 
 
ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA, 
 
 It was the month of May and the feast of Pente- 
 cost, and Charlemagne had ordained a great joust- 
 ing, which brought into Paris an infinite number 
 of people, baptised and infidel ; for there was 
 truce proclaimed, in order that every knight might 
 come. There was King Grandonio from Spain, 
 with his serpent's face; and Ferragus, with his 
 eyes like an eagle ; and Balugante, the emperor's 
 kinsman ; and Orlando, and Rinaldo, and Duke 
 Namo; and Astolfo of England, the handsomest 
 of mankind ; and the enchanter Malagigi ; and 
 Isoliero and Salamone ; and the traitor Gan, with 
 his scoundrel followers; and, in short, the whole 
 flower of the chivalry of the age, the greatest in 
 the world. The tables at which they feasted were 
 on three sides of the hall, with the emperor's can- 
 opy midway at the top ; and at that first table sat 
 crowned heads; and down the table on the right 
 sat dukes and marquises ; and down the table on 
 
30 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 the left, counts and cavaliers. But the Saracen 
 nobles, after their doggish fashion, looked neither 
 for chair nor bench, but preferred a carpet on 
 the floor, which v^as accordingly spread for them 
 in the midst. 
 
 High sat Charlemagne at the head of his vas- 
 sals and his Paladins, rejoicing in the thought of 
 all the great men of which they consisted, and 
 holding the infidels cheap as the sands which are 
 scattered by the tempest. To each of his lords, 
 as they drank, he sent round, by his pages, gifts 
 of enamelled cups of exquisite workmanship ; and 
 to every body some mark of his princely distinc- 
 tion ; and so they were all sitting and hearing 
 music, and feasting off dishes of gold, and talking 
 of lovely things with low voices,^ when suddenly 
 there came into the hall four enormous giants, in 
 the midst of whom was a lady, and behind the 
 lady there followed a cavalier. She was a very 
 lily of the field, and a rose of the garden, and a 
 morning-star ; in short, so beautiful that the like 
 had never been seen. There was Galerana in 
 the hall ; there was Alda, the wife of Orlando ; 
 and Clarice, and Armelhna the kind-hearted, and 
 abundance of other ladies, all beautiful till she 
 
 ' " Con parlar basso e bei ragionamenti.'* 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 31 
 
 made her appearance ; but after that they seemed 
 nothing. Every Christian knight turned his face 
 that way ; and not a Pagan remained on the floor, 
 but arose and got as near to her as he could ; 
 while she, with a cheerful sweetness, and a smile 
 fit to enamour a heart of stone, began speaking 
 the following words : 
 
 " High-minded lord, the renown of your wor- 
 thiness, and the valour of these your knights, 
 which echoes from sea to sea, encourages me to 
 hope, that two pilgrims who have come from the 
 ends of the world to behold you, will not have en- 
 countered their fatigue in vain. And to the end 
 that I may not hold your attention too long with 
 speaking, let me briefly say, that this knight here, 
 Uberto of the Lion, a prince renowned also for 
 his achievements, has been wrongfully driven from 
 out his dominions; and that I, who was driven 
 out with him, am his sister, whose name is An- 
 gelica. Fame has told us of the jousting this day 
 appointed, and of the noble press of knights here 
 assembled, and how your generous natures care 
 not to win prizes of gold or jewels, or gifts of 
 cities, but only a wreath of roses ; and so the prince 
 my brother has come to prove his own valour, and 
 to say, that if any or all of your guests, whether 
 baptised or infidel, choose to meet him in the 
 
32 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 joust, he will encounter them one by one, in the 
 green meadow without the walls, near the place 
 called the Horseblock of Merlin, by the Fountain 
 of the Pine. And his conditions are these, — that 
 no knight who chances to be thrown shall have 
 license to renew the combat in any way what- 
 soever, but remain a submissive prisoner in his 
 hands ; he, on the other hand, if himself be thrown, 
 agreeing to take his departure out of the country 
 with his giants, and to leave his sister, for prize, 
 in the hands of the conqueror." 
 
 Kneeling at the close of these words, the lady 
 awaited the answer of Charlemagne, and every 
 body gazed on her with astonishment. Orlando 
 especially, more than all the rest, felt irre- 
 sistibly drawn towards her, so that his heart 
 trembled, and he changed countenance. But he 
 felt ashamed at the same time; and casting his 
 eyes down, he said to himself, " Ah, mad and 
 unworthy Orlando ! whither is thy soul being hur- 
 ried? I am drawn, and cannot say nay to what 
 draws me. I reckoned the whole world as no- 
 thing, and now I am conquered by a girl. I can- 
 not get her sweet look out of my heart. My soul 
 seems to die within me, at the thought of being 
 without her. It is love that has seized me, and I 
 feel that nothing will set me free; — not strength, 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 33 
 
 nor courage, nor my own wisdom, nor that of any 
 adviser. I see the better part, and cleave to the 
 worse."! 
 
 Thus secretly in his heart did the frank and 
 noble Orlando lament over his new feelings ; and 
 no wonder; for every knight in the hall was en- 
 amoured of the beautiful stranger, not excepting 
 
 ^ Video meliora, proboque, 8fc. Writers were now beginning 
 to pride themselves on their classical reading. The present occa- 
 sion, it must be owned, was a very good one for introducing the 
 passage frOm Horace. The previous words have an affecting in- 
 genuousness ; and, indeed, the whole stanza is beautiful ; 
 
 " lo non mi posso dal cor dipartire 
 
 La dolce vista del viso serene, 
 Perch' io mi sento senza lei morire, 
 
 E '1 spirto a poco a poco venir meno. 
 Or non mi vale forza, ne 1' ardire 
 
 Contra d' amor, che m' ha gia posto il freno ; 
 Ne mi giova saper, ne altrui consiglio : 
 II meglio veggio, ed al peggior m' appiglio." 
 
 Alas ! I cannot, though I shut mine eyes, 
 Lose the sweet look of that delightful face ; 
 
 The very soul within me droops and dies. 
 To think that I may fail to gain her grace. 
 
 No strong limbs now, no valour, will suffice 
 To burst the spell that roots me to the place : 
 
 No, nor reflection, nor advice, nor force ; 
 
 I see the better part, and cleisp the worse. 
 C2 
 
34 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 even old white-headed Duke Namo. Charle- 
 magne himself did not escape. 
 
 All stood for awhile in silence, lost in the de- 
 light of looking at her. The fiery youth Ferragus 
 was the first to exhibit symptoms in his counte- 
 nance of uncontrollable passion. He refrained 
 with difficulty from going up to the giants, and 
 tearing her out of their keeping. Rinaldo also 
 turned as red as fire ; while his cousin Malagigi 
 the enchanter, who had discovered that the stran- 
 ger was not speaking truth, muttered softly, as he 
 looked at her, " Exquisite false creature ! I will 
 play thee such a trick for this, as will leave thee 
 no cause to boast of thy visit." 
 
 Charlemagne, to detain her as long as possible 
 before him, made a speech in answer, in which 
 he talked and looked, and looked and talked, till 
 there seemed no end of it. At length, however, 
 the challenge was accepted in all its forms; and 
 the lady quitted the hall with her brother and the 
 giants. 
 
 She had not yet passed the gates, when Ma- 
 lagigi the enchanter consulted his books ; and that 
 no means might be wanting to complete the coun- 
 teraction of what he suspected, he summoned to 
 his aid three spirits out of the lower regions. But 
 how serious his look turned, how his very soul 
 
THE ADVENTUBES OF ANGELICA. 35 
 
 within him was shaken, when he discovered that 
 the most dreadful disasters hung over Charles and 
 his court, and that the sister of the pretended 
 Uberto was daughter of King Galafron of Cathay, 
 a beauty accomplished in every species of enchant- 
 ment, and sent there by her father on purpose to 
 betray them all ! Her brother's name was not 
 Uberto, but Argalia. Galafron had given him a. 
 horse swifter than the wind, an enchanted sword, 
 a golden lance, also enchanted, which overthrew all 
 whom it touched,^ and a ring of a virtue so extra- 
 ordinary, that if put into the mouth, it rendered 
 the person invisible, and if worn on the finger, 
 nullified every enchantment. But beyond even 
 all this, he gave him his sister for a companion ; 
 rightly judging, that every body that saw her 
 would fall into the proposal of the joust ; and 
 trusting that, at the close of it, she would bring 
 him the whole court of France into Cathay, pri- 
 soners in her hands. 
 
 ^ 'Apyvpeais \6yx''-^^^ I^^X^^f '^"* iravra KpaTrjcreLS. 
 " Make war with silver spears, and you'll beat all." 
 
 The reader will note the allegory or not, as he pleases. It is a 
 very good allegory ; but allegory, by the due process of enchant- 
 ment, becomes matter of fact ; and it is pleasant to take it as 
 such. 
 
36 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 Such, Malagigi discovered, was the plot of the 
 accursed infidel hound. King Galafron.^ 
 
 Meantime the pretended Uberto had returned 
 to his station at the Horseblock of Merlin. He 
 had had a beautiful pavilion pitched there ; and 
 under this pavilion he lay down awhile to refresh 
 himself with sleep. His sister Angelica lay down 
 also, but in the open air, under the great pine by 
 the fountain. The four giants kept watch : and 
 as she lay thus asleep, with her fair head on the 
 grass, she appeared like an angel come down from 
 heaven. 
 
 By this time Malagigi, borne by one of his 
 demons, had arrived in the same place. He saw 
 the beauty asleep by the flowery water, and the 
 four giants all wide awake ; and he said within 
 his teeth, — "Brute scoundrels, I will take every 
 one of you into my net without a blow." 
 
 Malagigi took his book, and cast a spell out of 
 it; and in an instant the whole four giants were 
 buried in sleep. Then, drawing his sword, he 
 softly approached the young lady, intending to 
 despatch her as quickly : but seeing her look so 
 lovely as she slept, he paused, and considered 
 within himself, and resolved to detain her in the 
 
 ^ ** Re Galafron, il maledetto cane." 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 57 
 
 same state by enchantment, so long as it should 
 please him. Laying down the naked sword in the 
 grass, he again took his book, and read and read 
 on, and still read on, and fancied he was locking 
 up her senses all the while in a sleep unwakeable. 
 But the ring of which I have spoken was on her 
 finger. She had borrowed it of her brother ; and 
 a superior power rendered all other magic of no 
 avail. A touch from Malagigi to prove the force 
 of his spell awoke her, to the magician's conster- 
 nation, with a great cry. She fled into the arms 
 of her brother, whom it aroused ; and, by the help 
 of his sister's knowledge of enchantment, Argalia 
 mastered and bound the magician. The book was 
 then turned against him, and the place was sud- 
 denly filled with a crowd of his own demons, every 
 one of them crying out to Angelica, " What com- 
 mandest thou ?" 
 
 " Take this man," said Angelica, " and bear 
 him prisoner to the great city between Tartary 
 and India, where my father Galafron is lord. 
 Present him to him in my name, and say it was 
 I that took him ; and add, that having so taken 
 the master of the book, I care not for all the 
 other lords of the court of Charlemagne." 
 
 At the end of these words, and at one and the 
 same instant, the magician was conveyed to the 
 
38 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 feet of Galafron in Cathay, and locked up in a 
 rock under the sea. 
 
 In due time the enamoured knights, according 
 to agreement, came to the spot, for the purpose of 
 jousting with the supposed Uberto, each anxious 
 to have the first encounter, particularly Orlando, 
 in order that he might not see the beauty carried 
 off* by another. But they were obliged to draw 
 lots ; and thirty other names appeared before his, 
 the first of which was that of Astolfo the English- 
 man. 
 
 Now Astolfo was son of the king of England ; 
 and as I said before, he was the handsomest man 
 in the world. He was also very rich and well 
 bred, and loved to dress well, and was as brave 
 as he was handsome ; but his success was not 
 always equal to his bravery. He had a trick 
 of being thrown from his horse, a failing which 
 he was accustomed to attribute to accident; and 
 then he would mount again, and be again thrown 
 from the saddle, in the boldest manner conceiv- 
 able. 
 
 This gallant prince was habited, on the present 
 occasion, in arms worth a whole treasury. His 
 shield had a border of large pearls ; his mail was 
 of gold ; on his helmet was a ruby as big as a 
 chestnut: and his horse was covered with a cloth 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 39 
 
 all over golden leopards. ^ He issued to the com- 
 bat, looking at nobody and fearing nothing ; and 
 on his sounding the horn to battle, Argalia came 
 forth to meet him. After courteous salutations, 
 the two combatants rushed together ; but the mo- 
 ment the Englishman was touched with the golden 
 lance, his legs flew over his head. 
 
 " Cursed fortune !" cried he, as he lay on the 
 grass; " this is out of all calculation. But it was 
 entirely owing to the saddle. You can't but ac- 
 knowledge, that if I had kept my seat, the beau- 
 tiful lady would have been mine. But thus it is 
 when Fortune chooses to befriend infidels !"2 
 
 ' The lions in the shield of England were leopards in the 
 " olden time," and it is understood, I believe, ought still to be 
 so, — as Napoleon, with an invidious pedantry, once permitted 
 himself to be angry enough to inform us. 
 
 2 The character of Astolfo, the germ of which is in our own 
 ancient British romances, appears to have been completed by the 
 lively invention of Boiardo, and is a curious epitome of almost all 
 which has been discerned in the travelled Englishmen by the envy 
 of poorer and the wit of livelier foreigners. He has the hand- 
 someness and ostentation of a Buckingham, the wealth of a Beck- 
 ford, the generosity of a Carlisle, the invincible pretensions of a 
 Crichton, the self-commitals and bravery of a Digby, the luckless- 
 ness of a Stuart, and the nonchalance " under difficulties" of 
 " Milord W/iat-then" in Voltaire's Princess of Babylon, where 
 the noble traveller is discovered philosophically reading the news- 
 paper in his carriage after it was overturned. English beauty, 
 
40 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 The four giants, who had by this time been 
 disenchanted out of their sleep by Angelica, took 
 up the English prince, and put him in the pavi- 
 lion. But when he was stripped of his armour, 
 he looked so handsome, that the lovely stranger 
 secretly took pity on him, and bade them shew 
 him all the courtesies that captivity allowed. He 
 was permitted to walk outside by the fountain ; 
 and Angelica, from a dark corner, looked at him 
 with admiration, as he walked up and down in the 
 moonlight. 1 
 
 The violent Ferragus had the next chance in 
 the encounter, and was thrown no less speedily 
 than Astolfo ; but he did not so easily put up 
 with the mischance. Crying out, " What are the 
 emperor's engagements to me ?" he rushed with 
 
 ever since the days of Pope Gregory, with his pun about Angles 
 and Angels, has been greatly admired in the south of Europe — 
 not a little, perhaps, on account of the general fairness of its com- 
 plexion. I once heard a fair-faced English gentleman, who would 
 have been thought rather effeminate looking at home, called an 
 " Angel" by a lady in Genoa. 
 
 * " Stava disciolto, senza guardia alcuna, 
 
 Ed intomo a la fonte sollazzava ; 
 
 Angelica nel lume de la luna, 
 
 Quanto potea nascosa, lo mirava " 
 There is something wonderfully soft and Iwiar in the liquid mono- 
 tony of the third line. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 41 
 
 his sword against Argalia, who, being forced to 
 defend himself unexpectedly, dismounted and set 
 aside his lance, and got so much the worse of the 
 fight, that he listened to proposals of marriage 
 from Ferragus to his sister. The beauty, how- 
 ever, not feeling an inclination to match with so 
 rough and savage-looking a peison, was so dis- 
 mayed at the offer, that, hastily bidding her bro- 
 ther meet her in the forest of Arden, she vanished 
 from the sight of both, by means of the enchanted 
 ring. Argalia, seeing this, took to his horse of 
 swiftness, and dashed away in the same direction ; 
 Ferragus, in distraction, pursued Argalia ; and 
 Astolfo, thus left to himself, took possession of 
 the golden lance, and again issued forth — not, 
 indeed, with quite his usual confidence of the 
 result, but determined to run all risks, in any 
 thing that might ensue, for the sake of the em- 
 peror. In fine, to cut this part of the history 
 short, Charlemagne, finding the lady and her bro- 
 ther gone, ordered the joust to be restored to its 
 first intention ; and Astolfo, who was as ignorant 
 as the others of the treasure he possessed in the 
 enchanted lance, unhorsed all comers against him 
 like so many children, equally to their astonish- 
 ment and his own. 
 
 The Paladin Rinaldo now learnt the issue of 
 
42 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 the fight between Ferragus and the stranger, and 
 galloped in a loving agony of pursuit after the 
 fair fugitive. Orlando learnt the disappearance 
 of Rinaldo, and, distracted with jealousy, pushed 
 forth in like manner ; and at length all three are 
 in the forest of Arden, hunting about for her who 
 is invisible. 
 
 Now in this forest were two enchanted waters, 
 the one a running stream, and the other a built 
 fountain ; the first caused every body who tasted 
 it to fall in love, and the other (so to speak) to fall 
 out of love; say, rather, to feel the love turned 
 into hate. To the latter of these two waters Ri- 
 naldo happened to come ; and being flushed with 
 heat and anxiety, he dismounted from his horse, 
 and quenched, in one cold draught, both his thirst 
 and his passion. So far from loving Angelica as 
 before, or holding her beauty of any account, he 
 became disgusted with its pursuit, nay, hated hei 
 from the bottom of his heart ; and so, in this new 
 state of mind, and with feelings of lofty contempt, 
 he remounted and rode aw^ay, and happened to 
 come on the bank of the running stream. There, 
 enticed by the beauty of the place, which was all 
 sweet meadow -ground and bowers of trees, he 
 again quitted his saddle, and, throwing himself oa 
 the ground, fell fast asleep. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 43 
 
 Unfortunately for the proud beauty Angelica, 
 or rather in just punishment for her contempt, her 
 palfrey conducted her to this very place. The 
 water tempted her to drink, and, dismounting and 
 tying the animal to one of the trees, she did so, 
 and then cast her eyes on the sleeping Rinaldo. 
 Love instantly seized her, and she stood rooted to 
 the spot. 
 
 The meadow round about was all full of lilies 
 of the valley and wild roses. Angelica, not know- 
 ing what to do, at length plucked a quantity of 
 these, and with her white hand she dropped them 
 on the face of the sleeper. He woke up ; and see- 
 ing who it was, not only received her salutations 
 with a change of countenance, but remounting his 
 horse, galloped away through the thickest part of 
 the forest. In vain the beautiful creature followed 
 and called after him ; in vain asked him what she 
 had done to be so despised, and entreated him, at 
 any rate, to take care how he went so fast. Ri- 
 naldo disappeared, leaving her to wring her hands 
 in despair; and she returned in tears to the spot 
 on which she had found him sleeping. There, in 
 her turn, she herself lay down, pressing the spot 
 of earth on which he had lain ; and so, weeping 
 and lamenting, yet blessing every flower and bit of 
 
44 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA, 
 
 grass that he had touched, fell asleep out of fa- 
 tigue and sorrow. 
 
 As Angelica thus lay, the good or bad fortune 
 of Orlando conducted him to the same place. The 
 attitude in which she was -sleeping was so lovely 
 that it is not even to be conceived, much less ex- 
 pressed. The very grass seemed to flower on all 
 sides of her for joy ; and the stream, as it mur- 
 mured along, to go talking of love.^ Orlando 
 stood gazing like a man who had been transported 
 to another sphere. " Am I on earth," thought 
 he, " or am I in paradise ? Surely it is I myself 
 that am sleeping, and this is my dream." 
 
 But his dream was proved to be none, in a 
 manner which he little desired. Ferragus, who 
 had slain Argalia, came up raging with jealousy, 
 and a combat ensued which awoke the sleeper. 
 Terrified at what she beheld, she rushed to her 
 
 ^ " La qual dormiva in atto tanto adomo, 
 
 Che pensar non si puo, non ch' io lo scriva : 
 Parea che V erba a lei fiorisse intorno, 
 E d' amor ragionasse quella riva." 
 
 Her posture, as she lay, was exquisite 
 Above all words — nay, thought itself above : 
 The grass seemed flowering round her in delight, 
 And the soft river murmuring of love. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 45 
 
 palfrey ; and while the fighters were occupied with 
 one another, fled away through the forest. 
 
 Fast fled the beauty in the direction taken by 
 Rinaldo ; nor did she cease travelling, by one con- 
 veyance or another, till she reached her own coun- 
 try, whither she had sent Malagigi. Him she 
 freed from his prison, on condition that he would 
 employ his art for the purpose of bringing Rinaldo 
 to a palace of hers, which she possessed in an 
 island ; and accordingly Rinaldo was inveigled by 
 a spirit into an enchanted barque, which he found 
 on a sea-shore, and which conveyed him, without 
 any visible pilot, into Joyous Palace (for so the 
 island was called). 
 
 The whole island was a garden, fifteen miles in 
 extent. It was full of trees and lawns ; and on 
 the western side, close to the sea, was the palace, 
 built of a marble so clear and polished, that it 
 reflected the landscape round about. Rinaldo, 
 not knowing what to think of his strange convey- 
 ance, lost no time in leaping to shore ; upon which 
 a lady made her appearance, who invited him 
 within. The house was a most beautiful house, 
 full of rooms adorned with azure and gold, and 
 with noble paintings ; and within as well as with- 
 out it were the loveliest flowers, the purest foun- 
 tains, and a fragrance fit to turn sorrow to joy. 
 
46 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 The lady led the knight into an apartment painted 
 with stories, and opening to the garden through 
 pillars of crystal with golden capitals. Here he 
 found a bevy of ladies, three of whom were sing- 
 ing in concert, while another played on some fo- 
 reign instrument of exquisite accord, and the rest 
 were dancing round about them. When the ladies 
 beheld him coming, they turned the dance into 
 a circuit round about himself; and then one of 
 them, in the sweetest manner, said, " Sir knight, 
 the tables are set, and the hour for the banquet is 
 come :" and with these words they all drew him, 
 still dancing, across the lawn in front of the apart- 
 ment, to a table that was spread with cloth of gold 
 and fine linen, under a bower of damask roses, by 
 the side of a fountain. ^ 
 
 Four ladies were already seated there, who 
 rose and placed Rinaldo at their head, in a chair 
 set with pearls. And truly indeed was he aston- 
 ished. A repast ensued, consisting of viands the 
 most delicate, and wines as fragrant as they were 
 fine, drunk out of jewelled cups ; and when it 
 drew towards its conclusion, harps and lutes were 
 heard in the distance, and one of the ladies said in 
 the knight's ear, " This house, and all that you see 
 in it, are yours. For you alone was it built, and 
 ^ Supremely elegant all this appears to me. 
 
THE ADVEXTURES OF ANGELICA. 47 
 
 the builder is a queen ; and happy indeed must 
 you think yourself, for she loves you, and she is 
 the greatest beauty in the world. Her name is 
 Angelica." 
 
 The moment Rinaldo heard the name he so 
 detested, disgust and wretchedness fell upon his 
 heart, notwithstanding the joys around him. He 
 started up with a changed countenance, and, in 
 spite of all that the lady could say, broke off 
 across the garden, and never ceased hastening till 
 he reached the place where he landed. He would 
 have thrown himself into the sea, rather than 
 stay any longer in that island ; but the enchanted 
 barque was still on the shore. He sprang into 
 it, and attempted instantly to push off, for he still 
 saw nobody in it but himself; but the barque for 
 a while resisted his efforts ; till, on his feeling a 
 wish to drown himself, or to do any thing rather 
 than return to that detested house, it suddenly 
 loosed itself from its moorings, and dashed away 
 with him over the sea, as if in a fury. 
 
 All night did the pilotless barque dash on, till 
 it reached, in the morning, a distant shore covered 
 with a gloomy forest. Here Rinaldo, surrounded 
 by enchantments of a very different sort from 
 those which he had lately resisted, was entrapped 
 into a pit. 
 
48 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 The pit belonged to a castle which was hung 
 with human heads, and painted red with blood ; 
 and as the Paladin was calling upon God to help 
 him, a hideous white-headed old woman, of a 
 spiteful countenance, made her appearance on the 
 edge of the pit, and told him that he must fight 
 with a monster born of Death and Desire. 
 
 " Be it so," said the Paladin. " Let me but 
 remain armed as T am, and I fear nothing." For 
 Rinaldo had with him his renowned sword Fus- 
 berta.^ 
 
 The old woman laughed in derision. Rinaldo 
 remained in the den all night, and next day was 
 taken to a place where a portcullis was lifted up, 
 and the monster rushed forth. He was a mixture 
 of hog and serpent, larger than an ox, and not to 
 be looked at without horror. He had eyes like a 
 traitor, the hands of a man, but clawed, a beard 
 dabbled with blood, a skin of coarse variegated 
 colours, too hard to be cut through, and two horns 
 on his temples, which he could turn on all sides of 
 
 ^ Sometimes called in the romances Frusberta (query, from 
 fourbir, to burnish; oxfroisser, to crush?). The meaning does 
 not seem to be known. I ought to have observed, in the notes 
 to Pulci, that the name of Orlando's sword, Durlindana (called 
 also Durindana, Diirandal, &c.), is understood to mean Hard- 
 hitter. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 49 
 
 liim at his pleasure, and which were so sharp that 
 they cut like a sword. 
 
 Rising on his hind-legs, and opening a mouth 
 six palms in width, this horrible beast fell heavily 
 on Rinaldo, who was nevertheless quick enough 
 to give it a blow on the snout which increased its 
 fury. Returning the knight a tremendous cuff, it 
 seized his coat of mail between breast and shoul- 
 der, and tore away a great strip of it down to the 
 girdle, leaving the skin bare. Every successive 
 renf and blow was of the like irresistible violence ; 
 and though the Paladin himself never fought with 
 more force and fury, he lost blood every instant. 
 The monster at length tearing his sword out of his 
 hand, the Paladin surely began to think that his 
 last hour was arrived. 
 
 Looking about to see what might possibly help 
 him, he observed overhead a beam sticking out of 
 a wall at the height of some ten feet. He took a 
 leap more than human ; and reaching the beam 
 with his hand, succeeded in flinging himself up 
 across it. Here he sat for hours, the furious 
 brute continually trying to reach him. Night- 
 time then came on with a clear starry sky and 
 moonlight, and the Paladin could discern no way 
 of escaping, when he heard a sound of something, 
 he knew not what, coming through the air like a 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
50 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 bird. Suddenly a female figure stood on the end 
 of the beam, holding something in her hand to- 
 wards him, and speaking in a loving voice. 
 
 It v^as Angelica, come v^^ith means for destroy- 
 ing the monster, and carrying the knight away. 
 
 But the moment Rinaldo saw her, desperate 
 as seemed to be his condition, he renounced all 
 offers of her assistance ; and at length became so 
 exasperated with her good offices, especially when 
 she opened her arms and offered to bear him away 
 in them, that he threatened to cast himself down 
 to the monster if she did not go away.^ 
 
 Angelica, saying that she would lose her life 
 rather than displease him, descended from the 
 beam ; and having given the monster a cake of 
 wax which fastened up his teeth, and then caught 
 and fixed him in a set of nooses she had brought 
 for that purpose, took her miserable departure. 
 Rinaldo upon this got down from the beam him- 
 self; and having succeeded, though with the great- 
 est difficulty, in beating and squeezing the life out 
 of the monster, dealt such havoc among the people 
 of the castle who assailed him, that the horrible 
 old woman, whose crimes had made her the crea- 
 
 ' The force of aversion was surely never better imagined than 
 in this scene oi the opened arms of beauty, and the knight's pre- 
 ference of the most odious death. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 51 
 
 ture's housekeeper, and led her to take delight in 
 its cruelty, threw herself headlong from a tower. 
 The Paladin then took his way forth, turning his 
 back on the castle and the sea-shore. 
 
 Angelica returned to the capital of her father's 
 dominion, Albracca ; and the pertinacity of others 
 in seeking her love being as great as that of hers 
 for Rinaldo, she found King Galafron, in a short 
 time, besieged there for her sake, by the fierce 
 Agrican, king of Tartary. 
 
 In a short time a jealous feud sprang up be- 
 tween the loving friends Rinaldo and Orlando ; 
 and Angelica, torn with conflicting emotions, from 
 her dread on her father's account as well as her 
 own, and her aversion to every knight but her 
 detester, was at one time compelled to apply to 
 Orlando for assistance, and at another, being afraid 
 that he would have the better of Rinaldo in com- 
 bat, to send him away on a perilous adventure 
 elsewhere, with a promise of accepting his love 
 should he succeed.^ Orlando went, but not before 
 he had slain Agrican and delivered Albracca. Cir- 
 cumstances, however, again took him with her to a 
 distance, as the reader will see, ere he could bring 
 
 ^ Legalised, I presume, by a divorce from the hero's wife, the 
 fair Alda ; who, though she is generally designated by that epithet, 
 seems never to have had much of his attention. 
 
52 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 her to perform her promise ; and the Paladms in 
 general having again been scattered abroad, it hap- 
 pened that Rinaldo a second time found himself 
 in the forest of Arden ; and here, without expect- 
 ing it, he became an altered man ; for he now 
 tasted a very different stream from that which had 
 given him his hate for Angelica ; namely, the one 
 which had made her fall in love with himself. 
 He was led to do this by a very extraordinary ad- 
 venture. 
 
 In the thick of the forest he had come upon 
 a mead full of flowers, in which there was a naked 
 youth, singing in the midst of three damsels, who 
 were naked also, and who were dancing round 
 about him. They had bunches of flowers in their 
 hands, and garlands on their heads ; and as they 
 were thus delighting themselves, with faces full of 
 love and joy, they suddenly changed countenance 
 on seeing Rinaldo. *' Behold," cried they, " the 
 traitor ! Behold him, villain that he is, and the 
 scorner of all delights ! He has fallen into the 
 net at last." With these words they fell upon him 
 with the flowers like so many furies; and tender 
 as such scourges might be thought, every blow 
 which the roses and violets gave him, every fresh 
 stroke of the lilies and the hyacinths, smote him 
 to the very heart, and filled his veins with fire. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 53 
 
 The flowers in the hands of the nymphs being ex- 
 hausted, the youth gave him a blow on the hehnet 
 with a tall garden-lily, which felled him to the 
 earth ; and so, taking him by the legs, and drag- 
 ging him over the grass, his conqueror went the 
 whole circuit of the mead with him, the nymphs 
 taking the very garlands off their heads, and again 
 scourging him with their white and red roses. ^ 
 
 At the close of this discipline, which left him 
 more exhausted than twenty battles, his enemies 
 suddenly developed wings from their shoulders, 
 the feathers of which were of white and gold and 
 vermilion, every feather having an eye in it, not 
 like those in the peacock's feathers, but one full 
 of life and motion, being a female eye, lovely and 
 gracious. And with these wings they poised them- 
 selves a little, and so sprung up to heaven. ^ 
 
 The Paladin, more dead than alive, lay help- 
 less among the flowers, when a fourth nymph came 
 up to him, of inexpressible beauty. She told him 
 that he had grievously ofiended the naked youth, 
 
 1 This violent effect of weapons so extremely gentle is beau- 
 tifully conceived. 
 
 ' The *' female eye, lovely and gracious," is charmingly painted 
 per se : but of this otherwise thoroughly beautiful description T 
 must Venture to doubt, whether living eyes of any sort, instead of 
 those in the peacock's feathers, are in good taste. The imagina- 
 tion revolts from life misplaced. 
 
54 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 who was no other than Love himself; and added, 
 that his only remedy was to be penitent, and to 
 drink of the waters of a stream hard by, which he 
 would find running from the roots of an olive-tree 
 and a pine. With these words, she vanished in her 
 turn like the rest ; and Rinaldo, dragging himself 
 as well as he could to the olive and pine, stooped 
 down, and greedily drank of the water. Again 
 and again he drank, and wished still to be drink- 
 ing, for it took not only all pain out of his limbs, 
 but all hate and bitterness out of his soul, and 
 produced such a remorseful and doating memory 
 of Angelica, that he would fain have galloped 
 that instant to Cathay, and prostrated himself at 
 her feet. By degrees he knew the place ; and 
 looking round about him, and preparing to re- 
 mount his horse, he discerned a knight and a 
 lady in the distance. The knight was in a coat 
 of armour unknown to him, and the lady kneel- 
 ing and drinking at a fountain, which was the 
 one that had formerly quenched his own thirst ; 
 to wit, the Fountain of Disdain. 
 
 Alas ! it was Angelica herself ; and the knight 
 was Orlando. She had allowed him to bring her 
 into France, ostensibly for the purpose of wedding 
 him at the court of Charlemagne, whither the 
 hero's assistance had been called against Agramant 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 55 
 
 king of the Moors, but secretly with the object 
 of discovering Rinaldo. Rinaldo, behold ! is dis- 
 covered; but the fatal averse water has been 
 drunk, and Angelica now hates him in turn, as 
 cordially as he detested her. In vain he accosted 
 her in the humblest and most repentant manner, 
 calling himself the unworthiest of mankind, and 
 entreating to be allowed to love her. Orlando, 
 disclosing himself, fiercely interrupted him ; and 
 a combat so terrific ensued, that Angelica fled 
 away on her palfrey till she came to a large plain, 
 in which she beheld an army encamped. 
 
 The army was Charlemagne's, who had come 
 to meet Rodamonte, one of the vassals of Agra- 
 mant. Angelica, in a tremble, related how she 
 had left the two Paladins fighting in the wood ; 
 and Charlemagne, who was delighted to find Or- 
 lando so near him, proceeded thither with his 
 lords, and parting the combatants by his royal 
 authority, suppressed the dispute between them 
 for the present, by consigning the object of their 
 contention to the care of Namo duke of Bavaria, 
 with the understanding that she was to be the 
 prize of the warrior who should best deserve her 
 in the approaching battle with the infidels. 
 
 [This is the last we hear of Angelica in the 
 
56 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 unfinished poem of Boiardo. For tlie close of 
 her history see its continuation by Ariosto in the 
 present volume.] 
 
THE 
 
 DEATH OF AGEICAN. 
 
 D JJ 
 
Argument. 
 
 Agrican king of Tartary, in love with Angelica, and baffled by 
 the prowess of the unknown Orlando in his attempts to bring the 
 siege of Albracca to a favourable conclusion, entices him apart 
 from the battle into a wood, in the hope of killing him in single 
 combat. The combat is suspended by the arrival of night-time ; 
 and a conversation ensues between the warriors, which is furiously 
 interrupted by Agrican's discovery of his rival, and the latter's 
 refusal to renounce his love. Agrican is slain ; and in his dying 
 moments requests baptism at the hand of his conqueror, who, with 
 great tenderness, bestows it. 
 
THE 
 
 DEATH OF AGRICAN, 
 
 The siege of Albracca was going on formidably 
 under the command of Agrican, and the city of 
 Galafron was threatened with the loss of the mon- 
 arch's daughter, Angelica, when Orlando, at his 
 earnest prayer, came to assist him, and changing at 
 once the whole course of the war, threw the enemy 
 in his turn into transports of anxiety. Wherever 
 the great Paladin came, pennon and standard fell 
 before him. Men were cut up and cloven down, 
 at every stroke of his sword ; and whereas the 
 Indians had been in full rout but a moment be- 
 fore, and the Tartars ever on their flanks, Gala- 
 fron himself being the swiftest among the spurrers 
 away, it was now the Tartars that fled for their 
 lives ; for Orlando was there, and a band of fresh 
 knights were about him, and Agrican in vain at- 
 tempted to rally his troops. The Paladin kept 
 him constantly in his front, forcing him to attend 
 to nobody else. 
 
60 THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 
 
 The Tartar king, who cared not a button for 
 Galafron and all his army/ provided he could but 
 rid himself of this terrible knight (whom he guessed 
 at, but did not know), bethought him of a strata- 
 gem. He turned his horse, and made a show of 
 flying in despair. Orlando dashed after him, as he 
 desired; and Agrican fled till he reached a green 
 place in a wood, with a fountain in it. 
 
 The place was beautiful, and the Tartar dis- 
 mounted to refresh himself at the fountain, but 
 without taking off" his helmet, or laying aside any 
 of his armour. Orlando was quickly at his back, 
 crying out, " So bold, and yet such a fugitive ! 
 How could you fly from a single arm, and yet 
 think to escape ? When a man can die with 
 honour, he should be glad to die ; for he may live 
 and fare worse. He may get death and infamy 
 together." 
 
 The Tartar king had leaped on his saddle the 
 moment he saw his enemy ; and when the Paladin 
 had done speaking, he said in a mild voice, " With- 
 out doubt you are the best knight I ever encoun- 
 tered ; and fain would I leave you untouched for 
 your own sake, if you would cease to hinder me 
 
 ^ " Che tutti insieme, e '1 suo Re Galafrone, 
 Non li stimava quanto un vil bottone." 
 
THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 61 
 
 from rallying my people. I pretended to fly, in 
 order to bring you out of the field. If you insist 
 upon fighting, I must needs fight and slay you ; 
 but I call the sun in the heavens to witness, that 
 I would rather not. I should be very sorry for 
 your death." 
 
 The County Orlando felt pity for so much gal- 
 lantry ; and he said, " The nobler you shew your- 
 self, the more it grieves me to think, that in dying 
 without a knowledge of the true faith, you will be 
 lost in the other world. Let me advise you to 
 save body and soul at once. Receive baptism, and 
 go your way in peace." 
 
 Agrican looked him in the face, and replied, 
 " I suspect you to be the Paladin Orlando. If 
 you are, I would not lose this opportunity of 
 fighting with you, to be king of Paradise. Talk 
 to me no more about your things of the other 
 world ; for you will preach in vain. Each of us 
 for himself, and let the sword be umpire." 
 
 No sooner said than done. The Tartar drew 
 his sword, boldly advancing upon Orlando ; and a 
 cut and thrust fight began, so long and so terrible, 
 each warrior being a miracle of prowess, that the 
 story says it lasted from noon till night. Orlando 
 then, seeing the stars come out, was the first to 
 propose a respite. 
 
62 THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 
 
 " What are we to do," said he, " now that 
 daylight has left us ?" 
 
 Agrican answered readily enough, " Let us re- 
 pose in this meadow, and renew the combat at 
 dawn." 
 
 The repose was taken accordingly. Each tied 
 up his horse, and reclined himself on the grass, 
 not far from one another, just as if they had been 
 friends, — Orlando by the fountain, Agrican be- 
 neath a pine. It was a beautiful clear night ; and 
 as they talked together, before addressing them- 
 selves to sleep, the champion of Christendom, look- 
 ing up at the firmament, said, " That is a fine piece 
 of workmanship, that starry spectacle. God made 
 it all, — that moon of silver, and those stars of gold, 
 and the light of day and the sun, — all for the sake 
 of human kind." 
 
 " You wish, I see, to talk of matters of faith," 
 said the Tartar. " Now I may as well tell you at 
 once, that I have no sort of skill in such matters, 
 nor learning of any kind. I never could learn 
 anything when I was a boy. I hated it so, that 
 I broke the man's head who was commissioned to 
 teach me ; and it produced such an efiect on others, 
 that nobody ever afterwards dared so much as shew 
 me a book. My boyhood was therefore passed as 
 it should be, in horsemanship, and hunting, and 
 
THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 63 
 
 learning to fight. What is the good of a gentle- 
 man's poring all day over a book ? Prowess to the 
 knight, and prattle to the clergyman. That is my 
 ijiotto." 
 
 " I acknowledge," returned Orlando, " that arms 
 are the first consideration of a gentleman ; but not 
 at all that he does himself dishonour by know- 
 ledge. On the contrary, knowledge is as great 
 an embellishment of the rest of his attainments, 
 as the flow^ers are to the meadow before us ; and 
 as to the knowledge of his Maker, the man that 
 is without it is no better than a stock or a stone, 
 or a brute beast. Neither, without study, can he 
 reach anything like a due sense of the depth and 
 divineness of the contemplation." 
 
 " Learned or not learned," said Agrican, " you 
 might shew yourself better bred than by endeavour- 
 ing to make me talk on a subject on which you 
 have me at a disadvantage. I have frankly told 
 you what sort of person I am ; and I dare say, that 
 you for your part are very learned and wise. You 
 will therefore permit me, if you say anything more 
 of such things, to make you no answer. If you 
 choose to sleep, I wish you good night ; but if you 
 prefer talking, I recommend you to talk of fight- 
 ing, or of fair ladies. And, by the way, pray tell 
 me — are you, or are you not, may I ask, that Or- 
 
64 THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 
 
 lando who makes such a noise in the world ? And 
 what is it, pray, brings you into these parts ? Were 
 you ever in love ? I suppose you must have been ; 
 for to be a knight, and never to have been in love, 
 would be like being a man with no heart in his 
 breast." 
 
 The County replied, " Orlando I am, and in 
 love I am.^ Love has made me abandon every 
 thing, and brought me into these distant regions ; 
 and to tell you all in one word, my heart is in the 
 hands of the daughter of King Galafron. You 
 have come against him with fire and sword, to get 
 possession of his castles and his dominions ; and I 
 have come to help him, for no object in the world 
 but to please his daughter, and win her beautiful 
 hand. I care for nothing else in existence." 
 
 Now when the Tartar king Agrican heard his 
 antagonist speak in this manner, and knew him to 
 be indeed Orlando, and to be in love with Ange- 
 lica, his face changed colour for grief and jealousy, 
 though it could not be seen for the darkness. His 
 heart began beating with such violence, that he 
 felt as if he should have died. " Well," said he 
 to Orlando, " we are to fight when it is daylight, 
 and one or the other is to be left here, dead on 
 
 ' Berni has here introduced the touchmg words, " Would I 
 were not so 1" (Cosi non foss' io !) 
 
THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 65 
 
 the ground. I have a proposal to make to you ; 
 nay, an entreaty. My love is so excessive for the 
 same lady, that I beg you to leave her to me. 
 I will owe you my thanks, and give up the fight 
 myself. I cannot bear that any one else should 
 love her, and I live to see it. Why, therefore, 
 should either of us perish ? Give her up. Not 
 a soul shall know it.''^ 
 
 " I never yet," answered Orlando, " made a 
 promise which I did not keep ; and, nevertheless, 
 I own to you, that were I to make a promise like 
 that, and even swear to keep it, I should not. 
 You might as well ask me to tear away the limbs 
 from my body, and the eyes out of my head. I 
 could as soon live without breath itself, as cease 
 loving Angelica." 
 
 Agrican had scarcely patience enough to let the 
 speaker finish, ere he leaped furiously on horse- 
 back, though it was midnight. " Quit her," said 
 he, " or die !" 
 
 Orlando, seeing the infidel getting up, and not 
 being sure that he would not add treachery to 
 fierceness, had been hardly less quick in mounting 
 for the combat. " Never !" exclaimed he. " I 
 
 ' This proposal is in the highest ingenuous spirit of the absurd 
 wilfuhiess of passion, thinking that every thing is to give way be- 
 fore it, not excepting the same identical wishes in other people. 
 
66 THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 
 
 never could have quitted her if I would ; and now 
 I wouldn't if I could. You must seek her by- 
 other means than these." 
 
 Fiercely dashed their horses together, in the 
 night-time, on the green mead. Despiteful and 
 terrible were the blows they gave and took by the 
 moonlight. There was no need of their looking 
 out for one another, night-time though it was. 
 Their business was to take as sharp heed of every 
 movement, as if it had been noon-day. ^ 
 
 Agrican fought in a rage : Orlando was cooler. 
 And now the struggle had lasted more than five 
 hours, and dawn began to be visible, when the 
 Tartar king, furious to find so much trouble given 
 him, dealt his enemy a blow sharp and violent be- 
 yond conception. It cut the shield in two, as if 
 it had been a cheesecake ; and though blood could 
 not be drawn from Orlando, because he was fated, 
 it shook and bruised him, as if it had started every 
 joint in his body. 
 
 His body only, however ; not a particle of his 
 soul. So dreadful was the blow which the Paladin 
 gave in return, that not only shield, but every bit 
 of mail on the body of Agrican, was broken in 
 pieces, and three of his left ribs cut asunder. 
 
 1 Very fine all this, I think. 
 
THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 67 
 
 The Tartar, roaring like a lion, raised his sword 
 with still greater vehemence than before, and dealt 
 a blow on the Paladin's helmet, such as he had 
 never yet received from mortal man. For a mo- 
 ment it took away his senses. His sight failed ; 
 his ears tinkled ; his frightened horse turned about 
 to fly ; and he was falling from the saddle, when 
 the very action of falling jerked his head upwards, 
 and with the jerk he regained his recollection. 
 
 " O my God I" thought he, " what a shame is 
 this ! how shall I ever again dare to face Angelica ! 
 I have been fighting, hour after hour, with this 
 man, and he is but one, and I call myself Orlando. 
 If the combat last any longer, I will bury myself 
 in a monastery, and never look on sword again." 
 
 Orlando muttered with his lips closed and 
 his teeth ground together; and you might have 
 thought that fire instead of breath came out of his 
 nose and mouth. He raised his sword Durindana 
 with both his hands, and sent it down so tre- 
 mendously on Agrican's left shoulder, that it cut 
 through breast-plate and belly-piece down to the 
 very haunch ; nay, crushed the saddle-bow, though 
 it was made of bone and iron, and felled man and 
 horse to the earth. From shoulder to hip was 
 Agrican cut through his weary soul, and he turned 
 as white as ashes, and felt death upon him. He 
 
68 THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 
 
 called Orlando to come close to him with a gentle 
 voice, and said, as well as he could, " I believe in 
 Him who died on the Cross. Baptise me, I pray 
 thee, with the fountain, before my senses are gone. 
 I have lived an evil life, but need not be rebellious 
 to God in death also. May He who came to save 
 all the rest of the world, save me ! He is a God 
 of great mercy." 
 
 And he shed tears, did that king, though he 
 had been so lofty and fierce. 
 
 Orlando dismounted quickly, with his own face 
 in tears. He gathered the king tenderly in his 
 arms, and took and laid him by the fountain, on a 
 marble cirque which it had ; and then he wept in 
 concert with him heartily, and asked his pardon, 
 and so baptised him in the water of the foun- 
 tain, and knelt and prayed to God for him with 
 joined hands. 
 
 He then paused and looked at him ; and when 
 he perceived his countenance changed, and that his 
 whole person was cold, he left him there on the 
 marble cirque by the fountain, all armed as he was, 
 with the sword by his side, and the crown upon 
 his head. 
 
 I think I may anticipate the warm admiration of the reader 
 for the whole of this beautiful episode, particularly its close. ** I 
 
THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 69 
 
 think," says Panizzi, " that Tasso had this passage particularly 
 in \dew when he wrote the duel of Clorinda and Tancredi, and her 
 conversion and baptism before dying. The whole passage, from 
 stanza xii. (where Agrican receives his mortal blow) to this, is 
 beautiful; and the delicate proceeding of Orlando in leaving 
 Agrican's body armed, even with the sword in his hand, is in 
 the noblest spirit of chivalry." — Edition of Boiardo and Ariosto, 
 vol. iii. page 357. 
 
 The reader will find the original in the Appendix No. I. 
 
 In the course of the poem (canto xix. stanza xxvi.) a knight, 
 with the same noble delicacy, who is in distress for a set of arms, 
 borrows those belonging to the dead body, with many excuses, and 
 a kiss on its face. 
 
SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 A FAIRY LOVE-TALE. 
 
\ 
 
 Argument. 
 
 Prasildo, a nobleman of Babylon, to his great anguish, falls in 
 love with his friend's wife, Tisbina ; and being overheard by her 
 and her husband threatening to kill himself, the lady, hoping to 
 divert him from his passion by time and absence, promises to 
 return it on condition of his performing a distant and perilous 
 adventure. He performs the adventure ; and the husband and 
 wife, supposing that there is no other way of her escaping the 
 consequences, resolve to take poison ; after which the lady goes 
 to Prasildo's house, and informs him of their having done so. 
 Prasildo resolves to die with them ; but hearing, in the mean time, 
 that the apothecary had given them a drink that was harmless, he 
 goes and tells them of their good fortune ; upon which the husband 
 is so struck with his generosity, that he voluntarily quits Babylon 
 for life, and the lady marries the lover. The new husband sub- 
 sequently hears that his friend's life is in danger, and quits the 
 wife to go and deliver him from it at the risk of his own, which 
 he does. 
 
 This story, which has resemblances to it in Boccaccio and 
 Chaucer, is told to Rinaldo while riding through a wood in Asia, 
 with a damsel behind him on the same horse. He has engaged to 
 combat in her behalf with a band of knights ; and the lady relates 
 it to beguile the way. 
 
 The reader is to bear in mind, that the age of chivalry took 
 delight in mooting points of love and friendship, such as in after- 
 times would have been out of the question ; and that the parties in 
 this story are Mahometans, with whom divorce was an easy thing, 
 and caused no scandal. 
 
SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 Iroldo, a knight of Babylon, had to wife a lady 
 of the name of Tisbina, whom he loved with a pas- 
 sion equal to that of Tristan for Iseult ;^ and she 
 returned his love with such fondness, that her 
 thoughts were occupied with him from morning 
 till night. Among other pleasant circumstances 
 of their position, they had a neighbour who was 
 accounted the greatest nobleman in the city ; 
 and he deserved his credit, for he spent his great 
 riches in doing nothing but honour to his rank. 
 He was pleasant in company, formidable in battle, 
 full of grace in love ; an open-hearted, accom- 
 plished gentleman. 
 
 This personage, whose name was Prasildo, 
 happened to be of a party one day with Tisbina, 
 who were amusing themselves in a garden, with a 
 game in which the players knelt down with their 
 
 ^ The hero and heroine of the famous romance of Tristan de 
 Leonois. 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
74 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 faces bent on one another's laps, and guessed who 
 it was that struck them. The turn came to him- 
 self, and he knelt down to the lap of Tisbina ; but 
 no sooner was he there, than he experienced feel- 
 ings he had never dreamt of; and instead of trying 
 to guess correctly, took all the pains he could to 
 remain in the same position. 
 
 These feelings pursued him all the rest of the 
 day, and still more closely at night. He did 
 nothing but think and sigh, and find the soft fea- 
 thers harder than any stone. Nor did he get 
 better as time advanced. His once favourite pas- 
 time of hunting now ceased to afford him any 
 delight. Nothing pleased him but to be giving 
 dinners and balls, to make verses and sing them 
 to his lute, and to joust and tournay in the eyes 
 of his love, dressed in the most sumptuous apparel. 
 But above all, gentle and graceful as he had been 
 before, he now became still more gentle and grace- 
 ful — for good qualities are always increased when 
 a man is in love. Never in my life did I know 
 them turn to ill in that case. So, in Prasildo's, 
 you may guess what a super-excellent person he 
 became. 
 
 The passion which had thus taken possession 
 of this gentleman was not lost upon the lady for 
 want of her knowing it. A mutual acquaintance 
 
THE SAKACEN FRIENDS. 75 
 
 was always talking to lier on the subject, but to 
 no purpose ; she never relaxed her pride and dig- 
 nity for a moment. The lover at last fell ill ; he 
 fairly wasted away ; and was so unhappy, that he 
 gave up all his feastings and entertainments. The 
 only pleasure he took was in a solitary wood, in 
 which he used to plunge himself in order to give 
 way to his grief and lamentations. 
 
 It happened one day, early in the morning, 
 while he was thus occupied, that Iroldo came into 
 the wood to amuse himself with bird-catching. 
 He had Tisbina with him ; and as they were com- 
 ing along, they overheard their neighbour during 
 one of his paroxysms, and stopped to listen to 
 what he said. 
 
 " Hear me," exclaimed he, " ye flowers and 
 ye woods. Hear to what a pass of wretchedness 
 I am come, since that cruel one will hear me not. 
 Hear, O sun that hast taken away the night from 
 the heavens, and you, ye stars, and thou the de- 
 parting moon, hear the voice of my grief for the 
 last time, for exist I can no longer; my death is 
 the only way left me to gratify that proud beauty, 
 to whom it has pleased Heaven to give a cruel 
 heart with a merciful countenance. Fain would 
 I have died in her presence. It would have com- 
 forted me to see her pleased even with that proof 
 
76 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 of my love. But I pray, nevertheless, that she 
 may never know it ; since, cruel as she is, she 
 might blame herself for having shewn a scorn so 
 extreme ; and I love her so, I would not have her 
 pained for all her cruelty. Surely I shall love her 
 even in my grave." 
 
 With these words, turning pale with his own 
 mortal resolution, Prasildo drew his sword, and 
 pronouncing the name of Tisbina more than once 
 with a loving voice, as though its very sound would 
 be sufficient to waft him to Paradise, was about to 
 plunge the steel into his bosom, when the lady 
 herself, by leave of her husband, whose manly 
 visage was all in tears for pity, stood suddenly 
 before him. 
 
 " Prasildo," said she, " if you love me, listen 
 to me. You have often told me that you do so. 
 Now prove it. I happen to be threatened with 
 nothing less than the loss of life and honour. 
 Nothing short of such a calamity could have in- 
 duced me to beg of you the service I am going 
 to request; since there is no greater shame in 
 the world than to ask favours from those to whom 
 we have refused them. But I now promise you, 
 that if you do w^hat I desire, your love shall be 
 returned. I give you my word for it. I give 
 you my honour. On the other side of the wilds 
 
THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 77 
 
 of Barbary is a garden which has a wall of iron. 
 It has four gates. Life itself keeps one ; Death 
 another ; Poverty the third ; the fairy of Riches 
 the fourth. He who goes in at one gate must 
 go out at the other opposite ; and in the midst 
 of the garden is a tree, tall as the reach of an 
 arrow, which produces pearls for blossoms. It 
 is called the Tree of Wealth, and has fruit of 
 emeralds and boughs of gold. I must have a 
 bough of that tree, or suffer the most painful 
 consequences. Now, then, if you love me, I 
 say, prove it. Prove it, and most assuredly I 
 shall love you in turn, better than ever you 
 loved myself." 
 
 What need of saying that Prasildo, with haste 
 and joy, undertook to do all that she required ? 
 If she had asked the sun and stars, and the whole 
 miiverse, he would have promised them. Quitting 
 her in spite of his love, he set out on the journey 
 without delay, only dressing himself before he left 
 the city in the habit of a pilgrim. 
 
 Now you must know, that Iroldo and his lady 
 had set Prasildo on that adventure, in the hope 
 that the great distance which he would have to 
 travel, and the change which it might assist time 
 to produce, would deliver him from his passion. 
 At all events, in case this good end was not effectCid 
 
78 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 before he arrived at the garden, they counted to 
 a certainty on his getting rid of it when he did ; 
 because the fairy of that garden, which was called 
 the Garden of Medusa, was of such a nature, that 
 whosoever did but look on her countenance forgot 
 the reason for his going thither; and whoever 
 saluted, touched, and sat down to converse by her 
 side, forgot all that had ever occurred in his life- 
 time. 
 
 Away, however, on his steed went our bold 
 lover ; all alone, or rather with Love for his com- 
 panion ; and so, riding hard till he came to the 
 Red Sea, he took ship, and journeyed through 
 Egypt, and came to the mountains of Barca, where 
 he overtook an old grey-headed palmer. 
 
 Prasildo told the palmer the reason of his 
 coming, and the palmer told him what the reader 
 has heard about the garden ; adding, that he must 
 enter by the gate of Poverty, and take no arms or 
 armour with him, excepting a looking-glass for a 
 shield, in which the fairy might behold her beauty. 
 The old man gave him other directions necessary 
 for his passing out of the gate of Riches ; and 
 Prasildo, thanking him, went on, and in thirty 
 days found himself entering the garden with the 
 greatest ease, by the gate of Poverty. 
 
 The garden looked like a Paradise, it was so 
 
THE SAEACEN FRIENDS, 79 
 
 full of beautiful trees, and flowers, and fresh grass. 
 Prasildo took care to hold the shield over his eyes, 
 that he might avoid seeing the fairy Medusa ; and 
 in this manner, guarding his approach, he arrived 
 at the Golden Tree. The fairy, who was reclining 
 against the trunk of it, looked up, and saw herself 
 in the glass. Wonderful was the effect on her. 
 Instead of her own white-and-red blooming face, 
 she beheld that of a dreadful serpent. The spec- 
 tacle made her take to flight in terror; and the 
 lover, finding his object so far gained, looked 
 freely at the tree, and climbed it, and bore away 
 a bough. 1 
 
 With this he proceeded to the gate of Riches. 
 It was all of loadstone, and opened with a great 
 noise. But he passed through it happily, for he 
 made the fairy who kept it a present of half the 
 bough ; and so he issued forth out of the garden, 
 with indescribable joy. 
 
 Behold our loving adventurer now on his road 
 
 ' ** Mr. Rose observes, that Medusa may be designed by 
 Boiardo as the ' type of conscience;' and he is confirmed in his 
 opinion by the circumstance mentioned in this canto (12, lib. i. 
 Stan. 39) of Medusa not being able to contemplate the reflection 
 of her own hideous appearance, though beautiful in the sight of 
 others. I fully agree with him." — Panizzi, ut sup., vol. iii. 
 p. 333. 
 
80 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 home. Every step of the way appeared to him a 
 thousand. He took the road of Nubia to shorten 
 the journey; crossed the Arabian Gulf with a 
 breeze in his favour; and travelling by night as 
 well as by day, arrived one fine morning in 
 Babylon. 
 
 No sooner was he there, than he sent to tell 
 the object of his passion how fortunate he had 
 been. He begged her to name her own place and 
 time for receiving the bough at his hands, taking 
 care to remind her of her pronise ; and he could 
 not help adding, that he should die if she broke 
 it. 
 
 Terrible was the grief of Tisbina at this un- 
 looked-for news. She threw herself on her couch 
 in despair, and bewailed the hour she was born. 
 "What on earth am I to do?" cried the wretched 
 lady ; " death itself is no remedy for a case like 
 this, since it is only another mode of breaking my 
 word. To think that Prasildo should return from 
 the garden of Medusa ! who could have supposed 
 it possible ? And yet, in truth, what a fool I was 
 to suppose any thing impossible to love! O my 
 husband! little didst thou think what thou thy- 
 self advisedst me to promise !" 
 
 The husband was coming that moment towards 
 the room; and overhearing his wife grieving in 
 
 J 
 
THE SARACEN FKIENDS. 81 
 
 this distracted manner, he entered and clasped her 
 in his arms. On learning the cause of her afflic- 
 tion, he felt as though he should have died with 
 her on the spot. 
 
 " Alas !" cried he, " that it should be possible 
 for me to be miserable while I am so dear to your 
 heart. But you know, O my soul! that when 
 love and jealousy come together, the torment is 
 the greatest in the world. Myself — myself, alas ! 
 caused the mischief, and myself alone ought to 
 suffer for it. You must keep your promise. You 
 must abide by the word you have given, especially 
 to one who has undergone so much to perform 
 what you asked him. Sweet face, you must. 
 But oh! see him not till after I am dead. Let 
 Fortune do with me what she pleases, so that I be 
 saved from a disgrace like that. It will be a com- 
 fort to me in death to think that I alone, while 
 I was on earth, enjoyed the fond looking of that 
 lovely face. Nay," concluded the wretched hus- 
 band, " I feel as though I should die over again, 
 if I could call to mind in my grave how you 
 were taken from me." 
 
 Iroldo became dumb for anguish. It seemed 
 
 to him as if his very heart had been taken out of 
 
 his breast. Nor was Tisbina less miserable. She 
 
 was as pale as death, and could hardly speak to 
 
 e2 
 
82 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 him, or bear to look at him. At length turning 
 her eyes upon him, she said, " And do you believe 
 I could make my poor sorry case out in this world 
 without Iroldo ? Can he bear, himself, to think of 
 leaving his Tisbina ? he who has so often said, that 
 if he possessed heaven itself, he should not think 
 it heaven without her? O dearest husband, there 
 is a way to make death not bitter to either of 
 us. It is to die together. I must only exist 
 long enough to see Prasildo ! Death, alas ! is in 
 that thought ; but the same death will release us. 
 It need not even be a hard death, saving our 
 misery. There are poisons so gentle in their 
 deadliness, that we need but faint away into sleep, 
 and so, in the course of a few hours, be deli- 
 vered. Our misery and our folly will then alike 
 be ended." 
 
 Iroldo assenting, clasped his wife in distrac- 
 tion; and for a long time they remained in the 
 same posture, half stifled with grief, and bathing 
 one another's cheeks with their tears. Afterwards 
 they sent quietly for the poison ; and the apothe- 
 cary made up a preparation in a cup, without ask- 
 ing any questions ; and so the husband and wife 
 took it. Iroldo drank first, and then endeavoured 
 to give the cup to his wife, uttering not a word, 
 and trembling in every limb ; not because he was 
 
THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 83 
 
 afraid of death, but because he could not bear 
 to ask her to share it. At length, turning away 
 his face and looking down, he held the cup to- 
 wards her, and she took it with a chilled heart 
 and trembling hand, and drank the remainder 
 to the dregs. Iroldo then covered his face and 
 head, not daring to see her depart for the house 
 of Prasildo ; and Tisbina, with pangs bitterer than 
 death, left him in solitude. 
 
 Tisbina, accompanied by a servant, went to 
 Prasildo, who could scarcely believe his ears when 
 he heard that she w^as at the door requesting to 
 speak with him. He hastened down to shew her 
 all honour, leading her from the door into a room 
 by themselves; and when he found her in tears, 
 addressed her in the most considerate and sub- 
 dued, yet still not unhappy manner, taking her 
 confusion for bashfulness, and never dreaming 
 what a tragedy had been meditated. 
 
 Finding at length that her grief was not to be 
 done away, he conjured her by what she held 
 dearest on earth to let him know the cause of it ; 
 adding, that he could still die for her sake, if his 
 death would do her any service. Tisbina spoke 
 at these words ; and Prasildo then heard what he 
 did not wish to hear. " T am in your hands," 
 answered she, " while I am yet alive. I am bound 
 
84 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 to my word, but I cannot survive the dishonour 
 which it costs me, nor, above all, the loss of the 
 husband of my heart. You also, to whose eyes I 
 have been so welcome, must be prepared for my 
 disappearance from the earth. Had my affections 
 not belonged to another, ungentle would have 
 been my heart not to have loved yourself, who 
 are so capable of loving; but (as you must well 
 know) to love two at once is neither fitting nor 
 in one's power. It was for that reason I never 
 loved you, baron ; I was only touched with com- 
 passion for you ; and hence the miseries of us 
 all. Before this day closes, I shall have learnt 
 the taste of death," And without further preface 
 she disclosed to him how she and her husband 
 had taken poison, 
 
 Prasildo was struck dumb with horror. He 
 had thought his felicity at hand, and was at the 
 same instant to behold it gone for ever. She 
 who was rooted in his heart, she who carried his 
 life in her sweet looks, even she was sitting there 
 before him, already, so to speak, dead. 
 
 " It has pleased neither Heaven nor you, Tis- 
 bina," exclaimed the unhappy young man, " to 
 put my best feelings to the proof. Often have 
 two lovers perished for love ; the world will now 
 behold a sacrifice of three. Oh, why did you not 
 
THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 85 
 
 make a request to me in your turn, and ask me to 
 free you from your promise ? You say you took 
 pity on me ! Alas, cruel one, confess that you 
 have killed yourself, in order to kill me. Yet 
 why? Never did I think of giving you displea- 
 sure ; and I now do what I would have done at 
 any time to prevent it, I absolve you from your 
 oath. Stay, or go this instant, as it seems best 
 to you." 
 
 A stronger feeling than compassion moved the 
 heart of Tisbina at these words. " This indeed," 
 replied she, " I feel to be noble ; and truly could 
 I also now die to save you. But life is flitting ; 
 and how may I prove my regard ?" 
 
 Prasildo, who had in good earnest resolved 
 that three instead of two should perish, experi- 
 enced such anguish at the extraordinary position 
 in which he found all three, that even her sweet 
 words came but dimly to his ears. He stood like 
 a man stupified ; then begged of her to give him 
 but one kiss, and so took his leave without fur- 
 ther ado, only intimating that her way out of the 
 house lay before her. As he spake, he removed 
 himself from her sight. 
 
 Tisbina reached home. She found her hus- 
 band with his head covered up as she left him; 
 but when she recounted what had passed, and the 
 
86 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 courtesy of Prasildo, and how he had exacted 
 from her but a single kiss, Iroldo got up, and 
 removed the covering from his face, and then 
 clasping his hands, and raising it to heaven, he 
 knelt with grateful humility, and prayed God to 
 give pardon to himself, and reward to his neigh- 
 bour. But before he had ended, Tisbina sunk on 
 the floor in a swoon. Her weaker frame was the 
 first to undergo the effects of what she had taken. 
 Iroldo felt icy chill to see her, albeit she seemed 
 to sleep sweetly. Her aspect was not at all like 
 death. He taxed Heaven with cruelty for treating 
 two loving hearts so hardly, and cried out against 
 Fortune, and life, and Love itself. 
 
 Nor was Prasildo happier in his chamber. He 
 also exclaimed against the bitter tyrant " whom 
 men call Love;" and protested, that he would 
 gladly encounter any fate, to be delivered from 
 the worse evils of his false and cruel ascendency. 
 
 But his lamentations were interrupted. The 
 apothecary who sold the potion to the husband 
 and wife was at the door below, requesting to 
 speak with him. The servants at first had refused 
 to carry the message ; but the old man persist- 
 ing, and saying it was a matter of life and death, 
 entrance for him into his master's chamber was 
 obtained. 
 
•THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 87 
 
 " Noble sir," said the apothecary, " I have 
 always held you in love and reverence. I have 
 unfortunately reason to fear that somebody is de- 
 siring your death. This morning a handmaiden 
 of the lady Tisbina applied to me for a secret 
 poison ; and just now it was told me, that the lady 
 herself had been at this house. I am old, sir, and 
 you are young ; and I warn you against the vio- 
 lence and jealousies of womankind. Talk of their 
 flames of love ! Satan himself burn them, say I, 
 for they are fit for nothing better. Do not be too 
 much alarmed, however, this time : for in truth I 
 gave the young woman nothing of the sort that 
 she asked for, but only a draught so innocent, that 
 if you have taken it, it will cost you but four or 
 five hours' sleep. So, in God's name, give up the 
 whole foolish sex ; for you may depend on it, that 
 in this city of ours there are ninety-nine wicked 
 ones among them to one good." 
 
 You may guess how Prasildo's heart revived 
 at these words. Truly might he be compared to 
 flowers in sunshine after rain ; he rejoiced through 
 all his being, and displayed again a cheerful coun- 
 tenance. Hastily thanking the old man, he lost no 
 time in repairing to the house of his neighbours, 
 and telling them of their safety : and you may 
 guess how the like joy was theirs. 
 
88 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 But behold a wonder! Iroldo was so struck 
 with the generosity of his neighbour's conduct 
 throughout the whole of this extraordinary affair, 
 that nothing would content his grateful though 
 ever-grieving heart, but he must fairly give up 
 Tisbina after all. Prasildo, to do him justice, re- 
 sisted the proposition as stoutly as he could ; but 
 a man's powers are ill seconded by an unwilling 
 heart ; and though the contest was long and hand- 
 some, as is customary between generous natures, 
 the husband adhered firmly to his intention. In 
 short, he abruptly quitted the city, declaring that 
 he would never again see it, and so left his wife 
 to the lover. And I must add (concluded the fair 
 lady who was telling the story to Rinaldo), that 
 although Tisbina took his departure greatly to 
 heart, and sometimes felt as if she should die at 
 the thoughts of it, yet since he persisted in stay- 
 ing away, and there appeared no chance of his ever 
 doing otherwise, she did, as in that case we should 
 all do, we at least that are young and kind, and 
 took the handsome Prasildo for second spouse. ^ 
 
 ^ '* Tisbina," says Panizzi, in a note on this passage, "very 
 wisely acted like Emilia (in Chaucer), who, when she saw she 
 could not marry Arcita, because he was killed, thought of marry- 
 ing Palemone, rather than * be a may den all hire lyf.' It is to 
 be observed, that although she regretted very much what had hap- 
 
THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 89 
 
 pened, and even fainted away, she did not, however, stand on 
 ceremonies, as the poet says in the next stanza, but yielded im- 
 mediately, and married Prasildo. This, at first, I thought to be 
 somewhat inconsistent ; but on consideration I found I was wrong. 
 Tisbina was wrong ; because, having lost Iroldo, she did not 
 know what Prasildo would do ; but so soon as the latter offered 
 to fill up the place, she nobly and magnanimously resigned her- 
 self to her fate."— ?7^ sup., vol. iii. p. 336. 
 
 It might be thought inconsistent in Tisbina, notwithstanding 
 Mr. Panizzi's pleasantry, to be so willing to take another hus- 
 band, after having poisoned herself for the first ; but she seems 
 intended by the poet to exhibit a character of impulse in contra- 
 distinction to permanency of sentiment. She cannot help shewing 
 pity for Prasildo ; she cannot help poisoning herself for her hus^ 
 band ; and she cannot help taking his friend, when she has lost 
 him. Nor must it be forgotten, that the husband was the first 
 to break the tie. We respect him more than we do her, because 
 he was capable of greater self-denial ; but if he himself preferred 
 his friend to his love, we can hardly blame her (custom apart) 
 for following the example. 
 
90 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 The conclusion of this part of the history of 
 Iroldo and Prasildo was scarcely out of the lady's 
 mouth, when a tremendous voice was heard among 
 the trees, and Rinaldo found himself confronting a 
 giant of a frightful aspect, who with a griffin on 
 each side of him was guarding a cavern that con- 
 tained the enchanted horse which had belonged 
 to the brother of Angelica. A combat ensued ; 
 and after winning the horse, and subsequently 
 losing the company of the lady, the Paladin, in 
 the course of his adventures, came upon a knight 
 who lay lamenting in a green place by a fountain. 
 The knight heeding nothing but his grief, did not 
 perceive the new comer, who for some time re- 
 mained looking at him in silence, till, desirous to 
 know the cause of his sorrow, he dismounted from 
 his horse, and courteously begged to be informed 
 of it. The stranger in his turn looked a little 
 while in silence at Rinaldo, and then told him he 
 had resolved to die, in order to be rid of a life of 
 misery. And yet, he added, it was not his own 
 lot which grieved him, so much as that of a noble 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 91 
 
 friend who would die at the same time, and who 
 had nobody to help him. 
 
 The knight, who was no other than Tisbina's 
 husband Iroldo, then briefly related the events 
 which the reader has heard, and proceeded to state 
 how he had traversed the world ever since for two 
 years, when it was his misfortune to arrive in the 
 territories of the enchantress Falerina, whose cus- 
 tom it was to detain foreigners in prison, and daily 
 give a couple of them (a lady and a cavalier) for 
 food to a serpent which kept the entrance of her 
 enchanted garden. To this serpent he himself 
 was destined to be sacrificed, when Prasildo, the 
 possessor of his wife Tisbina, hearing of his peril, 
 set out instantly from Babylon, and rode night 
 and day till he came to the abode of the enchan- 
 tress, determined that nothing should hinder him 
 from doing his utmost to save the life of a friend 
 so generous. Save it he did, and that by a gene- 
 rosity no less devoted; for having attempted in 
 vain to bribe the keeper of the prison, he suc- 
 ceeded in prevailing on the man to let him sub- 
 stitute himself for his friend ; and he was that 
 very day, perhaps that very moment, preparing for 
 the dreadful death to which he would speedily 
 be brought. 
 
 " I will not survive such a friend," concluded 
 
$2 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 Iroldo. " I know I shall contend with his warders 
 to no purpose ; but let the wretches come, if they 
 will, by thousands ; I shall fight them to the last 
 gasp. One comfort in death, one joy I shall at all 
 events experience. I shall be with Prasildo in the 
 other world. And yet when I think what sort of 
 death he must endure, even the release from my 
 own miseries afflicts me, since it will not prevent 
 him from undergoing that horror." 
 
 The Paladin shed tears to hear of a case so 
 piteous and affectionate, and in a tone of encou- 
 ragement offered his services towards the rescue of 
 his friend. Iroldo looked at him in astonishment, 
 but sighed and said, " Ah, sir, I thank you with 
 all my heart, and you are doubtless a most noble 
 cavalier, to be so fearless and good-hearted; but 
 what right have I to bring you to destruction for 
 no reason and to no purpose ? There is not a man 
 on earth but Orlando himself, or his cousin Ri- 
 naldo, who could possibly do us any good; and 
 so I beg you to accept my thanks and depart in 
 safety, and may God reward you." 
 
 " It is true," replied the Paladin, " I am not 
 Orlando ; and yet, for all that, I doubt not to be 
 able to effect what I propose. Nor do I offer my 
 assistance out of desire of glory, or of thanks, or 
 return of any kind; except indeed, that if two 
 
THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 93 
 
 such unparalleled friends could admit me to be a 
 third, I should hold myself a happy man. What! 
 you have given up the woman of your heart, and 
 deprived yourself of all joy and comfort; and your 
 friend, on the other hand, has become a prisoner 
 and devoted to death, for your sake ; and can I be 
 expected to leave two such friends in a jeopardy 
 so monstrous, and not do all in my power to save 
 them ? I would rather die first myself, and on 
 your own principle ; I mean, in order to go with 
 you into a better world." 
 
 While they were talking in this manner, a 
 great ill-looking rabble, upwards of a thousand 
 strong, made their appearance, carrying a ban- 
 ner, and bringing forth two prisoners to die. The 
 wretches were armed after their disorderly fashion ; 
 and the prisoners each tied upon a horse. One 
 of these hapless persons too surely was Prasildo ; 
 and the other turned out to be the damsel who 
 had told Rinaldo the story of the friends. Having 
 been deprived of the Paladin's assistance, her sub- 
 sequent misadventures had brought her to this ter- 
 rible pass. The moment Rinaldo beheld her, he 
 leaped on his horse, and dashed among the villains. 
 The sight of such an onset was enough for their 
 cowardly hearts. The whole posse fled before 
 him with precipitation, all except the leader, who 
 
94 THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 
 
 was a villain of gigantic strength ; and him the 
 Paladin, at one blow, clove through the middle. 
 Iroldo could not speak for joy, as he hastened to 
 release Prasildo. He was forced to give him tears 
 instead of words. But when speech at length 
 became possible, the two friends, fervently and 
 with a religious awe, declared that their deliverer 
 must have been divine and not human, so tremen- 
 dous was the death-blow he had given the ruffian, 
 and such winged and contemptuous slaughter he 
 had dealt among the fugitives. By the time he 
 returned from the pursuit, their astonishment had 
 risen to such a pitch, that they fell on their knees 
 and worshipped him for the Prophet of the Sara- 
 cens, not believing such prowess possible to hu- 
 manity, and devoutly thanking him for the mercy 
 he had shewn them in coming thus visibly from 
 heaven. Rinaldo for the moment was not a little 
 disturbed at this sally of enthusiasm ; but the sin- 
 gular good faith and simplicity of it restored him 
 to himself; and with a smile between lovingness 
 and humility he begged them to lay aside all 
 such fancies, and know him for a man like them- 
 selves. He then disclosed himself for the Rinaldo 
 of whom they had spoken, and made such an 
 impression on them with his piety, and his attri- 
 buting what had appeared a superhuman valour to 
 
 i 
 
THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 95 
 
 nothing but his belief in the Christian religion, 
 that the transported friends became converts on 
 the spot, and accompanied him thenceforth as the 
 most faithful of his knights. 
 
 The story tells us nothing further of Tisbina, though there 
 can be no doubt that Boiardo meant to give us the conclusion of 
 her share in it ; for the two knights take an active part in the 
 adventures of their new friend Rinaldo. Perhaps, however, the 
 discontinuance of the poem itself was lucky for the author, as far 
 as this episode was concerned ; for it is difficult to conceive in 
 what manner he would have wound it up to the satisfaction of the 
 reader. 
 
SEEING AND BELIEVING, 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
Argument. 
 
 A lady has two suitors, a young and an old one, the latter of 
 whom wins her against her inclinations by practising the artifice of 
 Hippomanes in his race with Atalanta. Being very jealous, he 
 locks her up in a tower ; and the youth, who continued to be her 
 lover, makes a subterraneous passage to it ; and pretending to 
 have married her sister, invites the old man to his house, and 
 introduces his own wife to him as the bride. The husband, de- 
 ceived, but still jealous, facilitates their departure out of the 
 country, and returns to his tower to find himself deserted. 
 
 This story, like that of the Saracen Friends, is told by a 
 damsel to a knight while riding in his company ; with this dif- 
 ference, that she is the heroine of it herself. She is a damsel 
 of a nature still lighter than the former ; and the reader's sym- 
 pathy with the trouble she brings on herself, and the way she 
 gets out of it, will be modified accordingly. On the other hand, 
 nobody can respect the foolish old man with his unwarrantable 
 marriage ; and the moral of Boiardo's story is still useful for these 
 " enlightened times," though conveyed with an air of levity. 
 
 In addition to the classics, the poet has been to the Norman 
 fablers for his story. The subterranean passage has been more 
 than once repeated in romance ; and the closing incident, the 
 assistance given by the husband to his wife's elopement, has been 
 imitated in the farce of Lionel and Clarissa. 
 
 1 
 
SEEING AND BELIEVING. 
 
 My father (said the damsel) is King of the Distant 
 Islands, where the treasure of the earth is col- 
 lected. Never was greater wealth known, and I 
 was heiress of it all. 
 
 But it is impossible to foresee what is most to 
 be desired for us in this world. I was a king's 
 daughter, I was rich, I was handsome, I was 
 lively ; and yet to all those advantages I owed my 
 ill-fortune. 
 
 Among other suitors for my hand there came 
 two on the same day, one of whom was a youth 
 named Ordauro, handsome from head to foot ; the 
 other an old man of seventy, whose name was 
 Folderico. Both were rich and of noble birth ; 
 but the greybeard was counted extremely wise, 
 and of a foresight more than human. As I did 
 not feel in want of his foresight, the youth was 
 far more to my taste ; and accordingly I listened 
 to him with perfect good-will, and gave the wise 
 man no sort of encouragement. 
 
100 SEEING AND BELIEVING. 
 
 I was not at liberty, however, to determine the 
 matter; my father had a voice in it; so, fearing 
 what he wouki advise, I thought to secure a good 
 result by cunning and management. It is an old 
 observation, that the craft of a woman exceeds all 
 other craft. Indeed, it is Solomon*s own saying. 
 But now-a-days people laugh at it; and I found 
 to my cost that the laugh is just. I requested my 
 father to proclaim, first, that nobody should have 
 me in marriage who did not surpass me in swift- 
 ness (for I was a damsel of a mighty agility) ; and 
 secondly, that he who did surpass me should be 
 my husband. He consented, and I thought my 
 happiness secure. You must know, I have run 
 down a bird, and caught it with my own hand. 
 
 Well, both my suitors came to the race ; the 
 youth on a large war-horse, trapped with gold, 
 which curvetted in a prodigious manner, and seemed 
 impatient for a gallop ; the old man on a mule, 
 carrying a great bag at his side, and looking already 
 tired out. They dismounted on the place chosen 
 for the trial, which was a meadow. It was en- 
 circled by a world of spectators ; and the grey- 
 beard and myself (for his age gave him the first 
 chance) only waited for the sound of the trumpet 
 to set ofi". 
 
 I held my competitor in such contempt, that I 
 
SEEING AND BELIEVING. 101 
 
 let him get the start of me, on purpose to make 
 him ridiculous ; but I was not prepared for his 
 pulling a golden apple out of his bag, and throw- 
 ing it as far as he could in a direction different 
 from that of the goah The sight of a curiosity 
 so tempting was too much for my prudence ; and 
 it rolled away so roundly, and to such a distance, 
 that I lost more time in reaching it than I looked 
 for. Before I overtook the old gentleman, he 
 threw another apple, and this again led me a chase 
 after it. In short, I blush to say, that, resolved 
 as I was to be tempted no further, seeing that the 
 end of our course was now at hand, and my mar- 
 riage with an old man instead of a young man w^as 
 out of the question, he seduced me to give chase 
 to a third apple, and fairly reached the goal before 
 me. I wept for rage and disgust, aud meditated 
 every species of unconjugal treatment of the old 
 fox. What right had he to marry such a child as 
 I was ? I asked myself the question at the time ; 
 I asked it a thousand times afterwards ; and I 
 must confess, that the more I have tormented him, 
 the more the retaliation delights me. 
 
 However, it was of no use at the moment. 
 The old wretch bore me off to his domains with 
 an ostentatious triumph ; and then, his jealousy 
 misgiving him, he shut me up in a castle on a 
 
102 SEEING AND BELIEVING. 
 
 rock, where he endeavoured from that day forth 
 to keep me from the sight of hving being. You 
 may judge what sort of castle it was by its name — 
 Altamura (lofty wall). It overlooked a desert on 
 three sides, and the sea on the fourth ; and a man 
 might as well have flown as endeavoured to scale 
 it. There was but one path up to the entrance, 
 very steep and difiicult ; and when you were there, 
 you must have pierced outwork after outwork, 
 and picked the lock of gate after gate. So there 
 sat I in this delicious retreat, hopeless, and burst- 
 ing with rage. I called upon death day and night, 
 as my only refuge. I had no comfort but in seeing 
 my keeper mad with jealousy, even in that deso- 
 late spot. I think he was jealous of the very flies. 
 My handsome youth, Ordauro, however, had 
 not forgotten me ; no, nor even given me up. 
 Luckily he was not only very clever, but rich 
 besides ; without which, to be sure, his brains 
 would not have availed him a pin. What does he 
 do, therefore, but take a house in the neighbour- 
 hood on the sea-shore ; and while my tormentor, 
 in alarm and horror, watches every movement, and 
 thinks him coming if he sees a cloud or a bird, 
 Ordauro sets people secretly to work night and 
 day, and makes a subterraneous passage up to the 
 very tower ! 
 
SEEING AND BELIEVING. 103 
 
 Guess what I felt when I saw hhn enter ! As- 
 siu'edly I did not shew him the face which I 
 shewed Folderico. I die with joy this moment 
 to think of my delight. As soon as we could dis- 
 course of any thing but our meeting, Ordauro 
 concerted measures for my escape ; and the great- 
 est difficulty being surmounted by the subterra- 
 neous passage, they at last succeeded. But our 
 enemy gave us a frightful degree of trouble. 
 
 There was no end of the old man's pryings, 
 peepings, and precautions. He left me as little 
 as possible by myself; and he had all the coast 
 thereabouts at his command, together with the 
 few boats that ever touched it. 
 
 Ordauro, however, did a thing at once the most 
 bold and the most ingenious. He gave out that 
 he was married ; and inviting my husband to din- 
 ner, who had heard the news with transport, pre- 
 sented me, to his astonished eyes, for the bride. 
 The old man looked as if he would have died for 
 rage and misery. 
 
 " Horrible villain !" cried he, " what is this ?" 
 
 Ordauro professed astonishment in his turn. 
 
 " What!" asked he; " do you not know that 
 the princess, your lady's sister, is wonderfully like 
 her, and that she has done me the honour of be- 
 coming my wife ? I invited you in order to do 
 
104 SEEING AND BELIEVING. 
 
 honour to yourself, and so bring the good families 
 together." 
 
 " Detestable falsehood !" cried Folderico. " Do 
 you think I'm blind, or a' born idiot? But I'll 
 see to this business directly ; and terrible shall be 
 my revenge." 
 
 So saying, he flung out, and hastened, as fast 
 as age would let him, to the room in the tower, 
 where he expected to find me not. But there he 
 did find me : — there was I, sitting as if nothing 
 had happened, with my hand on my cheek, and 
 full of my old melancholy. 
 
 " God preserve me !" exclaimed he ; " this is 
 astonishing indeed! Never could I have dreamt 
 that one sister could be so like another ! But is it 
 so, or is it not ? I have terrible suspicions. It is 
 impossible to believe it. Tell me truly," he con- 
 tinued ; " answer me on the faith of a daring 
 woman, and you shall get no hurt by it. Has any 
 one opened the portals for you to-day ? Who was 
 it ? How did you get out ? Tell me the truth, 
 and you shall not suffer for it ; but deceive me, 
 and there is no punishment that you may not look 
 for." 
 
 It is needless to say how I vowed and protested 
 that I had never stirred ; that it was quite impos- 
 sible ; that I could not have done it if I would, 
 
SEEING AND BELIEVING. 105 
 
 Sec. I took all the saints to witness to my vera- 
 city, and swore I had never seen the outside of 
 his tremendous castle. 
 
 The monster had nothing to say to this ; but I 
 saw what he meant to do — I saw that he would 
 return instantly to the house of Ordauro, and as- 
 certain if the bride was there. Accordingly, the 
 moment he turned the key on me, I flew down the 
 subterraneous passage, tossed on my new clothes 
 like lightning, and sat in my lover's house as be- 
 fore, waiting the arrival of the panting old gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " Well," exclaimed he, as soon as he set eyes 
 upon me, " never in all my life — no — I must allow 
 it to be impossible — never can my wife at home 
 be the lady sitting here." 
 
 From that day forth the old man, whenever he 
 saw me in Ordauro's house, treated me as if I 
 were indeed his sister-in-law, though he never had 
 the heart to bring the two wdves together, for fear 
 of old recollections. Nevertheless, this state of 
 things was still very perilous; and my new hus- 
 band and myself lost no time in considering how 
 we should put an end to it by leaving the country, 
 Ordauro resorted, as before, to a bold expedient. 
 He told Folderico that the air of the sea-coast dis- 
 agreed with him ; and the old man, whose delight 
 f2 
 
106 SEEING AND BELIEVING. 
 
 at getting rid of his neighbour helped to blind 
 him to the deceit, not only expedited the move- 
 ment, but offered to see him part of the way on 
 his journey ! 
 
 The oiFer was accepted. Six miles he rode 
 forth with us, the stupid old man ; and then, tak- 
 ing his leave, to return home, we pushed our 
 horses like lightning, and so left him to tear his 
 hair and his old beard with cries and curses, as 
 soon as he opened the door of his tower. 
 
ARIOSTO: 
 
 Critical /poticc of ^i& %ifz ant) (Benfusf, 
 
Critical Notice 
 
 AEIOSTO'S LIFE AND GENIUS.' 
 
 The congenial spirits of Pulci and Boiardo may 
 be said to have attained to their height in the 
 person of Ariosto, upon the principle of a trans- 
 migration of souls, or after the fashion of that 
 
 ^ The materials for this notice have been chiefly collected 
 from the poet's own writings (rich in autobiographical intimation) 
 and from his latest editor Panizzi. I was unable to see this writer's 
 principal authority, BarufFaldi, till I corrected the proofs and the 
 press was waiting ; otherwise I might have added two or three 
 more particulars, not, however, of any great consequence. Panizzi 
 is, as usual, copious and to the purpose ; and has, for the first time 
 I believe, critically proved the regularity and connectedness of 
 Ariosto's plots, as well as the hollowness of the pretensions of the 
 house of Este to be considered patrons of literature. It is only 
 a pity that his Life of Ariosto is not better arranged. 1 have, 
 of course, drawn my own conclusions respecting particulars, and 
 sometimes have thought I had reason to differ with those who have 
 preceded me ; but not, I hope, with a presumption unbecoming a 
 foreigner. 
 
110 ARIOSTO. 
 
 hero in romance, who was heir to the bodily 
 strengths of all whom he conquered. 
 
 Lodovico Giovanni Ariosto was born on the 
 8th of September, 1474, in the fortress at Reggio, 
 in Lombardy, and was the son of Niccolo Ariosto, 
 captain of that citadel (as Boiardo had been), 
 and Daria Maleguzzi, whose family still exists. 
 The race was transplanted from Bologna in the 
 century previous, when Obizzo the Third of Este, 
 Marquess of Ferrara, married a lady belonging to 
 it, whose Christian name was Lippa. Niccolo 
 Ariosto, besides holding the same office as Boiardo 
 had done, at Modena as well as at Reggio, was 
 master of the household to his two successive 
 patrons, the Dukes Borso and Ercole. He was 
 also employed, like him, in diplomacy; and was 
 made a count by the Emperor Frederick the 
 Third, though not, it seems, with remainder to 
 his heirs. 
 
 Lodovico was the eldest of ten children, five 
 sons and five daughters. During his boyhood, 
 theatrical entertainments were in great vogue at 
 court, as we have seen in the life of Boiardo ; 
 and at the age of twelve, a year after the decease 
 of that poet (who must have been well known to 
 him, and probably encouraged his attempts), his 
 successor is understood to have dramatised, after 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. Ill 
 
 liis infant fashion, the story of Pyramus and Thisbe, 
 and to have got his brothers and sisters to per- 
 form it. Panizzi doubts the possibility of these 
 precocious private theatricals ; but considering 
 whsLt is called "writing" on the part of children, 
 and that only one other performer was required 
 in the piece, or at best a third for the lion (which 
 some little brother might have " roared like any 
 sucking-dove "), I cannot see good reason for dis- 
 believing the story. Pope was not twelve years 
 old when he turned the siege of Troy into a play, 
 and got his school-fellows to perform it, the part 
 of Ajax being given to the gardener. Man is a 
 theatrical animal {^coov fj.ifi7]TiK6v), and the instinct 
 is developed at a very early period, as almost 
 every family can witness that has taken its children 
 to the " playhouse." 
 
 At fifteen the young poet, like so many others 
 of his class, was consigned to the study of the 
 law, and took a great dislike to it. The extreme 
 mobility of his nature, and the wish to please his 
 father, appear to have made him enter on it will- 
 ingly enough in the first instance ; ^ but as soon 
 
 ' See in his Latin poems the lines beginning, 
 
 " Heec me verbosas suasit perdiscere leges/' 
 
 De Diver ais Amorilus. 
 
112 ARIOSTO. 
 
 as he betrayed symptoms of disgust, Niccolo, 
 whose affairs were in a bad way, drove him back 
 to it with a vehemence which must have made 
 bad worseJ At the expiration of five years he 
 was allowed to give it up. 
 
 There is reason to believe that Ariosto was 
 " theatricalising" during no little portion of this 
 time ; for, in his nineteenth year, he is understood 
 to have been taken by Duke Ercole to Pavia 
 and to Milan, either as a writer or performer of 
 comedies, probably both, since the courtiers and 
 ducal family themselves occasionally appeared on 
 the stage ; and one of the poet's brothers mentions 
 his having frequently seen him dressed in cha- 
 racter.2 
 
 On being delivered from the study of the law, 
 the young poet appears to have led a cheerful and 
 unrestrained life for the next four or five years. 
 
 ' " Mio padre mi caccib con spiedi e lancie,'* &c. 
 
 Satira vi. 
 
 There is some appearance of contradiction in this passage and 
 the one referred to in the preceding note ; but I think the con- 
 clusion in the text the probable one, and that he was not com- 
 pelled to study the law in the first instance. He speaks more than 
 once of his father's memory with great tenderness, particularly 
 in the lines on his death, entitled De Nicolao Areosto. 
 
 2 His brother Gabriel expressly mentions it in his prologue to 
 the Scholusiica. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 113 
 
 He wrote, or began to write, the comedy of the 
 Cassaria; probably meditated some poem in the 
 style of Boiardo, then in the height of his fame ; 
 and he cultivated the Latin language, and in- 
 tended to learn Greek, but delayed, and unfor- 
 tunately missed it in consequence of losing his 
 tutor. Some of his happiest days were passed at 
 a villa, still possessed by the Maleguzzi family, 
 called La Mauriziana, two miles from Reggio. 
 Twenty-five years afterwards he called to mind, 
 with sighs, the pleasant spots there which used 
 to invite him to write verses ; the garden, the little 
 river, the mill, the trees by the water-side, and all 
 the other shady places in which he enjoyed him- 
 self during that sweet season of his life '^ betwixt 
 April and May."^ To complete his happiness, he 
 had a friend and cousin, Pandolfo Ariosto, who 
 loved every thing that he loved, and for whom 
 he augured a brilliant reputation. 
 
 But a dismal cloud was approaching. In his 
 twenty-first year he lost his father, and found a 
 large family left on his hands in narrow cir- 
 cumstances. The charge was at first so heavy, 
 especially when aggravated by the death of Pan- 
 
 ^ " Gia mi fur dolci inviti," &c. 
 
 Satira v. 
 
114 ARIOSTO. 
 
 dolfo, that he tells us he wished to die. He took 
 to it manfully, however, in spite of these fits of 
 gloom ; and he lived to see his admirable efforts 
 rewarded ; his brothers enabled to seek their for- 
 tunes, and his sisters properly taken care of. Two 
 of them, it seems, had become nuns. A third 
 married ; and a fourth remained long in his house. 
 It is not known what became of the fifth. 
 
 In these family-matters the anxious son and 
 brother was occupied for three or four years, 
 not, however, without recreating himself with his 
 verses, Latin and Italian, and recording his admi- 
 ration of a number of goddesses of his youth. 
 He mentions, in particular, one of the name of 
 Lydia, who kept him often from " his dear mother 
 and household," and who is probably represented 
 by the princess of the same name in the Orlando, 
 punished in the smoke of Tartarus for being a 
 jilt and coquette. ^ His friend Bembo, afterwards 
 the celebrated cardinal, recommended him to be 
 blind to such little immaterial points as ladies' in- 
 fidelities. But he is- shocked at the advice. He 
 was far more of Othello's opinion than Congreve's 
 in such matters ; and declared, that he would not 
 
 ' See, in the present volume, the beginning of Astol/o's Jour- 
 ney to the Moon. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 115 
 
 have shared his mistress's good-will with Jupiter 
 himselfJ 
 
 Towards the year 1504, the poet entered the 
 service of the unworthy prince, Cardinal Ippo- 
 lito of Este, brother of the new Duke of Fer- 
 rara, Alfonso the First. His eminence, who had 
 been made a prince of the church at thirteen 
 years of age by the infamous Alexander the 
 Sixth (Borgia), was at this period little more 
 than one-and-twenty ; but he took an active part 
 in the duke's affairs, both civil and military, and 
 is said to have made himself conspicuous in his 
 father's lifetime for his vices and brutality. He 
 is charged with having ordered a papal messen- 
 ger to be severely beaten for bringing him some 
 unpleasant despatches : which so exasperated his 
 unfortunate parent, that he was exiled to Mantua ; 
 and the marquess of that city, his brother-in-law, 
 was obliged to come to Ferrara to obtain his par- 
 don. But this was a trifle compared with what 
 he is accused of having done to one of his brothers. 
 A female of their acquaintance, in answer to a 
 
 1 " Me potius fugiat, nullis mollita querelis, 
 
 Duin simulet reliquos Lydia dura procos. 
 Parte carere omni malo, quam admittere quemquam 
 In partem. Cupiat Juppiter ipse, negem." 
 
 Ad Petrum Bembum. 
 
116 ARIOSTO. 
 
 speech made her by the reverend gallant, had 
 been so unlucky as to say that she preferred his 
 brother Giulio's eyes to his eminence's whole 
 body : upon which the monstrous villain hired 
 two ruffians to put out his brother's eyes ; some 
 say, was present at the attempt. Attempt only 
 it fortunately turned out to be, at least in part ; 
 the opinion being, that the sight of one of the 
 eyes was preserved.^ 
 
 Party- spirit has so much to do with stories of 
 princes, and princes are so little in a condition to 
 notice them, that, on the principle of not condemn- 
 ing a man till he has been heard in his defence, 
 an honest biographer would be loath to credit 
 these horrors of Cardinal Ippolito, did not the 
 violent nature of the times, and the general cha- 
 racter of the man, even with his defenders, incline 
 him to do so. His being a soldier rather than a 
 churchman was a fault of the age, perhaps a credit 
 
 ^ Panizzi, on the authority of Guicciardini and others. Giulio 
 and another brother (Ferrante) afterwards conspired against Al- 
 fonso and Ippolito, and, on the failure of their enterprise, were 
 sentenced to be imprisoned for life. Ferrante died in confine- 
 ment at the expiration of thirty -four years ; Giulio, at the end of 
 fifty-three, was pardoned. He came out of prison on horseback, 
 dressed according to the fashion of the time when he was arrested, 
 and " greatly excited the curiosity of the people." — Idem, vol. i. 
 p xii. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 117 
 
 to the man, for he appears to have had abilities 
 for war, and it was no crime of his if he was 
 put into the church when a boy. But his con- 
 duct to Ariosto shewed him coarse and selfish ; 
 and those who say all they can for him admit 
 that he was proud and revengeful, and that no- 
 body regretted him when he died. He is said 
 to have had a taste for mathematics, as his brother 
 had for mechanics. The truth seems to be, that 
 he and the duke, who lived in troubled times, and 
 had to exert all their strength to hinder Ferrara 
 from becoming a prey to the court of Rome, were 
 clever, harsh men, of no grace or elevation of 
 character, and with no taste but for war ; and if 
 it had not been for their connexion with Ariosto, 
 nobody would have heard of them, except while 
 perusing the annals of the time. Ippolito might 
 have been, and probably was, the ruffian which 
 the anecdote of his brother Giulio represents 
 him ; but the world would have heard little of 
 the villany, had he not treated a poet with con- 
 tempt. 
 
 The admirers of our author may wonder how 
 he could become the servant of such a man, much 
 more how he could praise him as he did in the 
 great w^ork which he was soon to begin writing. 
 But Ariosto was the son of a man who had passed 
 
118 ARIOSTO. 
 
 his life in the service of the family ; he had pro- 
 bably been taught a loyal blindness to its defects ; 
 gratuitous panegyrics of princes had been the 
 fashion of men of letters since the time of Au- 
 gustus; and the poet wanted help for his rela- 
 tives, and was of a nature to take the least show 
 of favour for a virtue, till he had learnt, as he 
 unfortunately did, to be disappointed in the sub- 
 stance. It is not known what his appointment 
 was under the cardinal. Probably he was a kind 
 of gentleman of all work ; an officer in his guards, 
 a companion to amuse, and a confidential agent for 
 the transaction of business. The employment in 
 which he is chiefly seen is that of an envoy, but 
 he is said also to have been in the field of battle ; 
 and he intimates in his Satires, that household 
 attentions were expected of him which he was 
 not quick to offer, such as pulling off his emi- 
 nence's boots, and putting on his spurs.^ It is 
 certain that he was employed in very delicate 
 negotiations, sometimes to the risk of his life from 
 the perils of roads and torrents. Ippolito, who 
 was a man of no delicacy, probably made use of 
 
 1 " Che debbo fare io qui ? 
 
 Agli usatti, agli spron (perch' io son grande) 
 Non mi posso adattar, per porne o trarne." 
 
 Saiira ii. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 119 
 
 him on every occasion that required address, the 
 smallest as well as greatest, — an interview with a 
 pope one day, and a despatch to a dog-fancier 
 the next. 
 
 His great poem, however, proceeded. It was 
 probably begun before he entered the cardinal's 
 service ; certainly was in progress during the 
 early part of his engagement. This appears from 
 a letter written to Ippolito by his sister the Mar- 
 chioness of Mantua, to whom he had sent Ariosto 
 at the beginning of the year 1 509 to congratulate 
 her on the birth of a child. She gives her brother 
 special thanks for sending his message to her by 
 " Messer Ludovico Ariosto," who had made her, 
 she says, pass two delightful days, with giving 
 her an account of the poem he was writing.^ Isa- 
 bella was the name of this princess; and the 
 
 ' '* Per la lettera de la S. V. Reverendiss. et a bocha da Ms. 
 Ludovico Ariosto ho inteso quanta leticia ha conceputa del felice 
 parto mio : il che mi e stato summamente grato, cussi lo rin- 
 grazio de la visitazione, et particolarmente di havermi mandate 
 il dicto Ms. Ludovico, per che ultra che mi sia stato acetto, re- 
 presentando la persona de la S. V. Reverendiss. lui anche per 
 conto suo mi ha addutta gran satisfazione, havendomi cum la 
 narratione de 1' opera che compone facto passar questi due giorni 
 non solum senza fastidio, ma cum placer grandissimo." — Tira- 
 boschi, Storia della Poesia Italiana, Matthias' edition, vol. iii. 
 p. 197. 
 
120 ARIOSTO. 
 
 grateful poet did not forget to embalm it in his 
 verse J 
 
 Ariosto's latest biographer, Panizzi, thinks he 
 never served under any other leader than the car- 
 dinal ; but I cannot help being of opinion with a 
 former one, whom he quotes, that he once took 
 arms under a captain of the name of Pio, probably 
 a kinsman of his friend Alberto Pio, to whom 
 he addresses a Latin poem. It was probably on 
 occasion of some early disgust with the cardinal ; 
 but I am at a loss to discover at what period of 
 time. Perhaps, indeed, he had the cardinal's per- 
 mission, both to quit his service, and return to 
 it. Possibly he was not to quit it at all, except 
 according to events ; but merely had leave given 
 him to join a party in arms, who were furthering 
 Ippolito's own objects. Italy was full of captains 
 in arms and conflicting interests. The poet might 
 even, at some period of his life, have headed a 
 troop under another cardinal, his friend Giovanni 
 de' Medici, afterwards Leo the Tenth. He had 
 certainly been with him in various parts of Italy ; 
 and might have taken part in some of his blood- 
 less, if not his most military, equitations. 
 
 Be this as it may, it is understood that Ariosto 
 
 ^ Orlando Furioso, canto xxix. st. 29. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 121 
 
 was present at the repulse given to the Venetians 
 by Ippolito, when they came up the river Po against 
 Ferrara towards the close of the year 1509; though 
 he was away from the scene of action at his sub- 
 sequent capture of their flotilla, the poet having 
 been despatched between the two events to Pope 
 Julius the Second on the delicate business of at 
 once appeasing his anger with the duke for resist- 
 ing his allies, and requesting his help to a feu- 
 datary of the church. Julius was in one of his 
 towering passions at first, but gave way before the 
 address of the envoy, and did what he desired. 
 But Ariosto's success in this mission was nearly 
 being the death of him in another ; for Alfonso 
 having accompanied the French the year follow- 
 ing in their attack on Vicenza, w^here they com- 
 mitted cruelties of the same horrible kind as have 
 shocked Europe within a few months past,^ the 
 poet's tongue, it was thought, might be equally 
 efficacious a second time ; but Julius, worn out 
 of patience with his too independent vassal, who 
 maintained an alliance with the French when the 
 pope had ceased to desire it, was to be appeased no 
 longer. He excommunicated Alfonso, and threat- 
 ened to pitch his envoy into the Tiber; so that 
 
 ' See the horrible account of the suffocated Vicentme Grottoes, 
 in Sismondi, Histoire des Rtpubliques Italiemies, &c. vol. iv. p. 48. 
 VOL. II. G 
 
122 ARIOSTO. 
 
 the poet was fain to run for it, as the duke himself 
 was afterwards, when he visited Rome to be ab- 
 solved. Would Julius have thus treated Ariosto, 
 could he have foreseen his renown ? Probably he 
 would. The greater the opposition to the will, the 
 greater the will itself. To chuck an accomplished 
 envoy into the river would have been much ; but 
 to chuck the immortal poet there, laurels and all, 
 in the teeth of the amazement of posterity, would 
 have been a temptation irresistible. 
 
 It was on this occasion that Ariosto, probably 
 from inability to choose his times or modes of re- 
 turning home, contracted a cough, which is under- 
 stood to have shortened his existence ; so that 
 Julius may have killed him after all. But the 
 pope had a worse enemy in his own bosom — his 
 violence — which killed himself in a much shorter 
 period. He died in little more than two years 
 afterwards ; and the poet's prospects were all now 
 of a very different sort — at least he thought so; 
 for in March 1513, his friend Giovanni de' Medici 
 succeeded to the papacy, under the title of Leo the 
 Tenth. 
 
 Ariosto hastened to Rome, among a shoal of 
 visitants, to congratulate the new pope, perhaps 
 not without a commission from Alfonso to see 
 what he could do for his native country, on which 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 123 
 
 the rival Medici family never ceased to have de- 
 signs. The poet was full of hope, for he had 
 known Leo under various fortunes; had been 
 styled by him not only a friend, but a brother ; 
 and promised all sorts of participations of his pro- 
 sperit}^ Not one of them came. The visitor was 
 cordially received. Leo stooped from his throne, 
 squeezed his hand, and kissed him on both his 
 cheeks ; but " at night," says Ariosto, " I went 
 all the way to the Sheep to get my supper, wet 
 through." All that Leo gave him was a "bull," 
 probably the one securing to him the profits of his 
 Orlando; and the poet's friend Bibbiena — wit, 
 cardinal, and kinsman of Berni — facilitated the 
 bull, but the receiver discharged the fees. He did 
 not get one penny by promise, pope, or friend.^ 
 He complains a little, but all in good humour; 
 and good-naturedly asks what he was to expect, 
 
 * ** Piegossi a me dalla beata sede ; 
 La mano e poi le gote ambe mi prese, 
 E il santo bacio in amendue mi diede. 
 
 Di mezza quella bolla anco cortese 
 Mi fu, della quale ora il mio Bibbiena 
 Espedito m' ha il resto alle mie spese. 
 
 Indi col seno e con la falda plena 
 Di speme, ma di pioggia molle e bnitto, 
 La notte andai sin al Montone a cena." Sat. iv. 
 
124 ARIOSTO. 
 
 when so many hungry kinsmen and partisans were 
 to be served first. Well and wisely asked too, 
 and with a superiority to his fortunes which Leo 
 and Bibbiena might have envied. 
 
 It is thought probable, however, that if the 
 poet had been less a friend to the house of Este, 
 Leo would have kept his word with him, for their 
 intimacy had undoubtedly been of the most cor- 
 dial description. But it is supposed that Leo was 
 afraid he should have a Ferrarese envoy constantly 
 about him, had he detained Ariosto in Rome. 
 The poet, however, it is admitted, was not a good 
 hunter of preferment. He could not play the as- 
 senter, and bow and importune : and sovereigns, 
 however fx'iendly they may have been before their 
 elevation, go the way of most princely flesh when 
 they have attained it. They like to take out a 
 man's gratitude beforehand, perhaps because they 
 feel little security in it afterwards. 
 
 The elevation to the papacy of the cheerful 
 and indulgent son of Lorenzo de' Medici, after the 
 troublous reign of Julius, was hailed with delight 
 by all Christendom, and nowhere more so than in 
 the pope's native place, Florence. Ariosto went 
 there to see the spectacles ; and there, in the midst 
 of them, he found himself robbed of his heart by 
 the lady whom he afterwards married. Her name 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 125 
 
 was Alessandra Benucci. She was the widow of 
 one of the Strozzi family, whom he had known in 
 Ferrara, and he had long admired her. The poet, 
 who, like Petrarch and Boccaccio, has recorded 
 the day on which he fell in love, which was that 
 of St. John the Baptist (the showy saint-days of 
 the south offer special temptations to that effect), 
 dwells with minute fondness on the particulars of 
 the lady's appearance. Her dress was black silk, 
 embroidered with two grape-bearing vines inter- 
 twisted ; and " between her serene forehead and 
 the path that went dividing in two her rich and 
 golden tresses," was a sprig of laurel in bud. Her 
 observer, probably her welcome if not yet ac- 
 cepted lover, beheld something very significant in 
 this attire ; and a mysterious poem, in which he 
 records a device of a black pen feathered with 
 gold, which he wore embroidered on a gown of 
 his own, has been supposed to allude to it. As 
 every body is tempted to make his guess on such 
 occasions, I take the pen to have been the black- 
 haired poet himself, and the golden feather the 
 tresses of the lady. Beautiful as he describes her, 
 with a face full of sweetness, and manners noble 
 and engaging, he speaks most of the charms of her 
 golden locks. The black gown could hardly have 
 implied her widowhood : the allusion would not 
 
126 ARIOSTO. 
 
 have been delicate. The vine belongs to dramatic 
 poets, among whom the lover was at that time to 
 be classed, the Orlando not having appeared. Its 
 duplification intimated another self; and the crown- 
 ing laurel was the success that awaited the heroic 
 poet and the conqueror of the lady's heart. ^ 
 
 The marriage was never acknowledged. The 
 husband was in the receipt of profits arising from 
 church-offices, which put him into the condition of 
 the fellow of a college with us, who cannot marry 
 so long as he retains his fellowship : but it is 
 proved to have taken place, though the date of it 
 is uncertain. Ariosto, in a satire written three or 
 four years after his falling in love, says he never 
 intends either to marry or to take orders ; because, 
 if he takes orders, he cannot marry ; and if he 
 marries, he cannot take orders — that is to say, 
 must give up his semi-priestly emoluments. This 
 is one of the falsehoods which the Roman Catholic 
 religion thinks itself warranted in tempting honest 
 men to fall into ; thus perplexing their faith as 
 to the very roots of all faith, and tending to 
 maintain a sensual hypocrisy, which can do no 
 good to the strongest minds, and must terribly in- 
 jure the weak. 
 
 ^ See canzone the first, " Non so s' io potro," &c. ; and the 
 capitolo beginning " Delia mia negra penna in fregio d' oro." 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 127 
 
 Ariosto's love for this lady I take to have been 
 one of the causes of dissatisfaction between him 
 and the cardinal. " Fortunately for the poet," as 
 Panizzi observes, Ippolito was not always in Fer- 
 rara. He travelled in Italy, and he had an arch- 
 bishopric in Hungary, the tenure of which com- 
 pelled occasional residence. His company was not 
 desired in Rome, so that he was seldom there. 
 Ariosto, however, was an amusing companion ; and 
 the cardinal seems not to have liked to go any- 
 where without him. In the year 1515 he was 
 attended by the poet part of the way on a journey 
 to Rome and Urbino ; but Ariosto fell ill, and had 
 leave to return. He confesses that his illness was 
 owing to an anxiety of love ; and he even makes 
 an appeal to the cardinal's experience of such feel- 
 ings ; so that it might seem he was not afraid of 
 Ippolito's displeasure in that direction. But the 
 weakness which selfish people excuse in them- 
 selves becomes a "very different thing" (as they 
 phrase it) in another. The appeal to the cardinal's 
 experience might only have exasperated him, in its 
 assumption of the identity of the case. However, 
 the poet was, at all events, left this time to the 
 indulgence of his love and his poetry ; and in the 
 course of the ensuing year, a copy of the first 
 edition of the Orlando Furioso, in forty cantos, 
 
128 ARIOSTO. 
 
 was put into the hands of the illustrious person to 
 whom it was dedicated. 
 
 The words in which the cardinal was pleased to 
 express himself on this occasion have become me- 
 morable. " Where the devil, Master Lodovick," 
 said the reverend personage, " have you picked up 
 such a parcel of trumpery ?" The original term is 
 much stronger, aggravating the insult with inde- 
 cency. There is no equivalent for it in English ; 
 and I shall not repeat it in Italian. " It is as low 
 and indecent," says Panizzi, " as any in the lan- 
 guage." Suffice it to say that, although the age 
 was not scrupulous in such matters, it was one of 
 the last words befitting the lips of the reverend 
 Catholic ; and that, when Ippolito of Este (as 
 Ginguene observes) made that speech to the great 
 poet, " he uttered — prince, cardinal, and mathe- 
 matician as he was — an impertinence."^ 
 
 Was the cardinal put out of temper by a de- 
 vice which appeared in this book ? On the leaf 
 succeeding the title-page was the privilege for its 
 publication, granted by Leo in terms of the most 
 flattering personal recognition. ^ So far so good ; 
 
 ^ Histoire Liiteraire, &c. vol. iv. p. 335. 
 
 2 " Singularis tua et pervetus erga nos familiamque nostrum 
 observantia, egregiaque bonarum artium et litterarum doctrina, 
 atque in studiis mitioribus, prsesertimque poetices elegans et pree- 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 129 
 
 unless the unpoetical Este patron was not pleased 
 to see such interest taken in the book by the 
 tasteful Medici patron. But on the back of this 
 leaf was a device of a hive, with the bees burnt 
 out of it for their honey, and the motto, " Evil for 
 good" {Pro bono malum). Most biographers are 
 of opinion that this device was aimed at the cardi- 
 nal's ill return for all the sweet words lavished on 
 him and his house. If so, and supposing Ariosto 
 to have presented the dedication- copy in person, it 
 would have been curious to see the faces of the 
 two men while his Eminence was looking at it. 
 Some will think that the goodnatured poet could 
 hardly have taken such an occasion of displaying 
 
 clarum ingenium, jure prope suo a nobis exposcere videntur, ut 
 quae tibi usui futui'se sint, justa prsesertim et honesta petenti, ea 
 tibi liberaliter et gratiose concedamus. Quamobrem," &c, " On 
 the same page," says Panizzi, *' are mentioned the privileges 
 granted by the king of France, by the republic of Venice, and 
 other potentates ;" so that authors, in those days, appear to have 
 been thought worthy of profiting by their labours, wherever they 
 contributed to the enjoyment of mankind. 
 
 Leo's privilege is the one that so long underwent the singular 
 obloquy of being a bull of excommunication against all who ob- 
 jected to the poem ! a misconception on the part of some ignorant 
 man, or misrepresentation by some malignant one, which affords a 
 remarkable warning against taking things on trust from one writer 
 after another. Even Bayle (see the article ** Leo X." in his Dic- 
 tionary) suffered his inclinations to blind his vigilance. 
 
 g2 
 
130 ARIOSTO. 
 
 his resentment. But the device did not express at 
 whom it was aimed; the cardinal need not have 
 applied it to himself if he did not choose, especially 
 as the book was full of his praises ; and goodna- 
 tured people will not always miss an opportunity 
 of covertly inflicting a sting. The device, at all 
 events, shewed that the honey -maker had got 
 worse than nothing by his honey ; and the house 
 of Este could not say they had done any thing to 
 contradict it. 
 
 I think it probable that neither the poet's de- 
 vice nor the cardinal's speech were forgotten, when, 
 in the course of the next year, the parties came to 
 a rupture in consequence of the servant's refusing 
 to attend his master into Hungary. Ariosto ex- 
 cused himself on account of the state of his health 
 and of his family. He said that a cold climate did 
 not agree with him ; that his chest was affected, 
 and could not bear even the stoves of Hungary ; 
 and that he could not, in common decency and 
 humanity, leave his mother in her old age, espe- 
 cially as all the rest of the family were away but 
 his youngest sister, whose interests he had also to 
 take care of. But Tppolito was not to be appeased. 
 The public have seen, in a late female biography, 
 a deplorable instance of the unfeelingness with 
 which even a princess with a reputation for religion 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 131 
 
 could treat the declining health and unwilling re- 
 tirement of a poor slave in her service, fifty times 
 her superior in every thing but servility. Greater 
 delicacy was not to be expected of the mihtary 
 priest. The nobler the servant, the greater the 
 desire to trample upon him and keep him at a 
 disadvantage. It is a grudge w^hich rank owes 
 to genius, and which it can only wave when its 
 possessor is himself " one of God Almighty's gen- 
 tlemen." I do not mean in point of genius, which 
 is by no means the highest thing in the world, 
 whatever its owners may think of it ; but in point 
 of the highest of all things, which is nobleness of 
 heart. I confess I think Ariosto was wrong in ex- 
 pecting what he did of a man he must have known 
 so well, and in complaining so much of courts, 
 however good-humouredly. A prince occupies the 
 station he does, to avert the perils of disputed suc- 
 cessions, and not to be what his birth cannot make 
 him — if nature has not supplied the materials. 
 Besides, the cardinal, in his quality of a mechani- 
 cal-minded man with no taste, might with reason 
 have complained of his servant's attending to poetry 
 when it was " not in his bond ;" when it diverted 
 him from the only attentions which his employer 
 understood or desired. Ippolito candidly confessed, 
 as Ariosto himself tells us, that he not only did 
 
132 ARIOSTO. 
 
 not care for poetry, but never gave his attendant 
 one stiver in patronage of it, or for any thing 
 whatsoever but going his journeys and doing as he 
 was bidden.^ On the other hand, the cardinal's 
 payments were sorry ones ; and the poet might 
 with justice have thought, that he was not bound 
 to consider them an equivalent for the time he was 
 expected to give up. The only thing to have been 
 desired in this case was, that he should have said 
 so ; and, in truth, at the close of the explanation 
 which he gave on the subject to his friends at 
 court, he did — boldly desiring them, as became 
 him, to tell the cardinal, that if his eminence ex- 
 pected him to be a "" serf" for what he received, 
 he should decline the bargain; and that he pre- 
 ferred the humblest freedom and his studies to a 
 slavery so preposterous.^ 
 
 ^ " Apollo, tua merc6, tua merce, santo 
 Collegio delle Muse, io non mi trove 
 Tanto per voi, ch' io possa farmi un manto : 
 
 E se '1 signer m' ha dato onde far novo 
 Ogni anno mi potrei piu d' un mantello, 
 Che mi abbia per voi dato, non approve. 
 
 Egli r ha detto." Saiira iL 
 
 2 " Se avermi dato onde ogni quattro mesi 
 Ho venticinque scudi, ne si fermi, 
 Che molte volte non mi sien contesi, 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 133 
 
 The truth is, the poet should have attached 
 himself wholly to the Medici. Had he not ad- 
 hered to the duller house, he might have led as 
 happy a life with the pope as Pulci did with the 
 pope's father ; perhaps have been made a cardinal, 
 like his friends Bembo and Sadolet. But then we 
 might have lost the Orlando. 
 
 The only sinecure which the poet is now sup- 
 posed to have retained, was a grant of twenty-five 
 crowns every four months on the episcopal chancery 
 of Milan: so, to help out his petty income, he pro- 
 ceeded to enter into the service of Alfonso, which 
 shews that both the brothers were not angry with 
 him. He tells us, that he would gladly have had 
 no new master, could he have helped it ; but that, 
 if he must needs serve, he would rather serve the 
 master of every body else than a subordinate one. 
 At this juncture he had a brief prospect of being 
 as free as he wished ; for an uncle died leaving a 
 large landed property still known as the Ariosto 
 
 Mi debbe incatenar, schiavo tenermi, 
 Obbligarmi ch' io sudi e tremi senza 
 Rispetto alcun, ch' io muoja o ch' io m* infermi, 
 
 Non gli lasciate aver questa credenza : 
 
 Ditegli, che piu tosto ch' esser servo, 
 
 Torro la povertade in pazienza." 
 
 Satira ii. 
 
134 ARIOSTO. 
 
 lands {Le Arioste) ; but a convent demanded it on 
 the part of one of their brotherhood, who was a 
 natural son of this gentleman ; and a more for- 
 midable and ultimately successful claim was ad- 
 vanced in a court of law by the Chamber of the 
 Duchy of Ferrara, the first judge in the cause 
 being the duke's own steward and a personal 
 enemy of the poet's. Ariosto, therefore, while the 
 suit was going on, was obliged to content himself 
 with his fees from Milan and a monthly allowance 
 which he received from the duke of "about thirty- 
 eight shillings," together with provisions for thi'ee 
 servants and two horses. He entered the duke's 
 service in the spring of 1518, and remained in it 
 for the rest of his life. But it was not so burden- 
 some as that of the cardinal ; and the consequence 
 of the poet's greater leisure was a second edition 
 of the Furioso, in the year 1521, with additions 
 and corrections ; still, however, in forty cantos 
 only. It appears, by a deed of agreement,^ that 
 the work was printed at the author's expense ; 
 that he was to sell the bookseller one hundred 
 copies for sixty livres (about 51. I2s.) on condition 
 of the book's not being sold at the rate of more 
 than sixteen sous (I*. 8d.) ; that the author was 
 
 ^ Panizzi, vol. i. p. 29. The agreement itself is in BarufFaldi. 
 
 J 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 135 
 
 not to give, sell, or allow to be sold, any copy of 
 the book at Ferrara, except by the bookseller ; 
 that the bookseller, after disposing of the hundred 
 copies, was to have as many more as he chose 
 on the same terms ; and that, on his failing to 
 require a further supply, Ariosto was to be at 
 liberty to sell his volumes to whom he pleased. 
 *' With such profits," observes Panizzi, '' it was not 
 likely that the poet would soon become independ- 
 ent ;" and it may be added, that he certainly got 
 nothing by the first edition, whatever he may have 
 done by the second. He expressly tells us, in the 
 satire which he wrote on declining to go abroad 
 with Ippolito, that all his poetry had not procured 
 him money enough to purchase a cloak. ^ Twenty 
 years afterwards, when he was dead, the poem was 
 in such request, that, between 154^ and 1551, 
 Panizzi calculates there must have been a sale of 
 it in Europe to the amount of a hundred thousand 
 copies.2 
 
 The second edition of the Furioso did not ex- 
 tricate the author from very serious difficulties ; 
 for the next year he was compelled to apply to 
 
 ' See the lines before quoted, beginning " Apollo, tua merce." 
 2 Bibliographical Notices of Editions of Ariosto, prefixed to 
 his first vol. p. 51. 
 
136 ARIOSTO. 
 
 Alfonso, either to relieve him from his necessities, 
 or permit him to look for some employment more 
 profitable than the ducal service. The answer of 
 this prince, who was now rich, but had always been 
 penurious, and who never laid out a farthing, if he 
 could help it, except in defence of his capital, was 
 an appointment of Ariosto to the government of a 
 district in a state of anarchy, called Garfagnana, 
 which had nominally returned to his rule in con- 
 sequence of the death of Leo, who had wrested it 
 from him. It was a wild spot in the Apennines, 
 on the borders of the Ferrarese and papal territo- 
 ries. Ariosto was there three years, and is said to 
 have reduced it to order ; but, according to his 
 own account, he had very doubtful work of it. 
 The place was overrun with banditti, including the 
 troops commissioned to suppress them. It re- 
 quired a severer governor than he was inclined to 
 be ; and Alfonso did not attend to his requisitions 
 for supplies. The candid and goodnatured poet 
 intimates that the duke might have given him the 
 appointment rather for the governor's sake than 
 the people's ; and the cold, the loneliness and bar- 
 renness of the place, and, above all, his absence 
 from the object of his affections, oppressed him. 
 He did not write a verse for twelve months : he 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 137 
 
 says he felt like a bird moulting. ^ The best thing 
 got out of it was an anecdote for posterity. The 
 poet was riding out one day with a few attendants 
 — some say walking out in a fit of absence of mind 
 — when he found himself in the midst of a band of 
 outlaws, who, ill a suspicious manner, barely suf- 
 fered him to pass. A reader of Mrs. Radcliffe 
 might suppose them a band of condottieri, under 
 the command of some profligate desperado ; and 
 such perhaps they were. The governor had scarcely 
 gone by, when the leader of the band, discovering 
 who he was, came riding back with much earnest- 
 ness, and making his obeisance to the poet, said, 
 that he never should have allowed him to pass in 
 that manner had he known him to be the Signor 
 Ludovico Ariosto, author of the Orlando Furioso ; 
 that his own name was Filippo Pacchione (a cele- 
 brated personage of his order) ; and that his men 
 and himself, so far from doing the signor displea- 
 
 ^ " La no\ita del loco e stata tanta, 
 C ho fatto come augel che muta gabbia, 
 Che moiti giorni resta che non canta." 
 For the rest of the above particulars see the fifth satire, be- 
 ginning "11 vigesimo giorrio di Febbraio." I quote the exor- 
 dium, because these compositions are differently numbered in 
 different editions. The one I generally use is that of Molini — 
 Poesie Varie di Lodovico Ariosto, con Annotazioni. Firenze, 
 12mo, 1824. 
 
{ 
 
 138 ARIOSTO. 
 
 sure, would have the honour of conducting him J 
 back to his castle. " And so they did," says Ba- * 
 retti, " entertaining him all along the way with 
 the various excellences they had discerned in his I 
 poem, and bestowing upon it the most rapturous 
 praises."^ 
 
 On his return from Garfagnana, Ariosto is 
 understood to have made several journeys in Italy, 
 either with or without the duke his master ; some 
 of them to Mantua, where it has been said that he 
 was crowned with laurel by the Emperor Charles 
 the Fifth. But the truth seems to be, that he 
 only received a laureate diploma: it does not ap- 
 pear that Charles made him any other gift. His 
 
 ' Italian Library, p. 52. I quote Baretti, because he speaks 
 with a corresponding enthusiasm. He calls the incident ' ' a very 
 rare proof of the irresistible powers of poetry, and a noble com- 
 ment on the fables of Orpheus and Amphion," &c. The words 
 " noble comment" might lead us to fancy that Johnson had made 
 some such remark to him while relating the story in Bolt Court. 
 Nor is the former part of the sentence unlike him : " A very rare 
 proof, sir, of the irresistible powers of poetry, and a noble com- 
 ment," &c. Johnson, notwithstanding his classical predilections, 
 was likely to take much interest in Ariosto on account of his 
 universality and the heartiness of his passions. He had a secret 
 regard for " wildness" of all sorts, provided it came within any 
 pale of the sympathetic. He was also fond of romances of chi- 
 valry. On one occasion he selected the history of Felixmarte of 
 Hyrcania as his course of reading during a visit. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 139 
 
 majesty, and the whole house of Este, and the 
 pope, and all the other Italian princes, left that 
 to be done by the imperial general, the celebrated 
 Alfonso Davallos, Marquess of Vasto, to whom he 
 was sent on some mission by the Duke of Ferrara, 
 and who settled on him an annuity of a hundred 
 golden ducats ; " the only reward," says Panizzi, 
 '^ which w^e find to have been conferred on Ariosto 
 expressly as a poet."i Davallos was one of the 
 conquerors of Francis the First, young and hand- 
 some, and himself a writer of verses. The grateful 
 poet accordingly availed himself of his benefactor's 
 accomplishments to make him, in turn, a present 
 of every virtue under the sun. Cgesar was not so 
 liberal, Nestor so wise, Achilles so potent, Nireus 
 so beautiful, nor even Ladas, Alexander's messen- 
 ger, so swift. 2 Ariosto was now verging towards 
 the grave ; and he probably saw in the hundred 
 ducats a golden sunset of his cares. 
 
 Meantime, however, the poet had built a house, 
 
 ' The deed of gift sets foi'th the interest which it becomes 
 princes and commanders to take in men of letters, particularly 
 poets, as hei-alds of their fame, and consequently the special fitness 
 of the illustrious and superexcellent poet Lodovico Ariosto for re- 
 ceiving from Alfonso Davallos, Marquess of Vasto, the irrevocable 
 sum of, &c. &c. Panizzi has copied the substance of it from Ba- 
 ruffaldi, vol. i. p. 67. 
 
 '^ Orlando Furioso, canto xxxiii. st. 28. 
 
140 ARIOSTO. 
 
 which, although small, was raised with his own 
 money ; so that the second edition of the Orlando 
 may have realised some profits at last. He re- 
 corded the pleasant fact in an inscription over the 
 door, which has become celebrated : 
 
 ** Parva, sed apta mihi ; sed nuUi obnoxia ; sed non 
 Sordida ; parta meo sed tamen sere domus." 
 
 Small, yet it suits me ; is of no offence ; 
 Was built, not meanly, at my own expense. 
 
 What a pity (to compare great things with 
 small) that he had not as long a life before him to 
 enjoy it, as Gil Bias had with his own comfortable 
 quotation over his retreat at Lirias \^ 
 
 The house still remains ; but the inscription 
 unfortunately became effaced ; though the fol- 
 lowing one remains, which was added by his son 
 
 Virginio : 
 
 " Sic domus hsec Areostea 
 Propitios habeat deos, olim ut Pindarica." 
 
 Dear to the gods, whatever come to pass, 
 Be Ariosto's house, as Pindar's was. 
 
 This was an anticipation — perhaps the origin — 
 of Milton's sonnet about his own house, addressed 
 
 ' *' Inveni portum : spes et fortuna, valete ; 
 Sat me lusistis; ludite nunc alios." 
 
 My port is found : adieu, ye freaks of chance ; 
 The dance ye led me, now let others dance. 
 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 141 
 
 to " Captains and Collonels," during the civil 
 
 war. 
 
 Davallos made the poet his generous present 
 in the October of the year 1531 ; and in the same 
 month of the year following the Orlando was pub- 
 lished as it now stands, with various insertions 
 throughout, chiefly stories, and six additional can- 
 tos. Cardinal Ippolito had been dead some time ; 
 and the device of the beehive was exchanged for 
 one of two vipers, with a hand and pair of shears 
 cutting out their tongues, and the motto, " Thou 
 hast preferred ill-will to good" (Dilexisti malitiam 
 super henignitatem). The allusion is understood 
 to have been to certain critics whose names have 
 all perished, unless Sperone (of whom we shall 
 hear more by and by) was one of them. The 
 appearance of this edition was eagerly looked for ; 
 but the trouble of correcting the press, and the 
 destruction of a theatre by fire which had been 
 built under the poet's direction, did his health no 
 good in its rapidly declining condition ; and after 
 suffering greatly from an obstruction, he died, 
 much attenuated, on the sixth day of June, 1 533. 
 His decease, his fond biographers have told us, 
 
 ' " The great Emathian conqueror bade spare 
 
 The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 
 Went to the ground," &c. 
 
142 ARIOSTO. 
 
 took place " about three in the afternoon ;" and 
 he was " aged fifty-eight years, eight months, and 
 twenty-eight days." His body, according to his 
 direction, was taken to the church of the Bene- 
 dictines during the night by four men, with only 
 two tapers, and in the most private and simple 
 manner. The monks followed it to the grave out 
 of respect, contrary to their usual custom. 
 
 So lived, and so died, and so desired humbly 
 to be buried, one of the delights of the world. 
 
 His son Virginio had erected a chapel in the 
 garden of the house built by his father, and he 
 wished to have his body removed thither ; but the 
 monks would not allow it. The tomb, at first a 
 very humble one, was subsequently altered and 
 enriched several times ; but remains, I believe, as 
 rebuilt at the beginning of the century before last 
 by his grand-nephew, Ludovico Ariosto, with a 
 bust of the poet, and two statues representing 
 Poetry and Glory. 
 
 Ariosto was tall and stout, with a dark com- 
 plexion, bright black eyes, black and curling hair, 
 aquiline nose, and shoulders broad but a little 
 stooping. His aspect was thoughtful, and his 
 gestures deliberate. Titian, besides painting his 
 portrait, designed that which appeared in the 
 woodcut of the author's own third edition of his 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 143 
 
 poem, which has heen copied into Mr. Panizzi's. 
 It has all the look of truth of that great artist's 
 vital hand; but, though there is an expression of 
 the genial character of the mouth, notwithstand- 
 ing the exuberance of beard, it does not suggest 
 the sweetness observable in one of the medals of 
 Ariosto, a wax impression of which is now before 
 me ; nor has the nose so much delicacy and grace. ^ 
 The poet's temperament inclined him to me- 
 lancholy, but his intercourse was always cheerful. 
 One biographer says he was strong and healthy — 
 another, that he was neither. In all probability 
 he was naturally strong, but weakened by a life 
 full of emotion. He talks of growing old at forty- 
 four, and of having been bald for some time.^ He 
 had a cough for many years before he died. His 
 son says he cured it by drinking good old wine. 
 Ariosto says that " vin fumoso" did not agree with 
 him ; but that might only mean wine of a heady 
 
 ^ This medal is inscribed " Ludovicus Ariost. Poet." and has 
 the bee-hive on the reverse, with the motto ** Pro bono malum." 
 Ariosto was so fond of this device, that in his fragment called the 
 Five Cantos (c. v. st. 26), the Paladin Rinaldo wears it embroidered 
 on his mantle. 
 
 ^ " lo son de' dieci il primo, e vecchio fatto 
 
 Di quaranta quattro anni, e il capo calvo 
 Da un tempo in qua sotto il cuflSotto appiatto." 
 
 Satira ii. 
 
144 ARIOSTO. 
 
 sort. The chances, under such circumstances, were 
 probably against wine of any kind; and Panizzi 
 thinks the cough was never subdued. His physi- 
 cians forbade him all sorts of stimulants with his 
 food.i 
 
 His temper and habits were those of a man 
 wholly given up to love and poetry. In his youth 
 he was volatile, and at no time without what is 
 called some " affair of the heart." Every woman 
 attracted him who had modesty and agreeableness ; 
 and as, at the same time, he was very jealous, one 
 might imagine that his wife, who had a right to 
 be equally so, would have led no easy life. But 
 it is evident he could practise very generous self- 
 denial ; and probably the married portion of his 
 existence, supposing Alessandra's sweet counte- 
 nance not to have belied her, was happy on both 
 sides. He was beloved by his family, which is 
 never the case with the unamiable. Among his 
 
 ^ "II vin fumoso, a me vie piii interdetto 
 Che '1 tosco, costi a inviti si tracanna, 
 E sacrilegio e non ber molto, e schietto. 
 (He is speaking of the wines of Hungary, and of the hard drinking 
 expected of strangers in that country.) 
 
 Tutti li cibi son con pepe e canna, 
 Di amomo e d' altri aromati, che tutti 
 Come nocivi il medico mi danna." 
 
 Satira ii. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 145 
 
 friends were most of the great names of the age, 
 including a world of ladies, and the whole grace- 
 ful court of Guidobaldo da Montefeltro, duke of 
 Urbino, for which Catiglione wrote his book of 
 the Gentleman (II Cortegiano). Raphael addressed 
 him a sonnet, and Titian painted his likeness. He 
 knew Yittoria Colonna, and Veronica da Gambera, 
 and Giulia Gonzaga (whom the Turks would have 
 run away with), and Ippolita Sforza, the beautiful 
 blue-stocking, who set Bandello on writing his 
 novels, and Bembo, and Flaminio, and Berni, and 
 Molza, and Sannazzaro, and the Medici family, 
 and Vida, and Macchiavelli ; and nobody doubts 
 that he might have shone at the court of Leo the 
 brightest of the bright. But he thought it "better 
 to enjoy a little in peace, than seek after much 
 with trouble."^ He cared for none of the plea- 
 sures of the great, except building, and that he 
 was content to satisfy in Cowley's fashion, with " a 
 small house in a large garden." He was plain in 
 his diet, disliked ceremony, and was frequently 
 absorbed in thought. His indignation was roused 
 by mean and brutal vices ; but he took a large 
 and liberal view of human nature in general ; and, 
 if he was somewhat free in his life, must be par- 
 
 ' Pigna, I Romanzi, p. 119. 
 VOL. II. H 
 
146 ARIOSTO. 
 
 doned for the custom of the thnes, for his charity 
 to others, and for the genial disposition which 
 made him an enchanting poet. Above all, he was 
 an affectionate son ; lived like a friend with his 
 children ; and, in spite of his tendency to pleasure, 
 supplied the place of an anxious and careful father 
 to his brothers and sisters, who idolized him. 
 
 " Ornabat pietas et grata modestia vatem," 
 wrote his brother Gabriel, 
 
 " Sancta fides, dictique memor, munitaque recto 
 Justitia, et nullo patientia victa labore, 
 Et constans virtus animi, et dementia mitis, 
 Ambitione procul pulsa fastusque tumore ; 
 Credere uti posses natum felicibus horis, 
 Felici fiilgente astro Jovis atque Diones."^ 
 
 Devoted tenderness adorn' d the bard, 
 
 And grateful modesty, and grave regard 
 
 To his least word, and justice arm'd with right, 
 
 And patience counting every labour light, 
 
 And constancy of soul, and meekness too. 
 
 That neither pride nor worldly wishes knew. 
 
 You might have thought him born when there concur 
 
 The sweet star and the strong, Venus and Jupiter. 
 
 His son Virginio, and others, have left a va- 
 riety of anecdotes corroborating points in his cha- 
 
 * Epicedium on his brother's death. It is reprinted (perhaps 
 for the first time since 1582) in Mr. Panizzi's Appendix to the 
 Life, in his first volume, p. clxi. 
 
niS LIFE AND GENIUS. 147 
 
 racter. I shall give them all, for they put us into 
 his company. 
 
 It is recorded, as an instance of his reputation 
 for honesty, that an old kinsman, a clergyman, 
 who was afraid of being poisoned for his posses- 
 sions, would trust himself in no other hands; but 
 the clergyman was his own grand-uncle and name- 
 sake, probably godfather ; so that the compliment 
 is not so very great. 
 
 In his youth he underwent a long rebuke one 
 day from his father without saying a word, though 
 a satisfactory answer was in his power ; on which 
 his brother Gabriel expressing his surprise, he 
 said that he w^as thinking all the time of a scene in 
 a comedy he was writing, for which the paternal 
 lecture afforded an excellent study. 
 
 He loved gardening better than he understood 
 it ; was always shifting his plants, and destroying 
 the seeds, out of impatience to see them germinate. 
 He was rejoicing once on the coming up of some 
 " capers," which he had been visiting every day to 
 see how they got on, when it turned out that his 
 capers were elder-trees ! 
 
 He was perpetually altering his verses. His 
 manuscripts are full of corrections. He wrote the 
 exordium of the Orlando over and over again ; 
 and at last could only be satisfied with it in pro- 
 
148 ARIOSTO. 
 
 portion as it was not his own ; that is to say, in 
 proportion as it came nearer to the beautiful pas- 
 sage in Dante from which his ear and his feelings 
 had caught it J 
 
 He, however, discovered that correction was 
 not always improvement. He used to say, it was 
 with verses as with trees. A plant naturally well 
 growing might be made perfect by a little delicate 
 treatment ; but over-cultivation destroyed its native 
 grace. In like manner, you might perfect a hap- 
 pily-inspired verse by taking away any little fault 
 of expression ; but too great a polish deprived it 
 of the charm of the first conception. It was like 
 over-training a naturally graceful child. If it be 
 wondered how he who corrected so much should 
 
 * " Le donne, i cavalier, 1' arme, gli amori, 
 Le cortesie, le audaci imprese, io canto," 
 
 is Ariosto's commencement ; 
 
 Ladies, and cavaliers, and loves, and arms. 
 And courtesies, and daring deeds, I sing. 
 
 In Dante's Purgatory (canto xiv.), a noble Romagnese, lamenting 
 the degeneracy of his country, calls to mind with graceful and 
 touching regret, 
 
 " Le donne, i cavalier, gli afFanni e gli agi, 
 Che inspiravano amore e cortesia." 
 
 The ladies and the knights, the cares and leisures, 
 Breathing around them love and courtesy. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 149 
 
 succeed so well, even to an appearance of happy 
 negligence, it is to be considered that the most 
 impulsive writers often put down their thoughts 
 too hastily, then correct and re-correct them in 
 the same impatient manner ; and so have to bring 
 them round, by as many steps, to the feeling which 
 they really had at first, though they were too hasty 
 to do it justice. 
 
 Ariosto would have altered his house as often 
 as his verses, but did not find it so convenient. 
 Somebody wondering that he contented himself 
 with so small an abode, when he built such magni- 
 ficent mansions in his poetry, he said it was easier 
 to put words together than blocks of stone. ^ 
 
 He liked Virgil ; commended the style of Ti- 
 bullus ; did not care for Propertius ; but expressed 
 high approbation of Catullus and Horace. I sus- 
 pect his favourite to have been Ovid. His son 
 says he did not study much, nor look after books ; 
 but this may have been in his decline, or when 
 Virginio first took to observing him. A difierent 
 
 ' The original is much pithier, but I cannot find equivalents 
 for the alliteration. He said, " Porvi le pietre e porvi le parole 
 non 6 il medesimo." — Pigna, p. 119. According to his son, how- 
 ever, his remark was, that " palaces could be made in poems with- 
 out money." He probably expressed the same thing in different 
 ways to different people. 
 
150 ARIOSTO. 
 
 conclusion as to study is to be drawn from the 
 corrected state of his manuscripts, and the variety 
 ef his knowledge ; and with regard to books, he 
 not only mentions the library of the Vatican as 
 one of his greatest temptations to visit Rome, but 
 describes himself, with all the gusto of a book- 
 worm, as enjoying them in his chimney-corner.^ 
 
 To intimate his secrecy in love-matters, he had 
 an inkstand with a Cupid on it, holding a finger 
 on his lips. I believe it is still in existence.^ He 
 did not disclose his mistresses' names, as Dante 
 did, for the purpose of treating them with con- 
 tempt ; nor, on the other hand, does he appear to 
 
 1 Vide Sat. iii. "Mi sia un tempo," &c. ; and the passage in 
 Sat. vu. beginning " Di libri antiqui." 
 
 ^ The inkstand which Shelley saw at Ferrara (Essays and Let- 
 ters, p. 149) could not have been this ; probably his eye was caught 
 by a wrong one. Doubts also, after what we know of the tricks 
 practised upon visitors of Stratford-upon-Avon, may unfortunately 
 be entertained of the " plain old wooden piece of furniture," the 
 arm-chair. Shelley describes the handwriting of Ariosto as " a 
 small, firm, and pointed character, expressing, as he should say, 
 a strong and keen, but circumscribed energy of mind." Every 
 one of Shelley's words is always worth consideration ; but hand- 
 writings are surely equivocal testimonies of character ; they de- 
 pend so much on education, on times and seasons and moods, 
 conscious and unconscious wills, &c. What would be said by an 
 autographist to the strange old, ungraceful, slovenly handwriting 
 of Shakspeare ? 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 151 
 
 have been so indiscriminately gallant as to be fond 
 of goitres. 1 The only mistress of whom he com- 
 plained he concealed in a Latin appellation ; and 
 of her he did not complain with scorn. He had 
 loved, besides Alessandra Benucci, a lady of the 
 name of Ginevra ; the mother of one of his chil- 
 dren is recorded as a certain Orsolina ; and that of 
 the other was named Maria, and is understood to 
 have been a governess in his father's family.^ 
 
 He ate fast, and of w^hatever was next him, 
 often beginning with the bread on the table before 
 the dishes came ; and he would finish his dinner 
 with another bit of bread. " Appetiva le rape," 
 says his good son ; videlicet, he was fond of turnips. 
 In his fourth Satire, he mentions as a favourite 
 dish, turnips seasoned with vinegar and boiled 
 must (sapa), which seems, not unjustifiably, to 
 startle Mr. Panizzi.^ He cared so little for good 
 eating, that he said of himself, he should have done 
 very well in the days when people lived on acorns. 
 
 1 See vol. i. of the present work, pp. 30, 202, and 216. 
 
 2 BarufFaldi, 1807 ; p. 105. 
 
 3 "In oasa mia mi sa meglio una rapa 
 
 Ch' io cuoca, e cotta s' un stecco m' inforco, 
 E mondo, e spargo poi di aceto e sapa, 
 
 Che air altrui mensa tordo, starno, o porco 
 Selvaggio." 
 
152 ARIOSTO. 
 
 A stranger coming in one day at the dinner-hour, 
 he ate up what was provided for both; saying 
 afterwards, when told of it, that the gentleman 
 should have taken care of himself. This does not 
 look very polite ; but of course it was said in jest. 
 His son attributed this carelessness at table to ab- 
 sorption in his studies. 
 
 He carried this absence of mind so far, and 
 was at the same time so good a pedestrian, that 
 Virginio tells us he once walked all the way from 
 Carpi to Ferrara in his slippers, owing to his hav- 
 ing strolled out of doors in that direction. 
 
 The same biographers who describe him as a 
 brave soldier, add, that he was a timid horse- 
 man and seaman ; and indeed he appears to have 
 eschewed every kind of unnecessary danger. It 
 was a maxim of his, to be the last in going out of 
 a boat. I know not what Orlando would have 
 said to this; but there is no doubt that the good 
 son and brother avoided no pain in pursuit of his 
 duty. He more than once risked his life in the 
 service of government from the perils of travel- 
 ling among war-makers and banditti. Imagina- 
 tion finds something worthy of itself on great 
 occasions, but is apt to discover the absurdity of 
 staking existence on small ones. Ariosto did not 
 care to travel out of Italy. He preferred, he says, 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 153 
 
 going round the earth in a map ; visiting countries 
 without having to pay innkeepers, and ploughing 
 harmless seas without thunder and lightning.^ 
 
 His outward religion, like the one he ascribed 
 to his friend Cardinal Bembo, was " that of other 
 people." He did not think it of use to disturb 
 their belief; yet excused rather than blamed Lu- 
 ther, attributing his heresy to the necessary con- 
 sequences of mooting points too subtle for human 
 apprehension.2 He found it impossible, how- 
 
 1 ** CM vuole andare," &c. Satira iv. 
 
 2 '* Se Nicoletto o Fra Martin fan segno 
 D' infedele o d' eretico, ne accuso 
 
 II saper troppo, e men con lor mi sdegno : 
 
 Perche salendo lo intelletto in suso 
 
 Per veder Die, non de' parerci strano 
 
 Se talor cade giu cieco e confuso." 
 
 Satira vi. 
 This satire was addressed to Bembo. The cardinal is said to have 
 asked a visitor from Germany whether Brother Martin really- 
 believed what he preached ; and to have expressed the greatest 
 astonishment when told that he did. Cardinals were then what 
 augurs were in the time of Cicero — wondering that they did not 
 burst out a-laughing in one another's faces. This was bad ; but 
 inquisitors are a million times worse. By the Nicoletto here 
 mentioned by Ariosto in company with Luther, we are to under- 
 stand (according to the conjecture of Molini) a Paduan professor 
 of the name of Niccolo Vernia, who was accused of holding the 
 Pantheistic opinions of Averroes. 
 
 H 2 
 
154 ARIOSTO. 
 
 ever, to restrain his contempt of bigotry ; and, 
 like most great writers in Catholic countries, was 
 a derider of the pretensions of devotees, and the 
 discords and hypocrisies of the convent. He 
 evidently laughed at Dante's figments about the 
 other world ; not at the poetry of them, for 
 that he admired, and sometimes imitated, but at 
 the superstition and presumption. He turned 
 the Florentine's moon into a depository of non- 
 sense ; and found no hell so bad as the hearts of 
 tyrants. The only other people he put into the 
 infernal regions are ladies who were cruel to their 
 lovers ! He had a noble confidence in the inten- 
 tions of his Creator ; and died in the expectation 
 of meeting his friends again in a higher state of 
 existence. 
 
 Of Ariosto's four brothers, one became a cour- 
 tier at Naples, another a clergyman, another an 
 envoy to the Emperor Charles the Fifth ; and the 
 fourth, who was a cripple and a scholar, lived 
 with Lodovico, and celebrated his memory. His 
 two sons, whose names were Virginio and Gian- 
 battista, and who were illegitimate (the reader 
 is always to bear in mind the more indulgent 
 customs of Italy in matters of this nature, espe- 
 cially in the poet's time), became, the first a canon 
 in the cathedral of Ferrara, and the other an 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 155 
 
 officer in the army. It does not appear that he 
 had any other children. 
 
 Ariosto's renown is wholly founded on the 
 Orlando Furioso, though he wrote satires, come- 
 dies, and a good deal of miscellaneous poetry, 
 all occasionally exhibiting a master-hand. The 
 comedies, however, were unfortunately modelled 
 on those of the ancients ; and the constant termi- 
 nation of the verse with trisyllables contributes to 
 render them tedious. What comedies might he 
 not have written, had he given himself up to 
 existing times and manners I^ 
 
 The satires are rather good-natured epistles 
 to his friends, written with a charming ease and 
 straightforwardness, and containing much exquisite 
 sense and interesting autobiography. 
 
 On his lyrical poetry he set little value ; and 
 
 ^ Take a specimen of this leap-frog versification from the pro- 
 logue to the Cassaria : — 
 
 " Questa commedia, ch' oggi recitatavi 
 Sara, se nol sapete, e la Cassaria, 
 Ch' un altra volta, gia vent' anni passano, 
 Veder si fece sopra questi piilpiti, 
 Ed allora assai piacque a tutto il popolo. 
 Ma non ne riposto gia degno premio, 
 Che data in preda a gl' importuni ed avidi 
 Stampator fu," &c. 
 
 This through five comedies in five acts ! 
 
156 ARIOSTO. 
 
 his Latin verse is not of the best order. Critics 
 have expressed their surprise at its inferiority to 
 that of contemporaries inferior to him in genius; 
 but the reason lay in the very circumstance. I 
 mean, that his large and liberal inspiration could 
 only find its proper vent in his own language ; 
 he could not be content with potting up little 
 delicacies in old-fashioned vessels. 
 
 The Orlando Furioso is, literally, a continu- 
 ation of the Orlando Innamorato ; so much so, 
 that the story is not thoroughly intelligible with- 
 out it. This was probably the reason of a circum- 
 stance that would be otherwise unaccountable, and 
 that was ridiculously charged against him as a 
 proof of despairing envy by the despairing envy 
 of Sperone ; namely, his never having once men- 
 tioned the name of his predecessor. If Ariosto 
 had despaired of equalling Boiardo, he must have 
 been hopeless of reaching posterity, in which case 
 his silence must have been useless; and, in any 
 case, it is clear that he looked on himself as the 
 continuator of another's narration. But Boiardo 
 was so popular when he wrote, that the very 
 silence shews he must have thought the mention 
 of his name superfluous. Still it is curious that 
 he never should have alluded to it in the course 
 of the poem. It could not have been from any 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS, 157 
 
 dislike to the name itself, or the family; for in 
 his Latin poems he has eulogised the hospitality 
 of the house of Boiardo.^ 
 
 The Furioso continued not only what Boiardo 
 did, but what he intended to do ; for as its subject 
 is Orlando's love, and knight-errantry in general, 
 so its object was to extol the house of Este, and 
 deduce it from its fabulous ancestor Ruggiero. 
 Orlando is the open, Ruggiero the covert hero; 
 and almost all the incidents of this supposed irre- 
 gular poem, which, as Panizzi has shewn, is one 
 of the most regular in the w^orld, go to crown with 
 triumph and wedlock the originator of that un- 
 worthy race. This is done on the old groundwork 
 of Charlemagne and his Paladins, of the trea- 
 cheries of the house of Gan of Maganza, and of 
 the wars of the Saracens against Christendom. 
 Bradamante, the Amazonian intended of Ruggiero, 
 is of the same race as Orlando, and a great over- 
 thrower of infidels. Ruggiero begins with being 
 an infidel himself, and is kept from the wars, like 
 a second Achilles, by the devices of an anxious 
 guardian, but ultimately fights, is converted, and 
 marries ; and Orlando all the while slays his 
 thousands, as of old, loves, goes mad for jealousy, 
 
 ' In the verses entitled Bacchi Statua. 
 
158 ARIOSTO. 
 
 is the foolishest and wisest of mankind (somewhat 
 like the poet himself) ; and crowns the glory of 
 Ruggiero, not only by being present at his mar- 
 riage, but putting on his spurs with his own hand 
 when he goes forth to conclude the war by the 
 death of the king of Algiers. 
 
 The great charm, however, of the Orlando Fu- 
 rioso is not in its knight-errantry, or its main plot, 
 or the cunning interweavement of its minor ones, 
 but in its endless variety, truth, force, and animal 
 spirits ; in its fidelity to actual nature while it 
 keeps within the bounds of the probable, and its 
 no less enchanting verisimilitude during its wildest 
 sallies of imagination. At one moment we are in 
 the midst of flesh and blood like ourselves ; at 
 the next with fairies and goblins ; at the next in 
 a tremendous battle or tempest ; then in one of 
 the loveliest of solitudes ; then hearing a tragedy, 
 then a comedy ; then mystified in some enchanted 
 palace ; then riding, dancing, dining, looking at 
 pictures ; then again descending to the depths of 
 the earth, or soaring to the moon, or seeing lovers 
 in a glade, or witnessing the extravagances of the 
 great jealous hero Orlando ; and the music of an 
 enchanting style perpetually attends us, and the 
 sweet face of Angelica glances here and there like 
 a bud : and there are gallantries of all kinds, and 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 159 
 
 stories endless, and honest tears, and joyous bursts 
 of laughter, and beardings for all base opinions, 
 and no bigotry, and reverence for whatsoever is 
 venerable, and candour exquisite, and the happy 
 interwoven names of *' Angelica and Medoro," 
 young for ever. 
 
 But so great a work is not to be dismissed 
 with a mere rhapsody of panegyric. Ariosto is 
 inferior, in some remarkable respects, to his pre- 
 decessors Pulci and Boiardo. His characters, for 
 the most part, do not interest us as much as theirs 
 by their variety and good fellowship ; he invented 
 none as Boiardo did, with the exception, indeed, 
 of Orlando's, as modified by jealous}^ ; and he has 
 no passage, I think, equal in pathos to that of the 
 struggle at Roncesvalles ; for though Orlando's 
 jealousy is pathetic, as well as appalling, the effects 
 of it are confined to one person, and disputed by 
 his excessive strength. Ariosto has taken all ten- 
 derness out of Angelica, except that of a kind of 
 boarding-school first love (which, however, as here- 
 after intimated, may have simplified and improved 
 her general effect), and he has omitted all that was 
 amusing in the character of Astolfo. Knight- 
 errantry has fallen off a little in his hands from 
 its first youthful and trusting freshness ; more 
 sophisticate times are opening upon us ; and satire 
 
160 ARIOSTO. 
 
 more frequently and bitterly interferes. The li- 
 centious passages (though never gross in words, 
 like those of his contemporaries,) are not redeemed 
 by sentiment as in Boiardo ; and it seems to me, 
 that Ariosto hardly improved so much as he might 
 have done upon his predecessor's imitations of the 
 classics. I cannot help thinking that, upon the 
 vv^hole, he had better have left them alone, and 
 depended entirely on himself. Shelley says, he 
 has too much fighting and " revenge,"^ — which is 
 true ; but the revenge was only among his knights. 
 He was himself (like my admirable friend) one of 
 the most forgiving of men ; and the fighting was 
 the taste of the age, in which chivalry was still 
 flourishing in the shape of such men as Bayard, 
 and ferocity in men like Gaston de Foix. Ariosto 
 certainly did not anticipate, any more than Shak- 
 speare did, that spirit of human amelioration 
 which has ennobled the present age. He thought 
 only of reflecting nature as he found it. He is 
 sometimes even as uninteresting as he found other 
 people ; but the tiresome passages, thank God, all 
 belong to the house of Este ! His panegyrics of 
 Ippolito and his ancestors recoiled on the poet 
 with a retributive dulness. 
 
 Essays and Letters, ut sup. vol. ii. p. 125. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 161 
 
 But in all the rest there is a wonderful invi- 
 goration and enlargement. The genius of romance 
 has increased to an extraordinary degree in power, 
 if not in simplicity. Its shoulders have grown 
 broader, its voice louder and more sustained ; and 
 if it has lost a little on the sentimental side, it has 
 gained prodigiously, not only in animal vigour, 
 but, above all, in knowledge of human nature, and 
 a brave and joyous candour in shewing it. The 
 poet takes a universal, an acute, and, upon the 
 whole, a cheerful view, like the sun itself, of all 
 which the sun looks on ; and readers are charmed 
 to see a knowledge at once so keen and so happy. 
 Herein lies the secret of Ariosto's greatness ; which 
 is great, not because it has the intensity of Dante, 
 or the incessant thought and passion of Shak- 
 speare, or the dignified imagination of Milton, to 
 all of whom he is far inferior in sustained ex- 
 cellence, — but because he is like very Nature 
 herself. Whether great, small, serious, pleasure- 
 able, or even indifferent, he still has the life, 
 ease, and beauty of the operations of the daily 
 planet. Even where he seems dull and common- 
 place, his brightness and originality at other times 
 make it look like a good-natured condescension to 
 our own common habits of thought and discourse ; 
 as though he did it but on purpose to leave no- 
 
162 ARIOSTO. 
 
 thing unsaid that could bring him within the cate- 
 gory of ourselves. His charming manner intimates 
 that, instead of taking thought, he chooses to take 
 pleasure with us, and compare old notes ; and we 
 are delighted that he does us so much honour, and 
 makes, as it were, Ariostos of us all. He is Shak- 
 spearian in going all lengths with Nature as he 
 found her, not blinking the fact of evil, yet find- 
 ing a " soul of goodness" in it, and, at the same 
 time, never compromising the worth of noble and 
 generous qualities. His young and handsome Me- 
 doro is a pitiless slayer of his enemies ; but they 
 were his master's enemies, and he would have lost 
 his life, even to preserve his dead body. His Or- 
 lando, for all his wisdom and greatness, runs mad 
 for love of a coquette, who triumphs over warriors 
 and kings, only to fall in love herself with an ob- 
 scure lad. His kings laugh with all their hearts, 
 like common people ; his mourners weep like such 
 unaffected children of sorrow, that they must needs 
 *^ swallow some of their tears." ^ His heroes, on 
 the arrival of intelligence that excites them, leap 
 
 • ** Le lacrime scendean tra gigli e rose, 
 
 La dove awien ch' alcune se n' inghiozzi.'* 
 
 Canto xii. st. 94. 
 Which has been well translated by Mr. Rose : 
 
 *• And between rose and lily, from her eyes 
 
 Tears fall so fast, she needs must swallow some." 
 
HIS LIFK AND GENIUS. 163 
 
 out of bed and write letters before they dress, 
 from natural impatience, thinking nothing of their 
 " dignity." When Astolfo blows the magic horn 
 which drives every body out of the castle of At- 
 lantes, "not a mouse" stays behind; — not, as 
 Hoole and such critics think, because the poet is 
 here writing ludicrously, but because he uses the 
 same image seriously, to give an idea of desola- 
 tion, as Shakspeare in Hamlet does to give that of 
 silence, when " not a mouse is stirring." Instead 
 of being mere comic writing, such incidents are in 
 the highest epic taste of the meeting of extremes, 
 — of the impartial eye with which Nature regards 
 high and low. So, give Ariosto his hippogrifF, 
 and other marvels with which he has enriched the 
 stock of romance, and Nature takes as much care 
 of the verisimilitude of their actions, as if she had 
 made them herself. His hippogriif returns, like 
 a common horse, to the stable to which he has 
 been accustomed. His enchanter, who is gifted 
 with the power of surviving decapitation and pur- 
 suing the decapitator so long as a fated hair re- 
 mains on his head, turns deadly pale in the face 
 when it is scalped, and falls lifeless from his horse. 
 His truth, indeed, is so genuine, and at the same 
 time his style is so unaffected, sometimes so fami- 
 liar in its grace, and sets us so much at ease in his 
 
164 ARIOSTO. 
 
 company, that the familiarity is in danger of bring- 
 ing him into contempt with the inexperienced, and 
 the truth of being considered old and obvious, be- 
 cause the mode of its introduction makes it seem 
 an old acquaintance. When Voltaire was a young 
 man, and (to Anglicise a favourite Gallic phrase) 
 fancied he had profounded every thing deep and 
 knowing, he thought nothing of Ariosto. Some 
 years afterwards he took him for the first of gro- 
 tesque writers, but nothing more. At last he pro- 
 nounced him equally " entertaining and sublime, 
 and humbly apologised for his error." Foscolo 
 quotes this passage from the Dictionnaire Philo- 
 sophique ; and adds another from Sir Joshua Rey- 
 nolds, in which the painter speaks of a similar 
 inability on his own part, when young, to enjoy 
 the perfect nature of Raphael, and the admiration 
 and astonishment which, in his riper years, he 
 grew to feel for it.^ 
 
 The excessive " wildness" attributed to Ariosto 
 is not wilder than many things in Homer, or even 
 than some things in Virgil (such as the transform- 
 ation of ships into sea-nymphs). The reason why 
 it has been thought so is, that he rendered them 
 more popular by mixing them with satire, and 
 
 ' Essay on the Narrative and Romantic Poems of the Italians, 
 in the (Quarterly Review, vol. xxi. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 165 
 
 thus brought them more universally into notice. 
 One main secret of the delight they give us is 
 their being poetical comments, as it were, on 
 fancies and metaphors of our own. Thus, we say 
 of a suspicious man, that he is suspicion itself; 
 Ariosto turns him accordingly into an actual being 
 of that name. We speak of the flights of the 
 poets ; Ariosto makes them literally flights — 
 flights on a hippogrifF, and to the moon. The 
 moon, it has been said, makes lunatics ; he ac- 
 cordingly puts a man's wits into that planet. Vice 
 deforms beauty ; therefore his beautiful enchant- 
 ress turns out to be an old hag. Ancient de- 
 feated empires are sounds and emptiness ; therefore 
 the Assyrian and Persian monarchies become, in 
 his limbo of vanities, a heap of positive bladders. 
 Youth is headstrong, and kissing goes by favour ; 
 so Angelica, queen of Cathay, and beauty of the 
 world, jilts warriors and kings, and marries a com- 
 mon soldier. 
 
 And what a creature is this Angelica ! what 
 effect has she not had upon the world in spite 
 of all her faults, nay, probably by very reason 
 of them ! I know not whether it has been re- 
 marked before, but it appears to me, that the charm 
 which every body has felt in the story of Ange- 
 lica consists mainly in that very fact of her being 
 
166 ARIOSTO. 
 
 nothing but a beauty and a woman, dashed even 
 with coqueti'y, which renders her so inferior in 
 character to most heroines of romance. Her in- 
 terest is founded on nothing exclusive or preju- 
 diced. It is not addressed to any special class. 
 She might or might not have been liked by this 
 person or that ; but the world in general will adore 
 her, because nature has made them to adore beauty 
 and the sex, apart from prejudices right or wrong. 
 Youth will attribute virtues to her, whether she 
 has them or not ; middle-age be unable to help 
 gazing on her ; old-age dote on her. She is wo- 
 mankind itself, in form and substance ; and that 
 is a stronger thing, for the most part, than all our 
 figments about it. Two musical names, " Ange- 
 lica and Medoro," have become identified in the 
 minds of poetical readers with the honeymoon of 
 youthful passion. 
 
 The only false and insipid fiction I can call 
 to mind in the Orlando Furioso is that of the 
 " swans" who rescue " medals" from the river of 
 oblivion (canto xxxv.). It betrays a singular for- 
 getfulness of the poet's wonted verisimilitude ; for 
 what metaphor can reconcile us to swans taking 
 an interest in medals ? Popular belief had made 
 them singers ; but it was not a wise step to con- 
 vert them into antiquaries. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 167 
 
 Ariosto's animal spirits, and the brilliant hurry 
 and abundance of his incidents, blind a careless 
 reader to his endless particular beauties, which, 
 though he may too often "describe instead of paint" 
 (on account, as Foscolo says, of his writing to the 
 many), shew that no man could paint better when 
 he chose. The bosoms of his females " come and 
 go, like the waves on the sea-coast in summer 
 airs."^ His witches draw the fish out of the water 
 
 ** With simple words and a pure warbled spell. "^ 
 He borrows the word " painting^' itself, like a true 
 Italian and friend of Raphael and Titian, to ex- 
 press the commiseration in the faces of the blest 
 for the sufferings of mortality : 
 
 *' Dipinte di pietade il viso pio."^ 
 Their pious looks painted with tenderness. 
 Jesus is very finely called, in the same passage, 
 " il sempiterno Amante," the eternal Lover. The 
 female sex are the 
 
 '* Schiera gentil che pur adoma il mondo."'* 
 The gentle bevy that adorns the world. 
 
 ' " Vengono e van, come onda al primo margo 
 Quando piacevole aura il mar combatte." 
 
 Canto vii. st. 14. 
 
 * " Con semplici parole e puri incanti." 
 
 Canto vi. st. 38. 
 
 3 Canto xiv. st. 79. * Canto xxviii. st. 98. 
 
168 ARIOSTO. 
 
 He paints cabinet-pictures like Spenser, in iso- 
 lated stanzas, with a pencil at once solid and liglit; 
 as in the instance of the charming one that tells 
 the story of Mercury and his net ; how he watched 
 the Goddess of Flowers as she issued forth at dawn 
 with her lap full of roses and violets, and so threw 
 the net over her " one day," and " took her ;" 
 
 ** un di lo prese."' 
 
 But he does not confine himself to these gentle 
 pictures. He has many as strong as Michael 
 Angelo, some as intense as Dante. He paints the 
 conquest of America in five words : 
 
 " Veggio da diece cacciar mille."^ 
 
 I see thousands 
 Hunted by tens. 
 
 He compares the noise of a tremendous battle 
 heard in the neighbourhood to the sound of the 
 cataracts of the Nile : 
 
 ** un alto suon ch' a quel s' accorda 
 Con che i vicin' cadendo il Nil assorda."^ 
 
 He "scourges" ships at sea with tempests — say 
 rather the " miserable seamen ;" while night-time 
 grows blacker and blacker on the " exasperated 
 waters."^ 
 
 1 Canto XV. st. 57. ^ /^ ^t 23. ^ Canto xvi. st. 56. 
 
 ^ Canto xviii. st. 142. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 169 
 
 When Rodomont has plunged into the thick of 
 Paris, and is carrying every thing before him (" like 
 a serpent that has newly cast his skin, and goes 
 shaking his three tongues under his eyes of fire"), 
 he makes this tremendous hero break the middle 
 of the palace-gate into a huge " window," and look 
 through it wdth a countenance which is suddenly 
 beheld by a crowd of faces as pale as death : 
 
 ** E dentro fatto 1' ha tanta finestra, 
 Che ben vedere e veduto esser puote 
 Dai visi impress! di color di morte."' 
 
 The whole description of Orlando's jealousy 
 and growing madness is Shakspearian for passion 
 and circumstance, as the reader may see even in 
 the prose abstract of it in this volume; and his 
 sublimation of a suspicious king into suspicion 
 itself (which it also contains) is as grandly and feli- 
 citously audacious as any thing ever invented by 
 poet. Spenser thought so ; and has imitated and 
 emulated it in one of his own finest passages. 
 Ariosto has not the spleen and gall of Dante, and 
 therefore his satire is not so tremendous ; yet it is 
 very exquisite, as all the world have acknowledged 
 in the instances of the lost things found in the 
 moon, and the angel who finds Discord in a con- 
 
 1 Canto xvii. st. 12. 
 VOL. II. I 
 
170 ARIOSTO. 
 
 vent. He does not take things so much to heart 
 as Chaucer. He has nothing so profoundly pa- 
 thetic as our great poet's Griselda. Yet many a 
 gentle eye has moistened at the conclusion of the 
 story of Isabella ; and to recur once more to 
 Orlando's jealousy, all who have experienced that 
 passion will feel it shake them. I have read some- 
 where of a visit paid to Voltaire by an Italian 
 gentleman, who recited it to him, and who (being 
 moved perhaps by the recollection of some passage 
 in his own history) had the tears all the while 
 pouring down his cheeks. 
 
 Such is the poem which the gracious and 
 good Cardinal Ippolito designated as a " parcel of 
 trumpery." It had, indeed, to contend with more 
 slights than his. Like all originals, it was obliged 
 to wait for the death of the envious and the self- 
 loving, before it acquired a popularity which sur- 
 passed all precedent. Foscolo says, that Macchia- 
 velli and Ariosto, " the two writers of that age 
 who really possessed most excellence, were the 
 least praised during their lives. Bembo was ap- 
 proached in a posture of adoration and fear ; 
 the infamous Aretino extorted a fulsome letter 
 of praises from the great and the learned."^ He 
 
 ^ Essay, as above, p. 534. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 171 
 
 might have added, that the writer most in request 
 " in the circles" was a gentleman of the name of 
 Bernardo Accolti, then called the Unique, now 
 never heard of. Ariosto himself eulogised him 
 among a shoal of writers, half of whose names 
 have perished ; and who most likely included in 
 that half the men who thought he did not praise 
 them enough. For such was the fact ! I allude 
 to the charming invention in his last canto, in 
 which he supposes himself welcomed home after 
 a long voyage. ' Gay imitated it very pleasantly 
 in an address to Pope on the conclusion of his 
 Homer. Some of the persons thus honoured by 
 Ariosto were vexed, it is said, at not being praised 
 highly enough ; others at seeing so many praised 
 in their company ; some at being left out of the 
 list ; and some others at being mentioned at all ! 
 These silly people thought it taking too great a 
 liberty ! The poor flies of a day did not know 
 that a god had taken them in hand to give them 
 wings for eternity. Happily for them the names 
 of most of these mighty personages are not known. 
 One or two, however, took care to make posterity 
 laugh. Trissino, a very great man in his day, and 
 the would-be restorer of the ancient epic, had 
 the face, in return for the poet's too honourable 
 mention of him, to speak, in his own absurd 
 
172 ARIOSTO. 
 
 verses, of " Ariosto, with that Fitrioso of his, which 
 pleases the vulgar :" 
 
 •' L' Ariosto 
 Con quel Furioso suo che place al volgo." 
 
 " His poem," adds Panizzi, "has the merit of not 
 having pleased any body."^ A sullen critic, Spe- 
 rone (the same that afterwards plagued Tasso), was 
 so disappointed at being left out, that he became 
 the poet's bitter enemy. He talked of Ariosto tak- 
 ing himself for a swan and " dying like a goose" 
 (the allusion was to the fragment he left called 
 the Five Cantos). What has become of the swan 
 Sperone ? Bernardo Tasso, Torquato's father, 
 made a more reasonable (but which turned out to 
 be an unfounded) complaint, that Ariosto had 
 established a precedent which poets would find 
 inconvenient. And Macchiavelli, like the true 
 genius he was, expressed a goodnatured and flat- 
 tering regret that his friend Ariosto had left him 
 out of his list of congratulators, in a work which 
 was "fine throughout," and in some places " won- 
 derful. ''^ 
 
 The great Galileo knew Ariosto nearly by 
 heart.3 
 
 ^ Boiardo and Ariosto, vol. iv. p. 318. 
 
 2 Life, in Panizzi, p. ix. 
 
 ^ Opere di Galileo, Padova, 1744, vol. i. p. Ixxii. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 173 
 
 He is a poet whom it may require a certain 
 amount of animal spirits to relish thoroughly. The 
 air of his verse must agree with you before you 
 can perceive all its freshness and vitality. But if 
 read with any thing like Italian sympathy, with 
 allowance for times and manners, and with a se7ise 
 as well as admittance of the different kinds of the 
 beautiful in poetry (two very different things), you 
 will be ahnost as much charmed with the " divine 
 Ariosto" as his countrymen have been for ages. 
 
ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
Part I Angelica flies from the camp of Charlemagne into a 
 
 wood, where she meets with a number of her suitors. Description 
 of a beautiful natural bower. She claims the protection of Sacri- 
 pant, who is overthrown, in passing, by an unknown warrior that 
 turns out to be a damsel. Rinaldo comes up, and Angelica flies 
 from both. She meets a pretended hermit, who takes her to some 
 rocks in the sea, and casts her asleep by magic. They are seized 
 and carried off" by some mariners from the isle of Ebuda, where 
 she is exposed to be devoured by an ore, but is rescued by a 
 knight on a winged horse. He descends with her into a beautiful 
 spot on the coast of Brittany, but suddenly misses both horse and 
 lady. He is lured, with the other knights, into an enchanted 
 palace, whither Angelica comes too. She quits it, and again 
 eludes her suitors. 
 
 Part II. — Cloridan and Medoro, two Moorish youths, after a 
 battle with the Christians, resolve to find the dead body of their 
 master. King Dardinel, and bury it. They kill many sleepers as 
 they pass through the enemy's camp, and then discover the body ; 
 but are surprised, and left for dead themselves. Medoro, how- 
 ever, survives his friend, and is cured of his wounds by Angelica, 
 who happens to come up. She falls in love with and marries him. 
 Account of their honeymoon in the woods. They quit them to set 
 out for Cathay, and see a madman on the road. 
 
 Part III. — When the lovers had quitted their abode in the 
 wood, Orlando, by chance, arrived there, and saw every where, all 
 round him, in-doors and out-of-doors, inscriptions of ** Angelica 
 and Medoro." He tries in vain to disbelieve his eyes ; finally, 
 learns the whole story from the owner of the cottage, and loses his 
 senses. What he did in that state, both in the neighbourhood and 
 afar off, where he runs naked through the country. His arrival 
 among his brother Paladins ; and the result. 
 
THE 
 
 ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA, 
 
 (CONTINUED BY ARIOSTO FROM BOIARDO.M 
 
 ANGELICA AND HER SUITORS. 
 
 Angelica, not at all approving her consignment 
 to the care of Namo by Charlemagne, for the pur- 
 pose of being made the prize of the conqueror, 
 resolved to escape before the battle with the 
 Pagans. She accordingly mounted her palfrey at 
 once, and fled with all her might till she found 
 herself in a wood. 
 
 Scarcely had she congratulated herself on being 
 in a place of refuge, when she met a warrior full 
 armed, whom with terror she recognised to be the 
 once-loved but now detested Rinaldo. He had lost 
 his horse, and was looking for it. Angelica turned 
 her palfrey aside instantly, and galloped whither- 
 
 ' See p. 58 of the present volume. 
 
 i2 
 
178 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 soever it chose to carry her, till she came to a 
 river-side, where she found another of her suitors, 
 Ferragus. She called loudly upon him for help. 
 Rinaldo had recognised her in turn ; and though 
 he was on foot, she knew he would be coming 
 after her. 
 
 Come after her he did. A fight between the 
 rivals ensued ; and the beauty, taking advantage of 
 it, again fled away — fled like the fawn, that, hav- 
 ing seen its mother's throat seized by a wild beast, 
 scours through the woods, and fancies herself every 
 instant in the jaws of the monster. Every sweep 
 of the wind in the trees — every shadow across 
 her path — drove her with sudden starts into the 
 wildest cross-roads ; for it made her feel as if 
 Rinaldo was at her shoulders. ^ 
 
 Slackening her speed by degrees, she wandered 
 afterwards she knew not whither, till she came, 
 next day, to a pleasant wood that was gently stir- 
 
 1 << Fugge tra selve spaventose e scure, 
 Per lochi inabitati, ermi e selvaggi. 
 II mover de le frondi e di verzure 
 
 Che di cerri sentia, d' olmi e di faggi, 
 Fatto le avea con subite paure 
 
 Trovar di qua e di la strani viaggi ; 
 Ch' ad ogni ombra veduta o in monte o in valle 
 Temea Rinaldo aver sempre alle spalle." 
 
 Canto i. st. 33. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 179 
 
 ring with the breeze. There were two streams in 
 it, which kept the grass always green ; and when 
 you listened, you heard them softly running among 
 the pebbles with a broken murmur. 
 
 Thinking herself secure at last, and indeed 
 feeling as if she were now a thousand miles off 
 from Rinaldo — tired also with her long journey, 
 and with the heat of the summer sun — she here 
 determined to rest herself. She dismounted ; and 
 having relieved her horse of his bridle, and let him 
 wander away in the fresh pasture, she cast her 
 eyes upon a lovely natural bower, formed of wild 
 roses, which made a sort of little room by the 
 water's side. The bower beheld itself in the 
 water ; trees enclosed it overhead, on the three 
 other sides ; and in the middle was room enough 
 to lie down on the sward ; while the whole was so 
 thickly trellised with the leaves and branches, that 
 the sunbeams themselves could not enter, much 
 less any prying sight. The place invited her to 
 rest; and accordingly the beautiful creature laid 
 herself down, and so gathering herself, as it were, 
 together, went fast asleep. ^ 
 
 " " Ecco non lungi un bel cespnglio vede 
 Di spin fioriti e di vermiglie rose, 
 Che de le liquide onde al specchio siede, 
 Chiuso dal Sol fra 1' alte querela ombrose ; 
 
180 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 She had not slept long when she was awakened 
 by the trampling of a horse ; and getting up, and 
 looking cautiously through the trees, she per- 
 ceived a cavalier, who dismounted from his steed, 
 and sat himself down by the water in a melan- 
 choly posture. It was Sacripant, king of Cir- 
 cassia, one of her lovers, wretched at the thought 
 of having missed her in the camp of King Charles. 
 Angelica loved Sacripant no more than the rest ; 
 but, considering him a man of great conscientious- 
 ness, she thought he would make her a good pro- 
 tector while on her journey home. She therefore 
 suddenly appeared before him out of the bower, 
 like a goddess of the woods, or Venus herself, and 
 claimed his protection. 
 
 Never did a mother bathe the eyes of her son 
 with tears of such exquisite joy, when he came 
 home after news of his death in battle, as the 
 Saracen king beheld this sudden apparition with 
 
 Cosi voto nel mezo, che concede 
 
 Fresca stanza fra 1' ombre piu nascose : 
 E la foglie coi rami in modo e mista, 
 Che '1 Sol non v' entra, non che minor vista. 
 
 Dentro letto vi fan tener' erbette, 
 
 Ch' invitano a posar chi s' appresenta. 
 
 La bella donna in mezo a quel si mette ; 
 
 Ivi si scorca, et ivi s' addormenta." St. 37. 
 
 An exquisite picture ! 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 181 
 
 its divine face and beautiful manners. ^ He could 
 not help clasping her in his arms ; and very dif- 
 ferent intentions were coming into his head than 
 those for which she had given him credit, when 
 the noise of a second warrior thundering through 
 the woods made him remount his horse and pre- 
 pare for an encounter. The stranger speedily 
 made his appearance, a personage of a gallant and 
 fiery bearing, clad in a surcoat white as snow, 
 with a white streamer for a crest. He seemed 
 more bent on having the way cleared before him 
 than anxious about the manner of it ; so couching 
 his lance as he came, while Sacripant did the like 
 with his, he dashed upon the Circassian with such 
 violence as to cast him on the ground ; and though 
 his own horse slipped at the same time, he had it 
 up again in an instant with his spurs ; and so, 
 continuing his way, was a mile off before the Sa- 
 racen recovered from his astonishment. 
 
 As the stunned and stupid ploughman, who 
 has been stretched by a thunderbolt beside his 
 slain oxen, raises himself from the ground after 
 
 ^ And how lovely is this ! 
 
 " E fuor di quel cespuglio oscuro e cieco 
 Fa di se bella et improvvisa mostra, 
 Come di selva o fuor d' ombroso speco 
 
 Diana in scena, o Citerea si mostra," &c. St. 52. 
 
182 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 the lofty crash, and looks with astonishment at 
 the old pine-tree near him which has been strip- 
 ped from head to foot, with just such amazement 
 the Circassian got up from his downfall, and stood 
 in the presence of Angelica, who had witnessed it. 
 Never in his life had he blushed so red as at that 
 moment. 
 
 Angelica comforted him in sorry fashion, attri- 
 buting the disaster to his tired and ill-fed horse, 
 and observing that his enemy had chosen to risk 
 no second encounter ; but, while she was talking, 
 a messenger, with an appearance of great fatigue 
 and anxiety, came riding up, who asked Sacripant 
 if he had seen a knight in a white surcoat and 
 crest. 
 
 " He has this instant," answered the king, 
 " overthrown me, and galloped away. Who is 
 he?" 
 
 " It is no hsy' replied the messenger. " The 
 rider who has overthrown you, and thus taken 
 possession of whatever glory you may have ac- 
 quired, is a damsel ; and she is still more beautiful 
 than brave. Bradamante is her illustrious name." 
 
 And with these words the horseman set spurs 
 to his horse, and left the Saracen more miserable 
 than before. He mounted Angelica's horse with- 
 out a word, his own having been disabled ; and so, 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 183 
 
 taking her up behind him, proceeded on the road 
 in continued silenceJ 
 
 They had just gone a couple of miles, when 
 they again heard a noise, as of some powerful 
 body in haste ; and in a little while, a horse with- 
 out a rider came rushing towards them, in golden 
 trappings. It was Rinaldo's horse, Bayardo.^ The 
 Circassian, dismounting, thought to seize it, but 
 was welcomed with a curvet, which made him 
 beware how he hazarded something worse. The 
 horse then went straight to Angelica in a way as 
 caressing as a dog ; for he remembered how she 
 fed him in Albracca at the time when she w^as in 
 love with his ungracious master : and the beauty 
 recollected Bayardo with equal pleasure, for she 
 had need of him. Sacripant, however, watched 
 his opportunity, and mounted the horse ; so that 
 
 ' How admirable is the suddenness, brevity, and force of this 
 scene ! And it is as artful and dramatic as off-hand ; for this 
 Amazon, Bradamante, is the future heroine of the warlike part 
 of the poem, and the beauty from whose marriage with Ruggiero 
 is to spring the house of Este. Nor without her appearance at 
 this moment, as Panizzi has shewn (vol. i. p. cvi.), could a 
 variety of subsequent events have taken place necessary to the 
 greatest interests of the story. All the previous passages in 
 romance about Amazons are nothing compared with this flash of 
 a thunderbolt. 
 
 2 From bayard, old French ; bay-colour. 
 
184 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 now the two companions had each a separate 
 steed. They were about to proceed more at 
 their ease, when again a great noise was heard, 
 and Rinaldo himself was seen coming after them 
 on foot, threatening the Saracen with furious 
 gestures, for he saw that he had got his horse ; 
 and he recognised, above all, in a rage of jealousy, 
 the lovely face beside him. Angelica in vain im- 
 plored the Circassian to fly with her. He asked 
 if she had forgotten the wars of Albracca, and all 
 which he had done to serve her, that thus she sup- 
 posed him afraid of another battle. 
 
 Sacripant endeavoured to push Bayardo against 
 Rinaldo ; but the horse refusing to fight his mas- 
 ter, he dismounted, and the two rivals encountered 
 each other with their swords. At first they went 
 through the whole sword-exercise to no effect ; 
 but Rinaldo, tired of the delay, raised the terrible 
 Fusberta,^ and at one blow cut through the other's 
 twofold buckler of bone and steel, and benumbed 
 his arm. Angelica turned as pale as a criminal 
 going to execution ; and, without farther waiting, 
 galloped off through the forest, looking round 
 every instant to see if Rinaldo was upon her. 
 
 She had not gone far when she met an old 
 
 ^ His famous sword, vide p. 48, 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 185 
 
 man who seemed to be a hermit, but was in reahty 
 a magician, coming along upon an ass. He was of 
 venerable aspect, and seemed worn out with age 
 and mortifications ; yet, when he beheld the exqui- 
 site face before him, and heard the lady explain 
 how it was she needed his assistance, even he, old 
 as he really was, began to fancy himself a lover, 
 and determined to use his art for the purpose of 
 keeping his two rivals at a distance. Taking out 
 a book, and reading a little in it, there issued from 
 the air a spirit in likeness of a servant, whom he 
 sent to the two combatants with directions to give 
 them a false account of Orlando's having gone off 
 to France with Angelica. The spirit disappeared ; 
 and the magician journeying with his companion 
 to the sea-coast, raised another, who entered An- 
 gelica's horse, and carried her, to her astonishment 
 and terror, out to sea, and so round to some lonely 
 rocks. There, to her great comfort at first, the 
 old man rejoined her ; but his proceedings becom- 
 ing very mysterious, and exciting her indignation, 
 he cast her into a deep sleep. 
 
 It happened, at this moment, that a ship was 
 passing by the rocks, bound upon a tragical com- 
 mission from the island of Ebuda. It was the 
 custom of that place to consign a female daily to 
 the jaws of a sea-monster, for the purpose of avert- 
 
186 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 ing the wrath of one of their gods ; and as it was 
 thought that the god would be appeased if they 
 brought him one of singular beauty, the mariners 
 of the ship seized with avidity on the sleeping 
 Angelica, and carried her off, together with the old 
 man. The people of Ebuda, out of love and pity, 
 kept her, unexposed to the sea-monster, for some 
 days ; but at length she was bound to the rock 
 where it was accustomed to seek its food ; and 
 thus, in tears and horror, with not a friend to look 
 to, the delight of the world expected her fate. 
 East and west she looked in vain ; to the heavens 
 she looked in vain ; every where she looked in 
 vain. That beauty which had made King Agrican 
 come from the Caspian gates, with half Scythia, to 
 find his death from the hands of Orlando ; that 
 beauty which had made King Sacripant forget 
 both his country and his honour ; that beauty 
 which had tarnished the renown and the wisdom of 
 the great Orlando himself, and turned the whole 
 East upside down, and laid it at the feet of love- 
 liness, has now not a soul near it to give it the 
 comfort of a word. 
 
 Leaving our heroine awhile in this condition, I 
 must now tell you that Ruggiero, the greatest of 
 all the infidel warriors, had been presented by his 
 guardian, the magician Atlantes, with two wonder- 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 187 
 
 ful gifts ; the one a shield of dazzling metal, which 
 blinded and overthrew every one that looked at it ; 
 and the other an animal which combined the bird 
 with the quadruped, and was called the Hippogriif, 
 or griffin-horse. It had the plumage, the wings, 
 head, beak, and front-legs of a griffin, and the rest 
 like a horse. It was not made by enchantment, 
 but was a creature of a natural kind found but very 
 rarely in the Riphaean mountains, far on the other 
 side of the Frozen Sea.^ 
 
 With these gifts, high mounted in the air, the 
 young ward of Atlantes was now making the 
 grandest of grand tours. He had for some time 
 been confined by the magician in a castle, in 
 order to save him from the dangers threatened in 
 his horoscope. From this he had been set free by 
 the lady with whom he was destined to fall in 
 love ; he had then been inveigled by a wicked 
 fairy into her tower, and set free by a good one ; 
 and now he was on his travels through the world, 
 to seek his mistress and pursue knightly ad- 
 ventures. 
 
 Casting his eyes on the coast of Ebuda, the 
 rider of the hippogrifi* beheld the amazing spec- 
 tacle of the lady tied to the rock ; and struck with 
 
 ^ To richness and rarity, how much is added by remoteness ! 
 It adds distance to the other difficulties of procuring it. 
 
188 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 a beauty which reminded him of her whom he 
 loved, he resolved to deliver her from a peril which 
 soon became too manifest. 
 
 A noise was heard in the sea; and the huge 
 monster, the Ore, appeared half in the water and 
 half out of it, like a ship which drags its way into 
 port after a long and tempestuous voyage. ^ It 
 seemed a huge mass without form except the head, 
 which had eyes sticking out, and bristles like a 
 boar. Ruggiero, who had dashed down to the side 
 of Angelica, and attempted to encourage her in 
 
 1 '* Ecco apparir lo smisurato mostro 
 Mezo ascoso ne 1' onda, e mezo sorto. 
 Come sospinto suol da Borea o d' Ostro 
 Venir lungo navilio a pigliar porto." 
 
 Canto X. St. 100. 
 
 Improved from Ovid, Metamorph. lib. iv. 706 : 
 
 ** Eccevelut navis prsefixo concita rostro 
 
 Sulcat aquas, juvenum sudantibus acta lacertis ; 
 Sic fera," &c. 
 
 As when a galley with sharp beak comes fierce, 
 Ploughing the waves with many a sweating oar. 
 
 Ovid is brisker and more obviously to the purpose ; but Ariosto 
 gives the ponderousness and dreary triumph of the monster. The 
 comparison of the fly and the mastiff is in the same higher and 
 more epic taste. The classical reader need not be told that the 
 whole ensuing passage, as far as the combat is concerned, is imi- 
 tated from Ovid's story of Perseus and Andromeda. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 189 
 
 vain, now rose in the air ; and the monster, whose 
 attention was diverted by a shadow on the water 
 of a couple of great wings dashing round and 
 above him, presently felt a spear on his neck ; but 
 only to irritate him, for it could not pierce the skin. 
 In vain Ruggiero tried to do so a hundred times. 
 The combat was of no more effect than that of 
 the fly with the mastifi", when it dashes against his 
 eyes and mouth, and at last comes once too often 
 within the gape of his snapping teeth. The ore 
 raised such a foam and tempest in the waters with 
 the flapping of his tail, that the knight of the hip- 
 pogrifl" hardly knew whether he was in air or sea. 
 He began to fear that the monster would disable 
 the creature's wings ; and where would its rider 
 be then ? He therefore had recourse to a weapon 
 which he never used but at the last moment, 
 when skill and courage became of no service : he 
 unveiled the magic shield. But first he flew to 
 Angelica, and put on her finger the ring vvhich 
 neutralised its efifect. The shield blazed on the 
 water like another sun. The ore, beholding it, 
 felt it smite its eyes like lightning ; and rolling 
 over its unwieldy body in the foam which it had 
 raised, lay turned up, like a dead fish, insensible. 
 But it was not dead ; and Ruggiero was so long 
 in making ineffectual efforts to pierce it, that An- 
 
190 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 gelica cried out to him for God's sake to release 
 her while he had the opportunity, lest the monster 
 should revive. " Take me with you," she said ; 
 " drown me ; any thing, rather than let me be 
 food for this horror." 
 
 The knight released her instantly. He set her 
 behind him on the winged horse, and in a few 
 minutes was in the air, transported with having 
 deprived the brute of his delicate supper. Then, 
 turning as he went, he imprinted on her a thou- 
 sand kisses. He had intended to make a tour of 
 Spain, which was not far off; but he now altered 
 his mind, and descended with his prize into a lovely 
 spot, on the coast of Brittany, encircled with oaks 
 full of nightingales, with here and there a solitary 
 mountain. 
 
 It was a little green meadow with a brook.^ 
 
 * *' Sul lito un bosco era di querce ombrose, 
 Dove ogn' or par che Filomena piagna ; 
 Ch' in mezo avea un pratel con una fonte, 
 E quinci e quindi un solitario monte. 
 
 Quivi il bramoso cavalier ritenne 
 
 L' audace corso, e nel pratel discese." 
 
 St. 113. 
 
 What a landscape ! and what a charm beyond painting he has 
 put into it with his nightingales ! and then what figures besides ! 
 A knight on a winged steed descending with a naked beauty into 
 a meadow in the thick of woods, with "here and there a soli- 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 191 
 
 Ruggiero looked about him with transport, and 
 was preparing to disencumber himself of his hot 
 armour, when the blushing beauty, casting her 
 eyes downwards, beheld on her finger the identical 
 magic ring which her father had given her when 
 she first entered Christendom, and which had de- 
 livered her out of so many dangers. If put on 
 the finger only, it neutralised all enchantment ; 
 but put into the mouth, it rendered the wearer 
 invisible. It had been stolen from her, and came 
 into the hands of a good fairy, who gave it to Rug- 
 giero, in order to deliver him from the wiles of a 
 bad one. Falsehood to the good fairy's friend, his 
 own mistress Bradamante, now rendered him un- 
 worthy of its possession ; and at the moment when 
 he thought Angelica his own beyond redemption, 
 she vanished out of his sight. In vain he knew 
 the secret of the ring, and the possibility of her 
 being still present — the certainty, at all events, of 
 her not being very far off. He ran. hither and 
 thither like a madman, hoping to clasp her in his 
 arms, and embracing nothing but the air. In a little 
 while slie was distant far enough ; and Ruggiero, 
 
 tary mountain." The mountains make no formal circle; they 
 keep their separate distances, with their vaiious intervals of light 
 and shade. And what a heart of solitude is given to the meadow 
 by the loneliness of these its waiters aloof ! 
 
192 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 stamping about to no purpose in a rage of disap- 
 pointment, and at length resolving to take horse, 
 perceived he had been deprived, in the mean time, 
 of his hippogriff. It had loosened itself from the 
 tree to which he had tied it, and taken its own 
 course over the mountains. Thus he had lost 
 horse, ring, and lady, all at once.^ 
 
 Pursuing his way, with contending emotions, 
 through a valley between lofty woods, he heard a 
 great noise in the thick of them. He rushed to 
 see what it was ; and found a giant combating 
 with a young knight. The giant got the better of 
 the knight; and having cast him on the ground, 
 unloosed his helmet for the purpose of slaying 
 him, when Ruggiero, to his horror, beheld in the 
 youth's face that of his unworthily-treated mistress 
 Bradamante. He rushed to assault her enemy ; 
 but the giant, seizing her in his arms, took to his 
 heels ; and the penitent lover followed him with all 
 his might, but in vain. The wretch was hidden 
 from his eyes by the trees. At length Ruggiero, 
 incessantly pursuing him, issued forth into a great 
 meadow, containing a noble mansion ; and here 
 he beheld the giant in the act of dashing through 
 the gate of it with his prize. 
 
 ^ Nothing can be more pei'fectly wrought up than this sudden 
 change of circumstances. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 193 
 
 The mansion was an enchanted one, raised by 
 the anxious old guardian of Ruggiero for the pur- 
 pose of enticing into it both the youth himself, 
 and all from whom he could experience danger in 
 the course of his adventures. Orlando had just 
 been brought there by a similar device, that of the 
 apparition of a knight carrying off Angelica ; for 
 the supposed Bradamante was equally a deception, 
 and the giant no other than the magician himself. 
 There also were the knights Ferragus, and Bran- 
 dimart, and Grandonio, and King Sacripant, all 
 searching for something they had missed. They 
 wandered about the house to no purpose ; and 
 sometimes Ruggiero heard Bradamante calling 
 him ; and sometimes Orlando beheld Angelica's 
 face at a window.^ 
 
 At length the beauty arrived in her own veri- 
 table person. She was again on horseback, and 
 once more on the look-out for a knight who should 
 
 ^ To feel the complete force of this picture, a reader should 
 have been in the South, and beheld the like sudden appai'itions, at 
 open windows, of ladies looking forth in dresses of beautiful colours, 
 and with faces the most interesting. I remember a vision of this 
 sort at Carrara, on a bright but not too hot day (I fancied that 
 the marble mountains there cooled it). It resembled one of Ti- 
 tian's women, with its broad shoulders, and boddice and sleeves 
 differently coloured from the petticoat ; and seemed literally framed 
 in the unsashed window. But I am digressing. 
 
 VOL. H. K 
 
194 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 conduct her safely home — whether Orlando or 
 Sacripant she had not determined. The same 
 road which had brought Ruggiero to the en- 
 chanted house having done as much for her, she 
 now entered it invisibly by means of the ring. 
 
 Finding both the knights in the place, and 
 feeling under the necessity of coming to a deter- 
 mination respecting one or the other, Angelica 
 made up her mind in favour of King Sacripant, 
 whom she reckoned to be more at her disposal. 
 Contriving therefore to meet him by himself, she 
 took the ring out of her mouth, and suddenly 
 appeared before him. He had hardly recovered 
 from his amazement, when Ferragus and Orlando 
 himself came up ; and as Angelica now was visible 
 to all, she took occasion to deliver them from the 
 enchanted house by hastening before them into a 
 wood. They all followed of course, in a frenzy of 
 anxiety and delight ; but the lady being perplexed 
 with the presence of the whole three, and recol- 
 lecting that she had again obtained possession of 
 her ring, resolved to trust her safe conduct to invi- 
 sibility alone ; so, in the old fashion, she left them 
 to new quarrels by suddenly vanishing from their 
 eyes. She stopped, nevertheless, a while to laugh 
 at them, as they all turned their stupified faces 
 hither and thither ; then suffered them to pass her 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 195 
 
 in a blind thunder of pursuit ; and so, gently fol- 
 lowing at her leisure on the same road, took her 
 way towards the East. 
 
 It was a long journey, and she saw many places 
 and people, and was now hidden and now seen, 
 like the moon, till she came one day into a forest 
 near the walls of Paris, where she beheld a youth 
 lying wounded on the grass, between two com- 
 panions that were dead. 
 
196 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 ^art t!)e »)0conti> 
 
 ANGELICA AND MEDORO. 
 
 Now, in order to understand who the youth was 
 that Angelica found lying on the grass between 
 the two dead companions, and how he came to be 
 so lying, you must know that a great battle had 
 been fought there between Charlemagne and the 
 Saracens, in which the latter were defeated, and 
 that these three people belonged to the Saracens. 
 The two that were slain were Dardinel, king of 
 Zumara, and Cloridan, one of his followers ; and 
 the wounded survivor was another, whose name 
 was Medoro. Cloridan and Medoro had been 
 loving and grateful servants of Dardinel, and very 
 fast friends of one another; such friends, indeed, 
 that on their own account, as well as in honour of 
 what they did for their master, their history de- 
 serves a particular mention. 
 
 They were of a lowly stock on the coast of 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF AXGELICA. 197 
 
 Syria, and in all the various fortunes of their lord 
 had shewn him a special attachment. Cloridan 
 had been bred a huntsman, and was the robuster 
 person of the two. Medoro was in the first bloom 
 of youth, with a complexion rosy and fair, and 
 a most pleasant as well as beautiful countenance. 
 He had black eyes, and hair that ran into curls 
 of gold ; in short, looked like a very angel from 
 heaven. 
 
 These two were keeping anxious watch upon 
 the trenches of the defeated army, when Medoro, 
 unable to cease thinking of the master who had 
 been left dead on the field, told his friend that he 
 could no longer delay to go and look for his dead 
 body, and bury it. " You," said he, " will re- 
 main, and so be able to do justice to my memory, 
 in case I fail." 
 
 Cloridan, though he delighted in this proof of 
 his friend's noble-heartedness, did all he could to 
 dissuade him from so perilous an enterprise ; but 
 Medoro, in the fervour of his gratitude for bene- 
 fits conferred on him by his lord, was immov- 
 able in his determination to die or to succeed; 
 and Cloridan, seeing this, determined to go with 
 him. 
 
 They took their way accordingly out of the 
 Saracen camp, and in a short time found them- 
 
198 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 selves in that of the enemy. The Christians had 
 been drinking over-night for joy at their victory, 
 and were buried in wine and sleep. Cloridan 
 halted a moment, and said in a whisper to his 
 friend, " Do you see this ? Ought I to lose 
 such an opportunity of revenging our beloved 
 master? Keep watch, and I will do it. Look 
 about you, and listen on every side, while I make 
 a passage for us among these sleepers with my 
 sword." 
 
 Without waiting an answer, the vigorous 
 huntsman pushed into the first tent before him. 
 It contained, among other occupants, a certain 
 Alpheus, a physician and caster of nativities, who 
 had prophesied to himself a long life, and a death 
 in the bosom of his family. Cloridan cautiously 
 put the sword's point in his throat, and there was 
 an end of his dreams. Four other sleepers were 
 despatched in like manner, without time given 
 them to utter a syllable. After them went an- 
 other, who had entrenched himself between two 
 horses; then the luckless Grill, who had made 
 himself a pillow of a barrel which he had emptied. 
 He was dreaming of opening a second barrel, but, 
 alas, was tapped himself. A Greek and a German 
 followed, who had been playing. late at dice; for- 
 tunate, if they had continued to do so a little 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 199 
 
 longer; but they never counted a throw like this 
 among their chances. 
 
 By this time the Saracen had grown ferocious 
 with his bloody work, and went slaughtering along 
 like a wild beast among sheep. Nor could Me- 
 doro keep his own sword unemployed ; but he 
 disdained to strike indiscriminately — he was choice 
 in his victims. Among these was a certain Duke 
 La Brett, who had his lady fast asleep in his arms. 
 Shall I pity them ? That will I not. Sweet was 
 their fated hour, most happy their departure ; for, 
 embraced as the sword found them, even so, I 
 believe, it dismissed them into the other world, 
 loving and enfolded. 
 
 Two brothers were slain next, sons of the 
 Count of Flanders, and newly -made valorous 
 knights. Charlemagne had seen them turn red 
 with slaughter in the field, and had augmented 
 their coat of arms with his lilies, and promised 
 them lands beside in Friesland. And he would 
 have bestowed the lands, only Medoro forbade it. 
 
 The friends now discovered that they had ap- 
 proached the quarter in which the Paladins kept 
 guard about their sovereign. They were afraid, 
 therefore, to continue the slaughter any further ; 
 so they put up their swords, and picked their way 
 cautiously through the rest of the camp into the 
 
200 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 field where the battle had taken place. There 
 they experienced so much difficulty in the search 
 for their master's body, in consequence of the 
 horrible mixture of the corpses, that they might 
 have searched till the perilous return of daylight, 
 had not the moon, at the close of a prayer of 
 Medoro's, sent forth its beams right on the spot 
 where the king was lying. Medoro knew him by 
 his cognizance, argent and gules. The poor youth 
 burst into tears at the sight, weeping plentifully 
 as he approached him, only he was obliged to let 
 his tears flow without noise. Not that he cared 
 for death — at that moment he would gladly 
 have embraced it, so deep was his affection for 
 his lord ; but he was anxious not to be hin- 
 dered in his pious office of consigning him to the 
 earth. 
 
 The two friends took up the dead king on 
 their shoulders, and were hasting away with the 
 beloved burden, when the whiteness of dawn 
 began to appear, and with it, unfortunately, a 
 troop of horsemen in the distance, right in their 
 path. 
 
 It was Zerbino, prince of Scotland, with a 
 party of horse. He was a warrior of extreme 
 vigilance and activity, and was returning to the 
 camp after having been occupied all night in pur- 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 201 
 
 suing such of the enemy as had not succeeded in 
 getting into their entrenchments. ^ 
 
 " My friend," exclaimed the huntsman, " we 
 must e'en take to our heels. Two living people 
 must not be sacrificed to one who is dead." 
 
 With these words he let go his share of the 
 burden, taking for granted that the friend, whose 
 life as well as his own he was thinking to secure, 
 would do as he himself did. But attached as 
 Cloridan had been to his master, Medoro was far 
 more so. He accordingly received the whole bur- 
 den on his shoulders. Cloridan meantime scoured 
 away, as fast as feet could carry him, thinking his 
 companion was at his side : otherwise he would 
 sooner have died a hundred times over than have 
 left him. 
 
 In the interim, the party of the Scottish prince 
 had dispersed themselves about the plain, for the 
 
 ^ Ariosto elsewhere represents him as the handsomest man in 
 the world ; saying of him, in a line that has become famous, 
 
 " Natura il fece, e poi roppe la stampa." 
 
 Canto X. St. b-i. 
 
 — Nature made him, and then broke the mould. 
 
 (The word is generally printed rwppe ; but T use the primitive text 
 of Mr. Pannizi's edition.) Boiardo's handsomest man, Astolfo, 
 was an Englishman ; Ariosto's is a Scotchman. See, in the pre- 
 sent volume, the note on the character of Astolfo, p. 41. 
 K 2 
 
202 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 purpose of intercepting the two fugitives, which- 
 ever way they went ; for they saw plainly they 
 were enemies, by the alarm they shewed. 
 
 There was an old forest at hand in those days, 
 which, besides being thick and dark, was full of 
 the most intricate cross-paths, and inhabited only 
 by game. Into this Cloridan had plunged. Me- 
 doro, as well as he could, hastened after him ; but 
 hampered as he was with his burden, the more he 
 sought the darkest and most intricate paths, the 
 less advanced he found himself, especially as he 
 had no acquaintance with the place. 
 
 On a sudden, Cloridan having arrived at a 
 spot so quiet that he became aware of the silence, 
 missed his beloved friend. " Great God !" he ex- 
 claimed, " what have I done ? Left him I know 
 not where, or how !" The swift runner instantly 
 turned about, and, retracing his steps, came volun- 
 tarily back on the road to his own death. As he 
 approached the scene where it was to take place, 
 he began to hear the noise of men and horses ; 
 then he discerned voices threatening ; then the 
 voice of his unhappy friend ; and at length he saw 
 him, still bearing his load, in the midst of the 
 whole troop of horsemen. The prince was com- 
 manding them to seize him. The poor youth, 
 however, burdened as he was, rendered it no such 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 203 
 
 easy matter ; for he turned himself about like a 
 wheel, and entrenched himself, now behind this 
 tree and now behind that. Finding this would 
 not do, he laid his beloved burden on the ground, 
 and then strode hither and thither, over and round 
 about it, parrying the horsemen's endeavours to 
 take hijn prisoner. Never did poor hunted bear 
 feel more conflicting emotions, when, surprised in 
 her den, she stands over her offspring with un- 
 certain heart, groaning with a mingled sound of 
 tenderness and rage. Wrath bids her rush for- 
 ward, and bury her nails in the flesh of their 
 enemy ; love melts her, and holds her back in the 
 middle of her fury, to look upon those whom she 
 bore.i 
 
 ^ " Come orsa, che 1' alpestre cacciatore 
 
 Ne la pietrosa tana assalita abbia, 
 Sta sopra i figli con incerto core, 
 
 E freme in suono di pieta e di rabbia : 
 Ira la 'nvita e natural furore 
 
 A spiegar 1' ugne, e a insanguinar le labbia ; 
 Amor la 'ntenerisce, e la ritira 
 A riguardare a i figli in mezo 1' ira." 
 
 Like as a bear, whom men in mountains start 
 In her old stony den, and dare, and goad, 
 
 Stands o'er her children with uncertain heart, 
 And roars for rage and sorrow in one mood : 
 
 Anger impels her, and her natural part, 
 
 To use her nails, and bathe her lips iu blood ; 
 
204 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 Cloridaii was in an agony of perplexity what 
 to do. He longed to rush forth and die with his 
 friend ; he longed also still to do what he could, 
 and not to let him die unavenged. He therefore 
 halted awhile before he issued from the trees, and, 
 putting an arrow to his bow, sent it well-aimed 
 among the horsemen. A Scotsman fell dead from 
 his saddle. The troop all turned to see whence 
 the arrow came ; and as they were raging and 
 crying out, a second stuck in the throat of the 
 loudest. 
 
 "This is not to be borne," cried the prince, 
 pushing his horse towards Medoro ; " you shall 
 suffer for this." And so speaking, he thrust his 
 hand into the golden locks of the youth, and drag- 
 
 Love melts her, and, for all her angry roar, 
 Holds back her eyes to look on those she bore. 
 
 This stanza in Ariosto has become famous as a beautiful tran- 
 script of a beautiful passage in Statins, which, indeed, it surpasses 
 in style, but not in feeling, especially when we consider with whom 
 the comparison originates : 
 
 ** Ut lea, quam ssevo foetam pressere cubili 
 Venantes Numidse, natos erecta superstat 
 Mente sub incerta, torvum ac miserabile frendens : 
 Ilia quidem turbare globos, et frangere morsu 
 Tela queat ; sed prolis amor crudelia A^mcit 
 Pectora, et in media catulos circumspicit ira." 
 
 Thehais, x. 414. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 205 
 
 ged him violently backwards, intending to kill 
 him ; but when he looked on his beautiful face, 
 he couldn't do it. 
 
 The youth betook himself to entreaty. " For 
 God's sake, sir knight !" cried he, " be not so 
 cruel as to deny me leave to bury my lord and 
 master. He was a king. I ask nothing for my- 
 self — not even my life. I do not care for my 
 life. I care for nothing but to bury my lord and 
 master." 
 
 These words were spoken in a manner so ear- 
 nest, that the good prince could feel nothing but 
 pity; but a ruffian among the troop, losing sight 
 even of respect for his lord, thrust his lance into 
 the poor youth's bosom right over the prince's 
 hand. Zerbino turned with indignation to smite 
 him, but the villain, seeing what was coming, gal- 
 loped off; and meanwhile Cloridan, thinking that 
 his friend was slain, came leaping full of rage out 
 of the wood, and laid about him with his sword 
 in mortal desperation. Twenty swords were upon 
 him in a moment ; and perceiving life flowing out 
 of him, he let himself fall down by the side of his 
 friend. 1 
 
 The Scotsmen, supposing both the friends to 
 
 ^ This adventure of Cloridan and Medoro is imitated from the 
 Nisus and Euryalus of Virgil. An Italian critic, quoted by Panizzi, 
 
206 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 be dead, now took their departure ; and Medoro 
 indeed would have been dead before long, he bled 
 so profusely. But assistance of a very unusual sort 
 was at hand. 
 
 A lady on a palfrey happened to be coming 
 by, who observed signs of life in him, and was 
 struck with his youth and beauty. She was at- 
 tired with great simplicity, but her air was that 
 of a person of high rank, and her beauty inexpres- 
 
 says, that the way in which Cloridan exposes himself to the enemy 
 is inferior to the Latin poet's famous 
 
 " Me, me (adsum qui feci), in me convertite ferrum." 
 
 Me, me ('tis I who did the deed), slay me. 
 
 And the reader will agree with Panizzi, that he is right. The cir- 
 cumstance, also, of Euryalus's bequeathing his aged mother to the 
 care of his prince, in case he fails in his enterprise, is very touch- 
 ing; and the main honour, both of the invention of the whole 
 episode and its particulars, remains with Virgil. On the other 
 hand, the enterprise of the friends in the Italian poet, which is 
 that of burying their dead master, and notmerely of communicating 
 with an absent general, is more affecting, though it may be less 
 patriotic ; the inability of Zerbino to kill him, when he looked on 
 his face, is extremely so ; and, as Panizzi has shewn, the adventure 
 is made of importance to the whole story of the poem, and is not 
 simply an episode, like that in the ^Eneid. It serves, too, in a 
 very particular manner to introduce Medoro worthily to the affec- 
 tion of Angelica ; for, mere female though she be, we should hardly 
 have gone along with her passion as we do, in a poem of any 
 seriousness, had it been founded merely on his beauty. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 207 
 
 sible. In short, it was the proud daughter of the 
 lord of Cathay, Angelica herself. Finding that 
 she could travel in safety and independence by 
 means of the magic ring, her self-estimation had 
 risen to such a height, that she disdained to stoop 
 to the companionship of the greatest man living. 
 She could not even call to mind that such lovers 
 as the County Orlando or King Sacripant existed : 
 and it mortified her beyond measure to think of 
 the affection she had entertained for Rinaldo. 
 
 " Such arrogance," thought Love, " is not to 
 be endured." The little archer with the wings 
 put an arrow to his bow, and stood waiting for 
 her by the spot where Medoro lay. 
 
 Now, when the beauty belicld the youth lying 
 half dead with his wounds, and yet, on accosting 
 him, found that he lamented less for himself than 
 for the unburied body of the king his master, she 
 felt a tenderness unknown before creep into every 
 particle of her being ; and as the greatest ladies 
 of India were accustomed to dress the wounds of 
 their knights, she bethought her of a balsam which 
 she had observed in coming along ; and so, look- 
 ing about for it, brought it back with her to the 
 spot, together with a herdsman whom she had met 
 on horseback in search of one of his stray cattle. 
 The blood was ebbing so fast, that the poor youth 
 
208 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 was on the point of expiring ; but Angelica bruised 
 the plant between stones, and gathered the juice 
 into her delicate hands, and restored his strength 
 with infusing it into the wounds ; so that, in a 
 little while, he was able to get on the horse be- 
 longing to the herdsman, and be carried away to 
 the man's cottage. He would not quit his lord's 
 body, however, nor that of his friend, till he had 
 seen them laid in the ground. He then went with 
 the lady, and she took up her abode with him in 
 the cottage, and attended him till he recovered, 
 loving him more and more day by day ; so that at 
 length she fairly told him as much, and he loved 
 her in turn ; and the king's daughter married the 
 lowly-born soldier. 
 
 O County Orlando ! O King Sacripant ! That 
 renowned valour of yours, say, what has it availed 
 you ? That lofty honour, tell us, at what price is 
 it rated? What is the reward ye have obtained 
 for all your services ? Shew us a single courtesy 
 which the lady ever vouchsafed, late or early, for 
 all that you ever suffered in her behalf. 
 
 O King Agrican ! if you could return to life, 
 how hard would you think it to call to mind all 
 the repulses she gave you — all the pride and aver- 
 sion and contempt with which she received your 
 advances ! 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 209 
 
 O Ferragus ! O thousands of others too nume- 
 rous to speak of, who performed thousands of ex- 
 ploits for this ungrateful one, what would you all 
 think at beholding her in the arms of the courted 
 boy! 
 
 Yes, Medoro had the first gathering of the 
 kiss off the lips of Angelica — those lips never 
 touched before — that garden of roses on the 
 threshold of which nobody ever yet dared to 
 venture. The love was headlong and irresistible ; 
 but the priest was called in to sanctify it; and 
 the brideswoman of the daughter of Cathay was 
 the wife of the cottager. 
 
 The lovers remained upwards of a month in 
 the cottage. Angelica could not bear her young 
 husband out of her sight. She was for ever gazing 
 on him, and hanging on his neck. In-doors and 
 out-of-doors, day as well as night, she had him at 
 her side. In the morning or evening they wan- 
 dered forth along the banks of some stream, or by 
 the hedge-rows of some verdant meadow. In the 
 middle of the day they took refuge from the heat 
 in a grotto that seemed made for lovers ; and 
 wherever, in their wanderings, they found a tree 
 fit to carve and write on, by the side of fount or 
 river, or even a slab of rock soft enough for the 
 purpose, there they were sure to leave their names 
 
210 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 on the bark or marble ; so that, what with the in- 
 scriptions in-doors and out-of-doors (for the walls 
 of the cottage displayed them also), a visitor of 
 the place could not have turned his eye in any 
 direction without seeing the words 
 
 " ANGELICA AND MEDORO" 
 
 written in as many different ways as true-lovers' 
 knots could run.^ 
 
 Having thus awhile enjoyed themselves in the 
 rustic solitude, the Queen of Cathay (for in the 
 course of her adventures in Christendom she had 
 succeeded to her father's crown) thought it time to 
 return to her beautiful empire, and complete the 
 triumph of love by crowning Medoro king of it. 
 
 ^ Canto xix. st. 34, &c. All the world have felt this to be a 
 true picture of first love. The inscription may be said to be that 
 of every other pair of lovers that ever existed, who knew how to 
 write their names. 
 
 How musical, too, are the words " Angelica and Medoro I" 
 Boiardo invented the one ; Ariosto found the match for it. One 
 has no end to the pleasure of repeating them. All hail to the 
 moment when I first became aware of their existence, more than 
 fifty years ago, in the house of the gentle artist Benjamin West ! 
 (Let the reader indulge me with this recollection.) I sighed with 
 pleasure to look on them at that time ; I sigh now, with far 
 more pleasure than pain, to look back on them, for they never 
 come across me but with delight ; and poetry is a world in which 
 nothing beautiful ever thoroughly forsakes us. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 211 
 
 She took leave of the cottagers with a princely 
 gift. The islanders of Ebuda had deprived her of 
 every thing valuable but a rich bracelet, which, 
 for some strange, perhaps superstitious, reason, 
 they left on her arm. This she took off, and 
 made a present of it to the good couple for their 
 hospitality; and so bade them farewell. 
 
 The bracelet was of inimitable workmanship, 
 adorned with gems, and had been given by the 
 enchantress Morgana to a favourite youth, who 
 was rescued from her wiles by Orlando. The 
 youth, in gratitude, bestowed it on his preserver ; 
 and the hero had humbly presented it to Ange- 
 lica, who vouchsafed to accept it, not because of 
 the giver, but for the rarity of the gift. 
 
 The happy bride and bridegroom, bidding fare- 
 well to France, proceeded by easy journeys, and 
 crossed the mountains into Spain, where it was 
 their intention to take ship for the Levant. De- 
 scending the Pyrenees, they discerned the ocean 
 in the distance, and had now reached the coast, 
 and were proceeding by the water-side along the 
 high road to Barcelona, when they beheld a 
 miserable-looking creature, a madman, all over 
 mud and dirt, lying naked in the sands. He had 
 buried himself half inside them for shelter from 
 the sun ; but having observed the lovers as they 
 
212 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 came along, he leaped out of his hole like a dog, 
 and came raging against them. 
 
 But, before I proceed to relate who this mad- 
 man was, I must return to the cottage which the 
 two lovers had occupied, and recount what passed 
 in it during the interval between their bidding it 
 adieu and their arrival in this place. 
 
THE ADVEXTURES OF ANGELICA. 213 
 
 ^att t^e ^l)irti. 
 
 THE JEALOUSY OF ORLANDO. 
 
 During the course of his search for Angelica, the 
 County Orlando had just restored two lovers to 
 one another, and was pursuing a Pagan enemy 
 to no purpose through a wild and tangled wood, 
 when he came into a beautiful spot by a river's 
 side, which tempted him to rest himself from the 
 heat. It was a small meadow, full of daisies and 
 butter-cups, and surrounded with trees. There 
 was an air abroad, notwithstanding the heat, which 
 made the shepherds glad to sit without their 
 jerkins, and receive the coolness on their naked 
 bodies : even the hard-skinned cattle were glad 
 of it ; and Orlando, who was armed cap-a-pie, was 
 delighted to take off his helmet, and lay aside his 
 buckler, and repose awhile in the midst of a scene 
 so refreshing. Alas ! it was the unhappiest mo- 
 ment of his life. 
 
 Casting his eyes around him, while about to 
 
214 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 get off his horse, he observed a handwriting on 
 many of the trees which he thought he knew. 
 Riding up to the trees, and looking more closely, 
 he was sure he knew it ; and in truth it was no 
 other than that of his adored mistress Angelica, 
 and the inscription one of those numerous inscrip- 
 tions of which I have spoken. The spot was one 
 of the haunts of the lovers while they abode in 
 the shepherd's cottage. Wherever the County 
 turned his eyes, he beheld, tied together in true- 
 lovers' knots, nothing but the words 
 
 *' ANGELICA AND MEDORO." 
 
 All the trees had them — his eyes could see nothing 
 else ; and every letter was a dagger that pierced 
 his heart. 
 
 The unhappy lover tried in vain to disbelieve 
 what he saw. He endeavoured to compel himself 
 to think that it w^as some other Angelica who had 
 written the words ; but he knew the handwriting 
 too well. Too often had he dwelt upon it, and 
 made himself familiar with every turn of the let- 
 ters. He then strove to fancy that " Medoro" was 
 a feigned name, intended for himself; but he felt 
 that he was trying to delude himself, and that the 
 more he tried, the bitterer was his conviction of 
 the truth. He was like a bird fixing itself only 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 215 
 
 the more deeply in the lime in which it is caught, 
 by struggling and beating its wings. 
 
 Orlando turned his horse away in his anguish, 
 and paced it towards a grotto covered with vine 
 and ivy, which he looked into. The grotto, both 
 outside and in, was full of the like inscriptions. 
 It was the retreat the lovers were so fond of at 
 noon. Their names were written on all sides of 
 it, some in chalk and coal,^ others carved with a 
 knife. 
 
 The wretched beholder got off his horse and 
 entered the grotto. The first thing that met his 
 eyes was a larger inscription in the Saracen lover's 
 own handwriting and tongue — a language which 
 the slayer of the infidels was too well acquainted 
 with. The words were in verse, and expressed the 
 gratitude of the "poor Medoro," the writer, for 
 having had in his arms, in that grotto, the beau- 
 tiful Angelica, daughter of King Galafron, whom 
 so many had loved in vain. The writer invoked a 
 blessing on every part of it, its shades, its waters, 
 its flowers, its creeping plants ; and entreated every 
 person, high and low, who should chance to visit 
 
 ^ " Scritti, qual con carbone e qual con gesso." 
 
 Canto xxiii. st. 106. 
 
 Ariosto did not mind soiling the beautiful lingers of Angelica with 
 coal and chalk. He knew that Love did not mind it. 
 
216 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 it, particularly lovers, that they would bless the 
 place likewise, and take care that it was never 
 polluted by foot of herd. 
 
 Thrice, and four times, did the unhappy Or- 
 lando read these words, trying always, but in vain, 
 to disbelieve what he saw. Every time he read, 
 they appeared plainer and plainer ; and every time 
 did a cold hand seem to be wringing the heart in 
 his bosom. At length he remained with his eyes 
 fixed on the stone, seeing nothing more, not even 
 the stone itself. He felt as if his wits were leav- 
 ing him, so abandoned did he seem of all comfort. 
 Let those imagine what he felt who have expe- 
 rienced the same emotions — who know, by their 
 own sufferings, that this is the grief which sur- 
 passes all other griefs. His head had fallen on 
 his bosom ; his look was deprived of all confi- 
 dence ; he could not even speak or shed a tear. 
 His impetuous grief remained within him by rea- 
 son of his impetuosity — like water which attempts 
 to rush out of the narrow-necked bottle, but which 
 is so compressed as it comes, that it scarcely issues 
 drop by drop. 
 
 Again he endeavoured to disbelieve his eyes — 
 to conclude that somebody had wished to calum- 
 niate his mistress, and drive her lover mad, and 
 so had done his best to imitate her handwriting. 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 217 
 
 With these sorry attempts at consolation, he again 
 took horse, the sun having now given way to the 
 moon, and so rode a little onward, till he beheld 
 smoke rising out of the tops of the trees, and 
 heard the barking of dogs and the lowing of cattle. 
 By these signs he knew that he was approaching 
 a village. He entered it, and going into the first 
 house he came to, gave his horse to the care of a 
 youth, and was disarmed, and had his spurs of gold 
 taken off, and so went into a room that was shewn 
 him without demanding either meat or drink, so 
 entirely was he filled with his sorrow. 
 
 Now it happened that this was the very cottage 
 into which Medoro had been carried out of the 
 wood by the loving Angelica. There he had been 
 cured of his wounds — there he had been loved 
 and made happy — and there, wherever the County 
 Orlando turned his eyes, he beheld the detested 
 writing on the walls, the windows, the doors. He 
 made no inquiries about it of the people of the 
 house : he still dreaded to render the certainty 
 clearer than he would fain suppose it. 
 
 But the cowardice availed him nothing; for 
 the host seeing him unhappy, and thinking to 
 cheer him, came in as he was getting into bed, 
 and opened on the subject of his own accord. It 
 was a story he told to every body who came, and 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
218 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 he was accustomed to have it admired; so with 
 little preface he related all the particulars to his 
 new guest — how the youth had been left for dead 
 on the field, and how the lady had found him, and 
 had him brought to the cottage — and how she 
 fell in love with him as he grew well — and how 
 she could be content with nothing but marrying 
 him, though she was daughter of the greatest 
 king of the East, and a queen herself. At the 
 conclusion of his narrative, the good man produced 
 the bracelet which had been given him by Ange- 
 lica, as evidence of the truth of all that he had 
 been saying. 
 
 This was the final stroke, the last fatal blow, 
 given to the poor hopes of Orlando by the exe- 
 cutioner, Love. He tried to conceal his misery, 
 but it was no longer to be repressed ; so finding 
 the tears rush into his eyes, he desired to be alone. 
 As soon as the man had retired, he let them flow 
 in passion and agony. In vain he attempted to 
 rest, much less to sleep. Every part of the bed 
 appeared to be made of stones and thorns. 
 
 At length it occurred to him, that most likely 
 they had slept in that very bed. He rose instantly, 
 as if he had been lying on a serpent. The bed, 
 the house, the herdsman, every thing about the 
 place, gave him such horror and detestation, that, 
 
THK ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 219 
 
 without waiting for dawn, or the light of moon, 
 he dressed himself, and went forth and took his 
 horse from the stable, and galloped onwards into 
 the middle of the woods. There, as soon as he 
 found himself in the solitude, he opened all the 
 flood-gates of his grief, and gave way to cries and 
 outcries. 
 
 But he still rode on. Day and night did Or- 
 lando ride on, weeping and lamenting. He avoided 
 towns and cities, and made his bed on the hard 
 earth, and wondered at himself that he could weep 
 so long. 
 
 " These," thought he, " are no tears that are 
 thus poured forth. They are life itself, the foun- 
 tains of vitality ; and I am weeping and dying 
 both. These are no sighs that I thus eternally 
 exhale. Nature could not supply them. They 
 are Love himself storming in my heart, and at 
 once consuming me and keeping me alive with his 
 miraculous fires. No more — no more am I the 
 man 1 seem. He that was Orlando is dead and 
 buried. His ungrateful mistress has slain him. I 
 am but the soul divided from his body — doomed 
 to wander here in this misery, an example to 
 those that put their trust in love." 
 
 For the wits of the County Orlando were 
 going ; and he wandered all night roxmd and 
 
220 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 round in the wood, till he came back to the grotto 
 where Medoro had written his triumphant verses. 
 Madness then indeed fell upon him. Every par- 
 ticle of his being seemed torn up with rage and 
 fury ; and he drew his mighty sword, and hewed 
 the grotto and the writing, till the words flew in 
 pieces to the heavens. Woe to every spot in the 
 place in which were written the names of " An- 
 gelica and Medoro." Woe to the place itself: 
 never again did it afford refuge from the heat of 
 day to sheep or shepherd ; for not a particle of it 
 remained as it was. With arm and sword Orlando 
 defaced it all, the clear and gentle fountain in- 
 cluded. He hacked and hewed it inside and out, 
 and cut down the branches of the trees that hung 
 over it, and tore away the ivy and the vine, and 
 rooted up great bits of earth and stone, and filled 
 the sweet water with the rubbish, so that it was 
 never clear and sweet again ; and at the end of his 
 toil, not having satisfied or being able to satisfy 
 his soul with the excess of his violence, he cast 
 himself on the ground in rage and disdain, and lay 
 groaning towards the heavens. 
 
 On the ground Orlando threw himself, and 
 on the ground he remained, his eyes fixed on 
 heaven, his lips closed in dumbness ; and thus he 
 continued for the space of three days and three 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 221 
 
 nights, till his frenzy had mounted to such a pitch 
 that it turned against himself. He then arose in 
 fury, and tore off mail and breastplate, and every 
 particle of clothing from his body, till humanity 
 was degraded in his heroical person, and he be- 
 came naked as the beasts of the field. 
 
 In this condition, and his wits quite gone, 
 sword was forgotten as well as shield and helm ; 
 and he tore up fir-tree and ash, and began run- 
 ning through the woods. The shepherds hearing 
 the cries of the strong man, and the crashing of 
 the boughs, came hastening from all quarters to 
 know what it was ; but when he saw them he 
 gave them chase, and smote to death those whom 
 he reached, till the whole country was up in arms, 
 though to no purpose ; for they were seized with 
 such terror, that while they threatened and closed 
 after him, they avoided him. He entered cot- 
 tages, and tore away the food from the tables ; and 
 ran up the craggy hills and down into the valleys ; 
 and chased beasts as well as men, tearing the fawn 
 and the goat to pieces, and stuffing their flesh into 
 his stomach with fierce will. 
 
 Raging and scouring onwards in this manner, 
 he arrived one day at a bridge over a torrent, on 
 which the fierce Rodomont had fixed himself for 
 the purpose of throwing any one that attempted 
 
222 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 to pass it into the water. It was a very narrow 
 bridge, with scarcely room for two horses. But 
 Orlando took no heed of its narrowness. He 
 dashed right forwards against man and steed, and 
 forced the champion to wrestle with him on foot ; 
 and, winding himself about him with hideous 
 strength, he leaped backwards with him into the 
 torrent, where he left him, and so mounted the 
 opposite bank, and again rushed over the country. 
 A more terrible bridge than this was in his way — 
 even a precipitous pass of frightful height over 
 a valley ; but still he scoured onwards, throwing 
 over it the agonised passengers that dared, in their 
 ignorance of his strength, to oppose him ; and so 
 always rushing and raging, he came down the 
 mountains by the sea-side to Barcelona, where he 
 cast his eyes on the sands, and thought, in his 
 idiot mind, to make himself a house in them for 
 coolness and repose ; and so he grubbed up the 
 sand, and laid himself down in it: and this was 
 the terrible madman whom Angelica and Medoro 
 saw looking at them as they were approaching the 
 city. 
 
 Neither of them knew him, nor did he know 
 Angelica ; but, with an idiot laugh, he looked at 
 her beauty, and liked her, and came horribly to- 
 wards her to carry her away. Shrieking, she put 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 223 
 
 spurs to her horse and fled ; and Medoro, in a 
 fury, came after the pursuer and smote him, but 
 to no purpose. The great madman turned round 
 and smote the other's horse to the ground, and so 
 renewed his chase after Angehca, who suddenly 
 regained enough of her wits to recollect the 
 enchanted ring. Instantly she put it into her 
 lips and disappeared ; but in her hurry she fell 
 from her palfrey, and Orlando forgot her in the 
 instant, and, mounting the poor beast, dashed off 
 with it over the country till it died ; and so at 
 last, after many dreadful adventures by flood and 
 field, he came running into a camp full of his bro- 
 ther Paladins, who recognised him with tears ; 
 and, all joining their forces, succeeded in pulling 
 him down and binding him, though not without 
 many wounds : and by the help of these friends, 
 and the special grace of the apostle St. John (as 
 will be told in another place), the wits of the 
 champion of the church were restored, and he 
 became ashamed of that passion for an infidel 
 beauty which the heavenly powers had thus re- 
 solved to punish. 
 
 But Angelica and Medoro pursued the rest of 
 their journey in peace, and took ship on the coast 
 of Spain for India ; and there she crowned her 
 bridegroom King of Cathay. 
 
224 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 
 
 The description of Orlando's jealousy and growing madness 
 is reckoned one of the finest things in Italian poetry ; and very 
 fine it surely is — as strong as the hero's strength, and sensitive as 
 the heart of man. The circumstances are heightened, one after 
 the other, with the utmost art as well as nature. There is a scrip- 
 tural awfulness in the account of the hero's becoming naked ; 
 and the violent result is tremendous. I have not followed Orlando 
 into his feats of ultra-supernatural strength. The reader requires 
 to be prepared for them by the whole poem. Nor are they neces- 
 sary, I think, to the production of the best effect ; perhaps would 
 hurt it in an age unaccustomed to the old romances. 
 
ASTOLFO'S JOUENEY TO THE MOON. 
 
 l2 
 
The Paladin Astolfo ascends on the hippogi-ifF to the top of one 
 of the mountains at the source of the Nile, called the Mountains 
 of the Moon, where he discovers the Terrestrial Paradise, and is 
 welcomed by St. John the Evangelist. The EvangeUst then con- 
 veys him to the Moon itself, where he is shewn all the things that 
 have been lost on earth, among which is the Reason of Orlando, 
 who had been deprived of it for loving a Pagan beauty. Astolfo 
 is favoured with a singular discourse by the Apostle, and is then 
 presented with a vial containing the Reason of his great brother 
 Paladin, which he conveys to earth. 
 
ASTOLFO'S 
 JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 
 
 When the hippogrifF loosened itself from the tree 
 to which Ruggiero had tied it in the beautiful 
 spot to which he descended with Angelica, ^ it 
 soared away, like the faithful creature it was, 
 to the house of its own master, Atlantes the 
 magician. But not long did it remain there — 
 no, nor the house itself, nor the magician ; for 
 the Paladin Astolfo came with a mighty horn 
 given him by a greater magician, the sound of 
 which overthrew all such abodes, and put to flight 
 whoever heard it; and so the house of Atlantes 
 vanished, and the enchanter fled ; and the Paladin 
 took possession of the griffin-horse, and rode away 
 with it on farther adventures. 
 
 One of these was the deliverance of Senapus, 
 king of Ethiopia, from the visitation of the dread- 
 ful harpies of old, who came infesting his table 
 
 1 See p. 192. 
 
228 ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 
 
 as they did those of ^neas and Phineus. Astolfo 
 drove them with his horse towards the sources of 
 the river Nile, in the Mountains of the Moon, and 
 pursued them with the hippogriff till they entered 
 a great cavern, which, by the dreadful cries and 
 lamentings that issued from the depths within it, 
 the Paladin discovered to be the entrance from 
 earth to Hell. 
 
 The daring Englishman, whose curiosity was 
 excited, resolved to penetrate to the regions of 
 darkness. " What have I to fear ?" thought he ; 
 " the horn will assist me, if I want it. I'll drive 
 the triple-mouthed dog out of the way, and put 
 Pluto and Satan to flight."^ 
 
 Astolfo tied the hippogriff to a tree, and 
 pushed forward in spite of a smoke that grew 
 thicker and thicker, offending his eyes and nos- 
 trils. It became, however, so exceedingly heavy 
 and noisome, that he found it would be impos- 
 sible to complete his enterprise. Still he pushed 
 forward as far as he could, especially as he began 
 to discern in the darkness something that appeared 
 to stir with an involuntary motion. It looked 
 like a dead body which has hung up many days 
 in the rain and sun, and is waved unsteadily by 
 
 ^ Ariosto is here imitating Pulci, and bearding Dante. See 
 vol. i. p. 336. 
 
ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 229 
 
 the wind. It turned out to be a condemned spirit 
 in this first threshold of Hell, sentenced there, with 
 thousands of others, for having been cruel and 
 false in love. Her name was Lydia, and she had 
 been princess of the country so called. ^ Anaxarete 
 was among them, who, for her hard-heartedness, 
 became a stone ; and Daphne, who now discovered 
 how she had erred in making Apollo " run so 
 much ;" and multitudes of other women ; but a 
 far greater number of men — men being worthier 
 of punishment in offences of love, because women 
 are proner to believe. Theseus and Jason were 
 among them ; and Amnon, the abuser of Tamar ; 
 and he that disturbed the old kingdom of La- 
 tinus.2 
 
 ^ I know of no story of a cruel Lydia but the poet's own 
 mistress of that name, whom I take to be the lady here " shadowed 
 forth." See Life, p. 114. 
 
 2 The story of A.naxarete is in Ovid, lib. xiv. Every body 
 knows that of Daphne, who made Apollo, as Ariosto says, " run 
 so much" (correr tan to), Theseus and Jason are in hell, as 
 deserters of Ariadne and Medea; Amnon, for the atrocity re- 
 corded in the Bible (2 Samuel, chap, xiii.) ; and iEneas for inter- 
 fering with Turnus and Lavinia, and taking possession of places he 
 had no right to. It is delightful to see the great, generous poet 
 going upon grounds of reason and justice in the teeth of the 
 trumped-up rights of the " pious iEneas," that shabby deserter 
 of Dido, and canting prototype of Augustus. He turns the tables, 
 also, with brave candour, upon the tyrannical claims of the 
 
230 ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 
 
 Astolfo would fain have gone deeper into the 
 jaws of Hell, but the smoke grew so thick and 
 palpable, it was impossible to move a step far- 
 ther. Turning about, therefore, he regained the 
 entrance ; and having refreshed himself in a foun- 
 tain hard by, and re-mounted the hippogriif, felt 
 an inclination to ascend as high as he possibly 
 could in the air. The excessive loftiness of the 
 mountain above the cavern made him think that 
 its top could be at no great distance from the 
 region of the Moon; and accordingly he pushed 
 his horse upwards, and rose and rose, till at length 
 he found himself on its table-land. It exhibited 
 a region of celestial beauty. The flowers were 
 like beds of precious stones for colour and bright- 
 ness ; the grass, if you could have brought any to 
 earth, would have been found to surpass emeralds ; 
 and the trees, whose leaves were no less beautiful, 
 were in fruit and flower at once. Birds of as 
 many colours were singing in the branches ; the 
 murmuring rivulets and dumb lakes were more 
 limpid than crystal : a sweet air was for ever 
 stirring, which reduced the warmth to a gentle 
 
 stronger sex to privileges which they deny the other ; and says, 
 that there are more faithless men in Hell than faithless women ; 
 which, if personal infidelity sends people there, most undoubtedly 
 is the case beyond all comparison. 
 
ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 231 
 
 temperature ; and every breath of it brought an 
 odour from flowers, fruit-trees, and herbage all at 
 once, which nourished the soul with sweetness. ^ 
 
 In the middle of this lonely plain was a palace 
 radiant as fire. Astolfo rode his horse round 
 about it, constantly admiring all he saw, and filled 
 with increasing astonishment; for he found that 
 the dwelling was thirty miles in circuit, and com- 
 posed of one entire carbuncle, lucid and vermilion. 
 What became of the boasted wonders of the world 
 before this ? The world itself, in the comparison, 
 appeared but a lump of brute and fetid matter.^ 
 
 As the Paladin approached the vestibule, he 
 
 ^ " Che di soavita 1' stlma notriva" is beautiful; but the pas- 
 sage, as a whole, is not well imitated from the Terrestrial Paradise 
 of Dante. It is not bad in itself, but it is very inferior to the one 
 that suggested it. See vol. i. p. 210, &c. Ariosto's Terrestrial 
 Paradise was at home, among the friends who loved him, and 
 whom he made happy. 
 
 ^ This is better ; and the house made of one jewel thirty miles 
 in circuit is an extravagance that becomes reasonable on reflec- 
 tion, affording a just idea of what might be looked for among the 
 endless planetary wonders of Nature, which confound all our 
 relative ideas of size and splendour. The "lucid vermilion" of 
 a structure so enormous, and under a sun so pure, presents a 
 gorgeous spectacle to the imagination. Dante himself, if he could 
 have forgiven the poet his animal spirits and views of the Moon 
 so different from his own, might have stood in admiration before 
 an abode at once so lustrous and so vast. 
 
232 ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOOX. 
 
 was met by a venerable old man, clad in a white 
 gown and red mantle, whose beard descended on 
 his bosom, and whose aspect announced him as 
 one of the elect of Paradise. It was St. John the 
 Evangelist, who lived in that mansion with Enoch 
 and Elijah, the only three mortals who never 
 tasted death ; for the place, as the saint informed 
 him, was the Terrestrial Paradise ; and the in- 
 habitants were to live there till the angelical 
 trumpet announced the coming of Christ " on the 
 white cloud." The Paladin, he said, had been 
 allowed to visit it, by the favour of God, for the 
 purpose of fetching away to earth the lost wits of 
 Orlando, which the champion of the Church had 
 been deprived of for loving a Pagan, and which 
 had been attracted out of his brains to the neigh- 
 bouring sphere, the Moon. 
 
 Accordingly, after the new friends had spent 
 two days in discourse, and meals had been served 
 up, consisting of fruit so exquisite that the Paladin 
 could not help thinking our first parents had some 
 excuse for eating it,i the Evangelist, when the 
 
 * " De' frutti a lui del Paradiso diero, 
 
 Di tal sapor, ch' a suo giudizio, sanza 
 Scusa non sono i due primi parenti, 
 Se pur quel fur si poco ubbidienti." 
 
 Canto xxxiv. st. 60. 
 
ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 233 
 
 Moon arose, took him into the car which had 
 borne Eh'jah to heaven ; and four horses, redder 
 than fire, conveyed them to the lunar world. 
 
 The mortal visitant was amazed to see in the 
 Moon a world resembling his own, full of wood 
 and water, and containing even cities and castles, 
 though of a different sort from ours. It was 
 strange to find a sphere so large which had seemed 
 so petty afar ofi"; and no less strange was it to 
 look down on the world he had left, and be com- 
 pelled to knit his brows and look sharply before 
 he could well discern it, for it happened at the 
 time to want light. ^ 
 
 But his guide did not leave him much time to 
 look about him. He conducted him with due 
 speed into a valley that contained, in one mira- 
 culous collection, whatsoever had been lost or 
 wasted on earth. I do not speak only (says the 
 poet) of riches and dominions, and such like gra- 
 tuities of Fortune, but of things also which For- 
 tune can neither grant nor resume. Much fame is 
 
 ^ Modem astroAomers differ very much both with Dante's and 
 Ariosto's Moon; nor do the "argent fields" of Milton appear 
 better placed in our mysterious satellite, with its no-atmosphere 
 and no-water, and its tremendous precipices. It is to be hoped 
 (and believed) that knowledge will be best for us all in the end ; for 
 it is not always so by the way. It displaces beautiful ignorances. 
 
234 ASTOLFO S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 
 
 there which Time has withdrawn — infinite prayers 
 and vows which are made to God Almighty by us 
 poor sinners. There lie the tears and the sighs 
 of lovers, the hours lost in pastimes, the leisures 
 of the dull, and the intentions of the lazy. As to 
 desires, they are so numerous that they shadow 
 the whole place. Astolfo went round among the 
 different heaps, asking what they were. His eyes 
 were first struck with a huge one of bladders 
 which seemed to contain mighty sounds and the 
 voices of multitudes. These he found were the 
 Assyrian and Persian monarchies, together with 
 those of Greece and Lydia.^ One heap was no- 
 thing but hooks of silver and gold, which were the 
 presents, it seems, made to patrons and great men 
 in hopes of a return. Another consisted of snares 
 in the shape of garlands, the manufacture of para- 
 sites. Others were verses in praise of great lords, 
 all made of crickets which had burst themselves 
 with singing. Chains of gold he saw there, which 
 were pretended and unhappy love-matches ; and 
 eagles' claws, which were deputed authorities ; and 
 pairs of bellows, which were prince^' favours ; and 
 overturned cities and treasuries, being treasons 
 
 ^ Very fine and scornful, I think, this. Mighty monarchies 
 reduced to actual bladders, which, little too as they were, con- 
 tained big sounds. 
 
ASTOLFO S JOURNEY TO THE MOOX. 235 
 
 and conspiracies ; and serpents with female faces, 
 that were coiners and thieves ; and all sorts of 
 broken bottles, which were services rendered in 
 miserable courts. A great heap of overturned 
 soup ^ he found to be alms to the poor, which had 
 been delayed till the giver's death. He then came 
 to a great mount of flowers, which once had a 
 sweet smell, but now a most rank one. This {with 
 submission) was the present which the Emperor 
 Constantine made to good Pope Sylvester.^ Heaps 
 
 ' Such, I suppose, as was given at convent-gates. 
 
 2 The pretended gift of the palace of St. John Lateran, the 
 foundation of the pope's temporal sovereignty. This famous 
 passage was quoted and translated by Milton. 
 
 " Di varii fiori ad un gran monte passa 
 Ch' ebbe gia buon odore, or putia forte. 
 Questo era il dono (se pero dir lece) 
 Che Constantino al buon Silvestro fece." 
 
 Canto xxxiv. st. 80. 
 
 The lines were not so bold in the first edition. They stood thus : 
 
 *' Ad un monte di rose e gigli passa, 
 Ch' ebbe gia buon odore, or putia forte, 
 Ch' era corrotto ; e da Giovanni intese, 
 Che fu un gran don ch' un gran signer mal spese." 
 
 " He came to a mount of lilies and roses, that once had a sweet 
 smell, but now stank with corruption ; and he understood from 
 John that it was a great gift which a great lord ill expended." 
 The change of these lines to the stronger ones in the third 
 
236 ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 
 
 of twigs he saw next, set with bird-lime, which, 
 dear ladies, are your charms. In short there was 
 no end to what he saw. Thousands and thousands 
 would not complete the list. Every thing was 
 there which was to be met with on earth, except 
 folly in the raw material, for that is never ex- 
 ported.^ 
 
 There he beheld some of his own lost time and 
 deeds ; and yet, if nobody had been with him to 
 make him aware of them, never would he have 
 recognised them as his.^ 
 
 edition, as they now stand, served to occasion a charge against 
 Ariosto of having got his privilege of publication from the court 
 of Rome for passages which never existed, and which he afterwards 
 basely introduced ; but, as Panizzi observes, the third edition had 
 a privilege also ; so that the papacy put its hand, as it were, to 
 these very lines. This is remarkable ; and doubtless it would not 
 have occurred in some other ages. The Spanish Inquisition, for 
 instance, erased it, though the holy brotherhood found no fault 
 with the story of Giocondo. 
 
 ^ " Sol la pazzia non v' e, poca ne assai ; 
 
 Che sta qua giu, ne se ne parte mai " 
 
 St. 78. 
 ^ Part of this very striking passage is well translated by Har- 
 rington : 
 
 ** He saw some of his own lost time and deeds, 
 And yet he knew them not to be his own." 
 I have heard these lines more than once repeated with touching 
 earnestness by Charles Lamb. 
 
ASTOLFO S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 237 
 
 They then arrived at something, which none 
 of us ever prayed God to bestow, for we fancy 
 we possess it in superabundance ; yet here it was 
 in greater quantities than any thing else in the 
 place — I mean, sense. It was a subtle fluid, apt 
 to evaporate if not kept closely ; and here ac- 
 cordingly it was kept in vials of greater or less 
 size. The greatest of them all was inscribed with 
 the following words : " The sense of Orlando." 
 Others, in like manner, exhibited the names of 
 the proper possessors ; and among them the frank- 
 hearted Paladin beheld the greater portion of his 
 own. But what more astonished him, was to see 
 multitudes of the vials almost full to the stopper, 
 which bore the names of men whom he had sup- 
 posed to enjoy their senses in perfection. Some 
 had lost them for love, others for glory, others for 
 riches, others for hopes from great men, others for 
 stupid conjurers, for jewels, for paintings, for all 
 sorts 'of whims. There was a heap belonging to 
 sophists and astrologers, and a still greater to 
 poets.i 
 
 ' Readers need not have the points of this exquisite satire 
 pointed out to them. Tn noticing it, I only mean to enjoy it 
 in their company — particularly the passage about the men ac- 
 counted wisest, and the emphatic " I mean, sense" (lo dico, il 
 senno). 
 
238 ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 
 
 Astolfo, with leave of the " writer of the dark 
 Apocalj^pse," took possession of his own. He had 
 but to uncork it, and set it under his nose, and 
 the wit shot up to its place at once. Turpin 
 acknowledges that the Paladin, for a long time 
 afterwards, led the life of a sage man, till, unfor- 
 tunately, a mistake which he made lost him his 
 brains a second time.^ 
 
 The Evangelist now presented him with the 
 vial containing the wits of Orlando, and the tra- 
 vellers quitted the vale of Lost Treasure. Before 
 they returned to earth, however, the good saint 
 shewed his guest other curiosities, and favoured 
 him with many a sage remark, particularly on 
 the subject of poets, and the neglect of them by 
 courts. He shewed him how foolish it was in 
 princes and other great men not to make friends 
 of those who can immortalise them ; and observed, 
 with singular indulgence, that crimes themselves 
 might be no hindrance to a good name with pos- 
 terity, if the poet were but feed well enough for 
 spices to embalm the criminal. He instanced the 
 cases of Homer and Virgil. 
 
 "You are not to take for granted," said he, 
 " that iEneas was so pious as fame reports him, 
 
 ' Admirable lesson to frailty ! 
 
ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 239 
 
 or Achilles and Hector so brave. Thousands and 
 thousands of warriors have excelled them ; but 
 their descendents bestowed fine houses and estates 
 on great writers, and it is from their honoured 
 pages that all the glory has proceeded. Augustus 
 was no such religious or clement prince as the 
 trumpet of Virgil has proclaimed him. It was his 
 good taste in poetry that got him pardoned his 
 iniquitous proscription. Nero himself might have 
 fared as well as Augustus, had he possessed as 
 much wit. Heaven and earth might have been 
 his enemies to no purpose, had he known how to 
 keep friends with good authors. Homer makes 
 the Greeks victorious, the Trojans a poor set, and 
 Penelope undergo a thousand wrongs rather than 
 be unfaithful to her husband; and yet, if you 
 would have the real truth of the matter, the 
 Greeks were beaten, and the Trojans the con- 
 querors, and Penelope was a .^ See, on the 
 
 other hand, what infamy has become the portion 
 of Dido. She was honest to her heart's core ; and 
 
 * I do net feel warranted in injuring the strength of the term 
 here made use of by the indignant apostle, and yet am withheld 
 from giving it in all its force by the delicacy, real or false, of the 
 times. I must therefore leave it to be supplied by the reader 
 according to the requirements of his own feelings. 
 
240 ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 
 
 yet, because Virgil was no friend of hers, she is 
 looked upon as a baggage. 
 
 " Be not surprised," concluded the good saint, 
 " if I have expressed myself with warmth on this 
 subject. I love writers, and look upon their cause 
 as my own, for I was a writer myself when I lived 
 among you ; and I succeeded so well in the voca- 
 tion, that time and death will never prevail against 
 me. Just therefore is it, that I should be thank- 
 ful to my beloved Master, who procured me so 
 great a lot. I grieve for writers who have fallen 
 on evil times — men that, with pale and hungry 
 faces, find the doors of courtesy closed against all 
 their hardships. This is the reason there are so 
 few poets now, and why nobody cares to study. 
 Why should he study ? The very beasts abandon 
 places where there is nothing to feed them." 
 
 At these words the eyes of the blessed old man 
 grew so inflamed with anger, that they sparkled 
 like two fires. But he presently suppressed what 
 he felt ; and, turning with a sage and gracious 
 smile to the Paladin, prepared to accompany him 
 back to earth with his wonted serenity. 
 
 He accordingly did so in the sacred car : and 
 Astolfo, after receiving his gentle benediction, 
 descended on his hippogriff* from the mountain, 
 
ASTOLFO*S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 241 
 
 and, joining the delighted Paladins with the vial, 
 his wits were restored, as you have heard, to the 
 noble Orlando. 
 
 The figure which is here cut by St. John gives this remark- 
 able satire a most remarkable close. His association of himself 
 with the fraternity of authors was thought a little "strong" by 
 Ariosto's contemporaries. The lesson read to the house of Este 
 is obvious, and could hardly have been pleasant to men reputed to 
 be such " criminals" themselves. Nor can Ariosto, in this pas- 
 sage, be reckoned a very flattering or conscientious pleader for his 
 brother-poets. Resentment, and a good jest, seem to have con- 
 spired to make him forget what was due to himself. 
 
 The original of St. John's remarks about Augustus and the 
 ancient poets must not be omitted. It is exquisite of its kind, 
 both in matter and style. Voltaire has quoted it somewhere with 
 rapture. 
 
 " Non fu si santo ne benigno Angusto 
 Come la tuba di Virgilio suona : 
 L' aver avuto in poesia buon gusto 
 
 La proscrizion iniqua gli perdona. 
 Nessun sapria se Neron fosse ingiusto, 
 Ne sua fama saria forse men buona, 
 Avesse avuto e terra e ciel nimici, 
 Se gli scrittor sapea tenersi amici. 
 
 Omero Agamennon vittorioso, 
 
 E fe' i Trojan parer vili et inerti ; 
 E che Penelopea fida al suo sposo 
 
 Da i prochi mille oltraggi avea sofferti : 
 E, se tu vuoi che '1 ver non ti sia ascoso, 
 
 Tutta al contrario 1' istoria converti : 
 VOL. ir. M 
 
242 ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 
 
 Che i Greci rotti, e che Troia vittrice, 
 E che Penelopea fu meretrice. 
 
 Da 1' altra parte odi che fama lascia 
 Elissa, ch' ebbe il cor tanto pudico ; 
 
 Che riputata viene una bagascia, 
 
 Solo perche Maron non le fu amico." 
 
 Canto XXXV. st. 26. 
 
ARIODANTE AND GINEVEA. 
 
SLvQummu 
 
 The Duke of Albany, pretending to be in love with a damsel 
 in the service of Ginevra, Princess of Scotland, but desiring to 
 marry the princess herself, and not being able to compass his 
 design by reason of her being in love with a gentleman from Italy 
 named Ariodante, persuades the damsel, in his revenge, to per- 
 sonate Ginevra in a balcony at night, and so make her lover 
 believe that she is false. Ariodante, deceived, disappears from 
 court. News is brought of his death ; and his brother Lurcanio 
 publicly denounces Ginevra, who, according to the laws of Scot 
 land, is sentenced to death for her supposed lawless passion. 
 Lurcanio then challenges the unknown paramour (for the duke's 
 face had not been discerned in the balcony) ; and Ariodante, who 
 is not dead, is fighting him in disguise, when the Paladin Rinaldo 
 comes up, discloses the whole affair, and slays the deceiver. 
 
AEIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 
 
 Charlemagne had suffered a great defeat at 
 Paris, and the Paladin Rinaldo was sent across 
 the Channel to ask succours of the King of Eng- 
 land ; but a tempest arose ere he could reach the 
 coast, and drove him northwards upon that of 
 Scotland, where he found himself in the Cale- 
 donian Forest, a place famous of old for knightly 
 adventure. Many a clash of arms had been heard 
 in its shady recesses — many great things had 
 been done there by knights from all quarters, 
 particularly the Tristans and the Launcelots, and 
 the Gawains, and others of the Round Table of 
 King Arthur. 
 
 ' The main point of this story, the personation of Ginevra by- 
 one of her ladies, has been repeated by many writers — among 
 others by Shakspeare, in Much Ado about Nothing. The circum- 
 stance is said to have actually occurred in Ferrara, and in Ariosto's 
 own time. Was Ariosto himself a party ? " Ariodante" almost 
 includes his name ; and it is certain that he was once in love with 
 a lady of the name of Ginevra. 
 
246 ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 
 
 Rinaldo, bidding the ship await him at the 
 town of Berwick, plunged into the forest with no 
 other companion than his horse Bayardo, seeking 
 the wildest paths he could find, in the hope of 
 some strange adventure. ^ He put up, for the first 
 day, at an abbey which was accustomed to enter- 
 tain the knights and ladies that journeyed that 
 way ; and after availing himself of its hospitality, 
 he inquired of the abbot and his monks if they 
 could direct him where to find what he looked for. 
 They said that plenty of adventures were to be 
 met with in the forest; but that, for the most 
 part, they remained in as much obscurity as the 
 spots in which they occurred. It would be more 
 becoming his valour, they thought, to exert itself 
 where it would not be hidden ; and they concluded 
 with telling him of one of the noblest chances for 
 renown that ever awaited a sword. The daughter 
 of their king was in need of a defender against 
 a certain baron of the name of Lurcanio, who 
 sought to deprive her both of life and reputa- 
 
 ' Rinaldo is an ambassador, and one upon very urgent busi- 
 ness ; yet he halts by the way in search of adventures. This has 
 been said to be in the true taste of knight-errantry ; and in one 
 respect it is so. We may imagine, however, that the ship is wind- 
 bound, and that he meant to return to it on change of weather. 
 The Caledonian Forest, it is to be observed, is close at hand. 
 
ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 247 
 
 tion. He accused her of having been found in 
 the arms of a lover without the hcense of the 
 priest; which, by the laws of Scotland, was a 
 crime only to be expiated at the stake, unless a 
 champion could be found to disprove the charge 
 before the end of a month. Unfortunately the 
 month had nearly expired, and no champion yet 
 made his appearance, though the king had pro- 
 mised his daughter's hand to anybody of noble 
 blood who should establish her innocence ; and 
 the saddest part of the thing was, that she was 
 accounted innocent by all the world, and a very 
 pattern of modesty. 
 
 While this horrible story was being told him, 
 the Paladin fell into a profound state of thought. 
 After remaining silent for a little w^hile, at the 
 close of it he looked up, and said, "A lady then, 
 it seems, is condemned to death for having been 
 too kind to one lover, while thousands of our sex 
 are playing the gallant with whomsoever they 
 please, and not only go unpunished for it, but are 
 admired! Perish such infamous injustice! The 
 man was a madman who made such a law, and 
 they are little better who maintain it. I hope in 
 God to be able to shew them their error." 
 
 The good monks agreed, that their ancestors 
 were very unwise to make such a law, and kings 
 
248 ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 
 
 very wrong who could, but would not, put an end 
 to it. So, when the mornmg came, they speeded 
 their guest on his noble purpose of fighting in the 
 lady's behalf. A guide from the abbey took him 
 a short cut through the forest towards the place 
 where the matter was to be decided ; but, before 
 they arrived, they heard cries of distress in a dark 
 quarter of the forest, and, turning their horses 
 thither to see what it was, they observed a damsel 
 between two vagabonds, who were standing over 
 her with drawn swords. The moment the wretches 
 saw the new comer, they fled ; and Rinaldo, after 
 re-assuring the damsel, and requesting to know 
 what had brought her to a pass so dreadful, made 
 his guide take her up on his horse behind him, in 
 order that they might lose no more time. The 
 damsel, who was very beautiful, could not speak at 
 first, for the horror of what she had expected to 
 undergo ; but, on Rinaldo's repeating his request, 
 she at length found words, and, in a voice of great 
 humility, began to relate her story. 
 
 But before she begins, the poet interferes with 
 an impatient remark. — " Of all the creatures in 
 existence," cries he, " whether they be tame or wild, 
 whether they are in a state of peace or of war, 
 man is the only one that lays violent hands on the 
 female of his species. The bear ofiers no injury 
 
ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 249 
 
 to his ; the lioness is safe by the side of the lion ; 
 the heifer has no fear of the horns of the bull. 
 What pest of abomination, what fury from hell, 
 has come to disturb, in this respect, the bosom of 
 human kind ? Husband and wife deafen one ano- 
 ther with injurious speeches, tear one another's 
 faces, bathe the genial bed with tears, nay, some- 
 times with bloodshed. In my eyes the man who 
 can allow himself to give a blow to a woman, or to 
 hurt even a hair of her head, is a violater of na- 
 ture, and a rebel against God ; but to poison her, 
 to strangle her, to take the soul out of her body 
 with a knife, — he that can do that, never will I 
 believe him to be a man at all, but a fiend out of 
 hell with a man's face."^ 
 
 Such must have been the two villains who fled 
 
 ^ All honour and glory to the manly and lovmg poet ! 
 
 " Lavezzuola," says Panizzi, " doubts the conjugal concord of 
 beasts, more particularly of bears. * Ho letto presso degno autore 
 un orso aver cavato un occhio ad un orsa con la zampa.' (I have 
 read in an author worthy of credit, that a bear once deprived a 
 she-bear of an eye with a blow of his paw.) The reader may 
 choose between Ariosto and this nameless author, which of them 
 is to be beheved. I, of course, am for my poet." — Vol. i. p. 84. 
 I am afraid, however, that Lavezzuola is right. Even turtle- 
 doves are said not to be always the models of tenderness they 
 are supposed to be. Brutes have even devoured their offspring. 
 The violence is most probably owing (at least in excessive casee) 
 to some unnatural condition of circumstances. 
 
 m2 
 
250 ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 
 
 at the sight of Rinaldo, and who had brought the 
 woman into this dark spot to stifle her testimony 
 for ever. 
 
 But to return to what she was going to say. — 
 " You are to know, sir," she began, " that I 
 have been from my childhood in the service of the 
 king's daughter, the princess Ginevra. I grew up 
 with her ; I was held in honour, and I led a happy 
 life, till it pleased the cruel passion of love to envy 
 me my condition, and make me think that there 
 was no being on earth to be compared to the Duke 
 of Albany. He pretended to love me so much, 
 that, in return, I loved him with all my heart. 
 Unable, by degrees, to refuse him anything, I let 
 him into the palace at night, nay, into the room 
 which of all others the princess regarded as most 
 exclusively her own ; for there she kept her jewels, 
 and there she was accustomed to sleep during in- 
 clement states of the weather. It communicated 
 with the other sleeping-room by a covered gallery, 
 which looked out to some lonely ruins ; and no- 
 body ever passed that way, day or night. 
 
 "Our intercourse continued for several months; 
 and, finding that I placed all my happiness in 
 obliging him, he ventured to disclose to me one 
 day a design he had upon the princess's hand ; nay, 
 did not blush to ask my assistance in furthering it. 
 
ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 251 
 
 Judge how I set his wishes above my own, when I 
 confess that I undertook to do so. It is true, his 
 rank was nearer to the princess's than to mine ; and 
 he pretended that he sought the aUiance merely 
 on that account ; protesting that he should love me 
 more than ever, and that Ginevra would he little 
 better than his wife in name. But, God knows, 
 I did it wholly out of the excess of my desire to 
 please him. 
 
 " Day and night I exerted all my endeavours 
 to recommend him to the princess. Heaven is my 
 witness that I did it in real earnest, however wrong 
 it was. But my labour was to no purpose, for she 
 was in love herself. She returned in all its warmth 
 the passion of a most accomplished and valiant 
 gentleman, who had come into Scotland with a 
 younger brother from Italy, and who had made 
 himself such a favourite with every body, my lover 
 included, that the king himself had bestowed on 
 him titles and estates, and put him on a footing 
 with the greatest lords of the land. 
 
 " Unfortunately, the princess not only turned 
 a deaf ear to all I said in the duke's favour, but 
 grew to dislike him in proportion to my recom- 
 mendation; so that, finding there was no likeli- 
 hood of his success, his own love was secretly 
 turned into hate and rage. He studied, little 
 
252 ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 
 
 as I dreamt he could be so base, how he could 
 best destroy her prospect of happiness. He re- 
 sorted, for this purpose, to a most crafty expedient, 
 which I, poor fool, took for nothing but what he 
 feigned it to be. He pretended that a whim had 
 come into his head for seeming to prosper in his 
 suit, out of a kind of revenge for his not being 
 able to do so in reality ; and, in order to indulge 
 this whim, he requested me to dress myself in the 
 identical clothes which the princess put off when 
 she went to bed that night, and then to appear 
 in them at my usual post in the balcony, and so 
 let down the ladder as though I were her very 
 self, and receive him into my arms. 
 
 *M did all that he desired, mad fool that I 
 was ; and out of the part which I played has come 
 all this mischief. I have intimated to you that 
 the duke and Ariodante (for such was the other's 
 name) had been good friends before Ginevra pre- 
 ferred him to my false lover. Pretending there- 
 fore to be still his friend, and entering on the 
 subject of a passion which he said he had long 
 entertained for her, he expressed his wonder at 
 finding it interfered with by so noble a gentle- 
 man, especially as it was returned by the princess 
 with a fervour of which the other, if he pleased, 
 might have ocular testimony. 
 
ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 253 
 
 ** Greatly astonislied at this news was Ario- 
 dante. He had received all the proofs of his mis- 
 tress's affection which it was possible for chaste 
 love to bestow, and with the greatest scorn refused 
 to believe it ; but as the duke, with the air of a 
 man who could not help the melancholy communi- 
 cation, quietly persisted in his story, the unhappy 
 lover found himself compelled, at any rate, to let 
 him afford those proofs of her infidelity which 
 he asserted to be in his power. The conse- 
 quence was, that Ariodante came with his brother 
 to the ruins I spoke of; and there the two were 
 posted on the night when I played my unhappy 
 part in the balcony. He brought Lurcanio with 
 him (that was the brother's name), because he sus- 
 pected that the duke had a design on his life, not 
 conceiving what he alleged against Ginevra to be 
 possible. Lurcanio, however, was not in the se- 
 cret of his brother's engagement with the princess. 
 It had been disclosed hitherto neither to him nor 
 to any one, the lady not yet having chosen to di- 
 vulge it to the king himself. Ariodante, therefore, 
 requested his brother to take his station at a little 
 distance, out of sight of the palace, and not to 
 come to him unless he should call : ' otherwise, my 
 dear brother,' concluded he, * stir not a step, if 
 you love me.' 
 
254 ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 
 
 " * Doubt me not,' said Lurcanio ; and, with 
 these words, the latter entrenched himself in his 
 post. 
 
 " Ariodante now stood by himself, gazing at 
 the balcony, — the only person visible at that mo- 
 ment in all the place. In a few minutes the Duke 
 of Albany appeared below it, making the signal to 
 which I had been accustomed ; and then I, in my 
 horrible folly, became visible to the eyes of both, 
 and let down the ladder. 
 
 " Meantime Lurcanio, beginning to be very 
 uneasy at the mysterious situation in which he 
 found himself, and to have the most alarming fears 
 for his brother, had cautiously picked his way 
 after him at a little distance ; so that he also, 
 though still hidden in the shade of the lonely 
 houses, perceived all that was going on. 
 
 " I was dressed, as I had undertaken to be, in 
 the identical clothes which the princess had put off 
 that night ; and as I was not unlike her in air and 
 figure, and wore the golden net with red tassels 
 peculiar to ladies of the royal family, and the two 
 brothers, besides, were at quite sufficient distance 
 to be deceived, T was taken by both of them for 
 her very self. The duke impatiently mounted the 
 ladder ; I received him as impatiently in my arms; 
 and circumstances, though from very different 
 
ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 255 
 
 feelings, rendered the caresses that passed between 
 us of unusual ardour. 
 
 " You may imagine the grief of Ariodante. It 
 rose at once to despair. He did not call out ; so 
 that, had not his brother followed him, still worse 
 would have ensued than did ; for he drew his 
 sword, and was proceeding in distraction to fall 
 upon it, when Lurcanio rushed in and stopped 
 him. ' Miserable brother !' exclaimed he, * are 
 you mad? Would you die for a woman like 
 this ? You see what a wretch she is. I discern 
 all your case at once, and, thank God, have pre- 
 served you to turn your sword where it ought to 
 be turned, against the defender of such a pattern 
 of infamy.' 
 
 " Ariodante put up his sword, and suffered 
 himself to be led away by his brother. He even 
 pretended, in a little while, to be able to review 
 his condition calmly, but not the less had he se- 
 cretly resolved to perish. Next day he disap- 
 peared, nobody knew whither ; and about eight 
 days afterwards, news was secretly brought to 
 Ginevra, by a pilgrim, that he had thrown himself 
 from a headland into the sea. 
 
 " * I met him by chance,' said the pilgrim, 
 * and we happened to be standing on the top of the 
 headland, conversing, when he cried out to me, 
 
256 ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 
 
 * Relate to the princess what you beheld on part- 
 ing from me ; and add, that the cause of it was my 
 having seen too much. Happy had it been for me 
 had I been blind !' And with these words,' con- 
 cluded the pilgrim, ' he leaped into the sea below, 
 and was instantly buried beneath it.' 
 
 " The princess turned as pale as death at this 
 story, and for a while remained stupified. But, 
 alas ! what a scene was it my fate to witness, when 
 she found herself in her chamber at night, able to 
 give way to her misery. She tore her clothes, and 
 her very flesh, and her beautiful hair, and kept 
 repeating the last words of her lover with amaze- 
 ment and despair. 
 
 The disappearance of Ariodante, and a rumour 
 which transpired of his having slain himself on 
 account of some hidden anguish, surprised and 
 afflicted the whole court. But his brother Lur- 
 canio evinced more and more his impatience at 
 it, and let fall the most terrible words. At length 
 he entered the court when the king was holding 
 one of his fullest assemblies, and laid open, as 
 he thought, the whole matter ; setting forth how 
 his unhappy brother had secretly, but honourably, 
 loved the princess ; how she had professed to love 
 him in return ; and how she had grossly deceived 
 him, and played him impudently false before his 
 
ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 257 
 
 own eyes. He concluded with calling upon her 
 unknown paramour to come forth, and shew rea- 
 sons against him with his sword why she ought 
 not to die. 
 
 " I need not tell you what the king suffered at 
 hearing this strange and terrible recital. He lost 
 no time in sharply investigating the truth of the 
 allegation ; and for this purpose, among other pro- 
 ceedings, he sent for the ladies of his daughter's 
 chamber. You may judge, sir, — especially as, I 
 blush to say it, I still loved the Duke of Albany, 
 — that I could not await an examination like that. 
 I hastened to meet the duke, who was as anxious 
 to get me out of the way as I was to go ; and to 
 this end, professing the greatest zeal for my se- 
 curity, he commissioned two men to convey me 
 secretly to a fortress he possessed in this forest. 
 'Tis at no great distance from the place where 
 Heaven sent you to my deliverance. You saw, 
 sir, how little those wretches intended to take me 
 anywhere except to my grave ; and by this you 
 may judge of the agonies and shame I have en- 
 dured in knowing what a dupe I have been to one 
 of the cruelest of men. But thus it is that Love 
 treats his most faithful servants." 
 
 The damsel here concluded her story ; and the 
 Paladin, rejoicing at having become possessed of 
 
258 ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 
 
 all that was required to establish the falsehood of 
 the duke, proceeded with her on his road to St. 
 Andrews, where the lists had been set up for the 
 determination of the question. The king and his 
 court were anxiously praying at that instant for 
 the arrival of some champion to fight with the 
 dreaded Lurcanio ; for the month, as I have stated, 
 was nearly expired, and this terrible brother ap- 
 peared to have the business all his own way ; so 
 that the stake was soon to be looked for at which 
 the hapless Ginevra was to die. 
 
 Fast and eagerly the Paladin rode for St. An- 
 drews, with his squire and the trembling damsel, 
 who was now agitated for new reasons, though 
 the knight gave her assurances of his protection. 
 They were not far from the city when they found 
 people talking of a champion who had certainly 
 arrived, but whose name was unknown, and his 
 face constantly concealed by his visor. Even his 
 own squire, it seems, did not know him ; for the 
 man had but lately been taken into his service. 
 Rinaldo, as soon as he entered the city, left the 
 damsel in a place of security, and then spurred 
 his horse to the scene of action, when he found 
 the accuser and the champion in the very midst 
 of the fight. The Paladin, whose horse, notwith- 
 standing the noise of the combat, had been heard 
 
ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 259 
 
 coming like a tempest, and whose sudden and 
 heroical appearance turned all eyes towards him, 
 rode straight to the royal canopy, and, begging the 
 king to stop the combat, disclosed the whole state 
 of the matter, to the enchantment of all present, 
 except the Duke of Albany ; for the villain him- 
 self was on horseback there in state as grand con- 
 stable, and had been feasting his miserable soul 
 with the hope of seeing Ginevra condemned. The 
 combatants were soon changed. Instead of Lur- 
 canio and the unknown champion (whom the new 
 comer had taken care to extol for his generosity), 
 it was the Paladin and the Duke that were op- 
 posed ; and horribly did the latter's heart fail him. 
 But he had no remedy. Fight he must. Rinaldo, 
 desirous to make short w^ork of him, took his sta- 
 tion with fierce delight ; and at the third sound of 
 the trumpets, the Duke was forced to couch his 
 spear and meet him at full charge. Sheer went 
 the Paladin's ashen staiF through the false bosom, 
 sending the villain to the earth eight feet beyond 
 the saddle. The conqueror dismounted instantly, 
 and unlacing the man's helmet, enabled the king 
 to hear his dying confession, which he had hardly 
 finished, when life forsook him. Rinahlo then 
 took off" his own helmet ; and the king, who had 
 
260 
 
 ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 
 
 seen the great Paladin before, and who felt more 
 rejoiced at his daughter's deliverance than if he 
 had lost and regained his crown, lifted up his 
 hands to heaven, and thanked God for having 
 honoured her innocence with so illustrious a de- 
 fender. 
 
 The other champion, who, in the mean time, 
 had been looking on through the eyelets of his 
 visor, was now entreated to disclose his own face. 
 He did so with peculiar emotion, and king and all 
 recognised with transport the face of the loved 
 and, as it was supposed, lost Ariodante. The 
 pilgrim, however, had told no falsehood. The 
 lover had indeed thrown himself into the sea, and 
 disappeared from the man's eyes ; but (as oftener 
 happens than people suppose) the death which 
 was desired when not present became hated when 
 it was so ; and Ariodante, lover as he was, rising 
 at a little distance, struck out lustily for the shore, 
 and reached it.^ He felt even a secret contempt 
 for his attempt to kill himself; yet putting up 
 at an hermitage, became interested in the reports 
 concerning the princess, whose sorrow flattered, 
 
 ' This is quite in Ariosto's high and bold taste for truth under 
 all circumstances. A less great and unmisgiving poet would have 
 had the lover picked up by a fisherman. 
 
ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 261 
 
 and whose danger, though he could not cease to 
 think her guilty, afflicted him. He grew exas- 
 perated with the very brother he loved, when he 
 found that Lurcanio pursued her thus to the 
 death ; and on all these accounts he made his 
 appearance at the place of combat to fight him, 
 though not to slay. His purpose was to seek his 
 own death. He concluded that Ginevra would 
 then see who it was that had really loved her, 
 while his brother would mourn the rashness which 
 made him pursue the destruction of a woman. 
 " Guilty she is," thought he, " but no such guilt 
 can deserve so cruel a punishment. Besides, I 
 could not bear that she should die before me. 
 She is still the woman I love, still the idol of my 
 thoughts. Right or wrong, I must die in her 
 behalf." 
 
 With this intention he purchased a suit of 
 black armour, and obtained a squire unknown in 
 those parts, and so made his appearance in the 
 lists. What ensued there I need not repeat ; but 
 the king was so charmed with the issue of the 
 whole business, with the resuscitation of the fa- 
 vourite whom he thought dead, and the restora- 
 tion of the more than life of his beloved daughter, 
 that, to the joy of all Scotland, and at the special 
 
262 ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 
 
 instance of the great Paladin, he made the two 
 lovers happy without delay ; and the bride brought 
 her husband for dowry the title and estates of the 
 man who had wronged him. 
 
SUSPICION, 
 
SUSPICION.' 
 
 It is impossible to conceive a nobler thing in the 
 world than a just prince — a thoroughly good man, 
 who shuns no part of the burden of his duty, 
 though it bend him double ; who loves and cares 
 for his people as a father does for his children, and 
 
 ' This daring and grand apologue is not in the Furioso, but 
 in a poem which Ariosto left unfinished, and which goes under 
 the name of the Five Cantos. The fragment, though bearing 
 marks of want of correction, is in some respects a beautiful, and 
 altogether a curious one, especially as it seems to have been writ- 
 ten after the Furioso ; for it touches in a remarkable manner on 
 several points of morals and politics, and contains an extravagance 
 wilder than any thing in Pulci, — a whale inhabited by knights ! 
 It was most likely for these reasons that his friend Bembo and 
 others advised him to suppress it. Was it written in his youth ? 
 The apologue itself is not one of the least daring attacks on the 
 Borgias and such scoundrels, who had just then afflicted Italy. 
 
 Did Ariosto, by the way, omit Macchiavelli in his list of the 
 friends who hailed the close of his great poem, from not knowing 
 what to make of his book entitled the Prince ? It has perplexed 
 all the world to this day, and is not unlikely to have made a par- 
 ticularly unpleasant impression on a mind at once so candid and 
 humane as Ariosto" s. 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
266 SUSPICION. 
 
 who is almost incessantly occupied in their wel- 
 fare, very seldom for his own. 
 
 Such a man puts himself in front of dangers 
 and difficulties in order that he may be a shield 
 to others ; for he is not a mercenary, taking care 
 of none but himself when he sees the wolf coming; 
 he is the right good shepherd, staking his own 
 life in that of his flock, and knowing the faces of 
 every one of them, just as they do his own. 
 
 Such princes, in times of old, were Saturn, 
 Hercules, Jupiter, and others — men who reigned 
 gently, yet firmly, equal to all chances that came, 
 and worthy of the divine honours that awaited 
 them. For mankind could not believe that they 
 quitted the world in the same way as other men. 
 They thought they must be taken up into heaven 
 to be the lords of demigods. 
 
 When the prince is good, the subjects are good, 
 for they always imitate their masters ; or at least, 
 if the subjects cannot attain to this height of vir- 
 tue, they at least are not as bad as they would be 
 otherwise ; and, at all events, public decency is 
 observed. Oh, blessed kingdoms that are governed 
 by such hearts ! and oh, most miserable ones that 
 are at the mercy of a man without justice — a 
 fellow-creature without feelings ! 
 
 Our Italy is full of such, who will have their re- 
 
SUSPICION. 267 
 
 ward from the pens of posterity. Greater wretches 
 never appeared in the shapes of Neros and Cali- 
 gulas, or any other such monsters, let them have 
 been who they might. I enter not into particu- 
 lars ; for it is always better to speak of the dead 
 than the living ; but I must say, that Agrigentum 
 never fared worse under Phalaris, nor Syracuse 
 under Dionysius, nor Thebes in the hand of the 
 bloody tyrant Eteocles, even though all those 
 wretches were villains by whose orders every day, 
 without fault, without even charge, men were 
 sent by dozens to the scaffold or into hopeless 
 exile. 
 
 But they are not without torments of their 
 own. At the core of their own hearts there stands 
 an inflicter of no less agonies. There he stands 
 every day and every moment — one who was born 
 of the same mother with Wrath, and Cruelty, and 
 Rapine, and who never ceased tormenting his 
 infant brethren before they saw the light. His 
 name is Suspicion.^ 
 
 * A tremendous fancy this last ! 
 
 ** Sta lor la pena, de la qual dicea 
 
 Che nacque quando la brutt' Ira nacque, 
 
 La Cnideltade, e la Rapina rea ; 
 
 E quantunque in un ventre con lor giacque, 
 
 Di tormentarle mai non rimanea." 
 
268 SUSPICION. 
 
 Yes, Suspicion; — the crudest visitation, the 
 worst evil spirit and pest that ever haunted with 
 its poisonous whisper the mind of human being. 
 This is their tormentor by excellence. He does 
 not trouble the poor and lowly. He agonises the 
 brain in the proud heads of those whom fortune 
 has put over the heads of their fellow-creatures. 
 Well may the man hug himself on his freedom 
 who fears nobody because nobody hates him. Ty- 
 rants are in perpetual fear. They never cease 
 thinking of the mortal revenge taken upon tor- 
 mentors of their species openly or in secret. The 
 fear which all men feel of the one single wretch, 
 makes the single wretch afraid of every soul among 
 them. 
 
 Hear a story of one of these miserables, which, 
 whatever you may think of it, is true to the letter ; 
 such letter, at all events, as is written upon the 
 hearts of his race. He was one of the first who 
 took to the custom of wearing beards ; for, great 
 as he was, he had a fear of the race of barbers ! 
 He built a tower in his palace, guarded by deep 
 ditches and thick walls. It had but one draw- 
 bridge and one bay-window. There was no other 
 opening ; so that the very light of day had scarcely 
 admittance, or the inmates a place to breathe at. 
 In this tower he slept ; and it was his wife's busi- 
 
SUSPICION. 26S 
 
 ness to put a ladder down for him when he came 
 in. A dog kept watch at the drawbridge ; and 
 except the dog and the wife, not a soul was to 
 be discerned about the place. Yet he had such 
 little trust in her, that he always sent spies to 
 look about the room before he withdrew for the 
 night. 
 
 Of what use was it all ? The woman herself 
 killed him with his own sword, and his soul went 
 straight to hell. 
 
 Rhadamanthus, the judge there, thrust him 
 under the boiling lake, but was astonished to find 
 that he betrayed no symptoms of anguish. He 
 did not weep and howl as the rest did, or cry 
 out, " I burn, I burn !" He evinced so little 
 suffering, that Rhadamanthus said, " I must put 
 this fellow into other quarters." Accordingly, he 
 sent him into the lowest pit, where the torments 
 are beyond all others. 
 
 Nevertheless, even here he seemed to be under 
 no distress. At length they asked him the reason. 
 The wretch then candidly acknowledged, that hell 
 itself had no torments for him, compared with 
 those which suspicion had given him on earth. 
 
 The sages of hell laid their heads together at 
 this news. Amelioration of his lot on the part 
 of a sinner was not to be thought of in a place 
 
270 SUSPICION. 
 
 of eternal punishment; so they called a parlia- 
 ment together, the result of which was an unani- 
 mous conclusion, that the man should be sent back 
 to earth, and consigned to the torments of sus- 
 picion for ever. 
 
 He went ; and the earthly fiend re-entered his 
 being anew with a subtlety so incorporate, that 
 their two natures were identified, and he became 
 Suspicion itself. Fruits are thus engrafted on 
 wild stocks. One colour thus becomes the parent 
 of many, when the painter takes a portion of this 
 and of that from his palette in order to imitate 
 flesh. 
 
 The new being took up his abode on a rock by 
 the sea-shore, a thousand feet high, girt all about 
 with mouldering crags, which threatened every in- 
 stant to fall. It had a fortress on the top, the 
 approach to which was by seven drawbridges, and 
 seven gates, each locked up more strongly than 
 the other ; and here, now this moment, constantly 
 thinking Death is upon him, Suspicion lives in 
 everlasting terror. He is alone. He is ever watch- 
 ing. He cries out from the battlements, to see 
 that the guards are awake below, and never does 
 he sleep day or night. He wears mail upon 
 mail, and mail again, and feels the less safe the 
 more he puts on ; and is always altering and 
 
SUSPICION. 271 
 
 strengthening everything on gate, and on barri- 
 cado, and on ditch, and on wall. And do what- 
 ever he will, he never seems to have done enough. 
 
 Great poet, and good man, Ariosto ! your terrors are better 
 than Dante's ; for they warn, as far as warning can do good, and 
 they neither afflict humanity nor degrade God. 
 
 Spenser has imitated this sublime piece of pleasantry ; for, by 
 a curious intermixture of all which the mind can experience from 
 such a fiction, pleasant it is in the midst of its sublimity, — laugh> 
 able with satirical archness, as well as grand and terrible in the 
 climax. The transformation in Spenser is from a jealous man into 
 Jealousy. His wife has gone to live with the Satyrs, and a villain 
 has stolen his money. The husband, in order to persuade his wife 
 to return, steals into the horde of the Satyrs, by mixing with their 
 flock of goats, — as Norandino does in a passage imitated from 
 Homer by Ariosto. The wife flatly refuses to do any such thing, 
 and the poor wretch is obliged to steal out again. 
 
 " So soon as he the prison-door did pass, 
 He ran as fast as both his feet could bear, 
 And never looked who behind him was, 
 Nor scarcely who before. Like as a bear 
 That creeping close among the hives, to rear 
 An honeycomb, the wakeful dogs espy, 
 And him assailing, sore his carcass tear, 
 That hardly he away with life does fly. 
 
 Nor stays till safe himself he see from jeopardy. 
 
 Nor stay'd he till he came unto the place 
 Where late his treasure he entombed had ; 
 Where, when he found it not (for Trompart base 
 Had it purloined for his master bad). 
 
272 SUSPICION. 
 
 With extreme fury he became quite mad, 
 And ran away — ran with himself away ; 
 That who so strangely had him seen bestad, 
 With upstart hair and staring eyes' dismay, 
 From Limbo-lake him late escaped sure would say. 
 
 High over hills and over dales he fled, 
 As if the wind him on his wings had borne ; 
 Nor bank nor bush could stay him, when he sped 
 His nimble feet, as treading still on thorn ; 
 Grief, and Despite, and Jealousy, and Scorn, 
 Did all the way him follow hard behind ; 
 And he himself himself loath' d so forlorn, 
 So shamefully forlorn of womankind, 
 That, as a snake, still lurked in his wounded mind. 
 
 StiE fled he forward, looking backward still ; 
 Nor stay'd his flight nor fearful agony 
 Till that he came unto a rocky hill 
 Over the sea suspended dreadfully, 
 That living creature it would terrify 
 To look a-down, or upward to the height : 
 From thence he threw himself dispiteously. 
 All desperate of his fore-damned spright. 
 That seem'd no help for him was left in living sight. 
 
 But through long anguish and self- murd" ring thought. 
 He was so wasted and forpined quite. 
 That aU his substance was consumed to nought, 
 And nothing left but like an airy sprite ; 
 That on the rocks he fell so flit and light. 
 That he thereby received no hurt at all ; 
 But chanced on a craggy cliff" to light ; 
 Whence he with crooked claws so long did crawl. 
 That at the last he found a cave with entrance small. 
 
SUSPICION. 273 
 
 Into the same he creeps, and thenceforth there 
 Resolved to build his baleful mansion, 
 In dreary darkness, and continual fear 
 Of that rock's fall, which ever and anon 
 Threats with huge ruin him to fall upon, 
 That he dare never sleep, but that one eye 
 Still ope he keeps for that occasion ; 
 Nor ever rests he in tranquillity. 
 The roaring billows beat his bower so boisterously. 
 
 Nor ever is he wont on aught to feed 
 But toads and frogs, his pasture poisonous, 
 Which in his cold complexion do breed 
 A filthy blood, or humour rancorous. 
 Matter of doubt and dread suspicious. 
 That doth with cureless care consume the heart. 
 Corrupts the stomach with gall vicious. 
 Cross-cuts the liver with internal smart. 
 And doth transfix the soul with death's eternal dart. 
 
 Yet can he never die, but dying lives, 
 And doth himself with sorrow new sustain, 
 That death and life at once unto him gives, 
 And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain ; 
 There dwells he ever, miserable swain, 
 Hateful both to himself and every wight ; 
 WTiere he, through privy grief and horror vain. 
 Is waxen so deformed, that he has quite 
 Forgot he was a man, and Jealousy is hight." 
 
 Spenser's picture is more subtly wrought and imaginative than 
 Ariosto's ; but it removes the man farther from ourselves, except 
 under very special circumstances. Indeed, it might be taken 
 rather for a picture of hypochondria than jealousy, and under that 
 
 N 2 
 
274 SUSPICION. 
 
 aspect is very appalling. But nothing, under more obvious cir- 
 cumstances, comes so dreadfully home to us as Ariosto's poor 
 wretch feeling himself *' the less safe the more he puts on," and 
 calling out dismally from his tower, a thousand feet high, to the 
 watchers and warders below to see that all is secure. 
 
ISABELLA. 
 
 i 
 
ISABELLA.^ 
 
 RoDOMONT, King of Algiers, was the fiercest of all 
 the enemies of Christendom, not out of love for his 
 own faith (for he had no piety), but out of hatred 
 to those that opposed him. He had now quar- 
 relled, however, with his friends too. He had 
 been rejected by a lady, in favour of the Tartar 
 king, Mandricardo, and mortified by the publicity 
 of the rejection before his own lord paramount, 
 Agramante, the leader of the infidel armies. He 
 could not bear the rejection ; he could not bear the 
 sanction of it by his liege lord ; he resolved to quit 
 the scene of warfare and return to Africa ; and, in 
 
 ' The ingenious martyrdom in this story, which has been told 
 by other writers of fiction, is taken from an alleged fact related in 
 Barbaro's treatise De Re Uxoria. It is said, indeed, to have been 
 actually resorted to more than once ; and possibly may have been 
 so, even from a knowledge of it ; for what is more natural with 
 heroical minds than that the like outrages should produce the Uke 
 virtues ? But the colouring of Ariosto's narration is peculiarly his 
 own ; and his apostrophe at the close beautiful. 
 
278 ISABELLA. 
 
 the course of his journey thither, he had come into 
 the south of France, where, observing a seques- 
 tered spot that suited his humour, he changed his 
 mind as to going home, and persuaded himself he 
 could live in it for the rest of his life. He accord- 
 ingly took up his abode with his attendants in a 
 chapel, which had been deserted by its clergy dur- 
 ing the rage of war. 
 
 This vehement personage was standing one 
 morning at the door of the chapel in a state of 
 unusual thoughtfulness, when he beheld coming 
 towards him, through a path in the green meadow 
 before it^ a lady of a lovely aspect, accompanied 
 by a bearded monk. They were followed by 
 something covered with black, which they were 
 bringing along on a great horse. 
 
 Alas ! the lady was the widow of Zerbino, the 
 Scottish prince, who spared the life of Medoro, 
 and who now himself lay dead under that pall. 
 He had expired in her arms from wounds inflicted 
 during a combat with Mandricardo ; and she had 
 been thrown by the loss into such anguish of mind 
 that she would have died on his sword but for the 
 intervention of the hermit now with her, who per- 
 suaded her to devote the rest of her days to God 
 in a nuimery. She had now come into Provence 
 with the good man for that purpose, and to bury 
 
ISABELLA. 279 
 
 the corpse of her husband in the chapel which 
 they were approaching. 
 
 Though the lady seemed lost in grief, and was 
 very pale, and had her hair all about the ears, and 
 though she did nothing but weep and lament, and 
 looked in all respects quite borne down with her 
 misery, nevertheless she was still so beautiful that 
 love and grace appeared to be indestructible in her 
 aspect. The moment the Saracen beheld her, he 
 dismissed from his mind all the determinations he 
 had made to hate and detest 
 
 The gentle bevy, that adorns the world. 
 
 He was bent solely on obtaining the new angel be- 
 fore him. She seemed precisely the sort of person 
 to make him forget the one that had rejected him. 
 Advancing, therefore, to meet her without delay, 
 he begged, in as gentle a manner as he could as- 
 sume, to know the cause of her sorrow. 
 
 The lady, with all the candour of wretchedness, 
 explained who she was, and how precious a bur- 
 den she was conveying to its last home, and the 
 resolution she had taken to withdraw from a vain 
 world into the service of God. The proud pagan, 
 who had no belief in a God, much less any respect 
 for restraints or fidelities of what kind soever, for- 
 got his assumed gravity when he heard this deter- 
 
280 ISABELLA. 
 
 mination, and laughed outright at the simplicity 
 of such a proceeding. He pronounced it, in his 
 peremptory way, to be foolish and frivolous ; com- 
 pared it with the miser who, in burying a trea- 
 sure, does good neither to himself nor any one 
 else ; and said, that lions and serpents might indeed 
 be shut up in cages, but not things lovely and 
 innocent. 
 
 The monk, overhearing these observations, 
 thought it his duty to interfere. He calmly op- 
 posed all which the other asserted, and then pro- 
 ceeded to set forth a repast of spiritual consola- 
 tion not at all to the Saracen's taste. The fierce 
 warrior interrupted the preacher several times ; 
 told him that he had nothing to do with the lad}^, 
 and that the sooner he returned to his cell the 
 better ; but the hermit, nothing daunted, went on 
 with his advice till his antagonist lost all patience. 
 He laid hands on his sacred person ; seized him by 
 the beard ; tore away as much of it as he grasped ; 
 and at length worked himself up into such a pitch 
 of fury, that he griped the good man's throat with 
 all the force of a pair of pincers, and, swinging 
 him twice or thrice round, as one might a dog, 
 flung him off the headland into the sea. 
 
 What became of the poor creature I cannot 
 say. Reports are various. Some tell us that he 
 
ISABELLA. 281 
 
 was found on the rocks, clashed all to pieces, so 
 that you could not distinguish foot from head; 
 others, that he fell into the sea at the distance of 
 three miles, and perished in consequence of not 
 knowing how to swim, in spite of the prayers and 
 tears that he addressed to Heaven; others again 
 affirm, that a saint came and assisted him, and 
 drew him to shore before people's eyes. I must 
 leave the reader to adopt which of these accounts 
 he looks upon as the most probable. 
 
 The Pagan, as soon as he had thus disposed of 
 the garrulous hermit, turned towards Isabella (for 
 that was the lady's name), and with a face some- 
 what less disturbed, began to talk to her in the 
 common language of gallantry, protesting that she 
 was his life and soul, and that he should not know 
 what to do without her ; for the sweetness of her 
 appearance mollified even him ; and indeed, with 
 all his violence, he would rather have possessed 
 her by fair means than by foul. He therefore 
 flattered himself that, by a little hypocritical at- 
 tention, he should dispose her to return his in- 
 clinations. 
 
 On the other hand, the poor disconsolate crea- 
 ture, who, in a country unknown to her, and a 
 place so remote from help, felt like a mouse in the 
 cat's claws, began casting in her mind by what 
 
282 ISABELLA. 
 
 possible contrivance she could escape from such 
 a wretch with honour. She had made up her 
 mind to perish by her own hand, rather than be 
 faithless, however unwillingly, to the dear hus- 
 band that had died in her arms: but the ques- 
 tion was, how she could protect herself from the 
 pagan's violence, before she had secured the means 
 of so doing; for his manner was becoming very 
 impatient, and his speeches every moment less 
 and less civil. 
 
 At length an expedient occurred to her. She 
 told him, that if he would promise to respect her 
 virtue, she would put him in possession of a secret 
 that would redound far more to his honour and 
 glory, than any wrong which he could inflict on 
 the innocent. She conjured him not to throw 
 away the satisfaction he would experience all the 
 rest of his life from the consciousness of having 
 done right, for the sake of injuring one unhappy 
 creature. " There were thousands of her sex,'* 
 she observed, " with cheerful as well as beautiful 
 faces, who might rejoice in his affection ; whereas 
 the secret she spoke of was known to scarcely a 
 soul on earth but herself." 
 
 She then told him the secret ; which consisted 
 in the preparation of a certain herb boiled with ivy 
 and rue over a fire of cypress-wood, and squeezed 
 
ISABELLA. 283 
 
 into a cup by hands that had never done harm. 
 The juice thus obtained, if applied fresh every 
 month, had the virtue of rendering bodies invul- 
 nerable. Isabella said she had seen the herb in 
 the neighbourhood, as she came along, and that 
 she would not only make the preparation forth- 
 with, but let its effects be proved on her own 
 person. She only stipulated, that the receiver of 
 the gift should swear not to offend her purity in 
 deed or word. 
 
 The fierce infidel took the oath immediately. 
 It delighted him to think that he should be en- 
 abled to have his fill of war and slaughter for 
 nothing ; and the oath was the more easy to him, 
 inasmuch as he had no intention of keeping it. 
 
 The poor Isabella went into the fields to look 
 for her miraculous herb, still, however, attended 
 by the Saracen, who would not let her go out of 
 his sight. She soon found it ; and then going 
 with him into his house, passed the rest of the day 
 and the whole night in preparing the mixture 
 with busy solemnity, — Rodomont always remain- 
 ing with her. 
 
 The room became so hot and close with the 
 fire of cypress- wood, that the Saracen, contrary to 
 his law and indeed to his habits, indulged himself 
 in drinking; and the consequence was, that, as 
 
284 ISABELLA. 
 
 soon as it was morning, Isabella lost no time 
 in proving to him the success of her operations. 
 " Now," she said, " you shall be convinced how 
 much in earnest I have been. You shall see all 
 the virtue of this blessed preparation. I have 
 only to bathe myself thus, over the head and neck, 
 and if you then strike me with all your force, as 
 though you intended to cut off my head, — which 
 you must do in good earnest, — you will see the 
 wonderful result." 
 
 With a glad and rejoicing countenance the pa- 
 ragon of virtue held forth her neck to the sword ; 
 and the bestial pagan, giving way to his natural 
 violence, and heated perhaps beyond all thought 
 of a suspicion with his wine, dealt it so fierce a 
 blow, that the head leaped from the shoulders. 
 
 Thrice it bounded on the ground where it fell, 
 and a clear voice was heard to come out of it, call- 
 ing the name of " Zerbino," doubtless in joy of 
 the rare way which its owner had found of escap- 
 ing from the Saracen. 
 
 O blessed soul, that heldest thy virtue and thy 
 fidelity dearer to thee than life and youth ! go in 
 peace, thou soul blessed and beautiful. If any 
 words of mine could have force in them sufficient 
 to endure so long, hard would I labour to give 
 them all the worthiness that art can bestow, so 
 
ISABELLA. 285 
 
 that the world might rejoice in thy name for thou- 
 sands and thousands of years. Go in peace, and 
 take thy seat in the skies, and be an example to 
 womankind of faith beyond all weakness. 
 
TASSO: 
 Ctftical |3ottcc of IjiiS %itt aitO (Bem'uft. 
 
Critical il^otice 
 
 TASSO'S LIFE AND GENIUSJ 
 
 The romantic poetry of Italy having risen to its 
 highest and apparently its most lawless pitch in 
 the Orlando Furioso, a reaction took place in the 
 next age in the Jerusalem Delivered. It did not 
 hurt, however, the popularity of Ariosto. It only 
 
 ^ My authorities for this notice are, Black's Life of Tasso (2 
 vols. 4to, 1810), his original, Serassi, Vita di Torquato Tasso (do. 
 1790), and the works of the poet in the Pisan edition of Professor 
 Rosini (33 vols. 8vo, 1832). I have been indebted to nothing 
 in Black which I have not ascertained by reference to the Italian 
 biographer, and quoted nothing stated by Tasso himself but from 
 the works. Black's Life, which is a free version of Serassi's, 
 modified by the translator's own opinions and criticism, is elegant, 
 industrious, and interesting. Serassi's was the first copious bio- 
 graphy of the poet founded on original documents ; and it deserved 
 to be translated by Mr. Black, though servile to the house of Este, 
 and, as might be expected, far from being always ingenuous. 
 Among other instances of this writer's want of candour is the fact 
 VOL. II. O 
 
290 TASSO. 
 
 increased the number of poetic readers ; and under 
 the auspices, or rather the control, of a Luther- 
 fearing Church, produced, if not as classical a 
 work as it claimed to be, or one, in the true sense 
 of the word, as catholic as its predecessor, yet 
 certainly a far more Roman Catholic, and at the 
 same time very delightful fiction. The circle of 
 fabulous narrative was thus completed, and a link 
 formed, though in a very gentle and qualified 
 manner, both with Dante's theocracy and the ob- 
 vious regularity of the jEneid, the oldest romance 
 of Italy. 
 
 The author of this epic of the Crusades was 
 
 of his having been the discoverer and suppresser of the manuscript 
 review of Tasso by Galileo. The best summary account of the 
 poet's life and writings which I have met with is Ginguene's, 
 in the fifth volume of his Histoire Litteraire, &c. It is written 
 with his usual grace, vivacity, and acuteness, and contains a good 
 notice of the Tasso controversy. As to the Pisan edition of the 
 works, it is the completest, I believe, in point of contents ever 
 published, comprises all the controversial criticism, and is, of 
 course, very useful ; but it contains no life except Manso's (now 
 known to be very inconclusive), has got a heap of feeble variorum 
 comments on the Jerusalem, no notes worth speaking of to the 
 rest of the works, and, notwithstanding the claim in the title-page 
 to the merit of a " better order," has left the correspondence in a 
 deplorable state of irregularity, as well as totally without elucida- 
 tion. The learned Professor is an agreeable writer, and, I believe, 
 a very pleasant man, but he certainly is a provoking editor. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 291 
 
 of a family so noble and so widely diiFused, that, 
 under the patronage of the emperors and the 
 Italian princes, it flourished in a very remarkable 
 manner, not only in its own country, but in Flan- 
 ders, Germany, and Spain. There was a Tasso 
 once in England, ambassador of Philip the Second ; 
 another, like Cervantes, distinguished himself at 
 the battle of Lepanto ; and a third gave rise 
 to the sovereign German house of Tour and 
 Taxis. Taxus is the Latin of Tasso. The Latin 
 word, like the Italian, means both a badger and 
 a yew-tree ; and the family in general appear to 
 have taken it in the former sense. The animal 
 is in their coat of arms. But the poet, or his 
 immediate relatives, preferred being more roman- 
 tically shadowed forth by the yew-tree. The 
 parent stock of the race was at Bergamo in Lom- 
 bardy; and here was bom the father of Tasso, 
 himself a poet of celebrity, though his fame has 
 been eclipsed by that of his son. 
 
 Bernardo Tasso, author of many elegant lyrics, 
 of some volumes of letters, not uninteresting but 
 too florid, and of the Amadigi, an epic romance 
 now little read, was a man of small property, very 
 honest and good-hearted, but restless, ambitious, 
 and with a turn for expense beyond his means. 
 He attached himself to various princes, with little 
 
292 TASso. 
 
 ultimate advantage, particularly to the unfortunate 
 Sanseverino, Prince of Salerno, whom he faith- 
 fully served for many years. The prince had a 
 high sense of his v^orth, and would probably have 
 settled him in the wealth and honours he was 
 qualified to adorn, but for those Spanish oppres- 
 sions in the history of Naples which ended in the 
 ruin of both master and servant. Bernardo, how- 
 ever, had one happy interval of prosperity ; and 
 during this, at the age of forty-six, he married 
 Porzia di Rossi, a young lady of a rich and noble 
 family, with a claim to a handsome dowry. He 
 spent some delightful years with her at Sorrento, 
 a spot so charming as to have been considered the 
 habitation of the Sirens ; and here, in the midst 
 of his orange-trees, his verses, and the breezes 
 of an aromatic coast, he had three children, the 
 eldest of whom was a daughter named Cornelia, 
 and the youngest the author of the Jerusalem De- 
 livered, The other child died young. The house 
 distinguished by the poet's birth was restored from 
 a dilapidated condition by order of Joseph Bona- 
 parte when King of Naples, and is now an hotel. 
 
 Torquato Tasso was born March the 11th, 
 1 544, nine years after the death of Ariosto, w- ho 
 was intimate with his father. He was very de- 
 voutly brought up ; and grew so tall, and became 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 293 
 
 SO premature a scholar, that at nine, he tells us, 
 he might have been taken for a boy of twelve. 
 At eleven, in consequence of the misfortunes of 
 his father, vv^ho had been exiled with the Prince 
 of Salerno, he was forced to part from his mother, 
 who remained at home to look after a dowry 
 which she never received. Her brothers deprived 
 her of it ; and in two years' time she died, Ber- 
 nardo thought by poison. Twenty -four years 
 afterwards her illustrious son, in the midst of his 
 own misfortunes, remembered with sighs the tears 
 with which the kisses of his poor mother were 
 bathed when she was forced to let him go.^ 
 
 ^ la the beautiful fragment beginning, del grand' Apennino : 
 
 " Me dal sen della madre empia fortuna 
 Pargoletto divelse. Ah ! di que' baci, 
 Ch' ella bagno di lagrime dolenti, 
 Con sospir mi rimembra, e degli ardenti 
 Preghi, che sen portar 1' aure fugaci, 
 Ch' io giunger non dovea piu volto a volto 
 Fra quelle braccia accolto 
 Con nodi cosi stretti e si tenaci. 
 Lasso ! e seguii con mal sicure piante, 
 Qual Ascanio, o Camilla, il padre errante." 
 
 Me from my mother's bosom my hard lot 
 
 Took when a child. Alas ! though all these years 
 
 I have been used to sorrow, 
 
 I sigh to think upon the floods of tears 
 
 Which bathed her kisses on that doleful morrow : 
 
294 TAsso. 
 
 The little Torquato following, as he says, like 
 another Ascanius, the footsteps of his wandering 
 father, joined Bernardo in Rome. After two 
 years' study in that city, partly under an old 
 priest who lived with them, the vicissitudes of 
 the father's lot took away the son first to Ber- 
 gamo, among his relations, and then to Pesaro, 
 in the duchy of Urbino, where his education was 
 associated for nearly two years with that of the 
 young prince, afterwards Duke Francesco Maria 
 the Second (della Rovere), who retained a regard 
 for him through life. In 1559 the boy joined his 
 father in Venice, where the latter had been ap- 
 pointed secretary to the Academy ; but next year 
 he was withdrawn from these pleasing varieties 
 of scene by the parental delusion so common in 
 the history of men of letters — the study of the 
 law ; which Bernardo intended him to pursue 
 henceforth in the city of Padua. He accordingly 
 arrived in Padua at the age of sixteen and a half, 
 
 I sigh to think of all the prayers and cries 
 She wasted, straining me with lifted eyes : 
 For never more on one another's face 
 Was it our lot to gaze and to embrace ! 
 Her little stumbling boy, 
 Like to the child of Troy, 
 Or like to one doomed to no haven rather. 
 Followed the footsteps of his wandering father. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 295 
 
 and fulfilled his legal destiny by writing the poem 
 of Rinaldo, which was published in the course of 
 less than two years at Venice. The goodnatured 
 and poetic father, convinced by this specimen of 
 jurisprudence how useless it was to thwart the 
 hereditary passion, permitted him to devote him- 
 self wholly to literature, which he therefore went 
 to study in the university of Bologna ; and there, 
 at the early age of nineteen, he began his Jerusa- 
 lem Delivered ; that is to say, he planned it, and 
 wrote three cantos, several of the stanzas of which 
 he retained when the poem was matured. He 
 quitted Bologna, however, in a fit of indignation 
 at being accused of the authorship of a satire ; 
 and after visiting some friends at Castelvetro and 
 Correggio, returned to Padua on the invitation 
 of his friend Scipio Gonzaga, afterwards cardinal, 
 who wished him to become a member of an aca- 
 demy he had instituted, called the Eterei (Ethe- 
 reals). Here he studied his favourite philosopher, 
 Plato, and composed three Discourses on Heroic 
 Poetry, dedicated to his friend. He now paid a 
 visit to his father in Mantua, where the unsettled 
 man had become secretary to the duke ; and here, 
 it is said, he fell in love with a young lady of 
 a distinguished family, whose name was Laura 
 Peperara; but this did not hinder him from re- 
 
296 TAsso. 
 
 turning to his Paduan studies, in which he spent 
 nearly the whole of the following year. He was 
 then informed that the Cardinal of Este, to whom 
 he had dedicated his Hinaldo, and with whom in- 
 terest had been made for the purpose, had ap- 
 pointed him one of his attendants, and that he 
 was expected at Ferrara by the 1st of December. 
 Returning to Mantua, in order to prepare for this 
 appointment with his father, he was seized with 
 a dangerous illness, which detained him there 
 nearly a twelvemonth longer. On his recovery 
 he hastened to Ferrara, and arrived in that city 
 on the last day of October, 1565, the first of many 
 years of glory and misery. 
 
 The cardinal of Este was the brother of the 
 reigning Duke of Ferrara, Alfonso the Second, 
 grandson of the Alfonso of Ariosto. It is curious 
 to see the two most celebrated romantic poets 
 of Italy thrown into unfortunate connexion with 
 two princes of the same house and the same re- 
 spective ranks. Tasso's cardinal, however, though 
 the poet lost his favour, and though very little is 
 known about him, left no such bad reputation 
 behind him as Ippolito. It was in the service of 
 the duke that the poet experienced his sufferings. 
 
 This prince, who was haughty, ostentatious, 
 and quarrelsome, was, at the time of the stranger's 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 297 
 
 arrival, rehearsing the shows and tournaments 
 intended to welcome his bride, the sister of the 
 Emperor Maximilian the Second. She was his 
 second wife. The first was a daughter of the rival 
 house of Tuscany, which he detested ; and the 
 marriage had not been happy. The new consort 
 arrived in the course of a few weeks, entering the 
 city in great pomp ; and for a time all went hap- 
 pily with the young poet. He was in a state of 
 ecstasy with the beauty and grandeur he beheld 
 around him — obtained the favourable notice of 
 the duke's two sisters and the duke himself — 
 went on with his Jerusalem Delivered^ which, in 
 spite of the presence of Ariosto's memory, he was 
 resolved to load with praises of the house of Este ; 
 and in this tumult of pride and expectation, he 
 beheld the duke, like one of the heroes of his 
 poem, set out to assist the emperor against the 
 Turks at the head of three hundred gentlemen, 
 armed at all points, and mantled in various- co- 
 loured velvets embroidered with gold. 
 
 To complete the young poet's happiness, or 
 commence his disappointments, he fell in love, 
 notwithstanding the goddess he had left in Man- 
 tua, with the beautiful Lucrezia Bendidio, who 
 does not seem, however, to have loved in return ; 
 for she became the wife of a Macchiavelli, Among 
 o2 
 
298 TASso. 
 
 his rivals was Guarini, who afterwards emulated 
 him in pastoral poetry, and who accused him on 
 this occasion of courting two ladies at once. 
 
 Guarini's accusation has been supposed to re- 
 fer to the duke's sister Leonora, whose name has 
 become so romantically mixed up with the poet's 
 biography ; but the latest inquiries render it pro- 
 bable that the allusion was to Laura Peperara.^ 
 The young poet, however, who had not escaped 
 the influence of the free manners of Italy, and 
 whose senses and vanity may hitherto have been 
 more interested than his heart, rhymed and flat- 
 tered on all sides of him, not of course omitting 
 the charms of princesses. Li order to win the 
 admiration of the ladies in a body, he sustained 
 for three days, in public, after the fashion of the 
 times. Fifty Amorous Conclusions ; that is to say, 
 aflirmations on the subject of love ; doubtless to 
 the equal delight of his fair auditors and himself, 
 and the creation of a good deal of jealousy and ill- 
 will on the part of such persons of his own sex as 
 had not wit or spirits enough for the display of 
 so much logic and love-making. 
 
 In 1569, the death of his father, who had been 
 made governor of Ostiglia by the Duke of Mantua, 
 
 ^ Rosini, Saggio sugli Amori di Torquato Tasso, &c., in the 
 Professor's edition of his works, vol. xxxiii. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 299 
 
 cost the loving son a fit of illness ; but tlie con- 
 tinuation of his Jerusalem^ an Oration spoken at 
 the opening of the Ferrarese academy, the mar- 
 riage of Leonora's sister Lucrezia with the Prince 
 of Urbino, and the society of Leonora herself, 
 who led the retired life of a person in delicate 
 health, and was fond of the company of men of 
 letters, helped to divert him from melancholy re- 
 collections ; and a journey to France, at the close 
 of the year following, took him into scenes that 
 were not only totally new, but otherwise highly 
 interesting to the singer of Godfrey of Boulogne. 
 The occasion of it was a visit of the cardinal, his 
 master, to the court of his relative Charles the 
 Ninth. It is supposed that his Eminence went to 
 confer with the king on matters relative to the 
 disputes which not long afterwards occasioned the 
 detestable massacre of St. Bartholomew. 
 
 Before his departure, Tasso put into the hands 
 of one of his friends a document, which, as it is 
 very curious, and serves to illustrate perhaps more 
 than one cause of his misfortunes, is here given 
 entire. 
 
 Memorial left hy Tasso on his departure to France, 
 
 " Since life is frail, and it may please Almighty 
 God to dispose of me otherwise in this my journey 
 
300 TASSO. 
 
 to France, it is requested of Signor Ercole Ron- 
 dinelli that he will, in that case, undertake the 
 management of the following concerns : 
 
 " In the first place, with regard to my compo- 
 sitions, it is my wish that all my love -sonnets and 
 madrigals should be collected and published ; but 
 with regard to those, whether amatory or other- 
 wise, which I have written for any friend^ my re- 
 quest is, that they should he buried with myself, 
 save only the one commencing " Or che V aura 
 mia dolce altrove spira.'' I wish the publication 
 of the Oration spoken in Ferrara at the opening of 
 the academy, of the four books on Heroic Poetry , 
 of the six last cantos of the Godfrey (the Jeru- 
 salem), and of those stanzas of the two first which 
 shall seem least imperfect. All these composi- 
 tions, however, are to be submitted to the review 
 and consideration of Signor Scipio Gonzaga, of 
 Signor Domenico Veniero, and of Signor Battista 
 Guarini, who, I persuade myself, will not refuse 
 this trouble, when they consider the zealous friend- 
 ship I have entertained for themselves. 
 
 " Let them be informed, too, that it was my 
 intention that they should cut and hew without 
 mercy whatever should appear to them defec- 
 tive or superfluous. With regard to additions or 
 changes, I should wish them to proceed more cau- 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 301 
 
 tiously, since, after all, the poem would remain 
 imperfect. As to my other compositions, should 
 there be any which, to the aforesaid Signor Ron- 
 dinelli and the other gentlemen, might seem not 
 unworthy of publication, let them be disposed of 
 according to their pleasure. 
 
 " In respect to my property, I wish that such 
 
 part of it as I have pledged to Ahram for 
 
 twenty-five lire, and seven pieces of arras, which 
 are likewise in pledge to Signor Ascanio for thirteen 
 scudi, together with whatever I have in this house, 
 should be sold, and that the overplus of the pro- 
 ceeds should go to defray the expense of the fol- 
 lowing epitaph to be inscribed on a monument to 
 my father, whose body is in St. Polo. And should 
 any impediment take place in these matters, I en- 
 treat Signor Ercole to have recourse to the favour 
 of the most excellent Madame Leonora, whose lihe^ 
 rality I confide in, for my sake, 
 
 " I, Torquato Tasso, have written this, Fer- 
 rara, 1570." 
 
 T shall have occasion to recur to this document 
 by and by. I will merely observe, for the pre- 
 sent, that the marks in it, both of imprudence 
 in money-matters and confidence in the goodwill 
 of a princess, are very striking. " Abram" and 
 
302 TASSO. 
 
 " Signor Ascanio" were both Jews. The pieces 
 of arras belonged to his father ; and probably this 
 was an additional reason why the affectionate son 
 wished the proceeds to defray the expense of the 
 epitaph. The epitaph recorded his father^'s poetry, 
 state-services, and vicissitudes of fortune. 
 
 Tasso was introduced to the French king as the 
 poet of a French hero and of a Catholic victory ; 
 and his reception was so favourable (particularly 
 as the wretched Charles, the victim of his mother's 
 bigotry, had himself no mean poetic feeling), that, 
 with a rash mixture of simplicity and self-reliance 
 (respect makes me unwilling to call it self-import- 
 ance), the poet expressed an impolitic amount of 
 astonishment at the favour shewn at court to the 
 Hugonots — little suspecting the horrible design 
 it covered. He shortly afterwards broke with his 
 master the cardinal; and it is supposed that this 
 unseasonable escape of zeal was the cause. He 
 himself appears to have thought so.^ Perhaps the 
 cardinal only wanted to get the imprudent poet 
 back to Italy ; for, on Tasso's return to Ferrara, 
 he was not only received into the service of the 
 duke with a salary of some fifteen golden scudi a- 
 month, but told that he was exempted from any 
 
 ^ Lettere Inedite, p. 33, in the Opere, vol. xvii. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 303 
 
 particular duty, and might attend in peace to his 
 studies. Balzac affirms, that while Tasso was at 
 the court of France, he was so poor as to beg a 
 crown from a friend ; and that, when he left it, he 
 had the same coat on his back that he came in.^ 
 The assertions of a professed wit and hyperbolist 
 are not to be taken for granted ; yet it is difficult 
 to say to what shifts improvidence may not be 
 reduced. 
 
 The singer of the house of Este would now, it 
 might have been supposed, be happy. He had 
 leisure ; he had money ; he had the worldly hon- 
 ours that he was fond of; he occupied himself in 
 perfecting the Jerusalem; and he wrote his beau- 
 tiful pastoral, the Jmintaf which was performed 
 before the duke and his court to the delight of the 
 brilliant assembly. The duke's sister Lucrezia, 
 princess of Urbino, who was a special friend of the 
 poet, sent for him to read it to her at Pesaro ; and 
 in the course of the ensuing carnival it was per- 
 formed with similar applause at the court of her 
 father-in-law. The poet had been as much en- 
 chanted by the spectacle which the audience at 
 Ferrara presented to his eyes, as the audience with 
 the loves and graces with which he enriched their 
 
 1 Entretiens, 1663, p. 169, quoted by Serassi, pp. 175, 182. 
 
304 TASSO. 
 
 stage. The shepherd Thyrsis, by whom he meant 
 himself, reflected it back upon them in a passage 
 of the performance. It is worth while dwelling 
 on this passage a little, because it exhibits a brief 
 interval of happiness in the author's life, and also 
 shews us what he had already begun to think of 
 courts at the moment he was praising them. But 
 he ingeniously contrives to put the praise in his 
 own mouth, and the blame in another's. The 
 shepherd's friend, Mopsus (by whom Tasso is 
 thought to have meant Speroni), had warned him 
 against going to court : 
 
 " Pero, figlio, 
 Va su 1' awiso," &c. 
 
 *• Therefore, my son, take my advice. Avoid 
 The places where thou seest much drapery, 
 Colours, and gold, and plumes, and heraldries, 
 And such new-fanglements. But, above all. 
 Take care how evil chance or youthful wandering 
 Bring thee upon the house of Idle Babble." 
 " What place is that }" said I ; and he resumed ; — 
 " Enchantresses dwell there, who make one see 
 Things as they are not, ay and hear them too. 
 That which shall seem pure diamond and fine gold 
 Is glass and brass ; and coffers that look silver, 
 Heavy with wealth, are baskets full of bladders.^ 
 
 Suggested by Ariosto's furniture in the Moon- 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 305 
 
 The very walls there are so strangely made, 
 
 They answer those who talk ; and not in syllables, 
 
 Or bits of words, like echo in our vsoods, 
 
 But go the whole talk over, word for word. 
 
 With something else besides, that no one said.' 
 
 The tressels, tables, bedsteads, curtains, lockers. 
 
 Chairs, and whatever furniture there is 
 
 In room or bedroom, all have tongues and speech. 
 
 And are for ever tattling. Idle Babble 
 
 Is always going about, playing the child ; 
 
 And should a dumb man enter in that place, 
 
 The dumb would babble in his own despite. 
 
 And yet this evil is the least of all 
 
 That might assail thee. Thou might'st be arrested 
 
 In fearful transformation to a willow, 
 
 A beast, fire, water, — fire for ever sighing, 
 
 Water for ever weeping." — Here he ceased : 
 
 And I, with all this fine foreknowledge, went 
 
 To the great city ; and, by Heaven's kind will, 
 
 Came where they live so happily. The first sound 
 
 I heard was a delightful harmony. 
 
 Which issued forth, of voices loud and sweet ; — 
 
 Sirens, and swans, and nymphs, a heavenly noise 
 
 Of heavenly things ; — which gave me such delight, 
 
 That, all admiring, and amazed, and joyed, 
 
 I stopped awhile quite motionless. There stood 
 
 Within the entrance, as if keeping guard 
 
 Of those fine things, one of a high-souled aspect. 
 
 Stalwart withal, of whom I was in doubt 
 
 1 This was a trick which he afterwards thought he had reason 
 to complain of in a style very different from pleasantry. 
 
306 TASSO. 
 
 Whether to think him better knight or leader. * 
 
 He, with a look at once benign and grave, 
 
 In royal guise, invited me within ; 
 
 He, great and in esteem ; me, lorn and lowly. 
 
 Oh, the sensations and the sights which then 
 
 Shower'd on me ! Goddesses I saw, and nymphs 
 
 Graceful and beautiful, and harpers fine 
 
 As Linus or as Orpheus ; and more deities. 
 
 All without veil or cloud, bright as the virgin 
 
 Aurora, when she glads immortal eyes. 
 
 And sows her beams and dew-drops, silver and gold. 
 
 In the summer of 1574, the Duke of Ferrara 
 went to Venice to pay his respects to the successor 
 of Charles the Ninth, Henry the Third, then on 
 his way to France from his kingdom of Poland. 
 Tasso went with the duke, and is understood to 
 have taken the opportunity of looking for a printer 
 of his Jerusalem^ which was now almost finished. 
 Writers were anxious to pubHsh in that crafty 
 city, because its government would give no secu- 
 rity of profit to books printed elsewhere. Alfonso, 
 who was in mourning for Henry's brother, and to 
 whom mourning itself only suggested a new occa- 
 
 ^ Alfonso. The word for "leader" in the original, duce, made 
 the allusion more obvious. The epithet "royal," in the next 
 sentence, conveyed a welcome intimation to the ducal ear, the 
 house of Este being very proud of its connexion with the sove- 
 reigns of Europe, and very desirous of becoming royal itself. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 307 
 
 sion of pomp and vanity, took with him to this 
 interview five hundred Ferrarese gentlemen, all 
 dressed in long black cloaks ; who walking about 
 Venice (says a reporter) " by twos and threes," 
 wonderfully impressed the inhabitants with their 
 "gravity and magnificence."^ The mourners feast- 
 ed, however ; and Tasso had a quartan fever, 
 which delayed the completion of the Jerusalem till 
 next year. This was at length efiected ; and now 
 once more, it might have been thought, that the 
 writer would have reposed on his laurels. 
 
 But Tasso had already begun to experience 
 the uneasiness attending superiority ; and, unfor- 
 tunately, the strength of his mind was not equal 
 to that of his genius. He was of an ultra-sensi- 
 tive temperament, and subject to depressing fits of 
 sickness. He could not calmly bear envy. Sar- 
 casm exasperated, and hostile criticism afflicted 
 him. The seeds of a suspicious temper were 
 nourished by prosperity itself. The author of the 
 Armida and the Jerusalem began to think the at- 
 tentions he received unequal to his merits ; while 
 with a sort of hysterical mixture of demand for 
 applause, and provocation of censure, he not only 
 condescended to read his poems in manuscript 
 
 ' Serassi, vol. i. p. 210. 
 
308 TASSO. 
 
 wherever he went, but, in order to secure the 
 goodwill of the papal licenser, he transmitted it 
 for revisal to Rome, where it was mercilessly cri- 
 ticised for the space of two years by the bigots 
 and hypocrites of a court, which Luther had ren- 
 dered a very different one from that in the time 
 of Ariosto. 
 
 This new source of chagrin exasperated the 
 complexional restlessness, which now made our 
 author think that he should be more easy any- 
 where than in Ferrara ; perhaps more able to com- 
 municate with and convince his critics ; and, 
 unfortunately, he permitted himself to descend to 
 a weakness the most fatal of all others to a mind 
 naturally exalted and ingenuous. Perhaps it was 
 one of the main causes of all which he suffered. 
 Indeed, he himself attributed his misfortunes to 
 irresolution. What I mean in the present in- 
 stance was, that he did not disdain to adopt 
 underhand measures. He shewed a face of satis- 
 faction with Alfonso, at the moment that he was 
 taking steps to exchange his court for another. 
 He wrote for that purpose to his friend Scipio 
 Gonzaga, now a prelate at the court of Rome, 
 earnestly begging him, at the same time, not to 
 commit him in their correspondence ; and Scipio, 
 who was one of his kindest and most indulgent 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 309 
 
 friends, and who doubtless saw that the Duke 
 of Ferrara and his poet were not of dispositions 
 to accord, did all he could to procure him an 
 appointment with one of the family of the 
 Medici. 
 
 Most unhappily for this speculation (and per- 
 haps even the good-natured Gonzaga took a little 
 more pleasure in it on that account), Alfonso in- 
 herited all the detestation of his house for that 
 lucky race; and it is remarkable, that the same 
 jealousies which hindered Ariosto's advancement 
 with the Medici were still more fatal to the hopes 
 of Tasso ; for they served to plunge him into the 
 deepest adversity. In vain he had warnings given 
 him, both friendly and hostile. The princess, 
 now Duchess of Urbino, who was his particular 
 friend, strongly cautioned him against the temp- 
 tation of going away. She said he was watched. 
 He himself thought his letters were opened ; and 
 probably they were. They certainly were at a 
 subsequent period. Tasso, however, persisted, 
 and went to Rome. Scipio Gonzaga introduced 
 him to Cardinal Ferdinand de' Medici, afterwards 
 Grand Duke of Tuscany ; and Ferdinand made 
 him offers of protection so handsome, that they 
 excited his suspicion. The self-tormenting poet 
 thought they savoured more of hatred to the Este 
 
310 TASSO. 
 
 family, than honour to himself.^ He did not 
 accept them. He did nothing at Rome but make 
 friends, in order to perplex them ; listen to his 
 critics, in order to worry himself ; and perform acts 
 of piety in the churches, by way of shewing that 
 the love-scenes in the Jerusalem were innocent. 
 For the bigots had begun to find something very 
 questionable in mixing up so much love with war. 
 The bloodshed they had no objection to. The 
 love bearded their prejudices, and excited their 
 envy. 
 
 Tasso returned to Ferrara, and endeavoured to 
 solace himself with eulogising two fair strangers 
 who had arrived at Alfonso's court, — Eleonora 
 Sanvitale, who had been newly married to the 
 Count of Scandiano (a Tiene, not a Boiardo, 
 whose line was extinct), and Barbara Sanseverino, 
 Countess of Sala, her mother-in-law. The mo- 
 ther-in-law, who was a Juno-like beauty, wore 
 her hair in the form of a crown. The still more 
 beautiful daughter-in-law had an under lip such as 
 Anacreon or Sir John Suckling would have ad- 
 mired, — pouting and provoking, — TrpoKaXovfievov 
 <l)L\7}fjLa. Tasso wrote verses on them both, but 
 
 * " Alia lor magnanimita e convenevole il mostrar, ch' amor 
 delle virtu, non odio verso altri, gli abbia gia mossi ad invitarmi 
 con invito cosi largo." Opere, vol. xv. p. 94. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 311 
 
 particularly to the lip ; and this Countess of Scan- 
 diano is the second, out of the three Leonoras, 
 with whom Tasso was said by his friend Manso to 
 have been in love. The third, it is now ascer- 
 tained, never existed ; and his love-making to the 
 new, or second Leonora, goes to shew how little 
 of real passion there was in the praises of the first 
 (the Princess Leonora), or probably of any lady at 
 court. He even professed love, as a forlorn hope, 
 to the countess's waiting-maid. Yet these gal- 
 lantries of sonnets are exalted into bewilderments 
 of the heart. 
 
 His restlessness returning, the poet now con- 
 descended to craft a second time. Expecting to 
 meet with a refusal, and so to be afforded a pre- 
 text for quitting Ferrara, he applied for the va- 
 cant office of historiographer. It was granted 
 him ; and he then disgusted the Medici by plead- 
 ing an unlooked-for engagement, which he could 
 only reconcile to his applications for their favour 
 by renouncing his claim to be believed. If he 
 could have deceived others, why might he not 
 have deceived them ? 
 
 All the lurking weakness of the poet's temper- 
 ament began to display itself at this juncture. 
 His perplexity excited him to a degree of irri- 
 tability bordering on delirium ; and circumstances 
 
312 TASSO. 
 
 conspired to increase it. He had lent an acquaint- 
 ance the key of his rooms at court, for the pur- 
 pose (he tells us) of accommodating some intrigue ; 
 and he suspected this person of opening cabinets 
 containing his papers. Remonstrating with him 
 one day in the court of the palace, either on that 
 or some other account, the man gave him the lie. 
 He received in return a blow on the face, and is 
 said by Tasso to have brought a set of his kinsmen 
 to assassinate him, all of whom the heroical poet 
 immediately put to flight. At one time he sus- 
 pected the duke of jealousy respecting the dedi- 
 cation of his poem, and at another, of a wish to 
 burn it. He suspected his servants. He became 
 suspicious of the truth of his friend Gonzaga. 
 He doubted, even, whether some praises addressed 
 to him by Orazio Ariosto, the nephew of the 
 great poet, which, one would have thought, would 
 have been to him a consummation of bliss, were 
 not intended to mystify and hurt him. At length 
 he fancied that his persecutors had accused him 
 of heresy to the Inquisition ; and, as he had gone 
 through the metaphysical doubts, common with 
 most men of reflection respecting points of faith 
 and the mysteries of creation, he feared that some 
 indiscreet words had escaped him, giving colour to 
 the charge. He thus beheld enemies all around 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 313 
 
 him. He dreaded stabbing and poison ; and one 
 day, in some paroxysm of rage or horror, how 
 occasioned it is not known, ran with a knife or 
 dagger at one of the servants of the Duchess of 
 Urbino in her own chamber. 
 
 Alfonso, upon this, apparently in the mildest 
 and most reasonable manner, directed that he 
 should be confined to his apartments, and put into 
 the hands of the physician. These unfortunate 
 events took place in the summer of 1577, and in 
 the poet's thirty-third year. 
 
 Tasso shewed so much affliction at this treat- 
 ment, and, at the same time, bore it so patiently, 
 that the duke took him to his beautiful country- 
 seat of Belriguardo ; where, in one of his accounts 
 of the matter, the poet says that he treated him as 
 a brother ; but in another, he accuses him of having 
 taken pains to make him criminate himself, and 
 confess certain matters, real or supposed, the na- 
 ture of which is a puzzle with posterity. Some 
 are of opinion (and this is the prevailing one), that 
 he was found guilty of being in love with the 
 Princess Leonora, perhaps of being loved by her- 
 self. Others think the love out of the question, 
 and that the duke was concerned at nothing but 
 his endeavouring to transfer his services and his 
 poetic reputation into the hands of the Medici. 
 
 VOL. II. P 
 
314 TASSO. 
 
 Others see in the duke's conduct nothing but that 
 of a good master interesting himself in the welfare 
 of an afflicted servant. 
 
 It is certain that Alfonso did all he could to 
 prevent the surreptitious printing of the Jerusalem 
 Delivered in various towns of Italy, the dread of 
 which had much afflicted the poet ; and he also 
 endeavoured, though in vain, to ease his mind on 
 the subject of the Inquisition ; for these facts are 
 attested by state-papers and other documents, 
 not dependent either on the testimony of third 
 persons or the partial representations of the suf- 
 ferer. But Tasso felt so uneasy at Belriguardo, 
 that he requested leave to retire a while into a 
 convent. He remained there several days, ap- 
 parently so much to his satisfaction, that he wrote 
 to the duke to say that it was his intention to 
 become a friar; and yet he had no sooner got 
 into the place, than he addressed a letter to the 
 Inquisition at Rome, beseeching it to desire per- 
 mission for him to come to that city, in order 
 to clear himself from the charges of his enemies. 
 He also wrote to two other friends, requesting 
 them to further his petition ; and adding that the 
 duke was enraged with him in consequence of 
 the anger of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, who, 
 it is supposed, had accused Tasso of having re- 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 315 
 
 vealed to Alfonso some indecent epithet which 
 his highness had applied to him.^ These letters 
 were undoubtedly intercepted, for they were found 
 among the secret archives of Modena, the only 
 principality ultimately remaining in the Este fa- 
 mily ; so that, agreeably to the saying of listeners 
 hearing no good of themselves, if Alfonso did not 
 know the epithet before, he learnt it then. The 
 reader may conceive his feelings. Tasso, too, at 
 the same time, was plaguing him with letters to 
 similar purpose ; and it is observable, that while 
 in those which he sent to Rome he speaks of 
 Cosmo de' Medici as " Grand Duke," he takes 
 care in the others to call him simply the " Duke 
 of Florence." Alfonso had been exasperated to 
 the last degree at Cosmo's having had the epithet 
 " Grand" added by the Pope to his ducal title ; 
 and the reader may imagine the little allowance 
 that would be made by a haughty and angry 
 
 ' The application is the conjecture of Black, vol. i. p. 317. 
 Serassi suppressed the whole passage. The indecent word would 
 have been known but for the delicacy or courtliness of Muratori, 
 who substituted an et-cetera in its place, observing, that he had 
 *' covered" with it "an indecent word not fit to be printed" ("sotto 
 queir et-cetera ho io coperta un' indecente parola, che non era 
 lecito di lasciar correre alie stampe." Ojjere del Tasso, vol. xvi. 
 p. 114). By "covered" he seems to have meant blotted out; 
 for in the latest edition of Tasso the et-cetera is retained. 
 
316 TASSO. 
 
 prince for the rebellious courtesy thus shewn to 
 a detested rival. Tasso, furthermore, who had 
 not only an infantine hatred of bitter "physic," 
 but reasonably thought the fashion of the age 
 for giving it a ridiculous one, begged hard, in a 
 manner which it is humiliating to witness, that 
 he might not be drenched with medicine. The 
 duke at length forbade his writing to him any 
 more ; and Tasso, whose fears of every kind of 
 ill usage had been wound up to a pitch unbear- 
 able, watched an opportunity when he was care- 
 lessly guarded, and fled at once from the convent 
 and Ferrara. 
 
 The unhappy poet selected the loneliest ways 
 he could find, and directed his course to the king- 
 dom of Naples, where his sister lived. He was 
 afraid of pursuit ; he probably had little money ; 
 and considering his ill health and his dread of the 
 Inquisition, it is pitiable to think what he may 
 have endured while picking his long way through 
 the back states of the Church and over the 
 mountains of Abruzzo, as far as the Gulf of 
 Naples. For better security, he exchanged clothes 
 with a shepherd ; and as he feared even his sister 
 at first, from doubting whether she still loved 
 him, his interview with her was in all its circum- 
 stances painfully dramatic. Cornelia Tasso, now 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 317 
 
 a widow, with two sons, was still residing at Sor- 
 rento, where the poet, casting his eyes around 
 him as he proceeded towards the house, must 
 have beheld with singular feelings of wretched- 
 ness the lovely spots in which he had been a 
 happy little boy. He did not announce himself 
 at once. He brought letters, he said, from the 
 lady's brother; and it is affecting to think, that 
 whether his sister might or might not have re- 
 tained otherwise any personal recollection of him 
 since that time (for he had not seen her in the 
 interval), his disguise was completed by the alter- 
 ations which sorrow had made in his appearance. 
 For, at all events, she did not know him. She 
 saw in him nothing but a haggard stranger who 
 was acquainted with the writer of the letters, 
 and to whom they referred for particulars of the 
 risk which her brother ran, unless she could afford 
 him her protection. These particulars were given 
 by the stranger with all the pathos of the real 
 man, and the loving sister fainted away. On her 
 recovery, the visitor said what he could to reas- 
 sure her, and then by degrees discovered himself. 
 Cornelia welcomed him in the tenderest manner. 
 She did all that he desired ; and gave out to her 
 friends that the gentleman was a cousin from Ber- 
 gamo, who had come to Naples on family affairs. 
 
318 TASSO. 
 
 For a little while, the affection of his sister, 
 and the beauty and freshness of Sorrento, rendered 
 the mind of Tasso more easy : but his restlessness 
 returned. He feared he had mortally offended 
 the Duke of Ferrara ; and, with his wonted fluc- 
 tuation of purpose, he now wished to be restored 
 to his presence for the very reason he had run 
 away from it. He did not know with what ven- 
 geance he might be pursued. He wrote to the 
 duke; but received no answer. The Duchess 
 of Urbino was equally silent. Leonora alone 
 responded, but with no encouragement. These 
 appearances only made him the more anxious to 
 dare or to propitiate his doom ; and he accordingly 
 determined to put himself in the duke's hands. 
 His sister entreated him in vain to alter his re- 
 solution. He quitted her before the autumn was 
 over ; and, proceeding to Rome, went directly to 
 the house of the duke's agent there, who, in 
 concert with the Ferrarese ambassador, gave his 
 master advice of the circumstance. Gonzaga, 
 however, and another good friend. Cardinal Al- 
 bano, doubted whether it would be wise in the 
 poet to return to Ferrara under any circumstances. 
 They counselled him to be satisfied with being 
 pardoned at a distance, and with having his papers 
 and other things returned to him ; and the two 
 
H,IS LIFE AND GENIUS. 319 
 
 friends immediately wrote to the duke requesting 
 as much. The duke apparently acquiesced in all 
 that was desired; but he said that the illness of 
 his sister, the Duchess of Urbino, delayed the 
 procuration of the papers, which, it seems, were 
 chiefly in her hands. The upshot was, that the 
 papers did not come ; and Tasso, with a mixture 
 of rage and fear, and perhaps for more reasons 
 than he has told, became uncontrollably desirous 
 of retracing the rest of his steps to Ferrara. Love 
 may have been among these reasons — probably 
 was; though it does not follow that the passion 
 must have been for a princess. The poet now, 
 therefore, petitioned to that effect; and Alfonso 
 wrote again, and said he might come, but only on 
 condition of his again undergoing the ducal course 
 of medicine ; adding, that if he did not, he was to 
 be finally expelled his highness's territories. 
 
 He was graciously received — too graciously, it 
 would seem, for his equanimity ; for it gave him 
 such a flow of spirits, that the duke appears to 
 have thought it necessary to repress them. The 
 unhappy poet, at this, began to have some of his 
 old suspicions ; and the unaccountable detention 
 of his papers confirmed them. He made an efibrt 
 to keep the suspicions down, but it was by means, 
 unfortunately, of drowning them in wine and jol- 
 
320 TASSO. 
 
 lity ; and this gave him such a fit of sickness as 
 had nearly been his death. He recovered, only to 
 make a fresh stir about his papers, and a still 
 greater one about his poems in general, which, 
 though his Jerusalem was yet only known in ma- 
 nuscript, and not even his Aminta published, he 
 believed ought to occupy the attention of man- 
 kind. People at Ferrara, therefore, not foresee- 
 ing the respect that posterity would entertain for 
 the poet, and having no great desire perhaps to 
 encourage a man who claimed to be a rival of 
 their countryman Ariosto, now began to consider 
 their Neapolitan guest not merely an ingenious 
 and pitiable, but an overweening and tiresome en- 
 thusiast. The court, however, still seemed to be 
 interested in its panegyrist, though Tasso feared 
 that Alfonso meant to burn his Jerusalem, Al- 
 fonso, on the other hand, is supposed to have 
 feared that he would burn it himself, and the ducal 
 praises with it. The papers, at all events, ap- 
 parently including the only fair copy of the poem, 
 were constantly withheld ; and Tasso, in a new fit 
 of despair, again quitted Ferrara. This mystery of 
 the papers is certainly very extraordinary. 
 
 The poet's first steps were to Mantua, where 
 he met with no such reception as encouraged him 
 to stay. He then went to Urbino, but did not 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 3'2l 
 
 Stop long. The prince, it is true, was very gra- 
 cious ; and bandages for a cautery were applied by 
 the fair hands of his highness's sister ; but, though 
 the nurse enchanted, the surgery frightened him. 
 The hapless poet found himself pursued wherever 
 he went by the tormenting beneficence of medi- 
 cine. He escaped, and went to Turin. He had no 
 passport; and presented, besides, so miserable an 
 appearance, that the people at the gates roughly 
 refused him admittance. He was well received, 
 however, at court ; and as he had begun to ac- 
 knowledge that he was subject to humours and 
 delusions, and wrote to say as much to Cardinal 
 Albano, who returned him a most excellent and 
 affecting letter, full of the kindest regard and 
 good counsel, his friends entertained a hope that 
 he would become tranquil. But he disappointed 
 them. He again applied to Alfonso for permission 
 to return to Ferrara — again received it, though on 
 worse than the old conditions — and again found 
 himself in that city in the beginning of the year 
 1579, delighted at seeing a brilliant assemblage 
 from all quarters of Italy on occasion of a new mar- 
 riage of the duke's (with a princess of Mantua). 
 He made up his mind to think that nothing could 
 be denied him, at such a moment, by the bride- 
 groom whom he meant to honour and glorify. 
 t2 
 
322 TAsso. 
 
 Alas ! the very circumstance to which he looked 
 for success, tended to throw him into the great- 
 est of his calamities. Alfonso was to be married 
 the day after the poet's arrival. He was there- 
 fore too busy to attend to him. The princesses 
 did not attend to him. Nobody attended to him. 
 He again applied in vain for his papers. He re- 
 gretted his return ; became anxious to be any 
 where else ; thought himself not only neglected 
 but derided ; and at length became excited to a 
 pitch of frenzy. He broke forth into the most 
 unmeasured invectives against the duke, even in 
 public ; invoked curses on his head and that of 
 his whole race ; retracted all he had ever said in 
 the praise of any of them, prince or otherwise ; 
 and pronounced him and his whole court "a par- 
 cel of ingrates, rascals, and poltroons."^ The out- 
 break was reported to the duke ; and the conse- 
 quence was, that the poet was sent to the hospital 
 of St. Anne, an establishment for the reception 
 of the poor and lunatic, where he remained (with 
 the exception of a few unaccountable leave-days) 
 upwards of seven years. This melancholy event 
 happened in the March of the year 1 579. 
 
 ^ Black's version (vol. ii. p. 58) is not strong enough. The 
 words in Serassi are " una ciurma di poltroni, ingrati, e ribaldi." 
 ii. p. 33. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 323 
 
 Tasso was stunned by this blow as much as 
 if he had never done or suffered any thing to 
 expect it. He could at first do nothing but 
 wonder and bewail himself, and implore to be set 
 free. The duke answered, that he must be cured 
 first. Tasso replied by fresh entreaties ; the duke 
 returned the same answers. The unhappy poet 
 had recourse to every friend, prince, and great 
 man he could think of, to join his entreaties; he 
 sought refuge in composition, but still entreated ; 
 he occasionally reproached and even bantered the 
 duke in some of his letters to his friends, all of 
 which, doubtless, were opened ; but still he en- 
 treated, flattered, adored, all to no purpose, for 
 seven long years and upwards. In time he be- 
 came subject to maniacal illusions ; so that if he 
 was not actually mad before, he was now consi- 
 dered so. He was not only visited with sights 
 and sounds, such as many people have experi- 
 enced whose brains have been over -excited, but 
 he fancied himself haunted by a sprite, and be- 
 come the sport of " magicians." The sprite stole 
 his things, and the magicians would not let him 
 get well. He had a vision such as Benvenuto 
 Cellini had, of the Virgin Mary in her glory ; 
 and his nights were so miserable, that he ate 
 too much in order that he might sleep. When 
 
324 TAsso. 
 
 he was temperate, he lay awake. Sometimes he 
 felt " as if a horse had thrown himself on him." 
 " Have pity on me," he says to the friend to 
 whom he gives these affecting accounts ; " I am 
 miserable, because the world is unjust."^ 
 
 The physicians advised him to leave off wine ; 
 but he says he could not do that, though he was 
 content to use it in moderation. In truth he 
 required something to support him against the 
 physicians themselves, for they continued to ex- 
 haust his strength by their medicines, and could 
 not supply the want of it with air and freedom. 
 He had ringings in the ears, vomits, and fluxes 
 of blood. It would be ludicrous, if it were 
 not deplorably pathetic, to hear so great a man, 
 in the commonest medical terms, now protesting 
 against the eternal drenches of these practitioners, 
 now humbly submitting to them, and now en- 
 treating like a child, that they might at least not 
 be " so bitter." The physicians, with the duke 
 at their head, were as mad for their rhubarbs and 
 lancets as the quacks in Moliere ; and nothing 
 but the very imagination that had nearly sacri- 
 ficed the poet's life to their ignorance could have 
 hindered him from dashing his head against the 
 
 ' Opere, vol. xiv. pp. 158, 174, &c. 
 
HIS LIFK AND GENIUS. 325 
 
 wall, and leaving them to the execrations of pos- 
 terity. It is the only occasion in which the noble 
 profession of medicine has not appeared in wise 
 and beneficent connexion with the sufferings of 
 men of letters. Why did Ferrara possess no 
 Brocklesby in those days ? no Garth, Mead, War- 
 ren, or Southwood Smith ? 
 
 Tasso enabled himself to endure his imprison- 
 ment with composition. He supported it with his 
 poetry and his poem, and what, alas ! he had been 
 too proud of during his liberty, the praises of his 
 admirers. His genius brought him gifts from 
 princes, and some money from the booksellers : it 
 supported him even against his critics. During 
 his confinement the Jerusalem Delivered was first 
 published; though, to his grief, from a surrepti- 
 tious and mutilated copy. But it was followed by 
 a storm of applause ; and if this was succeeded by 
 as great a storm of objection and controversy, still 
 the healthier part of his faculties were roused, and 
 he exasperated his critics and astonished the world 
 by shewing how coolly and learnedly the poor, 
 wild, imprisoned genius could discuss the most in- 
 tricate questions of poetry and philosophy. The 
 disputes excited by his poem are generally sup- 
 posed to have done him harm ; but the conclusion 
 appears to be ill founded. They diverted his 
 
326 TASso. 
 
 thoughts, and made him conscious of his powers 
 and his fame. I doubt whether he would have 
 been better for entire approbation : it would have 
 put him in a state of elevation, unfit for what he 
 had to endure. He had found his pen his great 
 solace, and he had never employed it so well. It 
 would be incredible what a heap of things he wrote 
 in this complicated torment of imprisonment, sick- 
 ness, and '^physic," if habit and mental activity 
 had not been sufficient to account for much greater 
 wonders. His letters to his friends and others 
 would make a good-sized volume ; those to his cri- 
 tics, another ; sonnets and odes, a third ; and his 
 Dialogues after the manner of Plato, two more. 
 Perhaps a good half of all he wrote was written in 
 this hospital of St. Anne ; and he studied as well 
 as composed, and had to read all that was written at 
 the time, pro and con, in the discussions about his 
 Jerusalem, which, in the latest edition of his works, 
 amount to three out of six volumes octavo ! Many 
 of the occasions, however, of his poems, as well as 
 letters, are most painful to think of, their object 
 having been to exchange praise for money. And 
 it is distressing, in the letters, to see his other 
 little wants, and the fluctuations and moods of his 
 mind. Now he is angry about some book not re- 
 stored, or some gift promised and delayed. Now 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIU?. 327 
 
 he is in want of some books to be lent him ; now 
 of some praise to comfort him ; now of a little 
 fresh linen. He is very thankful for visits, for 
 respectful letters, for " sweetmeats ;" and greatly 
 puzzled to know what to do with the bad sonnets 
 and panegyrics that are sent him. They were 
 sometimes too much even for the allowed ultra 
 courtesies of Italian acknowledgment. His com- 
 pliments to most people are varied with astonishing 
 grace and ingenuity ; his accounts of his condition 
 often sufficient to bring the tears into the manliest 
 eyes ; and his ceaseless and vain efforts to procure 
 his liberation mortifying when we think of him- 
 self, and exasperating when we think of the petty 
 despot who detained him in so long, so degrading, 
 and so worse than useless a confinement. 
 
 Tasso could not always conceal his contempt 
 of his imprisoner from the ducal servants. Alfonso 
 excelled the grandiloquent poet himself in his love 
 of pomp and worship ; and as he had no particu- 
 lar merits to warrant it, his victim bantered his 
 love of titles. He says, in a letter to the duke's 
 steward, " If it is the pleasure of the Most Serene 
 Signor Duke, Most Clement and Most Invincible, 
 to keep me in prison, may I beg that he will 
 have the goodness to return certain little things of 
 mine, which his Most Invincible, Most Clement, 
 
328 . TAsso. 
 
 and Most Serene Highness has so often promised 
 
 me. 
 
 But these were rare ebullitions of gaiety, per- 
 haps rather of hitter despair. A playful address 
 to a cat to lend him her eyes to write by, during 
 some hour in which he happened to be without a 
 light (for it does not appear to have been denied 
 him), may be taken as more probable evidence of a 
 mind relieved at the moment, though the necessity 
 for the relief may have been very sad. But the 
 style in which he generally alludes to his situation 
 is far different. He continually begs his corre- 
 spondents to pity him, to pray for him, to attri- 
 bute his errors to infirmity. He complains of 
 impaired memor}', and acknowledges that he has 
 become subject to the deliriums formerly attri- 
 buted to him by the enemies that had helped to 
 produce them. Petitioning the native city of his 
 ancestors (Bergamo) to intercede for him with the 
 duke, he speaks of the writer as " this unhappy 
 person ;" and subscribes himself, — 
 
 ** Most illustrious Signors, your affectionate 
 
 ^ " Prego V. Signoria che si contenti, se place al Serenissimo 
 Signer Duca, Clementissimo ed Invitissimo, che io stia in prigione, 
 di farmi dar le poche robicciole mie, che S. A. Invitissima, Cle- 
 mentissima, Serenissima m' ha promesse tante volte," &c. Opere, 
 vol. xiv. p. 6. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 329 
 
 servant, Torquato Tasso, a prisoner, and infirm, in 
 the hospital of St. Anne in Ferrara." 
 
 In one of his addresses to Alfonso, he says 
 most afiectingly : 
 
 '' I have sometimes attributed much to myself, 
 and considered myself as somebody. But now, 
 seeing in how many ways imagination has imposed 
 on me, I suspect that it has also deceived me in 
 this opinion of my own consequence. Indeed, me- 
 thinks the past has been a dream ; and hence I am 
 resolved to rely on my imagination no longer." 
 
 Alfonso made no answer. 
 
 The causes of Tasso's imprisonment, and its 
 long duration, are among the puzzles of biography. 
 The prevailing opinion, notwithstanding the oppo- 
 sition made to it by Serassi and Black, is, that the 
 poet made love to the Princess Leonora — perhaps 
 was beloved by her ; and that her brother the duke 
 punished him for his arrogance. This was the 
 belief of his earliest biograplier, Manso, who was 
 intimately acquainted with the poet in his latter 
 days ; and from Manso (though he did not profess 
 to receive the information from Tasso, but only to 
 gather it from his poems) it spread over all Europe. 
 Milton took it on trust from him ;i and so have our 
 English translators Hoole and WifTen. The Abbe 
 * " Altera Torquatum cepit Leonora poetam," &:c. 
 
330 TASSO. 
 
 de Charnes, however, declined to do so;^ and Mon- 
 taigne, who saw the poet in St. Anne's hospital, 
 says nothing of the love at all. He attributes his 
 condition to poetical excitement, hard study, and 
 the meeting of the extremes of wisdom and folly. 
 The philosopher, however, speaks of the poet's 
 having survived his reason, and become uncon- 
 scious both of himself and his works, which the 
 reader knows to be untrue. He does not appear 
 to have conversed with Tasso. The poet was only 
 shewn him ; probably at a sick moment, or by a 
 new and ignorant official. ^ Muratori, who was in 
 the service of the Este family at Modena, tells us, 
 on the authority of an old acquaintance who knew 
 contemporaries of Tasso, that the " good Torquato" 
 finding himself one day in company with the duke 
 and his sister, and going close to the princess in 
 order to answer some question which she had put 
 to him, was so transported by an impulse " more 
 than poetical," as to give her a kiss ; upon which 
 the duke, who had observed it, turned about to 
 his gentlemen, and said, " What a pity to see so 
 great a man distracted !" and so ordered him to be 
 locked up.^ But this writer adds, that he does 
 
 > Vie du Tasse, 1695, p. 51. 
 
 2 In the Apology for Raimond de Sehonde; Essays, vol. ii. cli. 12. 
 
 ^ In his Letter to Zeno, — Opere del Tasso, xvi. p. 118. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 331 
 
 not know what to think of the anecdote : he nei- 
 ther denies nor admits it. Tiraboschi, who was 
 also in the service of the Este family, doubts the 
 truth of the anecdote, and believes that the duke 
 shut the poet up solely for fear lest his vio- 
 lence should do harm J Serassi, the second bio- 
 grapher of Tasso, who dedicated his book to an 
 Este princess inimical to the poet's memory, attri- 
 butes the confinement, on his own shewing, to the 
 violent words he had uttered against his master. ^ 
 Walker, the author of the Memoir on Italian Tra- 
 gedy, says, that the life by Serassi himself induced 
 him to credit the love-story \^ so does Ginguene.* 
 Black, forgetting the age and illnesses of hundreds 
 of enamoured ladies, and the distraction of lovers 
 at all times, derides the notion of passion on either 
 side ; because, he argues, Tasso was subject to 
 frenzies, and Leonora forty-two years of age, and 
 
 ^ Storia della Poesia Italiana (Mathias's edition), vol. iii. 
 part i. p 236. 
 
 - Serassi is very peremptory, and even abusive. He charges 
 every body who has said any thing to the contrary with imposture. 
 ** Egli non v' ha dubbio, che le troppe imprudent! e temerarie pa- 
 role, che il Tasso si lascio uscir di bocca in questo incontro, 
 furone la sola cagione della sua prigionia, e ch' e mera favola ed 
 impostura tutto cio, che diversamente e stato afFermato e scritto 
 da altri in tale proposito." Vol. ii. p. 33. But we have seen that 
 the good Abbe could practise a little imposition himself. 
 
 3 Black, ii. 88. ^ Hhi. Litt. d'ltalie, v. 243, &c. 
 
332 TAsso. 
 
 not in good health. ^ What would Madame d'Hou- 
 detot have said to him ? or Mademoiselle L'Espi- 
 nasse ? or Mrs. Inchbald, who used to walk up and 
 down Sackville Street in order that she might see 
 Dr. Warren's light in his window ? Foscolo was 
 a believer in the love \^ Sismondi admits it \^ and 
 Rosini, the editor of the latest edition of the poet's 
 works, is passionate for it. He wonders how any 
 body can fail to discern it in a number of passages, 
 which, in truth, may mean a variety of other loves ; 
 and he insists much upon certain loose verses {las^ 
 civi) which the poet, among his various accounts 
 of the origin of his imprisonment, assigns as the 
 cause, or one of the causes, of it.* 
 
 > Vol. ii. p. 89. 
 
 ^ Such at least is my impression ; but T cannot call the evi- 
 dence to mind. 
 
 ^ Literature of the South of Europe (Roscoe's translation), 
 vol. ii. p. 165. To shew the loose way in which the conclusions 
 of a man's own mind are presented as facts admitted by others, 
 Sismondi says, that Tasso's " passion" was the cause of his return 
 to Ferrara. There is not a tittle of evidence to shew for it. 
 
 * Saggio sugli Amori, &c. ut sup p. 84, and passim. As 
 specimens of the learned professor's reasoning, it may be observed 
 that whenever the words humble, daring, high, noble, and royal, 
 occur in the poet's love- verses, he thinks they must allude to the 
 Princess Leonora ; and he argues, that Alfonso never could have 
 been so angry with any " versi lascivi," if they had not had the 
 same direction. 
 
HIS LIFK AND GENIUS. 333 
 
 I confess, after a reasonable amount of inquiry 
 into this subject, that I can find no proofs what- 
 soever of Tasso's having made love to Leonora ; 
 though I think it highly probable. I believe the 
 main cause of the duke's proceedings was the 
 poet's own violence of behaviour and incontin- 
 ence of speech. I think it very likely that, in 
 the course of the poetical love-making to various 
 ladies, which was almost identical in that age with 
 addressing them in verse, Torquato, whether he 
 was in love or not, took more liberties with the 
 princesses than Alfonso approved ; and it is equally 
 probable, that one of those liberties consisted in 
 his indulging his imagination too far. It is not 
 even impossible, that more gallantry may have 
 been going on at court than Alfonso could endure 
 to see alluded to, especially by an ambitious pen. 
 But there is no evidence that such w^as the case. 
 Tasso, as a gentleman, could not have hinted at 
 such a thing on the part of a princess of staid 
 reputation ; and, on the other hand, the " love" 
 he speaks of as entertained by her for him, and 
 warranting the application to her for money in case 
 of his death, was too plainly worded to mean any 
 thing but love in the sense of friendly regard. 
 " Per amor mio" is an idiomatical expression, 
 meaning " for my sake ;" a strong one, no doubt. 
 
334 TAsso. 
 
 and such as a proud man like Alfonso might think 
 a liberty, but not at all of necessity an amatory 
 boast. If it was, its very effrontery and vanity 
 were presum23tions of its falsehood. The lady 
 whom Tasso alludes to in the passage quoted on 
 his first confinement is complained of for her 
 coldness towards him ; and, unless this was itself 
 a gentlemanly blind, it might apply to fifty other 
 ladies besides the princess. The man who as- 
 saulted him in the streets, and who is supposed 
 to have been the violator of his papers, need not 
 have found any secrets of love in them. The 
 servant at whom he aimed the knife or the dagger 
 might be as little connected with such matters ; 
 and the sonnets which the poet said he wrote for 
 a friend, and which he desired to be buried with 
 him, might be alike innocent of all reference to 
 Leonora, whether he wrote them for a friend or 
 not. Leonora's death took place during the poet's 
 confinement ; and, lamented as she was by the 
 verse-writers according to custom, Tasso wrote 
 nothing on the event. This silence has been at- 
 tributed to the depth of his passion ; but how is 
 the fact proved ? and why may it not have been 
 occasioned by there having been no passion at 
 all? 
 
 All that appears certain is, that Tasso spoke 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 335 
 
 violent and contemptuous words against the duke ; 
 that he often spoke ill of him in his letters ; that 
 he endeavoured, not with perfect ingenuousness, 
 to exchange his service for that of another prince ; 
 that he asserted his madness to have been preten- 
 ded in the first instance purely to gratify the duke's 
 whim for thinking it so (which was one of the 
 reasons perhaps why Alfonso, as he complained, 
 would not believe a word he said) ; and finally, 
 that, whether the madness was or was not so 
 pretended, it unfortunately became a confirmed 
 though milder form of mania, during a long con- 
 finement. Alfonso, too proud to forgive the 
 poet's contempt, continued thus to detain him, 
 partly perhaps because he was not sorry to have 
 a pretext for revenge, partly because he did not 
 know what to do with him, consistently either 
 with his own or the poet's safety. He had not 
 been generous enough to put Tasso above his 
 wants; he had not address enough to secure his 
 respect ; he had not merit enough to overlook his 
 reproaches. If Tasso had been as great a man as 
 he was a poet, Alfonso would not have been re- 
 duced to these perplexities. The poet would have 
 known how to settle quietly down on his small 
 court-income, and wait patiently in the midst of 
 his beautiful visions for what fortune had or had 
 
336 
 
 TASSO. 
 
 not in store for him. But in truth, he, as well as 
 the duke, was weak ; they made a bad business of 
 it between them ; and Alfonso the Second closed 
 the accounts of the Este family with the Muses, 
 by keeping his panegyrist seven years in a mad- 
 house, to the astonishment of posterity, and the 
 destruction of his own claims to renown. 
 
 It does not appear that Tasso was confined in 
 any such dungeon as they now exhibit in Ferrara. 
 The conduct of the Prior of the Hospital is more 
 doubtful. His name was Agostino Mosti ; and, 
 strangely enough, he was the person who had 
 raised a monument to Ariosto, of whom he was 
 an enthusiastic admirer. To this predilection has 
 been attributed his alleged cruelty to the stranger 
 from Sorrento, who dared to emulate the fame of 
 his idol; — an extraordinary, though perhaps not 
 incredible, mode of shewing a critic's regard for 
 poetry. But Tasso, while he laments his severity, 
 wonders at it in a man so well bred and so im- 
 bued with literature, and thinks it can only have 
 originated in " orders." ^ Perhaps there were 
 faults of temper on both sides ; and Mosti, not 
 liking his office, forgot the allowance to be made 
 for that of a prisoner and sick man. His nephew, 
 
 ^ Opere, vol. xvii. p. 32. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 337 
 
 Giulio Mosti, became strongly attached to the 
 poet, and was a great comfort to him. 
 
 At length the time for liberation arrived. In 
 the summer of 1586, Don Vincenzo Gonzaga, 
 Prince of Mantua, kinsman of the poet's friend 
 Scipio, came to Ferrara for the purpose of com- 
 plimenting Alfonso's heir on his nuptials. The 
 whole court of Mantua, with hereditary regard for 
 Tasso, whose father had been one of their orna- 
 ments, were desirous of having him among them ; 
 and the prince extorted Alfonso's permission to 
 take him away, on condition (so hard did he find 
 this late concession to humanity, and so fearful 
 was he of losing the dignity of jailor) that his de- 
 liverer should not allow him to quit Mantua with- 
 out obtaining leave. A young and dear friend, his 
 most frequent visitor, Antonio Constantini, secre- 
 tary to the Tuscan ambassador, went to St. Anne's 
 to prepare the captive by degrees for the good 
 news. He told him that he really might look for 
 his release in the course of a few days. The sen- 
 sitive poet, now a premature old man of forty-two, 
 was thrown into a transport of mingled delight 
 and anxiety. He had been disappointed so often 
 that he could scarcely believe his good fortune. 
 In a day or two he writes thus to his visitor : 
 
 " Your kindness, my dear friend, has so accus- 
 
 VOL. II. Q 
 
333 TASso. 
 
 tomed me to your precious and frequent visits, 
 that I have been all day long at the window ex- 
 pecting your coming to comfort me as you are 
 wont. But since you have not yet arrived, and 
 in order not to remain altogether without conso- 
 lation, I visit you with this letter. It encloses 
 a sonnet to the ambassador, written with a trem- 
 bling hand, and in such a manner that he will 
 not, perhaps, have less difficulty in reading it 
 than I had in writing." 
 
 Two days afterwards, the prince himself came 
 again, requested of the poet some verses on a 
 given subject, expressed his esteem for his genius 
 and virtues, and told him that, on his return to 
 Mantua, he should have the pleasure of conduct- 
 ing him to that city. Tasso lay awake almost all 
 night, composing the verses; and next day en- 
 closed them, with a letter, in another to Constan- 
 tini, ardently begging him to keep the prince in 
 mind of his promise. The prince had not for- 
 gotten it ; and two or three days afterwards, the 
 order for the release arrived, and Tasso quitted 
 his prison. He had been confined seven years, 
 two months, and several days. He awaited the 
 prince's departure for a week or two in his friend's 
 abode, paying no visits, probably from inability 
 to endure so much novelty. Neither was he in- 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 339 
 
 clined or sent for to pay his respects to the duke. 
 Two such parties could hardly have been desir- 
 ous to look on each other. The duke must espe- 
 cially have disliked the thought of it ; though 
 Tasso afterwards fancied otherwise, and that he 
 was offended at his non-appearance. But his let- 
 ters, unfortunately, differ with themselves on this 
 point, as on most others. About the middle of 
 July 1586, the poet quitted Ferrara for ever. 
 
 At Mantua Tasso was greeted with all the 
 honours and attentions which his love of distinc- 
 tion could desire. The good old duke, the friend 
 of his father, ordered handsome apartments to be 
 provided for him in the palace ; the prince made 
 him presents of costly attire, including perfumed 
 silken hose (kindred elegancies to the Italian 
 gloves of Queen Elizabeth) ; the princess and 
 her mother-in-law were declared admirers of his 
 poetry ; the courtiers caressed the favourite of 
 their masters ; Tasso found literary society ; he 
 pronounced the very bread and fruit, the fish and 
 the flesh, excellent ; the wines were sharp and 
 brisk {" such as his father was fond of") ; and 
 even the physician was admirable, for he ordered 
 confections. One might imagine, if circumstances 
 had not proved the cordial nature of the Gon- 
 zaga family, and the real respect and admiration 
 
340 TASSO. 
 
 entertained for the poet's genius by the greatest 
 men of the time, in spite of the rebuke it had 
 received from Alfonso, that there had been a con- 
 federacy to mock and mystify him, after the fa- 
 shion of the duke and duchess with Don Quixote 
 (the only blot, by the way, in the book of Cer- 
 vantes ; if, indeed, he did not intend it as a satire 
 on the mystifiers). 
 
 For a while, in short, the liberated prisoner 
 thought himself happy. He corrected his prose 
 works, resumed and finished the tragedy of To7'- 
 rismond, which he had begun some years before, 
 corresponded with princes, and completed and 
 published a narrative poem left unfinished by his 
 father. Torquato was as loving a son as Mozart 
 or Montaigne. Whenever he had a glimpse of 
 felicity, he appears to have associated the idea of 
 it with that of his father. In the conclusion of 
 his fragment, " O del grand' Apennino," he affect- 
 ingly begs pardon of his blessed spirit for trou- 
 bling him with his earthly griefs.^ 
 
 But, alas, what had been an indulgence of 
 self-esteem had now become the habit of a dis- 
 
 ' *' Padre, o buon padre, che dal ciel rimiri, 
 Egro e morto ti piansi, e ben tu il sai ; 
 E gemendo scaldai 
 La tomba e il letto. Or che negli altri giri 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 34l 
 
 ease ; and in the course of a few months the 
 restless poet began to make his old discovery, 
 that he was not sufficiently cared for. The prince 
 had no leisure to attend to him ; the nobility did 
 not "yield him the first place," or at least (he 
 adds) they did not allow him to be treated " ex- 
 ternally as their equal ;" and he candidly confess- 
 ed that he could not live in a place where such 
 was the custom. ^ He felt also, naturally enough, 
 however well it might have been intended, that 
 it was not pleasant to be confined to the range 
 of the city of Mantua, attended by a servant, 
 even though he confessed that he was now sub- 
 ject to "frenzy." He contrived to stay another 
 half-year by help of a brilliant carnival and of 
 
 Tu godi, a te si deve onor, non lutto : 
 A me versato il mio dolor sia tutto." 
 
 O father, my good father, looking now 
 
 On thy poor son from heaven, well knowest thou 
 
 What scalding tears I shed 
 
 Upon thy grave, upon thy dying bed ; 
 
 But since thou dwellest in the happy skies, 
 
 'Tis fit I raise to thee no sorrowing eyes : 
 
 Be all my grief on my own head. 
 
 ' " Non posso viver in citta, ove tutti i nobili, o non mi con- 
 cedano i primi luoghi, o almeno non si contentino che la cosa 
 in quel che appartiene a queste esteriori dimostrazioni, vada del 
 pari." Opere, voL xiii. p. 153. 
 
342 TAsso. 
 
 the select society of the prince's court, who were 
 evidently most kind to him ; but at the end of 
 the twelvemonth he was in Bergamo among his 
 relations. The prince gave him leave to go ; and 
 the Cavaliere Tasso, his kinsman, sent his chariot 
 on purpose to fetch him. 
 
 Here again he found himself at a beautiful 
 country-seat, which the family of Tasso still pos- 
 sesses near that city ; and here again, in the house 
 of his father, he proposed to be happy, " having 
 never desired," he says, " any journey more ear- 
 nestly than this." He left it in the course of a 
 month, to return to Mantua, 
 
 And it was only to wander still. Mantua he 
 quitted in less than two months to go to Rome, 
 in spite of the advice of his best friends. He 
 vindicated the proceeding by a hope of obtaining 
 some permanent settlement from the Pope. He 
 took Loretto by the way, to refresh himself with 
 devotion ; arrived in a transport at Rome ; got 
 nothing from the Pope (the hard-minded Sixtus 
 the Fifth) ; and in the spring of the next year, 
 in the triple hope of again embracing his sister, 
 and recovering the dowry of his mother and the 
 confiscated property of his father, he proceeded 
 to Naples. 
 
 Naples was in its most beautiful vernal con- 
 
HIS LIFK AND GENIUS. 343 
 
 dition, and the Neapolitans welcomed the poet 
 with all honour and glory ; but his sister, alas, 
 was dead; he got none of his father's property, 
 nor (till too late) any of his mother's ; and before 
 the year was out, he was again in Rome. He 
 acquii'ed in Naples, however, another friend, as 
 attached to him and as constant in his attentions 
 as his beloved Constantini, to wit, Giambattista 
 Manso, Marquis of Villa, who became his bio- 
 grapher, and who was visited and praised for his 
 good offices by Milton. In the society of this 
 gentleman he seemed for a short while to have 
 become a new man. He entered into field-sports, 
 listened to songs and music, nay, danced, says 
 Manso, with " the girls." (One fancies a poetical 
 Dr. Johnson with the two country damsels on 
 his knees.) In short, good air and freedom, and 
 no medicine, had conspired with the lessons of dis- 
 appointment to give him, before he died, a glimpse 
 of the power to be pleased. He had not got rid 
 of all his spiritual illusions, even those of a melan- 
 choly nature ; but he took the latter more quietly, 
 and had grown so comfortable with the race in 
 general, that he encouraged them. He was so en- 
 tirely freed from his fears of the Inquisition and 
 of charges of magic, that whereas he had formerly 
 been anxious to shew that he meant nothing but a 
 
344 TASso. 
 
 poetical fancy by the spirit which he introduced as 
 communing with him in his dialogue entitled the 
 Messenger, he now maintained its reality against 
 the arguments of his friend Manso ; and these 
 arguments gave rise to the most poetical scene 
 in his history. He told Manso that he should 
 have ocular testimony of the spirit's existence ; 
 and accordingly one day while they were sitting 
 together at the marquis's fireside, "he turned his 
 eyes," says Manso, " towards a window, and held 
 them a long time so intensely on it, that, when 
 I called him, he did not answer. At last, * Be- 
 hold,' said he, ' the friendly spirit which has cour- 
 teously come to talk with me. Lift up your eyes, 
 and see the truth.' I turned my eyes thither im- 
 mediately (continues the marquis) ; but though I 
 endeavoured to look as keenly as I could, I beheld 
 nothing but the rays of the sun, which streamed 
 through the panes of the window into the cham- 
 ber. Whilst I still looked around, without be- 
 holding any object, Torquato began to hold, with 
 this unknown something, a most lofty converse. 
 I heard, indeed, and saw nothing but himself; 
 nevertheless his words, at one time questioning, 
 at another replying, were such as take place be- 
 tween those who reason strictly on some impor- 
 tant subject. And from what was said by the one, 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 345 
 
 the reply of the other might be easily comprehend- 
 ed by the intellect, although it was not heard by 
 the ear. The discourses were so lofty and mar- 
 vellous, both by the sublimity of their topics and 
 a certain unwonted manner of talking, that, exalt- 
 ed above myself in a kind of ecstasy, I did not 
 dare to interrupt them, nor ask Tasso about the 
 spirit, which he had announced to me, but which 
 I did not see. In this way, while I listened 
 between stupefaction and rapture, a considerable 
 time had elapsed ; till at last the spirit departed, 
 as I learned from the words of Torquato ; who, 
 turning to me, said, * From this day forward all 
 your doubts will have vanished from your mind.' 
 * Nay,' said I, * they are rather increased ; since, 
 though I have heard many things worthy of mar- 
 vel, I have seen nothing of what you promised to 
 shew me to dispel them.' He smiled, and said, 
 ' You have seen and heard more of him than 
 
 perhaps ,' and here he paused. Fearful of 
 
 importuning him with new questions, the dis- 
 course ended ; and the only conclusion I can draw 
 is, what I before said, that it is more likely his 
 visions or frenzies will disorder my own mind 
 than that I shall extirpate his true or imaginary 
 opinion."^ 
 
 1 Black, vol. ii. p. 240. 
 
 q2 
 
346 TAsso. 
 
 Did the " smile" of Tasso at the close of this ex- 
 traordinary scene, and the words which he omitted 
 to add, signify that his friend had seen and heard 
 more, perhaps, than the poet would have liked to 
 explain ? Did he mean that he himself alone had 
 been seen and heard, and was author of the whole 
 dialogue ? Perhaps he did ; for credulity itself 
 can impose ; — can take pleasure in seeing others 
 as credulous as itself. On the other hand, enough 
 has become known in our days of the phenomena 
 of morbid perception, to render Tasso's actual 
 belief in such visions not at all surprising. It is 
 not uncommon for the sanest people of delicate 
 organisation to see faces before them while going 
 to sleep, sometimes in fantastical succession. A 
 stronger exercise of this disposition in tempera- 
 ments more delicate will enlarge the face to figure ; 
 and there can be no question that an imagination 
 so heated as Tasso's, so full of the speculations 
 of the later Platonists, and accompanied by a 
 state of body so " nervous," and a will so bent 
 on its fancies, might embody whatever he chose 
 to behold. The dialogue he could as easily read 
 in the vision's looks, whether he heard it or not 
 with ears. If Nicholay, the Prussian bookseller, 
 who saw crowds of spiritual people go through 
 his rooms, had been a poet, and possessed of as 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 347 
 
 wilful an imagination as Tasso, he might have 
 gifted them all with speaking countenances as 
 easily as with coats and waistcoats. Swedenborg 
 founded a religion on this morbid faculty ; and 
 the Catholics worship a hundred stories of the 
 like sort in the Lives of the Saints, many of which 
 are equally true and false ; false in reality, though 
 true in supposition. Luther himself wrote and 
 studied till he saw the Devil ; only the great 
 reformer retained enough of his naturally sturdy 
 health and judgment to throw an inkstand at 
 Satan's head, — a thing that philosophy has been 
 doing ever since. 
 
 Tasso's principal residence while at Naples had 
 been in the beautiful monastery of Mount Olivet, 
 on which the good monks begged he would write 
 them a poem; which he did. A cold reception 
 at Rome, and perhaps the difference of the air, 
 brought back his old lamentations ; but here again 
 a monastery gave him refuge, and he set himself 
 down to correct his former works and compose 
 new ones. He missed, however, the comforts of 
 society and amusement which he had experienced 
 at Naples. Nevertheless, he did not return thi- 
 ther. He persuaded himself that it was necessary 
 to be in Rome in order to expedite the receipt 
 of some books and manuscripts from Bergamo and 
 
348 TAsso. 
 
 other places; but his restlessness desired novelty. 
 He thus slipped back from the neighbourhood of 
 Rome to the city itself, and from the city back to 
 the monastery, his friends in both places being 
 probably tired of his instability. He thought of 
 returning to Mantua; but a present from the 
 Grand Duke of Tuscany, accompanied by an in- 
 vitation to his court, drew him, in one of his 
 short-lived transports, to Florence. He returned, 
 in spite of the best and most generous reception, 
 to Rome ; then left Rome for Mantua, on invi- 
 tation from his ever -kind deliverer from prison, 
 now the reigning duke ; tired again, even of him ; 
 returned to Rome ; then once more to Naples, 
 where the Prince of Conca, Grand Admiral of the 
 kingdom, lodged and treated him like an equal ; 
 but he grew suspicious of the admiral, and went 
 to live with his friend Manso ; quitted Manso for 
 Rome again; was treated vdth reverence on the 
 way, like Ariosto, by a famous leader of banditti ; 
 was received at Rome into the Vatican itself, in 
 the apartments of his friend Cintio Aldobrandino, 
 nephew of the new pope Clement the Eighth, 
 where his hopes now seemed to be raised at once 
 to their highest and most reasonable pitch ; but 
 fell ill, and was obliged to go back to Naples for 
 the benefit of the air. A life so strangely erratic 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 349 
 
 to the last (for mortal illness was approaching) is 
 perhaps unique in the history of men of letters, 
 and might be therefore worth recording even in 
 that of a less man than Tasso ; but when we re- 
 collect that this poet, in spite of all his weak- 
 nesses, and notwithstanding the enemies they 
 provoked and the friends they cooled, was really 
 almost adored for his genius in his own time, 
 and instead of refusing jewels one day and soli- 
 citing a ducat the next, might have settled down 
 almost any where in quiet and glory, if he had 
 but possessed the patience to do so, — it becomes 
 an association of weakness with power, and of 
 adversity with the means of prosperity, the ab- 
 surdity of which admiration itself can only drown 
 in pity. 
 
 He now took up his abode in another monas- 
 tery, that of San Severino, where he was com- 
 forted by the visits of his friend Manso, to whom 
 he had lately inscribed a dialogue on Friendship; 
 for he continued writing to the last. He had also 
 the consolation, such as it was, of having the law- 
 suit for his mother's dowry settled in his favour, 
 though under circumstances that rendered it of 
 little importance, and only three months before 
 his death. So strangely did Fortune seem to take 
 delight in sporting with a man of genius, who had 
 
350 TASSO. 
 
 thought both too much of her and too little ; too 
 much for pomp's sake, and too little in prudence. 
 Among his new acquaintances were the young 
 Marino, afterwards the corrupter of Italian poetry, 
 and the Prince of Venosa, an amateur composer 
 of music. The dying poet wrote madrigals for 
 him so much to his satisfaction, that, being about 
 to marry into the house of Este, he wished to 
 reconcile him with the Duke of Ferrara ; and 
 Tasso, who to the last moment of his life seems 
 never to have been able to resist the chance of 
 resuming old quarters, apparently from the double 
 temptation of renouncing them, wrote his old 
 master a letter full of respects and regrets. But 
 the duke, who himself died in the course of the 
 year, was not to be moved from his silence. The 
 poet had given him the last possible oifence by 
 recasting his Jerusalem^ omitting the glories of 
 the house of Este, and dedicating it to another 
 patron. Alfonso, who had been extravagantly 
 magnificent, though not to poets, had so weak- 
 ened his government, that the Pope wrested Fer- 
 rara from the hands of his successor, and reduced 
 the Este family to the possession of Modena, 
 which it still holds and dishonours. The duke 
 and the poet were thus fading away at the same 
 time ; they never met again in this world ; and a 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 351 
 
 new Dante would have divided them far enough 
 in the next.^ 
 
 The last glimpse of honour and glory was now 
 opening in a very grand manner on the poet — the 
 last and the greatest, as if on purpose to give the 
 climax to his disappointments. Cardinal Cintio 
 requested the Pope to give him the honour of a 
 coronation. It had been desired by the poet, it 
 seems, three years before. He was disappointed 
 of it at that time ; and now that it was granted, 
 he was disappointed of the ceremony. Manso 
 says he no longer cared for it; and, as he felt 
 himself dying, this is not improbable. Never- 
 theless he went to Rome for the purpose ; and 
 though the severity of the winter there delayed 
 the intention till spring, wealth and honours 
 seemed determined to come in floods upon the 
 poor expiring great man, in order to take away 
 the breath which they had refused to support. 
 The Pope assigned him a yearly pension of a hun- 
 dred scudi; and the withholders of his mother's 
 dowry came to an accommodation by which he 
 
 ' The world in general have taken no notice of Tasso's re- 
 construction of his Jerusalem^ which he called the Gerusalemme 
 Conquistata. It never " obtained," as the phrase is. It was the 
 mere tribute of his declining years to bigotry and new acquaint- 
 ances ; and therefore I say no more of it. 
 
352 TASso. 
 
 was to have an annuity of a hundred ducats, 
 and a considerable sum in hand. His hand was 
 losing strength enough to close upon the money. 
 Scarcely was the day for the coronation about to 
 dawn, when the poet felt his dissolution approach- 
 ing. Alfonso's doctors had killed him at last by 
 superinducing a habit of medicine-taking, which 
 defeated its purpose. He requested leave to re- 
 turn to the monastery of St. Onofrio — wrote a 
 farewell letter to Constantini — received the dis- 
 tinguished honour of a plenary indulgence from 
 the Pope — said (in terms very like what Milton 
 might have used, had he died a Catholic), that 
 ** this was the chariot upon which he hoped to 
 go crowned, not with laurel as a poet into the 
 Capitol, but with glory as a saint to heaven" — and 
 expired on the 25th of April, 1 575, and the fifty- 
 first year of his age, closely embracing the cru- 
 cifix, and imperfectly uttering the sentence begin- 
 ning, " Into thy hands, O Lord ! " ^ 
 
 Even after death, success mocked him ; for 
 the coronation took place on the senseless dead 
 body. The head was wreathed with laurel; a 
 magnificent toga delayed for a while the shroud; 
 and a procession took place through the city by 
 
 * In manus tuas, Domine. One likes to know the actual 
 words ; at least so it appears to me. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 353 
 
 torchlight, all the inhabitants pouring forth to 
 behold it, and painters crowding over the bier 
 to gaze on the poet's lineaments, from which 
 they produced a multitude of portraits. The 
 corpse w^as then buried in the church of St. Ouo- 
 frio ; and magnificent monuments talked of, which 
 never appeared. Manso, however, obtained leave 
 to set up a modest tablet ; and eight years after- 
 wards a Ferrarese cardinal (Bevilacqua) made what 
 amends he could for his countrymen, by erecting 
 the stately memorial which is still to be seen. 
 
 Poor, illustrious Tasso ! weak enough to war- 
 rant pity from his inferiors — great enough to 
 overshadow in death his once-fancied superiors. 
 He has been a by-word for the misfortunes of 
 genius : but genius was not his misfortune ; it was 
 his only good, and might have brought him all 
 happiness. It is the want of genius, as far as it 
 goes, and apart from martyrdoms for conscience' 
 sake, which produces misfortunes even to genius 
 itself — the want of as much wit and balance on 
 the common side of things, as genius is supposed 
 to confine to the uncommon. 
 
 Manso has left a minute account of his friend's 
 person and manners. He was tall even among 
 the tall ; had a pale complexion, sunken cheeks, 
 lightish brown hair, head bald at the top, large 
 
354 TAsso. 
 
 blue eyes, square forehead, big nose inclining to- 
 wards the mouth, lips pale and thin, white teeth, 
 delicate white hands, long arms, broad chest and 
 shoulders, legs rather strong than fleshy, and the 
 body altogether better proportioned than in good 
 condition ; the result, nevertheless, being an aspect 
 of manly beauty and expression, particularly in 
 the countenance, the dignity of which marked him 
 for an extraordinary person even to those who did 
 not know him. His demeanour was grave and 
 deliberate ; he laughed seldom ; and though his 
 tongue was prompt, his delivery was slow ; and he 
 was accustomed to repeat his last words. He was 
 expert in all manly exercises, but not equally 
 graceful ; and the same defect attended his other- 
 wise striking eloquence in public assemblies. His 
 putting to flight the assassins in Ferrara gave him 
 such a reputation for courage, that there went 
 about in his honour a popular couplet : 
 
 ** Colla penna e colla spada 
 Nessun val quanto Torquato." 
 
 For the sword as well as pen 
 Tasso is the man of men. 
 
 He was a little eater, but not averse to wine, par- 
 ticularly such as combined piquancy with sweet- 
 ness ; and he always dressed in black. 
 
HIS LIFE AXD GENIUS. 355 
 
 Manso's account is still more particular, and 
 yet it does not tell all ; for Tasso himself informs 
 us that he stammered, and was near-sighted ;^ and 
 a Neapolitan writer who knew him adds to the 
 near-sightedness some visible defect in the eyes.^ 
 I should doubt, from what Tasso says in his let- 
 ters, whether he was fond of speaking in public, 
 notwithstanding his d^hut in that line with the 
 Fifty Amorous Conclusions, Nor does he appear 
 to have been remarkable for his conversation. 
 Manso has left a collection of one hundred of his 
 pithy sayings — a suspicious amount, and unfor- 
 tunately more than warranting the suspicion ; for 
 almost every one of them is traceable to some 
 other man. They come from the Greek and La- 
 tin philosophers, and the apothegms of Erasmus. 
 The two following have the greatest appearance of 
 being genuine : 
 
 A Greek, complaining that he had spoken ill 
 
 ' Serassi, ii. 276. 
 
 ^ '* Quern cernis, quisquis es, procera statura virum, luscis 
 oculis, &c. hie Torquatus est." — Cappacio, Illuairmm Literis Vi^ 
 rorum Elogia et Judicia, quoted by Serassi, ut sup. The Latin 
 word luscus, as well as the Italian Iosco, means, I believe, near- 
 sighted ; but it certainly means also a great deal more ; and unless 
 the word cernis (thou beholdest) is a mere form of speech imply- 
 ing a foregone conclusion, it shews that the defect was obvious to 
 the spectator. 
 
356 TAsso. 
 
 of his country, and maintaining that all the virtues 
 in the world had issued out of it, the poet as- 
 sented ; with the addition, that they had not left 
 one behind them. 
 
 A foolish young fellow, garnished with a num- 
 ber of golden chains, coming into a room where 
 he was, and being overheard by him exclaiming, 
 *' Ts this the great man that was mad ?" Tasso 
 said, " Yes ; but that people had never put on 
 him more than one chain at a time." 
 
 His character may be gathered, but not per- 
 haps entirely, from what has been written of 
 his life ; for some of his earlier letters shew him 
 to have been not quite so grave and refined in 
 his way of talking as readers of the Jerusalem 
 might suppose. He was probably at that time of 
 life not so scrupulous in his morals as he pro- 
 fessed to be during the greater part of it. His 
 mother is thought to have died of chagrin and 
 impatience at being separated so long from her 
 husband, and not knowing what to do to save her 
 dowry from her brothers ; and I take her son to 
 have combined his mother's ultra-sensitive organi- 
 sation with his father's worldly imprudence and 
 unequal spirits. The addition of the nervous tem- 
 perament of one parent to the aspiring nature of 
 the other gave rise to the poet's trembling eager- 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 357 
 
 iiess for distinction ; and Torquato's very love for 
 them both hindered him from seeing what should 
 have been corrected in the infirmities which he 
 inherited. Falling from the highest hopes of 
 prosperity into the most painful afflictions, he 
 thus wanted solid principles of action to support 
 him, and was forced to retreat upon an excess of 
 self-esteem, which allowed his pride to become a 
 beggar, and his naturally kind, loving, just, and 
 heroical disposition to condescend to almost every 
 species of inconsistency. The Duke of Ferrara, 
 he complains, did not believe a word he said ;i and 
 the fact is, that, partly from disease, and partly 
 from a want of courage to look his defects in the 
 face, he beheld the same things in so many dif- 
 ferent lights, and according as it suited him at the 
 moment, that, without intending falsehood, his 
 statements are really not to be relied on. He 
 degraded even his verses, sometimes with pane- 
 gyrics for interest's sake, sometimes out of weak 
 wishes to oblige, of which he was afterwards 
 ashamed ; and, with the exception of Constantini, 
 we cannot be sure that any one person praised in 
 them retained his regard in his last days. His 
 suspicion made him a kind of Rousseau ; but he 
 
 ^ " II Signor Duca non crede ad alcuna mia parola." Opere, 
 xiv. 161. 
 
358 TAsso. 
 
 was more amiable than the Genevese, and far 
 from being in the habit of talking against old ac- 
 quaintances, whatever he might have thought of 
 them. It is observable, not only that he never 
 married, but he told Manso he had led a life of 
 entire continence ever since he entered the walls 
 of his prison, being then in his thirty-fifth year.i 
 Was this out of fidelity to some mistress ? or the 
 consequence of a previous life the reverse of con- 
 tinent ? or was it from some principle of super- 
 stition ? He had become a devotee, apparently 
 out of a dread of disbelief ; and he remained ex- 
 tremely religious for the rest of his days. The 
 two unhappiest of Italian poets, Tasso and Dante, 
 vvere the two most superstitious. 
 
 As for the once formidable question concern- 
 ing the comparative merits of this poet and Ari- 
 osto, which anticipated the modern quarrels of the 
 classical and romantic schools, some idea of the 
 treatment which Tasso experienced may be con- 
 ceived by supposing all that used to be sarcastic 
 and bitter in the periodical party-criticism among 
 
 ^ *' Fui da bocca di lui medesimo rassicurato, che dal tempo 
 del suo ritegno in sant' Anna, ch' avenne negli anni trentacinque 
 della sua vita e sedici avanti la morte, egli intieramente fu casto : 
 degli anni primi non mi favello mai di modo ch' io possa alcuna 
 cosa di certo qui raccontare." Opere, xxxiii. 235. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GEXIUS. 259 
 
 ourselves some thirty years back, collected into 
 one huge vial of wrath, and poured upon the 
 new poet's head. Even the great Galileo, who 
 was a man of wit, bred up in the pure Tuscan 
 school of Berni and Casa, and who was an idolator 
 of Ariosto, wrote, when he was young, a " review" 
 of the Jerusalem Delivered, which it is painful to 
 read, it is so unjust and contemptuous. ^ But now 
 that the only final arbiter, posterity, has accepted 
 both the poets, the dispute is surely the easiest 
 thing in the world to settle ; not, indeed, with 
 prejudices of creeds or temperaments, but before 
 any judges thoroughly sympathising with the two 
 claimants. Its solution is the principle of the 
 greater including the less. For Ariosto errs only 
 by having an unbounded circle to move in. His 
 sympathies are unlimited ; and those who think 
 him inferior to Tasso, only do so in consequence 
 of their own want of sympathy with the vivacities 
 that degrade him in their eyes. Ariosto can be 
 as grave and exalted as Tasso when he pleases, 
 and he could do a hundred things which Tasso 
 never attempted. He is as different in this re- 
 spect as Shakspeare from Milton. He had far 
 more knowledge of mankind than Tasso, and he 
 
 ^ It is to be found in the collected works, ut supra, both of the 
 philosopher and the poet. 
 
360 TASSO. 
 
 was superior in point of taste. But it is pain- 
 ful to make disadvantageous comparisons of one 
 great poet witli another. Let us be thankful for 
 Tasso's enchanted gardens, without being forced 
 to vindicate the universal world of his predeces- 
 sor. Suffice it to bear in mind, that the grave 
 poet himself agreed with the rest of the Italians 
 in calling the Ferrarese the " divine Ariosto ;" a 
 title which has never been popularly given to his 
 rival. 
 
 The Jerusalem Delivered is the history of a 
 Crusade, related with poetic license. The Infidels 
 are assisted by unlawful arts ; and the libertinism 
 that brought scandal on the Christians, is con- 
 verted into youthful susceptibility, led away by 
 enchantment. The author proposed to combine 
 the ancient epic poets with Ariosto, or a simple 
 plot, and uniformly dignified style, with romantic 
 varieties of adventure, and the luxuriance of fairy- 
 land. He did what he proposed to do, but with 
 a judgment inferior to Virgil's ; nay, in point of 
 the interdependence of the adventures, to Ariosto, 
 and with far less general vigour. The mixture of 
 affectation with his dignity is so frequent, that, 
 whether Boileau's famous line about Tasso's tinsel 
 and Virgil's gold did or did not mean to imply 
 that the Jerusalem was nothing but tinsel, and the 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 361 
 
 JEneid all gold, it is certain that the tinsel is so 
 interwoven with the gold, as to render it more of 
 a rule than an exception, and put a provoking 
 distance between Tasso's epic pretensions and 
 those of the greatest masters of the art. People 
 who take for granted the conceits because of the 
 " wildness" of Ariosto, and the good taste because 
 of the "regularity" of Tasso, just assume the 
 reverse of the fact. It is a rare thing to find a 
 conceit in Ariosto ; and, where it does exist, it 
 is most likely defensible on some Shakspearian 
 ground of subtle propriety. Open Tasso in al- 
 most any part, particularly the love-scenes, and 
 it is marvellous if, before long, you do not see the 
 conceits vexatiously interfering with the beauties. 
 
 " Oh maraviglia ! Amor, che appena e nato, 
 Gia grande vola, e gia trionfa armato." Canto i. st. 47. 
 
 Oh, miracle ! Love is scarce born, when, lo, 
 He flies full wing'd, and lords it with his bow ! 
 
 *' Se '1 miri fulminar ne 1' arme avvolto, 
 Marte lo stimi ; Amor, se scopre il volto." St. 58. 
 
 Mars you would think him, when his thund'ring race 
 In arms be ran ; Love, when he shew'd his face. 
 
 Which is as little true to reason as to taste ; for 
 no god of war could look like a god of love. The 
 habit of mind would render it impossible. But 
 
 VOL. II. R 
 
362 TASso. 
 
 the poet found the prettiness of the Greek Antho- 
 logy irresistible. 
 
 Olindo, tied to the stake amidst the flames of 
 martyrdom, can say to his mistress : 
 
 " Altre fiamme, altri nodi amor promise." Canto ii. st. 34. 
 Other flames, other bonds than these, love promised. 
 
 The sentiment is natural, but the double use of 
 the " flames" on such an occasion, miserable. 
 
 In the third canto the fair Amazon Clorinda 
 challenges her love to single combat. 
 
 " E di due morti in un punto lo sfida." St. 23. 
 
 " And so at once she threats to kill him twice.** Fairfax. 
 
 That is to say, with her valour and beauty. 
 
 Another twofold employment of flame, with 
 an exclamation to secure our astonishment, makes 
 its appearance in the fourth canto : 
 
 " Oh miracol d' amor ! che le faville 
 
 Tragge del pianto, e i cor' ne 1' acqua accende." St. 76. 
 
 Oh, miracle of love ! that draweth sparks 
 
 Of fire from tears, and kindlest hearts in water ! 
 
 This puerile antithesis oi fire and water, fire and 
 ice, light in darkness, silence in speech, together 
 with such pretty turns as wounding one's-self in 
 wounding others, and the worse sacrifice of consist- 
 ency and truth of feeling, — lovers making long 
 speeches on the least fitting occasions, and ladies 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 363 
 
 retaining their rosy cheeks in the midst of fears of 
 death, — is to be met with, more or less, throughout 
 the poem. I have no doubt they were the proxi- 
 mate cause of that general corruption of taste which 
 was afterwards completed by Marino, the acquaint- 
 ance and ardent admirer of Tasso when a boy. 
 They have been laid to the charge of Petrarch ; 
 but, without entering into the question, how far 
 and in what instances conceits may not be natural 
 to lovers haunted, as Petrarch was, with one idea, 
 and seeing it in every thing they behold, what had 
 the great epic poet to do with the faults of the 
 lyrical ? And what is to be said for his standing 
 in need of the excuse of bad example ? Homer 
 and Milton were in no such w^ant. Virgil would 
 not have copied the tricks of Ovid. There is an 
 effeminacy and self-reflection in Tasso, analogous 
 to his Rinaldo, in the enchanted garden ; where 
 the hero wore a looking-glass by his side, in which 
 he contemplated his sophisticated self, and the 
 meretricious beauty of his enchantress. ^ 
 
 ^ It is an extraordinary instance of a man's violating, in older 
 life, the better critical principles of his youth, — that Tasso, in his 
 Discourses on Poetry, should have objected to a passage in 
 Ariosto about sighs and tears, as being a " conceit too lyrical," 
 (though it was warranted by the subtleties of madness, see present 
 volume, p. 219), and yet afterwards riot in the same conceits 
 when wholly without warrant. 
 
364 TAsso. 
 
 Agreeably to this tendency to weakness, the 
 style of Tasso, when not supported by great occa- 
 sions (and even the occasion itself sometimes fails 
 him), is too apt to fall into tameness and common- 
 place, — to want movement and picture ; while, at 
 the same time, with singular defect of enjoyment, 
 it does not possess the music which might be ex- 
 pected from a lyrical and voluptuous poet. Ber- 
 nardo prophesied of his son, that, however he 
 might surpass him in other respects, he would 
 never equal him in sweetness ; and he seems to 
 have judged him rightly. I have met with a pas- 
 sage in Torquato^s prose writings (but I cannot 
 lay my hands on it), in which he expresses a 
 singular predilection for verses full of the same 
 vowel. He seems, if I remember rightly, to have 
 regarded it, not merely as a pleasing variety, 
 which it is on occasion, but as a reigning prin- 
 ciple. Voltaire (I think, in his treatise on I^pic 
 Poetry) has noticed the multitude of o's in the 
 exordium of the Jerusalem. This apparent negli- 
 gence seems to have been intentional. 
 
 ** Canto 1' armi pietbse e '1 capitano 
 
 Che '1 gran Sepolcro libero di Cristo ; 
 Molto egli opro col senno e con la mano, 
 
 Molto soffri nel glorioso acquisto ; 
 E invan 1' inferno a lui s' oppose ; e invano 
 S' armo d' Asia e di Libia il popol misto; 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 365 
 
 Che il ciel gli die favore, e sotto ai santi 
 Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti." 
 
 The reader will not be surprised to find, that he 
 who could thus confound monotony with music, 
 and commence his greatest poem with it, is too 
 often discordant in the rest of his versification. It 
 has been thought, that Milton might have taken 
 from the Italians the grand musical account to 
 which he turns a list of proper names, as in his 
 enumerations of realms and deities ; but I have 
 been surprised to find how little the most musical 
 of languages appears to have suggested to its poets 
 anything of the sort. I am not aware of it, in- 
 deed, in any poets but our own. All others, from 
 Homer, with his catalogue of leaders and ships, 
 down to Metastasio himself, though he wrote for 
 music, appear to have overlooked this opportunity 
 of playing a voluntary of fine sounds, where they 
 had no other theme on which to modulate. Its 
 inventor, as far as I am aware, is that great poet, 
 Marlowe.^ 
 
 ' AapSaviMU avr ripx^v, eUs trais Ayx^o'ao, 
 AiU€ias' Tov VTT A.yx.'-'^V '''^'^^ ^'■' AcppoSiTT] 
 ISt/s €p Ki/r]iJ.oiai, dea fipoTCf evvrjdeiaa' 
 OvK oios' dfxa r<py€ Svw AvTr}vopos vie, 
 Apxt^oxos T, AKajxas re, fJ-axvs ev eiSore waarjs. 
 
 Iliad, ii. 8 1 9. 
 
 It is curious that these five lines should abound as much in a's as 
 
366 TAsso. 
 
 There are faults of invention as well as style 
 in the Jerusalem, The Talking Bird, or bird that 
 sings with a human voice (canto iv. 1 3), is a piece 
 of inverisimilitude, which the author, perhaps, 
 
 Tasso's first stanza does in o's. Similar monotonies are strikingly 
 observable in the nomenclatures of Virgil. See his most perfect 
 poem, the Georgics: 
 
 " Omnia secum 
 ^Armentarius ^Afer agit, tectumque, Laremque, 
 ^Armaque, ^Amyclseumque canem, Cressamque pharetram." 
 
 Lib. iii. 343. 
 It is clear that Dante never thought of this point. See his Man- 
 giadore, Sanvittore, Natan, Raban, &c, at the end of the twelfth 
 canto of the Faradiso. Yet in his time poetry was recitatived to 
 music. So it was in Petrarch's, who was a lutenist, and who 
 " tried" his verses, to see how they would go to the instrument. 
 Yet Petrarch could allow himself to write such a quatrain as the 
 following list of rivers : 
 
 ♦* Non Tesin, P6, Varo, Arno, Adige e Tebro, 
 Eufrate, Tigre, Nilo, Ermo, Indo e Gange, 
 Tana, Istro, Alfeo, Garrona, e '1 mar che frange, 
 Rodano, Ibero, Ren, Senna, Alhia, Era, Ebro!^^ 
 
 In Tasso's Sette Giornaie, to which Black thinks Milton indebted 
 for his grand xise of proper names, the following is the way in 
 which the poet writes : 
 
 " Di Silvani 
 
 Di Pani, e d' Egipani, e d' altri erranti, 
 
 Ch' empier le solitarie inculte selve 
 
 D' antiche maraviglie ; e quell' accolto 
 
 Esercito di Bacco in oriente 
 
 Ond' egli vinse, e trionfd degl' Indi, 
 
 i 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 
 
 367 
 
 thought justifiable by the speaking horses of the 
 ancients. But the latter were moved superna- 
 turally for the occasion, and for a very fine occa- 
 sion. Tasso's bird is a mere born contradiction 
 
 Toman do glorioso ai Greci lidi, 
 
 Siccom' e favoloso antico grido." 
 The most diversified passage of this kind (as far as I am aware) is 
 Ariosto's list of his friends at the close of the Orlando; and yet such 
 writing as follows would seem to shew that it was an accident : 
 ** 16 veggio il Fracastoro, il Bevazzano, 
 
 Trifon Gabriel, e il Tasso piii lontano ; 
 
 Veggo Niccolo Tiepoli, e con esso 
 
 Niccolo Amanio in me affissar le ciglia ; 
 
 Auton Fulgoso, ch' a vedermi appresso 
 
 Al lito, mostra gaudio e maraviglia. 
 
 II mio Valerio e quel che la s' e messo 
 
 Fuor de le donne," &c. 
 Even Metastasio, who wrote expressly for singers, and often with 
 exquisite modulation, especially in his songs, forgets himself when 
 he comes to the names of his dramatis personce, — "^Artaserse, 
 *Artabano, ^Arbace, Mandane, Semira, Megabise," — all in one 
 play. 
 
 " Gran cose io temo. II mio germano ^Arbace 
 
 Parte pria de V aurora. II padre armato 
 
 Incontro, e non mi parla. ^Aceusa il cielo 
 
 ^Agitato ^Artaserse, e m' abbandona." Atto i. sc. 6. 
 
 I am far from intending to say that these reiterations are not 
 sometimes allowable, nay, often beautiful and desirable. Allitera- 
 tion itself may be rendered an exquisite instrument of music. I 
 am only speaking of monotony or discord in the enumeration of 
 proper names. 
 
368 TASso. 
 
 to nature and for no necessity. The vulgar idea 
 of the devil with horns and a tail (though the 
 retention of it argued a genius in Tasso very- 
 inferior to that of Milton) is defensible, I think, 
 on the plea of the German critics, that malig- 
 nity should be made a thing low and deformed ; 
 but as much cannot be said for the storehouse in 
 heaven, where St. Michael's spear is kept with 
 which he slew the dragon, and the trident which 
 is used for making earthquakes (canto vii. st. 81). 
 The tomb which supernaturally comes out of the 
 ground, inscribed with the name and virtues of 
 Sueno (canto viii. st. 39), is worthy only of a 
 pantomime ; and the wizard in robes, with beech- 
 leaves on his head, who walks dry-shod on water, 
 and superfluously helps the knights on their way 
 to Armida's retirement (xiv. 33), is almost as lu- 
 dicrous as the burlesque of the river-god in the 
 Voyage of Bachaumont and Chapelle. 
 
 But let us not wonder, nevertheless, at the 
 effect which the Jerusalem has had upon the world. 
 It could not have had it without great nature 
 and power. Rinaldo, in spite of his aberrations 
 with Armida, knew the path to renown, and so did 
 his poet. Tasso's epic, with all its faults, is a 
 noble production, and justly considered one of the 
 poems of the world. Each of those poems hit 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 369 
 
 some one great point of universal attraction, at 
 least in their respective countries, and among the 
 givers of fame in others. Homer's poem is that of 
 action; Dante's, of passion ; Virgil's, of judgment; 
 Milton's, of religion; Spenser's, of poetry itself; 
 Ariosto's, of animal spirits (I do not mean as re- 
 spects gaiety only, but in strength and readiness 
 of accord with the whole play of nature) ; Tasso 
 looked round with an ultra-sensitive temperament, 
 and an ambition which required encouragement, 
 and his poem is that of tenderness. Every thing 
 inclines to this point in his circle, with the tremu- 
 lousness of the needle. Love is its all in all, even 
 to the design of the religious war which is to 
 rescue the sepulchre of the God of Charity from 
 the hands of the unloving. His heroes are all in 
 love, at least those on the right side ; his leader, 
 Godfrey, notwithstanding his prudence, narrowly 
 escapes the passion, and is full of a loving consi- 
 deration ; his amazon, Clorinda, inspires the truest 
 passion, and dies taking her lover's hand ; his Er- 
 minia is all love for an enemy ; his enchantress 
 Armida falls from pretended love into real, and 
 forsakes her religion for its sake. An old father 
 (canto ix.) loses his five sons in battle, and dies 
 on their dead bodies of a wound which he has 
 provoked on purpose. Tancred cannot achieve 
 r2 
 
370 TASSO. 
 
 the enterprise of the Enchanted Forest, because 
 his dead mistress seems to come out of one of the 
 trees. Ohndo thinks it happiness to be martyred 
 at the same stake with Sophronia. The recon- 
 cihation of Rinaldo with his enchantress takes 
 place within a few stanzas of the close of the 
 poem, as if contesting its interest with religion. 
 The Jerusalem Delivered, in short, is the favourite 
 epic of the young : all the lovers in Europe have 
 loved it. The French have forgiven the au- 
 thor his conceits for the sake of his gallantry : he 
 is the poet of the gondoliers ; and Spenser, the 
 most luxurious of his brethren, plundered his 
 bowers of bliss. Read Tasso's poem by this gentle 
 light of his genius, and you pity him twentyfold, 
 and know not what excuse to find for his jailer. 
 
 The stories translated in the present volume, 
 though including war and magic, are all love- 
 stories. They were not selected on that account. 
 They suggested themselves for selection, as con- 
 taining most of the finest things in the poem. 
 They are conducted with great art, and the cha- 
 racters and affections happily varied. The first 
 {Olindo and Sophronia) is perhaps unique for the 
 hopelessness of its commencement (I mean with 
 regard to the lovers), and the perfect, and at the 
 same time quite probable, felicity of the conclu- 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 371 
 
 sion. There is no reason to believe that the staid 
 and devout Sophronia w^ould have loved her adorer 
 at all, but for the circumstance that first dooms 
 them both to a shocking death, and then sends 
 them, with perfect warrant, from the stake to the 
 altar. Clorinda is an Amazon, the idea of whom, 
 as such, it is impossible for us to separate from 
 very repulsive and unfeminine images ; yet, under 
 the circumstances of the story, we call to mind in 
 her behalf the possibility of a Joan of Arc's having 
 loved and been beloved ; and her death is a sur- 
 prising and most affecting variation upon that of 
 Agrican in Boiardo. Tasso's enchantress Armida is 
 a variation of the Angelica of the same poet, com- 
 bined with Ariosto's Alcina ; but her passionate 
 voluptuousness makes her quite a new character 
 in regard to the one ; and she is as difierent from 
 the painted hag of the Orlando as youth, beauty, 
 and patriotic intention can make her. She is not 
 very sentimental ; but all the passion in the world 
 has sympathised with her; and it was manly and 
 honest in the poet not to let her Paganism and vehe- 
 mence hinder him from doing justice to her claims 
 as a human being and a deserted woman. Her 
 fate is left in so pleasing a state of doubt, that we 
 gladly avail ourselves of it to suppose her married 
 to Rinaldo, and becoming the mother of a line of 
 
372 TAsso. 
 
 Christian princes. I wish they had treated her 
 poet half so well as she would infallibly have 
 treated him herself. 
 
 But the singer of the Crusades can be strong as 
 well as gentle. You discern in his battles and 
 single combats the poet ambitious of renown, and 
 the accomplished swordsman. The duel of Tan- 
 cred and Argantes, in which the latter is slain, is 
 as earnest and fiery writing throughout as truth 
 and passion could desire ; that of Tancred and 
 Clorinda is also very powerful as well as affecting ; 
 and the whole siege of Jerusalem is admirable for 
 the strength of its interest. Every body knows 
 the grand verse (not, however, quite original) that 
 summons the devils to council, " Chiama gli abi- 
 tator," &c. ; and the still grander, though less 
 original one, describing the desolations of time, 
 " Giace 1' alta Cartago."i The forest filled with 
 supernatural terrors by a magician, in order that 
 the Christians may not cut wood from it to make 
 their engines of war, is one of the happiest pieces 
 of invention in romance. It is founded in as true 
 human feeling as those of Ariosto, and is made an 
 admirable instrument for the aggrandizement of the 
 character of Rinaldo. Godfrey's attestation of all 
 
 1 See them both in the present volume, pp. 420 and 445. 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 373 
 
 time, and of the host of heaven, when he ad- 
 dresses his army in the first canto, is in the 
 highest spirit of epic magnificence. So is the 
 appearance of the celestial armies, together with 
 that of the souls of the slain Christian warriors, in 
 the last canto, where they issue forth in the air to 
 assist the entrance into the conquered city. The 
 classical poets are turned to great and frequent 
 account throughout the poem ; and yet the work 
 has a strong air of originality, partly owing to the 
 subject, partly to the abundance of love-scenes, 
 and to a certain compactness in the treatment of 
 the main story, notwithstanding the luxuriance of 
 the episodes. The Jerusalem Delivered is stately, 
 well-ordered, full of action and character, some- 
 times sublime, always elegant, and very interest- 
 ing — more so, I think, as a whole, and in a po- 
 pular sense, than any other story in verse, not 
 excepting the Odyssey. For the exquisite do- 
 mestic attractiveness of the second Homeric poem 
 is injured, like the hero himself, by too many 
 diversions from the main point. There is an 
 interest, it is true, in that very delay ; but we be- 
 come too much used to the disappointment. In 
 the epic of Tasso the reader constantly desires to 
 learn how the success of the enterprise is to be 
 brought about ; and he scarcely loses sight of any 
 
374 TAsso. 
 
 of the persons but he wishes to see them again. 
 Even in the love-scenes, tender and absorbed as 
 they are, we feel that the heroes are fighters, or 
 going to fight. When you are introduced to Ar- 
 mida in the Bower of Bliss, it is by warriors who 
 come to take her lover away to battle. 
 
 One of the reasons why Tasso hurt the style of 
 his poem by a manner too lyrical was, that not- 
 withstanding its deficiency in sweetness, he was 
 one of the profusest lyrical writers of his nation, 
 and always having his feelings turned in upon 
 himself. I am not sufficiently acquainted with his 
 odes and sonnets to speak of them in the gross ; 
 but I may be allowed to express my belief that 
 they possess a great deal of fancy and feeling. It 
 has been wondered how he could write so many, 
 considering the troubles he went through; but 
 the experience was the reason. The constant suc- 
 cession of hopes, fears, wants, gratitudes, loves, 
 and the necessity of employing his imagination, 
 accounts for all. Some of his sonnets, such as 
 those on the Countess of Scandiano's lip (" Quel 
 labbro," &c.) ; the one to Stigliano, concluding 
 with the affecting mention of himself and his lost 
 harp ; that beginning 
 
 " lo veggio in ciela scintillar le stelle," 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 375 
 
 recur to my mind oftener than any others except 
 Dante's " Tanto gentile" and Filicaia's Lament on 
 Italy ; and, with the exception of a few of the 
 more famous odes of Petrarch, and one or two of 
 Filicaia's and Guidi's, I know of none in Italian 
 like several of Tasso's, including his fragment 
 " O del grand' Apennino," and the exquisite 
 chorus on the Golde?i Age, which struck a note 
 in the hearts of the world. 
 
 His Aminta, the chief pastoral poem of Italy, 
 though, with the exception of that ode, not equal 
 in passages to the Faithful Shepherdess (which is 
 a Pan to it compared with a beardless shepherd), 
 is elegant, interesting, and as superior to Guarini's 
 more sophisticate yet still beautiful Pastor Fido 
 as a first thought may be supposed to be to its 
 emulator. The objection of its being too elegant 
 for shepherds he anticipated and nullified by mak- 
 ing Love himself account for it in a charming pro- 
 logue, of which the god is the speaker : 
 
 ** Queste selve oggi ragionar d' Amore 
 S' udranno in nuova guisa ; e ben parassi, 
 Che la mia Delta sia qui presente 
 In se medesma, e non ne' suoi mlnistri. 
 Spirero nobll sensl a rozzi petti ; 
 Raddolciro nelle lor llngue 11 suono : 
 Percbe, ovunque i' mi sia, io sono Amore 
 
376 TASso. 
 
 Ne' pastori non men che negli eroi ; 
 
 E la disagguaglianza de' soggetti, 
 
 Come a me place, agguaglio : e questa e pure 
 
 Suprema gloria, e gran miracol mio. 
 
 Render simili alle piu dotte cetre 
 
 Le rustiche sampogne." 
 
 After new fashion shall these woods to-day- 
 Hear love discoursed ; and it shall well be seen 
 That my divinity is present here 
 In its own person, not its ministers. 
 I will inbreathe high fancies in rude hearts ; 
 I will refine and render dulcet sweet 
 Their tongues ; because, wherever I may be, 
 Whether with rustic or heroic men, 
 There am I Love ; and inequality. 
 As it may please me, do I equalise ; 
 And 'tis my crowning glory and great miracle 
 To make the rural pipe as eloquent 
 Even as the subtlest harp. 
 
 I ought not to speak of Tasso's other poetry, 
 or of his prose, for I have read little of either; 
 though, as they are not popular with his country- 
 men, a foreigner may be pardoned for thinking 
 his classical tragedy, Torrismondo, not attractive — 
 his Sette Giornate (Seven Days of the Creation) 
 still less so — and his platonical and critical dis- 
 courses better filled with authorities than reasons. 
 
 Tasso was a lesser kind of Milton, enchanted 
 by the Sirens. We discern the weak parts of his 
 
HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. 377 
 
 character, more or less, in all his writings ; but we 
 see also the irrepressible elegance and superiority 
 of the mind, which, in spite of all weakness, was 
 felt to tower above its age, and to draw to it the 
 homage as well as the resentment of princes. 
 
OLINDO AND SOPHEONIA. 
 
The Mahomedan king of Jerusalem, at the instigation of Ismeno, 
 a magician, deprives a Christian church of its image of the Virgin, 
 and sets it up in a mosque, under a spell of enchantment, as a pal- 
 ladium against the Crusaders. The image is stolen in the night ; 
 and the king, unable to discover who has taken it, orders a mas- 
 sacre of the Christian portion of his subjects, which is prevented 
 by Sophronia's accusing herself of the offence. Her lover, Olindo, 
 finding her sentenced to the stake in consequence, disputes with 
 her the right of martyrdom. He is condemned to suffer with 
 her. The Amazon Clorinda, who has come to fight on the side 
 of Aladin, obtains their pardon in acknowledgment of her ser- 
 vices ; and Sophronia, who had not loved Olindo before, now re- 
 turns his passion, and goes with him from the stake to the mar- 
 riage-altar. 
 
OLINDO AND SOPHEONIA. 
 
 Godfrey of Boulogne, the leader of the Cru- 
 saders, was now in full march for Jerusalem with 
 the Christian army ; and Aladin, the old infidel 
 king, became agitated with wrath and terror. He 
 had heard nothing but accounts of the enemy's 
 irresistible advance. There were many Christians 
 within his walls whose insurrection he dreaded ; 
 and though he had appeared to grow milder with 
 age, he now, in spite of the frost in his veins, felt 
 as hot for cruelty, as the snake excited by the fire 
 of summer. He longed to stifle his fears of in- 
 surrection by a massacre, but dreaded the conse- 
 quence in the event of the city's being taken. He 
 therefore contented himself, for the present, with 
 laying waste the country round about it, destroy- 
 ing every possible receptacle of the invaders, poi- 
 soning the wells, and doubly fortifying the only 
 weak point in his fortifications. 
 
382 OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 
 
 At this juncture the renegade Ismeno stood 
 before him — a bad old man who had studied un- 
 lawful arts. He could bind and loose evil spirits, 
 and draw the dead out of their tombs, restoring 
 to them breath and perception. This man told 
 the king, that in the church belonging to his 
 Christian subjects there was an altar underground, 
 on which stood a veiled image of the woman whom 
 they worshipped — the mother, as they called her, 
 of their dead and buried God. A dazzling light 
 burnt for ever before it ; and the walls were hung 
 with the offerings of her credulous devotees. If 
 this image, he said, were taken away by the king's 
 own hand, and set up in a mosque, such a spell of 
 enchantment could be thrown about it as should 
 render the city impregnable so long as the idol 
 was kept safe. 
 
 Aladin proceeded instantly to the Christian 
 temple, and, treating the priests with violence, 
 tore the image from its shrine and conveyed it to 
 his own place of worship. The necromancer then 
 muttered before it his blasphemous enchantment. 
 
 But the light of morning no sooner appeared 
 in the mosque, than the official to whose charge 
 the palladium had been committed missed it from 
 its place, and in vain searched every other to find 
 it. In truth in never was found again ; nor is it 
 
OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 383 
 
 known to this day how it went. Some think the 
 Christians took it ; others that Heaven interfered 
 in order to save it from profanation. And well 
 (says the poet) does it become a pious humility so 
 to think of a disappearance so wonderful. 
 
 The king, who fell into a paroxysm of rage, 
 not doubting that some Christian was the offender, 
 issued a proclamation setting a price on the head 
 of any one who concealed it. But no discovery 
 was made. The necromancer resorted to his art 
 with as little effect. The king then ordered a 
 general Christian massacre. His savage wrath 
 hugged itself on the reflection, that the criminal 
 would be sure to perish, perish else who might. 
 
 The Christians heard the order with an asto- 
 nisliment that took away all their powers of resist- 
 ance. The suddenness of the presence of death 
 stupified them. They did not resort even to an 
 entreaty. They waited, like sheep, to be but- 
 chered. Little did they think what kind of sa- 
 viour was at hand. 
 
 There was a maiden among them of ripe years, 
 grave and beautiful ; one who took no heed of her 
 beauty, but was altogether absorbed in high and 
 holy thoughts. If she thought of her beauty ever, 
 it was only to subject it to the dignity of virtue. 
 The greater her worth, the more she concealed it 
 
384 OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 
 
 from the world, living a close life at home, and 
 veiling herself from all eyes. 
 
 But the rays of such a jewel could not but 
 break through their casket. Love w^ould not con- 
 sent to have it so locked up. Love turned her 
 very retirement into attraction. There was a 
 youth who had become enamoured of this hidden 
 treasure. His name was Olindo ; Sophronia was 
 that of the maiden. Olindo, like herself, was a 
 Christian ; and the humbleness of his passion was 
 equal to the worth of her that inspired it. He 
 desired much, hoped little, asked nothing.^ He 
 either knew not how to disclose his love, or did 
 not dare it. And she either despised it, or did 
 not, or would not, see it. The poor youth, up to 
 this day, had got nothing by his devotion, not 
 even a look. 
 
 The maiden, who was nevertheless as gene- 
 j:ous as she was virtuous, fell into deep thought 
 how she might save her Christian brethren. She 
 soon came to her resolve. She delayed the exe- 
 cution of it a little, only out of a sense of virgin 
 decorum, which, in its turn, made her still more 
 resolute. She issued forth by herself, in the sight 
 
 ^ " Brama assai. poco spera, e nulla chiede." 
 
 Canto ii. st. 16. 
 A line justly famous. 
 
OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 385 
 
 of all, not muffling up her beauty, nor yet expos- 
 ing it. She withdrew her eyes beneath a veil, 
 and, attired neither with ostentation nor careless- 
 ness, passed through the streets with unaflfected 
 simplicity, admired by all save herself. She went 
 straight before the king. His angry aspect did 
 not repel her. She drew aside the veil, and 
 looked him steadily in the face. 
 
 '* I am come," she said, " to beg that you 
 will suspend your wrath, and withhold the orders 
 given to your people. I know and will give up 
 the author of the deed which has offended you, on 
 that condition." 
 
 At the noble confidence thus displayed, at the 
 sudden apparition of so much lofty and virtuous 
 beauty, the king's countenance was confused, and 
 its angry expression abated. Had his spirit been 
 less stern, or the look she gave him less firm in its 
 purpose, he would have loved her. But haughty 
 beauty and haughty beholder are seldom drawn 
 together. Glances of pleasure are the baits of 
 love. And yet, if the ungentle king was not en- 
 amoured, he was impressed. He was bent on 
 gazing at her ; he felt an emotion of delight. 
 
 " Say on," he replied ; " I accept the condi- 
 tion." 
 
 " Behold then," said she, " the offender. The 
 
 VOL. II. S 
 
386 OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 
 
 deed was the work of this hand. It was I that 
 conveyed away the image. I am she whom you 
 look for. I am the criminal to be punished." 
 
 And as she spake, she bent her head before 
 him, as already yielding it to the executioner. 
 
 Oh, noble falsehood ! when was truth to be 
 compared with thee ?^ 
 
 The king was struck dumb. He did not fall 
 into his accustomed transports of rage. When he 
 recovered from his astonishment, he said, " Who 
 advised you to do this ? Who was your accom- 
 phce ?" 
 
 *' Not a soul," replied the maiden. " I would 
 not have allowed another person to share a par- 
 ticle of my glory. I alone knew of the deed ; I 
 alone counselled it ; I alone did it." 
 
 " Then be the consequence," cried he, " on 
 your own head !" 
 
 " 'Tis but just," returned Sophronia. " Mine 
 was the sole honour ; mine, therefore, should be 
 the only punishment." 
 
 The tyrant at this began to feel the accession 
 of his old wrath. *' Where," he said, *'have you 
 hidden the image ?" 
 
 • " Magnanima menzogna ! oi' quando e il vero 
 Si bello, che si possa a te preporre ?" 
 
OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 387 
 
 " I did not hide it," she replied, " I burnt it. 
 I thought it fit and righteous to do so. I knew 
 of no other way to save it from the hands of the 
 unbelieving. Ask not for what will never again 
 be found. Be content with the vengeance you 
 have before you." 
 
 Oh, chaste heart ! oh, exalted soul ! oh, crea- 
 ture full of nobleness ! think not to find a forgiv- 
 ing moment return. Beauty itself is thy shield 
 no longer. 
 
 The glorious maiden is taken and bound. The 
 cruel king has condemned her to the stake. Her 
 veil, and the mantle that concealed her chaste 
 bosom, are torn away, and her soft arms tied with 
 a hard knot behind her. She said nothing ; she 
 was not terrified; but yet she was not unmoved. 
 Her bosom heaved in spite of its courage. Her 
 lovely colour was lost in a pure white. 
 
 The news spread in an instant, and the city 
 crowded to the sight. Christians and all, Olindo 
 among them. He had thought within himself, 
 " What if it should be Sophronia !" But when 
 he beheld that it was she indeed, and not only 
 condemned, but already at the stake, he made way 
 through the crowd with violence, crying out, 
 " This is not the person, — this poor simple- 
 ton! She never thought of such a thing; she 
 
388 OLIXDO AND SOPHROXIA. 
 
 had not the courage to do it ; she had not the 
 strength. How was she to carry the sacred image 
 away ? Let her ahide by her story if she dare. 
 1 did it." 
 
 Such was the love of the poor youth for her 
 tliat loved him not. 
 
 When he came up to the stake, he gave a for- 
 mal account of what he pretended to have done. 
 " I climbed in," he said, " at the window of your 
 mosque at night, and found a narrow passage 
 round to the image, where nobody could expect 
 to meet me. I shall not suffer the penalty to be 
 usurped by another. I did the deed, and I will 
 have the honour of doing it, now that it comes to 
 this. Let our places be changed." 
 
 Sophronia had looked up when she heard the 
 youth call out, and she gazed on him with eyes of 
 pity. "What madness is this!" exclaimed she. 
 " What can induce an innocent person to bring 
 destruction on himself for nothing ? Can I not 
 bear the thing by myself? Is the anger of one 
 man so tremendous, that one person cannot sus- 
 tain it ? Trust me, friend, you are mistaken. I 
 stand in no need of your company." 
 
 Thus spoke Sophronia to her lover ; but not a 
 whit was he disposed to alter his mind. Oh, great 
 and beautiful spectacle ! Love and virtue at strife ; 
 
OLINDO AND SOPURONIA. 389 
 
 — death the prize they contend for; — ruin itself 
 the salvation of the conqueror ! 
 
 But the contest irritated the king. He felt 
 himself set at nought; felt death itself despised, 
 as if in despite of the inflictor. " Let them be 
 taken at their words," cried he ; " let both have 
 the prize they long for." 
 
 The youth is seized on the instant, and bound 
 like the maiden. Both are tied to the stake, and 
 set back to back. They behold not the face of 
 one another. The wood is heaped round about 
 them ; the fire is kindled. ^ 
 
 The youth broke out into lamentations, but 
 only loud enough to be heard by his fellow-suf- 
 ferer. " Is this, then," said he, " the bond which 
 I hoped might join us ? Is this the fire which I 
 thought might possibly warm two lovers' hearts V 
 Too long (is it not so ?) have we been divided, 
 and now too cruelly are we united : too cruelly, 
 I say, but not as regards me ; for since I am 
 not to be partner of thy existence, gladly do I 
 share thy death. It is thy fate, not mine, that 
 afflicts me. Oh ! too happy were it to me, too 
 sweet and fortunate, if I could obtain grace 
 enough to be set with thee heart to heart, and 
 
 ^ This conceit is more dwelt upon in the original, coupled with 
 the one noticed at p. 3ti2. 
 
390 OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 
 
 SO breathe out my soul into thy lips! Perhaps 
 thou wouldst do the like with mine, and so give 
 me thy last sigh." 
 
 Thus spoke the youth in tears ; but the maiden 
 gently reproved him. 
 
 She said: "Other thoughts, my friend, and 
 other lamentations befit a time like this. Why 
 thinkest thou not of thy sins, and of the rewards 
 which God has promised to the righteous ? Meet 
 thy sufferings in his name ; so shall their bitter- 
 ness be made sweet, and thy soul be carried into 
 the realms above. Cast thine eyes upwards, and 
 behold them. See how beautiful is the sky ; how 
 the sun seems to invite thee towards it with its 
 splendour." 
 
 At words so noble and piteous as these, the 
 Pagans themselves, who stood within hearing, 
 began to weep. The Christians wept too, but in 
 voices more lowly. Even the king felt an emo- 
 tion of pity ; but disdaining to give way to it, he 
 turned aside and withdrew. The maiden alone 
 partook not of the common grief. She for whom 
 every body wept, wept not for herself. 
 
 The flames were now beginning to approach 
 the stake, when there appeared, coming through 
 the crowd, a warrior of noble mien, habited in 
 the arms of another country. The tiger, which 
 
OLINDO AXD SOPHROXIA. 391 
 
 formed the crest of his hehnet, drew all eyes to 
 it, for it was a cognizance well known. The 
 people began to think that it was a heroine in- 
 stead of a hero which they saw, even the famous 
 Clorinda. Nor did they err in the supposition. 
 
 A despiser of feminine habits had Clorinda 
 been from her childhood. She disdained to put 
 her hand to the needle and the distaff. She re- 
 nounced every soft indulgence, every timid re- 
 tirement, thinking that virtue could be safe wher- 
 ever it went in its own courageous heart ; and so 
 she armed her countenance with pride, and pleased 
 herself with making it stern, but not to the effect 
 she looked for, for the sternness itself pleased. 
 While yet a child her little right hand would con- 
 trol the bit of the charger, and she wielded the 
 sword and spear, and hardened her limbs with 
 wrestling, and made them supple for the race ; 
 and then as she grew up, she tracked the foot- 
 steps of the bear and lion, and followed the trum- 
 pet to the wars ; and in those and in the depths 
 of the forest she seemed a wild creature to man- 
 kind, and a man to the wildest creature. She had 
 now come out of Persia to wreak her displeasure 
 on the Christians, who had already felt the sharp- 
 ness of her sword ; and as she arrived near this 
 assembled multitude, death was the first thing 
 
392 OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 
 
 that met her eyes, but in a shape so perplexing, 
 that she looked narrowly to discern what it was, 
 and then spurred her horse towards the scene of 
 action. The crowd gave way as she approached, 
 and she halted as she entered the circle round the 
 stake, and sat gazing on the youth and maiden. 
 She wondered to see the male victim lamenting, 
 while the female was mute. But indeed she saw 
 that he was weeping not out of grief hut pity ; 
 or at least, not out of grief for himself; and as 
 to the maiden, she observed her to be so wrapt 
 up in the contemplation of the heavens at which 
 she was gazing, that she appeared to have already 
 taken leave of earth. 
 
 Pity touched the heart of the Amazon, and 
 the tears came into her eyes. She felt sorry for 
 both the victims, but chiefly for the one that said 
 nothing. She turned to a white-headed man be- 
 side her, and said, " What is this ? Who are 
 these two persons, whom crime, or their ill for- 
 tune, has brought hither ?" 
 
 The man answered her briefly, but to the pur- 
 pose ; and she discerned at once that both must 
 be innocent. She therefore determined to save 
 them. She dismounted, and set the example of 
 putting a stop to the flames, and then said to the 
 officers, " Let nobody continue this work till I 
 
OLINDO AND SOPHROXIA. 393 
 
 have spoken to the king. Rest assured he will 
 hold you guiltless of the delay." The officers 
 obeyed, being struck with her air of confidence 
 and authority ; and she went straight towards the 
 king, who had heard of her arrival, and who was 
 coming to bid her welcome. 
 
 *' I am Clorinda," she said. " Thou knowest 
 me ? Then thou knowest, sir, one who is desirous 
 to defend the good faith and the king of Jerusa- 
 lem. I am ready for any duty that may be as- 
 signed me. I fear not the greatest, nor do I dis- 
 dain the least. Open field or walled city, no post 
 will come amiss to the king's servant." 
 
 " Illustrious maiden," answered the king, " who 
 knoweth not Clorinda? What region is there so 
 distant from Asia, or so far away out of the paths 
 of the sun, to which the sound of thy achieve- 
 ments has not arrived? Joined by thee and by 
 thy sword I fear nothing. Godfrey, methinks, is 
 too slow to attack me. Dost thou ask to which 
 post thou shalt be appointed ? To the greatest. 
 None else becomes thee. Thou art lady and mis- 
 tress of the war." 
 
 Clorinda gave the king thanks for his courtesy, 
 
 and then resumed. " Strange is it, in truth," she 
 
 said, " to ask my reward before I have earned it ; 
 
 but confidence like this reassures me. Grant me, 
 
 s2 
 
394 OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 
 
 for what I propose to do in the good cause, the 
 lives of these two persons. I wave the uncer- 
 tainty of their offence ; I wave the presumption 
 of innocence afforded by their own behaviour. I 
 ask their liberation as a favour. And yet it be- 
 comes me, at the same time, to confess, that I do 
 not believe the Christians to have taken the image 
 out of the mosque. It was an impious thing of 
 the magician to put it there. An idol has no 
 business in a Mussulman temple, much less the 
 idols of unbelievers ; and my opinion is, that the 
 miracle was the work of Mahomet himself, out 
 of scorn and hatred of the contamination. Let 
 Ismeno prefer his craft, if he will, to the weapons 
 of a man ; but let him not take upon himself the 
 defence of a nation of warriors." 
 
 The warlike damsel was silent ; and the king, 
 though he could with difficulty conquer his anger, 
 yet did so, to please his guest. " They are free," 
 said he ; " I can deny nothing to such a petitioner. 
 Whether it be justice or not to absolve them, 
 absolved they are. If they are innocent, I pro- 
 nounce them so ; if guilty, I concede their par- 
 don." 
 
 At these words the youth and the maiden were 
 set free. And blissful indeed was the fortune of 
 Olindo; for love, so proved as his, awoke love in 
 
OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 395 
 
 the noble bosom of Sophronia ; and so he passed 
 from the stake to the marriage-altar, a husband, 
 instead of a wretch condemned — a lover beloved, 
 instead of a hopeless adorer. 
 
TANCRED AND CLOKINDA, 
 
The Mussulman Amazon Clorinda, who is beloved by the Chris- 
 tian chief Tancred, goes forth in disguise at night to burn the 
 battering tower of the Christian army. She effects her pur- 
 pose ; but, in retreating from its discoverers, is accidentally 
 shut out of the gate through which she had left the city. She 
 makes her way into the open country, trusting to get in at one 
 of the other gates ; but, having been watched by Tancred, who 
 does not know her in the armour in which she is disguised, a 
 combat ensues between them, in which she is slain. She requests 
 baptism in her last moments, and receives it from tlie hands of her 
 despairing lover. 
 
TANCEED AND CLOEINDA. 
 
 The Christians, in their siege of Jerusalem, had 
 brought a huge rolling tower against the walls, 
 from which they battered and commanded the 
 city with such deadly effect, that the generous 
 Amazon Clorinda resolved to go forth in disguise 
 and burn it. She disclosed her design to the 
 chieftain Argantes, for the purpose of recom- 
 mending to him the care of her damsels, in case 
 any misfortune should happen to her ; but the 
 warrior, jealous of the glory of such an enter- 
 prise, insisted on partaking it. The old king, 
 weeping for gratitude, joyfully gave them leave ; 
 and the Soldan of Egypt, with a generous emula- 
 tion, would fain have joined them. Argantes was 
 about to give him a disdainful refusal, when the 
 king interposed, and persuaded the Soldan to re- 
 main behind, lest the city should miss too many 
 of its best defenders at one time ; adding, that the 
 risk of sallying forth should be his, in case the 
 
400 TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 
 
 burners of the tower were pursued on their re- 
 turn. Argantes and the Amazon then retired to 
 prepare for the exploit, and the magician Ismeno 
 compounded two balls of sulphur for the work of 
 destruction. 
 
 Clorinda took oiF her beautiful helmet, and her 
 surcoat of cloth of silver, and laid aside all her 
 haughty arms, and dressed herself (hapless omen!) 
 in black armour without polish, the better to 
 conceal herself from the enemy. Her faithful 
 servant, the good old eunuch Arsetes, who had 
 attended her from infancy, and was now follow- 
 ing her about as well as he could with his ac- 
 customed zeal, anxiously noticed what she was 
 doing, and guessing it was for some desperate 
 enterprise, entreated her, by his white hairs and 
 all the love he had shewn her, to give it up. 
 Finding his prayers to no purpose, he requested 
 with great emotion that she would give ear to 
 certain matters in her family history, which he at 
 length felt it his duty to disclose. " It would 
 then," he said, " be for herself to judge, whether 
 she would persist in the enterprise or renounce 
 it." Clorinda, at this, looked at the good man, 
 and listened with attention. 
 
 " Not long ago," said he, " there reigned in 
 Ethiopia, and perhaps is still reigning, a king 
 
TANCRED AND CLORIXDA- 401 
 
 named Senapus, who in common with his people 
 professed the Christian religion. They are a 
 black though a handsome people, and the king 
 and his queen were of the same colour. The 
 king loved her dearly, but was unfortunately so 
 jealous, that he concealed her from the sight of 
 mankind. Had it been in his power, I think he 
 would have hindered the very eyes of heaven 
 from beholding her. The sweet lady, however, 
 was wise and humble, and did every thing she 
 could to please him. 
 
 " I was not a Christian myself. I was a 
 Pagan slave, employed among the women about 
 the queen, and making one of her special attend- 
 nts. 
 
 " It happened, that the royal bed-chamber was 
 painted with the story of a holy knight saving a 
 maiden from a dragon ;i and the maiden had a 
 face beautifully fair, with blooming cheeks. The 
 queen often prayed and wept before this picture ; 
 and it made so great an impression on her, par- 
 ticularly the maiden's face, that when she bore a 
 child, she saw with consternation that the infant's 
 skin was of the same fair colour. This child was 
 thyself.2 
 
 ' St. George. 
 
 ' This fiction of a white Ethiop child is taken from the Greek 
 
402 
 
 TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 
 
 " Terrified witli the thoughts of what her hus- 
 band would feel at such a sight, what a convincing 
 proof he would hold it of a faith on her part the 
 reverse of spotless,^ she procured a babe of her 
 own colour by means of a confidant ; and before 
 thou wert baptised (which is a ceremony that takes 
 place in Ethiopia later than elsewhere) committed 
 thee to my care to be brought up at a distance. 
 Who shall relate the tears which thy moth'er 
 poured forth, and the sighs and sobs with which 
 they were interrupted ? How many times, when 
 she thought she had given thee the last embrace, 
 did she not gather thee to her bosom once more ! 
 At length, raising her eyes to heaven, she said, 
 ' O Thou that seest into the hearts of mortals, and 
 knowest in this matter the spotlessness of mine, 
 dark though it be otherwise with frailty and with 
 sin, save, I pray thee, this innocent creature who 
 is denied the milk of its mother's breast. Youch- 
 
 romance of H eliodorus, book the fourth. The imaginative principle 
 on which it is founded is true to physiology, and Tasso had a 
 right to use it ; but the particular and excessive instance does not 
 appear happy in the eyes of a modern reader acquainted with the 
 history of albinos. 
 
 • The conceit is more antithetically put in the original : 
 " Ch' egli avria del candor che in te si vede 
 Argomentato in lei non bianca fede," 
 
 Canto xii. st. 24. 
 
TANCRED AND CLORIXDA. 403 
 
 safe that she resemble her hapless parent in no- 
 thing but a chaste life. And thou, celestial war- 
 rior, that didst deliver the maiden out of the ser- 
 pent's mouth, if I have ever lit humble taper on 
 thine altar, and set before thee offerings of gold 
 and incense, be, I implore thee, her advocate. Be 
 her advocate to such purpose, that in every turn of 
 fortune she may be enabled to count on thy good 
 help.' Here she ceased, torn to her very heart- 
 strings, with a face painted of the colour of death ; 
 and I, weeping myself, received thee, and bore 
 thee away, hidden in a sweet covering of flowers 
 and leaves. 
 
 " I journeyed with thee along a forest, where 
 a tiger came upon us with fury in its eyes. I be- 
 took me, alas, to a tree, and left thee lying on 
 the ground, such terror was in me ; and the hor- 
 rible beast looked down upon thee. But it fell 
 to licking thee with its dreadful tongue, and thou 
 didst smile to it, and put thy little hand to its 
 jaws ; and, lo, it gave thee suck, being a mother 
 itself; and then, wonderful to relate, it returned 
 into the woods, leaving me to venture down from 
 the tree, and bear thee onward to my place of re- 
 fuge. There, in a little obscure cottage, I had thee 
 nursed for more than a year; till, feeling that I 
 grew old, I resolved to avail myself of the riches 
 
404 TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 
 
 the queen had given me, and go into my own 
 country, which was Egypt. I set out for it ac- 
 cordingly, and had to cross a torrent where thieves 
 threatened me on one side, and the fierce water on 
 the other. I plunged in, holding thee above the 
 torrent with one hand, till I came to an eddy that 
 tore thee from me. I thought thee lost. What 
 was my delight and astonishment, on reaching the 
 bank, to find that the water itself had tossed thee 
 upon it in safety ! 
 
 " But I had a dream at night, which seemed 
 to shew me the cause of thy good fortune. A 
 warrior appeared before me with a threatening 
 countenance, holding a sword in my face, and 
 saying in an imperious voice, * Obey the commands 
 of the child's mother and of me, and baptise it. 
 She is favoured of Heaven, and her lot is in my 
 keeping. It was I that put tenderness in the 
 heart of the wild beast, and even a will to save 
 her in the water. Woe to thee, if thou believest 
 not this vision. It is a message from the skies.' 
 
 " The spirit vanished, and I awoke and pursued 
 my journey ; but thinking my own creed the true 
 one, and therefore concluding the dream to be 
 false, I baptised thee not ; I bred thee what I was 
 myself, a Pagan ; and thou didst grow up, and be- 
 come great and wonderful in arms, surpassing the 
 
TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 405 
 
 deeds of men, and didst acquire riches and lands ; 
 and what thy life has been since, thou knowest as 
 well as I ; ay, and thou know^est mine own ways 
 too, how I have followed and cautiously waited on 
 thee ever, being to thee both as a servant and 
 father. 
 
 " Now yesterday morning, as I lay heavily 
 asleep, in consequence of my troubled mind, the 
 same figure of the warrior made its appearance, 
 but with a countenance still more threatening, and 
 speaking in a louder voice. * Wretch,' it exclaimed, 
 * the hour is approaching when Clorinda shall end 
 both her life and her belief. She is mine in de- 
 spite of thee. Misery be thine.' With these words 
 it darted aw^ay as though it flew. 
 
 " Consider then, delight of my soul, what 
 these dreams may portend. They threaten thee 
 terrible things ; for what reason I know not. Can 
 it be, that mine own faith is the wrong one, and 
 that of thy parents the right ? Ah ! take thought 
 at least, and repress this daring courage. Lay 
 aside these arms that frighten me." 
 
 Tears hindered the old man from saying more. 
 Clorinda grew thoughtful, and felt something of 
 dread, for she had had a like kind of dream. At 
 length, however, cheerfully looking up, she said, 
 " I must follow the faith I was bred in ; the faith 
 
406 TANCRED AND CI.ORINDA. 
 
 which thou thyself bred'st me in, although thy 
 words would now make me doubt it. Neither 
 can I give up the enterprise that calls me forth. 
 Such a withdrawal is not to be expected of an 
 honourable soul. Death may put on the worst 
 face it pleases. I shall not retreat." 
 
 The intrepid maiden, however, did her best to 
 console her good friend ; but the time having ar- 
 rived for the adventure, she finally bade him be of 
 good heart, and so left him. 
 
 Silently, and in the middle of the night, 
 Argantes and Clorinda took their way down the 
 hills of Jerusalem, and, quitting the gates, went 
 stealthily towards the site of the tower. But its 
 ever-watchful guards were alarmed. They de- 
 manded the watch-word ; and, not receiving it, 
 cried out, " To arms ! to arms !" The dauntless 
 adventurers plunged forwards with their swords ; 
 they dashed aside every assailant, pitched the 
 balls of sulphur into the machine, and in a short 
 time, in the midst of a daring conflict, had the 
 pleasure of seeing the smoke and the flame arise, 
 and the whole tower blazing to its destruction. 
 A terrible sight it was to the Christians. Waked 
 up, they came crowding to the place ; and the 
 two companions, notwithstanding their skill and 
 audacity, were compelled to make a retreat. The 
 
TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 407 
 
 besieged, with the king at their head, now arrived 
 also, crowding on the walls ; and the gate was 
 opened to let the adventurers in. The Soldan 
 issued forth at the same moment to cover the 
 retreat. Argantes was forced through the gate 
 by Clorinda in spite of himself; and she, but for 
 a luckless antagonist, would have followed him ; 
 but a soldier aiming at her a last blow, she rushed 
 back to give the man his death ; and, in the con- 
 fusion of the moment, the warders, believing her 
 to have entered, shut up the gate, and the heroine 
 was left without. 
 
 Behind Clorinda was the gate — before and 
 round about her was a host of foes ; and surely 
 at that moment she thought that her life was 
 drawing to its end. Finding, however, that her 
 dark armour befriended her in the tumult, she 
 mingled with the enemy as though she had been 
 one of themselves, and so, by degrees, picked her 
 way through the confusion caused by the fire. 
 As the wolf, with its bloody mouth, seeks covert 
 in the woods, even so Clorinda got clear out of 
 the multitude into the darkness and the open 
 country. 
 
 Not, however, so clear, alas, but that Tancred 
 perceived her — Tancred, her foe in creed, but her 
 adoring lover, whose heart she had conquered in 
 
408 TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 
 
 the midst of strife, and whose passion for her she 
 knew. But now she knew not that he had seen 
 her; nor did he, poor valiant wretch, know that 
 the knight in black armour whom he pursued, was 
 a woman, and Clorinda. Tancred had seen the 
 warrior strike down the assailant at the gate; he 
 had watched him as he picked his way to escape ; 
 and Clorinda now heard the unknown Tancred 
 coming swiftly on horseback behind her as she 
 was speeding round towards another gate in hopes 
 of being let in. 
 
 The heroine at length turned, and said, " How 
 now, friend ? — what is thy business ?" 
 
 " Death !" answered the pursuer. 
 
 " Thou shalt have it," replied the maiden. 
 
 The knight, as his enemy was on foot, dis- 
 mounted, in order to render the combat equal ; 
 and their swords are drawn in fury, and the fight 
 begins. 1 
 
 Worthy of the brightest day-time was that 
 fight — worthy of a theatre full of valiant be- 
 holders. Be not displeased, O Night ! that I draw 
 
 ^ The poet here compares his hero and heroine to two jealous 
 ♦' bulls," no happy comparison certainly. 
 
 " Vansi a ritrovar non altrimenti 
 Che duo tori gelosi." 
 
 St. 53. 
 
TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 409 
 
 it out of thy bosom, and set it in the serene light 
 of renown : the sjDlendour will but the more ex- 
 hibit the great shade of thy darkness. 
 
 No trial was this of skill — no contest of ward- 
 ing and traversing and taking heed — no artful 
 interchange of blows now pretended, now given 
 in earnest, now glancing. Night-time and rage 
 flung aside all consideration. The swords horribly 
 clashed and hammered on one another. Not a 
 cut descended in vain — not a thrust was without 
 substance. Shame and fury aggravated one ano- 
 ther. Every blow became fiercer than the last. 
 They closed — they could use their blades no lon- 
 ger ; they dashed the pummels of their swords at 
 one another's faces ; they butted and shouldered 
 with helm and buckler. Three times the man 
 threw his arms round the woman with other em- 
 braces than those of love — three times they re- 
 turned to their swords, and cut and slashed one 
 another's bleeding bodies ; till at length they were 
 obliged to hold back for the purpose of taking 
 breath. 
 
 Tancred and Clorinda stood fronting one ano- 
 ther in the darkness, leaning on their swords for 
 want of strength. The last star in the heavens 
 was fading in the tinge of dawn; and Tancred 
 saw that his enemy had lost more blood than 
 
 VOL. II. T 
 
 L 
 
410 TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 
 
 himself, and it made him proud and joyful. Oh, 
 foolish mind of us humans, elated at every fancy 
 of success ! Poor wretch ! for what dost thou 
 rejoice ? How sad will be thy victory ! What a 
 misery to look back upon, thy delight ! Every 
 drop of that blood will be paid for with worlds of 
 tears ! 
 
 Dimly thus looking at one another stood the 
 combatants, bleeding a while in peace. At length 
 Tancred, who wished to know his antagonist, said, 
 " It hath been no good fortune of ours to be 
 compelled thus to fight where nobody can behold 
 us ; but we have at least become acquainted with 
 the good swords of one another. Let me request, 
 therefore (if to request any thing at such a time 
 be not unbecoming), that I may be no stranger to 
 thy name. Permit me to learn, whatever be the 
 result, who it is that shall honour my death or 
 my victory." 
 
 " I am not accustomed," answered the fierce 
 maiden, " to disclose who I am ; nor shall I dis- 
 close it now. Sufifice to hear, that thou seest be- 
 fore thee one of the burners of the tower." 
 
 Tancred was exasperated at this discovery. 
 " In an evil moment," cried he, " hast thou said 
 it. Thy silence and thy speech alike disgust me." 
 
 Into the combat again they dash, feeble as they 
 
TANCRKD A.ND CLORINDA. 411 
 
 were. Ferocious indeed is the strife in which skill 
 is not thought of, and strength itself is dead ; in 
 which valour rages instead of contends, and feeble- 
 ness becomes hate and fury. Oh, the gates of 
 blood that were set open in wounds upon wounds ! 
 If life itself did not come pouring forth, it was 
 only because scorn withheld it. 
 
 As in the ^gean Sea, when the south and 
 north winds have lost the violence of their 
 strength, the billows do not subside nevertheless, 
 but retain the noise and magnitude of their first 
 motion ; so the continued impulse of the com- 
 batants carried them still against one another, 
 hurling them into mutual injury, though they had 
 scarcely life in their bodies.^ 
 
 And now the fatal hour has come when Clo- 
 rinda must die. The sword of Tancred is in her 
 bosom to the very hilt. The stomacher under the 
 cuirass which enclosed it is filled with a hot flood. 
 
 • " Qual r alto Egeo, perche Aquilone o Noto 
 Cessi, che tutto prima il volse e scosse, 
 Non s' accheta pero, ma '1 suono e '1 moto 
 
 Ritien de 1' onde anco agitate e grosse ; 
 Tal, se ben maiica in lor col sangue vote 
 
 Quel vigor che le braccia ai colpi mosse, 
 Serbano ancor 1' impeto primo, e vanno 
 Da quel sospinti a giunger danno a danno." 
 
 Canto xii. st. 63. 
 
412 TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 
 
 Her legs give way beneath her. She falls — she 
 feels that she is departing. The conqueror, with 
 a still threatening countenance, prepares to follow 
 up his victory, and treads on her as she lies. 
 
 But a new spirit had come upon her — the 
 spirit which called the beloved of Heaven to it- 
 self; and, speaking in a sorrowing voice, she thus 
 uttered her last words : 
 
 "My friend, thou hast conquered — I forgive 
 thee. Forgive thou me, not for my body's sake, 
 which fears nothing, but for the sake, alas, of my 
 soul. Baptise me, I beseech thee." 
 
 There was something in the voice, as the dying 
 person spake these words, that went, he knew not 
 why, to the heart of Tancred. The tears forced 
 themselves into his eyes. Not far off there was 
 a little stream, and the conqueror went to it and 
 filled his helmet ; and retui'ning, prepared for the 
 pious office by unlacing his adversary's helmet. 
 His hands trembled when he first beheld the fore- 
 head, though he did not yet know it ; but when 
 the vizor was all down, and the face disclosed, he 
 remained without speech and motion. 
 
 Oh, the sight ! oh, the recognition ! 
 
 He did not die. He summoned up all the 
 powers within him to support his heart for that 
 moment. He resolved to hold up his duty above 
 
TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 413 
 
 his misery, and give life with the sweet water to 
 her whom he had slain with sword. He dipped 
 his fingers in it, and marked her forehead with 
 the cross, and repeated the words of the sacred 
 office ; and while he was repeating them, the 
 sufferer changed comitenance for joy, and smiled, 
 and seemed to say, in the cheerfulness of her 
 departure, "The heavens are opening — I go in 
 peace." A paleness and a shade together then 
 came over her countenance, as if lilies had been 
 mixed with violets. She looked up at heaven, 
 and heaven itself might be thought for very ten- 
 derness to be looking at her ; and then she raised 
 a little her hand towards that of the knight (for 
 she could not speak), and so gave it him in sign 
 of goodwill ; and with his pressure of it her soul 
 passed away, and she seemed asleep. 
 
 But Tancred no sooner beheld her dead, than 
 all the strength of mind which he had summoned 
 up to support him fell flat on the instant. He 
 would have given way to the most frantic outcries ; 
 but life and speech seemed to be shut up in one 
 point in his heart ; despair seized him like death, 
 and he fell senseless beside her. And surely he 
 would have died indeed, had not a party of his 
 countrymen happened to come up. They were 
 looking for water, and had found it, and they dis- 
 
414 TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 
 
 covered the bodies at the same time. The leader 
 knew Tancred by his arms. The beautiful body 
 of Clorinda, though he deemed her a Pagan, 
 he would not leave exposed to the wolves ; 
 so he directed them both to be carried to the 
 pavilion of Tancred, and there placed in separate 
 chambers. 
 
 Dreadful was the waking of Tancred — not for 
 the solemn whispering around him — not for his 
 aching wounds, terrible as they were, — but for 
 the agony of the recollection that rushed upon 
 him. He would have gone staggering out of the 
 pavilion to seek the remains of his Clorinda, and 
 save them from the wolves ; but his friends told 
 him they were at hand, under the curtain of his 
 own tent. A gleam of pleasure shot across his 
 face, and he staggered into the chamber ; but 
 when he beheld the body gored with his own 
 hand, and the face, calm indeed, but calm like a 
 pale night without stars, he trembled so, that he 
 would have sunk to the ground but for his sup- 
 porters. 
 
 " O sweet face !" he exclaimed ; " thou mayst 
 be calm now ; but what is to calm me ? O hand 
 that was held up to me in sign of peace and for- 
 giveness ! to what have T brought thee ? Wretch 
 that I am, I do not even weep. Mine eyes are 
 
TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 415 
 
 as cruel as my hands. My blood shall be shed 
 instead." 
 
 And with these words he began tearing off the 
 bandages which the surgeons had put upon him ; 
 and he thrust his fingers into his wounds, and 
 would have slain himself thus outright, had not 
 the pain made him faint away. 
 
 He was then taken back to his own chamber. 
 Godfrey came in the mean time with the vener- 
 able hermit Peter ; and when the sufferer awoke, 
 they addressed him in kind words, which even his 
 impatience respected ; but it was not to be calmed 
 till the preacher put on the terrors of religion, 
 remonstrating with him as an ingrate to God, and 
 threatening him with the doom of a sinner. The 
 tears then crept into his eyes, and he tried to be 
 patient, and in some degree was so — only break- 
 ing out ever and anon, now into exclamations of 
 horror, and now into fond lamentations, talking 
 as if with the shade of his beloved. 
 
 Thus lay Tancred for days together, ever wo- 
 ful ; till, falling asleep one night towards the dawn, 
 the shade of Clorinda did indeed appear to him, 
 more beautiful than ever, and clad in light and 
 joy. She seemed to stoop and wipe the tears 
 from his eyes ; and then said, " Behold how 
 happy I am. Behold me, O beloved friend, and 
 
416 TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 
 
 see how happy, and bright, and beautiful I am; 
 and consider that it is all owing to thyself. 'Twas 
 thou that took'st me out of the false path, and 
 made me worthy of admission among saints and 
 angels. There, in heaven, I love and rejoice; and 
 there I look to see thee in thine appointed time ; 
 after which we shall both love the great God and 
 one another for ever and ever. Be faithful, and 
 command thyself, and look to the end ; for, lo, 
 as far as it is permitted to a blessed spirit to love 
 mortality, even now I love thee !" 
 
 With these words the eyes of the vision grew 
 bright beyond mortal beauty ; and then it turned 
 and was hidden in the depth of its radiance, and 
 disappeared. 
 
 Tancred slept a quiet sleep ; and when he 
 awoke, he gave himself patiently up to the will of 
 the physician ; and the remains of Clorinda were 
 gathered into a noble tomb.^ 
 
 ' This tomb, Tancred says, in an address which he makes to 
 it, '* has his flames inside of it, and his tears without :" 
 
 " Che dentro hai le mie fiamme, e fuori il pianto," St. 96. 
 I am loath to disturb the effect of a really touching story ; but if 
 I do not occasionally give instances of these conceits, my trans- 
 lations will beUe my criticism. 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA : 
 
 ADVENTURES OF THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 
 
 T^ 
 
Part I. — Satan assembles the fiends in council to consider 
 the best means of opposing the Christians. Armida, the niece of 
 the wizard king of Damascus, is incited to go to their camp under 
 false pretences, and endeavour to weaken it ; which she does by- 
 seducing away many of the knights, and sowing a discord which 
 ends in the flight of Rinaldo. 
 
 Part II. — Armida, after making the knights feel the power of 
 her magic, dismisses them bound prisoners for Damascus. They 
 are rescued on their way by Rinaldo. Armida pursues him in 
 wrath, but falls in love with him. 
 
 Part III — The magician Ismeno succeeds in frightening the 
 Christians in their attempt to cut wood from the Enchanted Forest. 
 Rinaldo is sent for, as the person fated to undo the enchantment. 
 
 Part IV. — Rinaldo and Armida, in love with each other, 
 pass their time in a bower of bliss. He is fetched away by two 
 knights, and leaves her in despair. 
 
 Part V. — Rinaldo disenchants the forest, and has the chief 
 hand in the taking of Jerusalem. He meets and reconciles Ar- 
 mida. 
 
EINALDO AND AEMIDA, 
 
 ETC. 
 
 Part t\}t iFirst. 
 ARMIDA IN THE CHRISTIAN CAMP. 
 
 The Christians had now commenced their attack 
 on Jerusalem, and brought a great rolling tower 
 against the walls, built from the wood of a forest 
 in the neighbourhood ; when the Malignant Spirit, 
 who has never ceased his war with Heaven, cast 
 in his mind how he might best defeat their pur- 
 pose. It w^as necessary to divide their forces ; to 
 destroy their tower; to hinder them from build- 
 ing another; and to make one final triumphant 
 effort against the whole progress of their arms. 
 
 Forgetting how the right arm of God could 
 launch its thunderbolts, the Fiend accordingly 
 seated himself on his throne, and ordered his 
 powers to be brought together. 
 
420 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 The Tartarean trumpet, with its hoarse voice, 
 called up the dwellers in everlasting darkness. 
 The huge black caverns trembled to their depths, 
 and the blind air rebellowed with the thunder. 
 The bolt does not break forth so horribly when it 
 comes bursting after the flash out of the heavens ; 
 nor had the world before ever trembled with such 
 an earthquake.^ 
 
 ^ " Chiama gli abitator' de 1' ombre eterne 
 II rauco suon de la tartai'ea tromba. 
 Treman le spaziose atre caverne, 
 
 E r aer cieco a quel romor rimbomba. 
 Ne SI stridendo mai da le superne 
 
 Regioni del cielo il folgor piomba : 
 Ne SI scossa gia mai trema la terra, 
 Q,uando i vapori in sen gravida serra." 
 
 Canto iv. st. 3. 
 The trump of Tartarus, with iron roar, 
 
 Called to the dwellers the black regions under : 
 Hell through its caverns trembled to the core. 
 
 And the blind air rebellowed to the thunder : 
 Never yet fiery bolt more fiercely tore 
 
 The crashing firmament, like rocks, asunder ; 
 Nor with so huge a shudder earth's foundations 
 Shook to their mighty heart, lifting the nations. 
 
 The tone of this stanza (suggested otherwise by Vida) was caught 
 from a fine one in Politian, the passage in which about the Nile I 
 ought to have called to mind at page 168. 
 
 "Con tal romor, qualor P aer discorda, 
 Di Giove il foco d' alta nube piomba : 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 421 
 
 The gods of the abyss came thronging up 
 on all sides through the gates; — terrible-looking 
 beings with unaccountable aspects, dispensers of 
 death and horror with their eyes; — some stamp- 
 ing with hoofs, some rolling on enormous spires, 
 — their faces human, their hair serpents. There 
 were thousands of shameless Harpies, of pallid 
 Gorgons, of barking Scyllas, of Chimeras that 
 vomited ashes, and of monsters never before heard 
 or thought of, with perverse aspects all mixed up 
 in one. 
 
 The Power of Evil sat looking down upon 
 them, huger than a rock in the sea, or an alp 
 with forked summits. A certain horrible majesty 
 augmented the terrors of his aspect. His eyes 
 reddened ; his poisonous look hung in the air like 
 a comet; the mouth, as it opened in the midst 
 
 Con tal tuniulto, onde la gente assorda, 
 
 Da r alte cataratte il Nil rimbomba : 
 Con tal orror del Latin sangue ingorda 
 
 Sono Megera la tartarea tromba." 
 
 Fragment on the Jousting of Giuliano de' Medici. 
 
 Such is the noise, when through his cloudy floor 
 The bolt of Jove falls on the pale world under ; 
 
 So shakes the land, where Nile with deafening roar 
 Plunges his clattering cataracts in thunder ; 
 
 Horribly so, through Latium's realm of yore, 
 The trump of Tartarus blew ghastly wonder. 
 
422 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 of clouds of beard, seemed an abyss of darkness 
 and blood ; and out of it, as from a volcano, 
 issued fires, and vapours, and disgust. 
 
 Satan laid forth to his dreadful hearers his 
 old quarrel with Heaven, and its new threats of 
 an extension of its empire. Christendom was to 
 be brought into Asia ; their worshippers were to 
 perish ; souls were to be rescued from their de- 
 vices, and Satan's kingdom on earth put an end 
 to. He exhorted them therefore to issue forth 
 once for all and prevent this fatal consummation 
 by the destruction of the Christian forces. Some 
 of the leaders he bade them do their best to dis- 
 perse, others to slay, others to draw into effemi- 
 nate pleasures, into rebellion, into the ruin of the 
 whole camp, so that not a vestige might remain 
 of its existence. 
 
 The assembly broke up with the noise of hur- 
 ricanes. They issued forth to look once more 
 upon the stars, and to sow seeds every where of 
 destruction to the Christians. Satan himself fol- 
 lowed them, and entered the heart of Hydraotes, 
 king of Damascus. 
 
 Hydraotes was a wizard as well as a king, 
 and held the Christians in abhorrence. But he 
 was wise enough to respect their valour ; and 
 with Satan's help he discerned the likeliest way 
 
HINALDO AND ARMIDA. 423 
 
 to counteract it. He had a niece, who was the 
 greatest beauty of the age. He had taught her 
 his art : and he concluded, that the enchantments 
 of beauty and magic united would prove irresist- 
 ible. He therefore disclosed to her his object. 
 He told her that every artifice was lawful, when 
 the intention was to serve one's country and one's 
 faith; and he conjured her to do her utmost to 
 separate Godfrey himself from his army, or in the 
 event of that not being possible, to bring away as 
 many as she could of his noblest captains. 
 
 Armida (for that was her name), proud of 
 her beauty, and of the unusual arts that she had 
 acquired, took her way the same evening, alone, 
 and by the most sequestered paths, — a female 
 in gown and tresses issuing forth to conquer an 
 army.i 
 
 She had not travelled many days ere she came 
 in sight of the Christian camp, the outskirts of 
 which she entered immediately. The Frenchmen 
 all flocked to see her, wondering who she was, and 
 
 ' " La bella Armida, di sua forma altiera, 
 E de' doni del sesso e de 1' etate, 
 L' impresa prende : e in su la prima sera 
 
 Parte, e tiene sol vie chiuse e celate : 
 E 'n treccia e 'n gonna femminile spera 
 Vincer popoli invitJti e schiere armate." 
 
 Canto iv. st. 27. 
 
424 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 who could have sent them so lovely a messenger. 
 Armida passed onwards, not with a misgiving air, 
 not with an unalluring, and yet not with an immo- 
 dest one. Her golden tresses she suffered at one 
 moment to escape from under her veil, and at ano- 
 ther she gathered them again within it. Her rosy 
 mouth breathed simplicity as well as voluptuous- 
 ness. Her bosom was so artfully draped, as to 
 let itself be discerned without seeming to intend 
 it. And thus she passed along, surprising and 
 transporting every body. Coming at length among 
 the tents of the officers, she requested to be shewn 
 that of the leader; and Eustace eagerly stepped 
 forward to conduct her. 
 
 Eustace was the younger brother of Godfrey. 
 He had all the ardour of his time of life, and the 
 gallantry, in every respect, of a Frenchman. After 
 paying her a profusion of compliments, and learn- 
 ing that she was a fugitive in distress, he promised 
 her every thing which his brother's authority and 
 his own sword could do for her ; and so led her 
 into Godfrey's presence. 
 
 The pretended fugitive made a lowly obeisance, 
 and then stood mute and blushing, till the general 
 re-assured her. She then told him, that she was 
 the rightful queen of Damascus, whose throne was 
 usurped by an uncle ; that her uncle sought her 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 425 
 
 death, from which she had been saved by the man 
 who was bribed to inflict it ; and that although 
 her creed was Mahometan, she had brought her 
 mind to conclude, that so noble an enemy as God- 
 frey would take pity on her condition, and permit 
 some of his captains to aid the secret wishes of 
 her people, and seat her on the throne. Ten se- 
 lected chiefs would overcome, she said, all oppo- 
 sition ; and she promised in return to become his 
 grateful and faithful vassal. 
 
 The leader of the Christian army sat a while in 
 deliberation. His heart was inclined to befriend 
 the lady, but his prudence was afraid of a Pagan 
 artifice. He thought also that it did not become 
 his piety to turn aside from the enterprise which 
 God had favoured. He therefore gave her a gen- 
 tle refusal ; but added, that should success attend 
 him, and Jerusalem be taken, he would instantly 
 do what she required. 
 
 Armida looked down, and wept. A mixture 
 of indignation and despair appeared to seize her ; 
 and exclaiming that she had no longer a wish to 
 live, she accused, she said, not a heart so renowned 
 for generosity as his, but Heaven itself which had 
 steeled it against her. What was she to do ? She 
 could not remain in his camp. Virgin modesty 
 forbade that. She was not safe out of its bounds. 
 
426 KINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 Her enemies tracked her steps. It was fit that 
 she should die by her own hand. 
 
 An indignant pity took possession of the French 
 officers. They wondered how Godfrey could re- 
 sist the prayers of a creature so beautiful; and 
 Eustace openly, though respectfully, remonstrated. 
 He said, that if ten of the best of his captains 
 could not be spared, ten others might; that it 
 especially became the Christians to redress the 
 wrongs of the innocent ; that the death of a 
 tyrant, instead of being a deviation from the ser- 
 vice of God, was one of the directest means of 
 performing it ; and that France would never en- 
 dure to hear, that a lady had applied to her knights 
 for assistance, and found her suit refused. 
 
 A murmur of approbation followed the words 
 of Eustace. His companions pressed nearer to the 
 general, and warmly urged his request. 
 
 Godfrey assented to a wish expressed by so 
 many, but not with perfect goodwill. He bade 
 them remember, that the measure was the result 
 of their own opinion, not his ; and concluded by 
 requesting them at all events, for his sake, to mo- 
 derate the excess of their confidence. The trans- 
 ported warriors had scarcely any answer to make 
 but that of congratulations to the lady. She, on 
 her side, while mischief was rejoicing in her heart, 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 427 
 
 first expressed her gratitude to all in words inter- 
 mixed with smiles and tears, and then carried her- 
 self towards every one in particular in the manner 
 which she thought most fitted to ensnare. She 
 behaved to this person with cordiality, to that with 
 comparative reserve ; to one with phrases only, to 
 another with looks besides, and intimations of se- 
 cret preference. The ardour of some she repressed, 
 but still in a manner to rekindle it. To others 
 she was all gaiety and attraction ; and when others 
 again had their eyes upon her, she would fall into 
 fits of absence, and shed tears, as if in secret, and 
 then look up suddenly and laugh, and put on a 
 cheerful patience. And thus she drew them all 
 into her net. 
 
 Yet none of all these men confessed that pas- 
 sion impelled them ; every body laid his enthusiasm 
 to the account of honour — Eustace particularly, 
 because he was most in love. He was also very 
 jealous, especially of the heroical Rinaldo, Prince 
 of Este ; and as the squadron of horse to which 
 they both belonged — the greatest in the army — 
 had lately been deprived of its chief, Eustace cast 
 in his mind how he might keep Rinaldo from going 
 with Armida, and at the same time secure his own 
 attendance on her, by advancing him to the vacant 
 post. He ofifered bis services to Rinaldo for the 
 
428 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 purpose, not without such emotion as let the hero 
 into his secret ; but as the latter had no desire to 
 wait on the lady, he smilingly assented, agreeing 
 at the same time to assist the wishes of the lover. 
 The emissaries of Satan, however, were at work 
 in all quarters. If Eustace was jealous of Rinaldo 
 as a rival in love, Gernando, Prince of Norway, 
 another of the squadron that had lost its chief, was 
 no less so of his gallantry in war, and of his quali- 
 fications for being his commander. Gernando was 
 a haughty barbarian, who thought that every sort 
 of pre-eminence was confined to princes of blood 
 royal. He heard of the proposal of Eustace with 
 a disgust that broke into the unworthiest expres- 
 sions. He even vented it in public, in the open 
 part of the camp, when Rinaldo was standing at 
 no great distance ; and the words coming to the 
 hero's ears, and breaking down the tranquillity of 
 his contempt, the latter darted towards him, sword 
 in hand, and defied him to single combat. Ger- 
 nando beheld death before him, but made a show 
 of valour, and stood on his defence. A thousand 
 swords leaped forth to back him, mixed with as 
 many voices ; and half the camp of Godfrey tried 
 to withhold the impetuous youth who was for 
 deciding his quarrel without the general's leave. 
 But the hero's transport was not to be stopped ; 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA, 429 
 
 he dashed through them all, forced the Norwegian 
 to encounter him, and after a storm of blows that 
 dazzled the man's eyes and took away his senses, 
 ran his sword thrice through the prince's body. 
 He then sent the blade into its sheath reeking as 
 it was, and, taking his way back to his tent, re- 
 posed in the calmness of his triumph. 
 
 The victor had scarcely gone, when the gene- 
 ral arrived on the ground. He beheld the slain 
 Prince of Norway with acute feelings of regret. 
 What was to become of his army, if the leaders 
 thus quarrelled among themselves, and his autho- 
 rity was set at nought ? The friends of the slain 
 man increased his anger against Rinaldo, by charg- 
 ing him with all the blame of the catastrophe. Tlie 
 hero's friend, Tancred, assuaged it somewhat by 
 disclosing the truth, and then ventured to ask par- 
 don for the outbreak. But the wise commander 
 shewed so many reasons why such an offence could 
 not be overlooked, and his countenance expressed 
 such a determination to resent it, that the gallant 
 youth hastened secretly to his friend, and urged 
 him to quit the camp till his services should be 
 needed. Rinaldo at first called for his arms, and 
 was bent on resisting every body who came to seize 
 him, had it been even Godfrey himself ; but Tan- 
 cred shewing him how unjust that would be, and 
 
430 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 how fatal to the Christian cause, he consented 
 with an ill grace to depart. He would take 
 nobody with him but two squires ; and he went 
 away raging with a sense of ill requital for his 
 achievements, but resolving to prove their value 
 by destroying every infidel prince that he could 
 encounter. 
 
 Armida now tried in vain to make an impression 
 on the heart of Godfrey. He was insensible to 
 all her devices ; but she succeeded in quitting the 
 camp with her ten champions. Lots were drawn 
 to determine who should go ; and all who failed 
 to be in the list — Eustace among them — were 
 so jealous of the rest, that at night-time, after the 
 others had been long on the road, they set out to 
 overtake them, each by himself, and all in viola- 
 tion of their soldierly words. The ten opposed 
 them as they came up, but to no purpose. Ar- 
 mida reconciled them all in appearance, by feign- 
 ing to be devoted to each in secret ; and thus she 
 rode on with them many a mile, till she came to 
 a castle on the Dead Sea, where she was accus- 
 tomed to practise her unfriendliest arts. 
 
 Meanwhile news came to Godfrey that his 
 Egyptian enemies were at hand with a great fleet, 
 and that his caravan of provisions had been taken 
 by the robbers of the desert. His army was thus 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 431 
 
 threatened with ruin from desertion, starvation, 
 and the sword. He maintained a calm and even 
 a cheerful countenance ; but in his thoughts he 
 had great anxiety. 
 
ARMIDA'S HATE AND LOVE. 
 
 The castle to which Armida took her prisoners 
 occupied an island close to the shore in the loath- 
 some Dead Sea. They entered it by means of a 
 narrow bridge ; but if their pity had been great 
 at seeing her forced to take refuge in a spot so de- 
 solate and repulsive, how pleasingly was it changed 
 into as great a surprise at finding a totally different 
 region within the walls ! The gardens were ex- 
 tensive and lovely ; the rivulets and fountains as 
 sweet as the flowery thickets they watered ; the 
 breezes refreshing, the skies of a sapphire blue, 
 and the birds were singing round about them in 
 the trees. Her riches astonished them no less. 
 The side of the castle that looked on the gardens 
 was all marble and gold ; a banquet awaited them 
 beside a water on a shady lawn, consisting of the 
 exquisitest viands on the costliest plate ; and a 
 hundred beautiful maidens attended them while 
 they feasted. The enchantress was all smiles and 
 delight ; and such was her art, that although she 
 bestowed no favour on any body beyond his ban- 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 433 
 
 quet and his hopes, every body thought himself 
 the favoured lover. 
 
 But no sooner was the feast over, than the 
 greatest and worst of their astonishments ensued. 
 The lady quitted them, saying she should return 
 presently. She did so with a troubled and un- 
 friendly countenance, having a book in one hand, 
 and a little wand in the other. She read in the 
 book in a low voice, and while she was reading 
 shook the little wand ; and the guests, altering in 
 every part of their being, and shrinking into mi- 
 nute bodies, felt an inclination, which they obeyed, 
 to plunge into the water beside them. They were 
 j&sh. In a little while they were again men, looking 
 her in the face with dread and amazement. She 
 had restored them to their humanity. She re- 
 garded them with a severe countenance, and said : 
 " You have tasted my power ; I can exercise it 
 far more terribly — can put you in dungeons for 
 ever — can turn you to roots in the ground — to 
 flints within the rock. Beware of my wrath, and 
 please me ; quit your faiths for mine, and fight 
 against the blasphemer Godfrey." 
 
 Every Christian but one rejected her alterna- 
 tive with abhorrence. Him she made one of her 
 champions ; the rest were tied and bound, and after 
 being kept a while in a dungeon were sent off* as a 
 
 VOL. II. V 
 
434 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 present to the King of Egypt, with an escort that 
 came from Damascus to fetch them. 
 
 Exulting was left the fair and bigoted magi- 
 cian ; but she little guessed what a new fortune 
 awaited them on the road. The discord with which 
 the powers of evil had seconded her endeavours 
 to weaken the Christian camp, had turned in this 
 instance against herself. It had made Rinaldo a 
 wanderer ; it had brought his wanderings into this 
 very path ; and he now met the prisoners, and bade 
 defiance to the escort. A battle ensued, in which 
 the hero won his accustomed victory. The Chris- 
 tians, receiving the armour of their foes, joyfully 
 took their way back to the camp ; and one of the 
 escort, who escaped the slaughter, returned to Ar- 
 mida with news of the deliverance of her captives. 
 
 The mortified enchantress took horse and went 
 in pursuit of Rinaldo, with wrath and vengeance 
 in her heart. She tracked him from place to place, 
 till she knew he must arrive on the banks of the 
 Orontes ; and there, making a stealthy circuit, she 
 cast a spell, and lay in wait for him in a little 
 island which divided the stream in two.^ 
 
 ' "That sweet grove 
 
 Of Daphne by Orontes." Parad. Lost, b. iv. 
 
 It was famous for the most luxurious worship of antiquity. Vide 
 Gibbon, vol. iii. p. 198. 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 435 
 
 Rinaldo came up with his squires ; he beheld 
 on the bank a pillar of white marble, and beside 
 it on the water a little boat. The pillar presented 
 an inscription, inviting travellers to cross to the 
 island and behold a wonder of the world. The 
 hero accepted the invitation ; but as the boat was 
 too small to hold more than one person, and the 
 circumstance probably an appeal to his courage, 
 he bade his squires wait for him, and proceeded 
 by himself. 
 
 On reaching the island and casting his eyes 
 eagerly round about, the adventurer could discern 
 nothing but trees and grottos, flowers and grass, 
 and water. He thought himself trifled with ; but 
 as the spot was beautiful and refreshing, he took 
 off" his helmet, resolving to stay a little and repose. 
 He crossed to the farther side of the island, and 
 lay down on the river-side. On a sudden he ob- 
 served the water bubble and gurgle in a manner 
 that was very strange ; and presently the top of a 
 head arose with beautiful hair, then the face of a 
 damsel, then the bosom. The fair creature stood 
 half out of the stream, and warbled a song so luxu- 
 rious and so lulling, that the little wind there was 
 seemed to fall in order to listen ; and the young 
 warrior was so drowsed with the sweetness, that 
 languor crept through all his senses, and he slept. 
 
436 * RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 Armida came from out a thicket and looked 
 on him. She had resolved that he should perish. 
 
 But when she saw how placidly he breathed, 
 and what an intimation of beautiful eyes there 
 was in his very eyelids, she hung over him, still 
 looking. 
 
 In a little while she sat down by his side, al- 
 ways looking. She hung over him as Narcissus 
 did over the water, and indignation melted out of 
 her heart. She cooled his face with her veil ; she 
 made a fan of it ; she gave herself up to the wor- 
 ship of those hidden eyes. Of an enemy she be- 
 came a lover. 1 
 
 Armida gathered trails of roses and lilies from 
 the thickets around her, and cast a spell on them, 
 and made bands with which she fettered his sleep- 
 ing limbs; and then she called her nymphs, and 
 they put him into her car, and she went away with 
 him through the air far off, even to one of the 
 Fortunate Islands in the great ocean, where her 
 jealousy, assisted by her art, would be in dread of 
 no visitors, no discovery. She bore him to the 
 top of a mountain, and cast a spell about the moun- 
 tain, to make the top lovely and the sides inacces- 
 
 * I omit a point about " fires" of love, and ** ices" of the 
 heart ; and I will here observe, once for all, that T omit many such 
 in these versions of Tasso, for the reason given in the Preface. 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 437 
 
 sible. She put shapes of wild beasts and monsters 
 in the woods of the lowest region, and heaps of 
 ice in the second, and alluring and betraying shapes 
 and enchantments towards the summit ; and round 
 the summit she put walls and labyrinths of inex- 
 tricable error ; and in the heart of these was a 
 palace by a lake, and the loveliest of gardens. 
 
 Here Rinaldo was awaked by love and beauty; 
 and here for the present he is left. 
 
THE TERRORS OF THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 
 
 Meantime the siege of the Holy City had gone 
 on, with various success on either side, but chiefly 
 to the loss of the Christians. The machinations 
 of Satan were prevailing. Rinaldo, in his absence, 
 was thought to have been slain by the contrivance 
 of Godfrey, which nearly produced a revolt of the 
 forces. Godfrey was himself wounded in battle 
 by Clorinda : and now the great wooden tower was 
 burnt, and Clorinda slain in consequence (as you 
 have heard in another place), which oppressed the 
 courage of Tancred with melancholy. 
 
 On the other hand, the Powers of Evil were 
 far from being as prosperous as they wished. 
 They had lost the soul of Clorinda. They had 
 seen Godfrey healed by a secret messenger from 
 Heaven, who dropt celestial balsam into his wound. 
 They had seen the return of Armida's prisoners, 
 who had arrived just in time to change the for- 
 tune of a battle, and drive the Pagans back 
 within their walls. And worse than all, they had 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 439 
 
 again felt the arm of St. Michael, who had threat- 
 ened them with worse consequences if they re- 
 appeared in the contest. 
 
 The fiends, however, had colleagues on earth, 
 who plotted for them meanwhile. The Christians 
 had set about making another tower; but in this 
 proceeding they were thwarted by the enchanter 
 Ismeno, who cast his spells to better purpose this 
 time than he had done in the affair of the stolen 
 image. The forest in which the Christians ob- 
 tained wood for these engines lay in a solitary 
 valley, not far from the camp. It was very old, 
 dark, and intricate ; and had already an evil fame 
 as the haunt of impure spirits. No shepherd ever 
 took his flock there ; no Pagan would cut a bough 
 from it ; no traveller approached it, unless he had 
 lost his way : he made a large circuit to avoid it, 
 and pointed it out anxiously to his companions. 
 
 The necessity of the Christians compelled them 
 to defy this evil repute of the forest ; and Ismeno 
 hastened to oppose them. He drew his line, and 
 uttered his incantations, and called on the spirits 
 whom St. Michael had rebuked, bidding them 
 come and take charge of the forest — every one 
 of his tree, as a soul of its body. The spirits 
 delayed at first, not only for dread of the great 
 angel, but because they resented the biddings of 
 
440 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 mortality, even in their own cause. The magi- 
 cian, however, persisted ; and his spells becoming 
 too powerful to be withstood, presently they came 
 pouring in by myriads, occupying the whole place, 
 and rendering the very approach to it a task of 
 fear and labour. The first party of men that came 
 to cut wood were unable to advance when they 
 beheld the trees, but turned like children, and 
 became the mockery of the camp. Godfrey sent 
 them back, with a chosen squadron to animate 
 them to the work; but the squadron themselves, 
 however boldly they affected to proceed, had no 
 sooner approached the spot, than they found rea- 
 son to forgive the fears of the woodcutters. The 
 earth shook ; a great wind began rising, with a 
 sound of waters ; and presently, every dreadful 
 noise ever heard by man seemed mingled into one, 
 and advancing to meet them — roarings of lions, 
 hissings of serpents, pealings and rolls of thunder. 
 The squadron went back to Godfrey, and plainly 
 confessed that it had not courage enough to enter 
 such a place. 
 
 A leader, of the name of Alcasto, shook his 
 head at this candour with a contemptuous smile. 
 He was a man of the stupider sort of courage, with- 
 out mind enough to conceive danger. " Pretty sol- 
 diers," exclaimed he, " to be afraid of noises and 
 
RINILDO AND ARMIDA. 441 
 
 sights ! Give the duty to me. Nothing shall stop 
 Alcasto, though the place be the mouth of hell." 
 
 Alcasto went ; and he went farther than the 
 rest, and the trembling woodcutters once more 
 prepared their axes ; but, on a sudden, there 
 sprang up between them and the trees a wall of 
 fire which girded the whole forest. 'It had glow- 
 ing battlements and towers ; and on these there 
 appeared armed spirits, with the strangest and 
 most bewildering aspects. Alcasto retired — slowly 
 indeed, but with shame and terror ; nor had he 
 the courage to re-appear before his commander. 
 Godfrey had him brought, but could hardly get 
 a word from his lips. The man talked like one 
 in a dream. 
 
 At last Tancred went. He would have gone 
 before ; but he had neither thought the task so 
 difficult, nor did he care for any thing that was 
 going forward. His mind was occupied with the 
 dead Clorinda. He had now work that aroused 
 him ; and he set out in good earnest for the forest, 
 not unmoved in his imagination, but resolved to 
 defy all appearances. 
 
 Arrived at the wall of fire, Tancred halted a 
 moment, and looked up at the visages on its bat- 
 tlements, not without alarm. Many reflections 
 passed swiftly through his mind, some urging him 
 v2 
 
442 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 forward, others withholding ; but he concluded 
 with stepping right through the fire. It did not 
 resist him : he did not feel it. 
 
 The fire vanished ; and, in its stead, there 
 poured down a storm of hail and rain, black as 
 midnight. This vanished also. 
 
 Tancred ^tood amazed for an instant, and then 
 passed on. He was soon in the thick of the wood, 
 and for some time made his way with difficulty. 
 On a sudden, he issued forth into a large open 
 glade, like an amphitheatre, in which there was 
 nothing but a cypress-tree that stood in the mid- 
 dle. The cypress was marked with hieroglyphical 
 characters, mixed with some words in the Syrian 
 tongue which he could read ; and these words re- 
 quested the stranger to spare the fated place, nor 
 trouble the departed souls who were there shut up 
 in the trees. Meantime the wind was constantly 
 moaning around it ; and in the moaning was a 
 sound of human sighs and tears. 
 
 Tancred's heart, for a moment, was overcome 
 with awe and pity; but recollecting himself, and 
 resolving to make amends for his credulity, he 
 smote with all his might at the cypress. The 
 blow, wonderful to see, produced an effusion of 
 blood, which dyed the grass about the root. Tan- 
 cred's hair stood on end. He smote, however, 
 
RINALDO AXD ARMIDA. 443 
 
 again, with double violence, resolving to see the 
 end of the marvel ; and then he heard a woful 
 voice issuing as from a tomb. 
 
 " Hast thou not hurt me," it said, " Tancred, 
 enough already ? Hast thou slain the human 
 body which I once joyfully inhabited ; and now 
 must thou cut and rend me, even in this wretched 
 enclosure ? My name was Clorinda. Every tree 
 which thou beholdest is the habitation of some 
 Christian or Pagan soul ; for all come hither that 
 are slain beneath the walls of the city, compelled 
 by I know not what power, or for what reason. 
 Every bough in the forest is alive ; and when thou 
 cuttest down a tree, thou slayest a soul." 
 
 As a sick man in a dream thinks, and yet 
 thinks not, that he sees some dreadful monster, 
 and, notwithstanding his doubt, wishes to fly from 
 the horrible perplexity ; so the trembling lover, 
 though suspecting what he beheld, had so frightful 
 an image before his thoughts of Clorinda weeping 
 and wailing after death, and bleeding in her very 
 soul, that he had not the heart to do more, or to 
 remain in the place. He returned in bewildered 
 sorrow to Godfrey, and told him all. " It is not 
 in my power," he said, " to touch another bough 
 of that forest."! 
 
 1 In the original, an impetuous gust of wind carries away the 
 
444 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 The astonished leader of the Christians now 
 made up his mind to go himself; and so, with 
 prayer and valour united, bring this appalling 
 adventure to some conclusion. But the hermit 
 Peter dissuaded him. The holy man, in an ec- 
 stacy of foreknowledge, beheld the coming of the 
 only champion fated to conclude it ; and Godfrey 
 himself the same night had a vision from heaven, 
 biddhig him grant the petition of those who should 
 sue him next day for the recall of Rinaldo from 
 exile — Rinaldo, the right hand of the army, as 
 Godfrey was its head. 
 
 The petition was made as soon as daylight 
 appeared ; and two knights, Carlo and Ubaldo, 
 were despatched in search of the fated hero. 
 
 sword of Tancred ; a circumstance which I mention because Collins 
 admired it (see his Ode on the Superstitions of the Highlands). 
 I confess I cannot do so. It seems to me quite superfluous ; and 
 when the reader finds the sword conveniently lying for the hero 
 outside the wood, as he returns, the effect is childish and panto- 
 mimic. If the magician wished him not to fight any more, why 
 should he give him the sword back ? And if it was meant as a 
 present to him from Clorinda, what gave her the power to make 
 the present ? Tasso retained both the particulars in the Geru- 
 salemme Conquistata. 
 
THE LOVES OF RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 The knights, with information procured on the 
 road from a good wizard, struck off for the sea- 
 coast, and embarking in a pinnace which miracu- 
 lously awaited them, sailed along the shores of the 
 Mediterranean for the retreat of Armida. They 
 saw the Egyptian army assembled at Gaza, but 
 hoped to return with Rinaldo before it could 
 effect anything at Jerusalem. They passed the 
 mouths of the Nile, and Alexandria, and Cyrene, 
 and Ptolemais, and the cities of the Moors, and 
 the dangers of the Greater and Lesser Whirlpools, 
 and their pilot shewed them the spot where Car- 
 thage stood, — Carthage, now a dead city, whose 
 grave is scarcely discernible. For cities die ; king- 
 doms die ; — a little sand and grass covers all that 
 was once lofty in them and glorious. And yet 
 man, forsooth, disdains that he is mortal! Oh, 
 mind of ours, inordinate and proud \^ 
 
 ^ " Giace 1' alta Cartago : appena i segni 
 De r alte sue ruine il lido serba. 
 
446 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 After looking towards the site of Carthage, 
 they passed Algiers, and Oran, and Tingitana, 
 and beheld the opposite coast of Spain, and then 
 they cleared the narrow sea of Gibraltar, and 
 
 Muoiono le citta : muoiono i regni : 
 
 Copre i fasti e le pompe arena ed erba : 
 E r uom d' esser mortal par che si sdegni. 
 
 Oh nostra mente cupida e superba !" 
 
 Canto XV. st. 20. 
 
 Great Carthage is laid low. Scarcely can eye 
 
 Trace where she stood with all her mighty crowd : 
 
 For cities die ; kingdoms and nations die ; 
 A little sand and grass is all their shroud ; 
 
 Yet mortal man disdains mortality ! 
 O mind of ours, inordinate and proud 1 
 
 Very fine is this stanza of Tasso ; and yet, like some of the finest 
 writing of Gray, it is scarcely more than a cento. The commen- 
 tators call it a " beautiful imitation" of a passage in Sannazzaro ; 
 and it is ; but the passage in Sannazzaro is also beautiful. It 
 contains not only the " Giace Cartago," and the *' appena i 
 segni," &c., but the contrast of the pride with the mortality of 
 man, and, above all, the " dying" of the cities, which is the finest 
 thing in the stanza of its imitator. 
 
 " Qua devictse Carthaginis arces 
 Procubuere, jacentque infausto in littore turres 
 Eversse ; quantum ille metus, quantum ilia laborum 
 Urbs dedit insultans Latio et Laurentibus arvis I 
 Nunc passim vix reliquias, vix nomina servans, 
 Obruitur propriis non agnoscenda ruinis. 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 447 
 
 came out into the immeasurable ocean, leaving all 
 sight of land behind them ; and so speeding ever 
 onward in the billows, they beheld at last a clus- 
 ter of mountainous and beautiful islands ; the 
 larger ones inhabited bj^ a simple people, the 
 smaller quite wild and desolate. So at least they 
 
 Et querimur genus infelix, humana labare 
 
 Membra sevo, cum regna palam moriantur et urbes." 
 
 De Pariu Virginis, lib. ii. 
 
 The commentators trace the conclusion of this passage to Dante, 
 where he says that it is no wonder families perish, when cities 
 themselves " have their terminations" (terrain hanno) : but thoxigh 
 there is a like germ of thought in Dante, the mournful flower of 
 it, the word ** death," is not there. It was evidently suggested by a 
 passage (also pointed out by the commentators) in the consolatory 
 letter of Sulpicius to Cicero, on the death of his daughter Tullia ; 
 — " Heu nos homunculi indignamur, si quis nostrum interiit, aut 
 occisus est, quorum vita brevior esse debet, cum uno loco tot 
 oppidorum cadavera projecta jaceant." (Alas ! we poor human 
 creatures are indignant if any one of us dies or is slain, frail as are 
 the materials of which we are constituted ; and yet we can see, 
 lying together in one place, the dead bodies of I know not how 
 many cities !) The music of Tasso's line was indebted to one in 
 Petrarch's Trionfo del Tempo, v. 112 : 
 
 " Passan le signorie, passano i regni ;" 
 
 and the fine concluding verse, ** Oh nostra mente," to another 
 perhaps in his Trionfo della Divinita, v. 61, not without a recol- 
 lection of Lucretius, lib. ii. v. 14 : 
 
 ** O miseras hominum menteis ! o pectora cseca!" 
 
448 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 appeared. But in one of these smaller islands 
 was the mountain, on the top of which, in the 
 indulgence of every lawless pleasure, lay the 
 champion of the Christian faith. This the pilot 
 shewed to the two knights, and then steered the 
 pinnace into its hay; and here, after a voyage of 
 four days and nights, it dropped its sails without 
 need of anchor, so mild and sheltered was the 
 port, with natural moles curving towards the en- 
 trance, and evergreen woods overhead. 
 
 It was evening, wdth a beautiful sunset. The 
 knights took leave of the pilot, and setting out 
 instantly on their journey, well furnished with all 
 advices how to proceed, slept that night at the 
 foot of the mountain ; for they were not to begin 
 to scale it till sunrise. With the first beams of 
 the sun they arose and ascended. They had not 
 climbed far, when a serpent rushed out upon the 
 path, entirely stopping it, but fled at the sound 
 of a slender rod, which Ubaldo whisked as he 
 advanced. A lion, for all his cavernous jaws, did 
 the same ; nor was greater resistance made by a 
 whole herd of monsters. They now mounted with 
 great labour the region of ice and snow ; but, 
 at the top of it, emerged from winter-time into 
 summer. The air was full of sweet odours, yet 
 fresh ; they sauntered (for they could not walk 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 449 
 
 fast) over a velvet sward, under trees, Ly the side 
 of a shady river ; and a bewitching pleasure began 
 to invite their senses. But they knesv the river, 
 and bore in mind their duty. It was called the 
 River of Laughter. ^ A little way on, increasing 
 in beauty as it w^ent, it formed a lucid pool in 
 a dell ; and by the side of this pool was a table 
 spread with every delicacy, and in the midst of it 
 two bathing damsels, talking and laughing. Some- 
 times they sprinkled one another, then dived, then 
 partly came up without shewing their faces, then 
 played a hundred tricks, pretending all the while 
 not to see the travellers. Then they became 
 quiet, and sunk gently ; and, as they reappeared, 
 one of them rose half into sight, sweetly as the 
 morning star w4ien it issues from the water, dewy 
 and dropping, or as Venus herself arose out of 
 the froth of the sea. Such looked this damsel, 
 and so did the crystal moisture go dropping from 
 her tresses. Then she turned her eyes towards 
 the travellers, and feigning to behold them for the 
 first time, shrunk within herself. She hastened 
 to undo the knot in which her tresses were tied 
 up, and shook them round about her, and down 
 
 1 A fountain which caused laughter that killed people is in 
 Pomponius Mela's account of the Fortunate Islands ; and was the 
 origin of that of Boiardo ; as I ought to have noticed in the place. 
 
450 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 they fell to the water thick and long, enclosing 
 that beautiful sight; and yet the enclosure itself 
 was not less beautiful. So, hid in the pool be- 
 low, and in her tresses above, she glanced at the 
 knights through her hair, with a blushing glad- 
 ness. She blushed and she laughed at the same 
 time ; and the blushing was more beautiful for the 
 laughter, and the laughter for -the blushing; and 
 then she said, in a voice which would alone have 
 conquered any other hearers, " You are very 
 happy to be allowed to come to this place. No- 
 thing but delight is here. Our queen must have 
 chosen you from a great number. But be pleased 
 first to rid you of the dust of your journey, and 
 to refresh yourselves at this table." 
 
 So spake the one ; and the other accompanied 
 her speech with accordant looks and gestures, as 
 the dance accompanies the music. 
 
 Nor was the allurement unfelt. 
 
 But the companions passed on, taking no no- 
 tice ; and the bathers went sullenly under the 
 water.^ 
 
 ' All this description of the females bathing is in the highest 
 taste of the voluptuous ; particularly the latter part : 
 
 " Qual mattutina stella esce de 1' onde 
 Rugiadosa e stillante : o come fuore 
 Sp unto nascendo gia da le feconde 
 Spume de V ocean la Dea d' Amore : 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 451 
 
 The knights passed through the gates of the 
 park of Armida, and entered a labyrinth made 
 with contrivance the most intricate. Here their 
 
 Tale apparve costei : tal le sue bionde 
 
 Chiome stillavan cristallino umore. 
 Poi giro gli occhi, e pur allor s' infinse 
 Que' duo vedere, e in se tutta si strinse : 
 
 E '1 crin che 'n cima al capo avea raccolto 
 In un sol nodo, immantinente soiolse ; 
 
 Che lunghissimo ia giu cadendo, e folto, 
 D' un aureo manto i molli avori involse. 
 
 Oh che vago spettacolo e lor tolto I 
 Ma mon men vago fu chi loro il tolse. 
 
 Cosi da 1' acque e da capeUi ascosa, 
 
 A lor si volse, lieta e vergognosa. 
 
 Rideva insieme, e insieme ella arrossia ; 
 
 Ed era nel rossor piii bello il riso, 
 E nel riso il rossor, che le copria 
 
 Insino al mento il delicato viso." 
 
 Canto XV. st. 60. 
 
 Spenser, among the other obligations which it delighted him to 
 owe to this part of Tasso's poem, has translated these last twelve 
 lines : 
 
 " With that the other likewise up arose, 
 And her fair locks, which formerly were bound 
 Up in one knot, she low adown did loose, 
 Which, flowing long and thick, her cloth'd around. 
 And th' ivory in golden mantle gown'd : 
 So that fair spectacle from him was reft ; 
 Yet that which reft it, no less fair was found. 
 
452 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 path would have been lost, but for a map traced 
 by one who knew the secret. By the help of this 
 they threaded it in safety, and issued upon a 
 garden beautiful beyond conception. Every thing 
 that could be desired in gardens was presented to 
 their eyes in one landscape, and yet without con- 
 tradiction or confusion, — flowers, fruits, water, 
 sunny hills, descending woods, retreats into corners 
 and grottos : and what put the last loveliness upon 
 
 So hid in locks and waves from looker's theft, 
 Nought but her lovely face she for his looking left. 
 
 Withal she laughed, and she blush'd withal ; 
 That blushing to her laughter gave more grace, 
 And laughter to her blushing." 
 
 Fairy Queen, book ii. canto 12, st. 67. 
 
 Tasso's translator, Fairfax, worthy both of his original and of 
 Spenser, has had the latter before him in his version of the passage, 
 not without a charming addition of his own at the close of the first 
 stanza : 
 
 " And her fair locks, that in a knot were tied 
 
 High on her crown, she 'gan at large unfold ; 
 Which falling long and thick, and spreading wide. 
 
 The ivory soft and white mantled in gold : 
 Thus her fair skin the dame would clothe and hide ; 
 
 And that which hid it, no less fair was hold. 
 Thus clad in waves and locks, her eyes divine 
 From them ashamed would she turn and twine. 
 
 Withal she smiled, and she blush'd withal ; 
 
 Her blush her smiling, smiles her blushing graced." 
 
EINALDO AND ARMIDA. 453 
 
 the scene was, that the art which did it all was 
 no where discernible. i You might have supposed 
 (so exquisitely was the wild and the cultivated 
 united) that all had somehow happened, not been 
 contrived. It seemed to be the art of Nature 
 herself; as though, in a fit of playfulness, she had 
 imitated her imitator. But the temperature of 
 the place, if nothing else, was plainly the work 
 of magic, for blossoms and fruit abounded at the 
 same time. The ripe and the budding fig grew on 
 the same bough ; green apples were clustered upon 
 those with red cheeks ; the vines in one place had 
 small leaves and hard little grapes, and in the next 
 
 1 " E quel che '1 bello e '1 caro accresce a 1' opre, 
 L' arte, che tutto fa, nulla si scopre. 
 
 Stimi (si misto il culto e col negletto) 
 
 Sol naturali e gli ornamenti e i siti. 
 Di natura arte pai-, che per diletto 
 
 L' imitatrice sua scherzando imiti." 
 
 The idea of Nature imitating Art, and playfully imitating her, 
 is in Ovid ; but that of a mixture of cultivation and wildness is, 
 as far as I am aware, Tasso's own. It gives him the honour of 
 having been the first to suggest the picturesque principle of mo- 
 dern gardening ; as I ought to have remembered, when assigning it 
 to Spenser in a late publication {Imagination and Fancy, p. 10^). 
 I should have noticed also, in the same work, the obligations of 
 Spenser to the Italian poet for the passage before quoted about the 
 nymph in the water. 
 
454 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 they laid forth their richest tapestry in the sun, 
 heavy with bunches full of wine. At one time you 
 listened to the warbling of birds ; and a minute 
 after, as if they had stopped on purpose, nothing 
 was heard but the whispering of winds and the 
 fall of waters. It seemed as if every thing in the 
 place contributed to the harmony and the sweet- 
 ness. The notes of the turtle-dove were deeper 
 here than any where else ; the hard oak, and the 
 chaste laurel, and the whole exuberant family of 
 trees, the earth, the water, every element of crea- 
 tion, seemed to have been compounded but for one 
 object, and to breathe forth the fulness of its bliss. ^ 
 
 ^ " Par che la dura querela e '1 casto alloro, 
 E tutta la frondosa ampia famiglia, 
 Par clie la terra e 1' acqua e form! e spiri 
 Dolcissimi d' amor sens! e sospiri." 
 
 St. 16. 
 
 Fairfax in this passage is very graceful and happy (in the first 
 part of his stanza he is speaking of a bird that sings with a human 
 voice — which I have omitted) : 
 
 " She ceased : and as approving all she spoke, 
 
 The choir of birds their heavenly tunes renew ; 
 
 The turtles sigh'd, and sighs with kisses broke ; 
 The fowls to shades unseen by pairs withdrew ; 
 
 It seem'd the laurel chaste and stubborn oak, 
 And all the gentle trees on earth that grew, 
 
 It seem'd the land, the sea, and heaven above, 
 
 All breathd out fancy sweet, and sigh'd out love." 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 455 
 
 The two messengers, hardening their souls 
 with all their might against the enchanting impres- 
 sion, moved forward silently among the trees ; till, 
 looking through the branches into a little opening 
 which formed a bower, they saw — or did they 
 but think they saw ? — no, they saw indeed the 
 hero and his Armida reclining on the grass. ^ Her 
 dress was careless, her hair loose in the summer- 
 wind. His head lay in her bosom; a smile trem- 
 bled on her lips and in her eyes, like a sunbeam 
 in water; and as she thus looked on him with 
 passionate love, he looked up at her, face to face, 
 and returned it with all his soul. 
 
 Now she kissed his lips, now his eyes ; and 
 then they looked again at one another with their 
 ever-hungry looks ; and then she kissed him again, 
 and he gave a sigh so deep you would have thought 
 his soul had gone out of him, and passed into hers. 
 The two warriors from their covert gazed on the 
 loving scene. 
 
 At the lover's side there hung a strange ac- 
 coutrement for a warrior, namely, a crystal mirror. 
 He rose a little on his elbow, and gave it into 
 Armida's hands : and in two different objects each 
 
 1 * ' Ecco tra fronde e f ronde il guardo avante 
 Penetra, e vede, o pargli di vedere, 
 Vede per certo," &c. St. 17. 
 
456 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 beheld but one emotion, she hers in the glass, and 
 he his own in her eyes. But he would not suffer 
 her to look long at any thing but himself; and 
 then they spake loving and adoring words ; and 
 after a while Armida bound up her hair, and put 
 some flowers into it, as jewels might be put upon 
 gold, and added a rose or two to the lilies of her 
 bosom, and adjusted her veil. And never did 
 peacock look so proudly beautiful when he dis- 
 plays the pomp of his eyed plumes ; nor was ever 
 the rainbow so sweetly coloured when it curves 
 forth its dewy bosom against the light. ^ But 
 lovely above all was the effect of a magic girdle 
 which the enchantress had made with her whole 
 art, and which she never laid aside day or night. 
 Spirit in it had taken substance; the subtlest 
 emotions of the soul a shape and palpability. 
 Tender disdains were in it, and repulses that at- 
 tracted, and levities that endeared, and content- 
 ments full of joy, and smiles, and little words, 
 and drops of delicious tears, and short-coming 
 
 ^ The line about the peacock, 
 
 *' Spiega la pompa de V occhiute piume," 
 Opens wide the pomp of his eyed plumes, 
 
 was such a favourite with Tasso, that he has repeated it from the 
 Aminta, and (I think) in some other place, but I cannot call it 
 to mind. 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 457 
 
 sighs, and soft kisses. All these she had mingled 
 together, and made one delight out of many, and 
 wound it about her heart, and wore it for a charm 
 irresistible^ 
 
 And now she kissed him once more, and beg- 
 ged leave of a little absence (for love is courteous 
 ever), and so went as usual to her books and her 
 magic arts. Rinaldo remained where he was, for 
 he had no power to wish himself out of the sweet 
 spot ; only he would stray a while among the trees, 
 and amuse himself with the birds and squirrels, 
 and so be a loving hermit till she returned. And 
 at night they retired under one roof, still in the 
 midst of the garden. 
 
 * ** Teneri sdegni, e placide e tranquille 
 Repulse, e cari vezzi, e liete paci, 
 Sorrisi, e parolette, e dolci stille 
 Di pianto, e sospir' tronchi, e molli baci." St. 5 
 
 This is the cestus in Homer, which Venus lends to Juno for the 
 
 purpose of enchanting Jupiter : 
 
 H, Kai airo (TTrjOeacpiv eAucraro K(:<ttov IjxavTa 
 TloiKiXov' cv6a Se ol deXKrrjpia iravra t^tvkto' 
 Ev^' kvi jxiv <piAoT7]s, eu S' l/xepos, er S' oapicrvs, 
 Tlap(paais, r] t' ewAei/ze voov irvKa Trep (ppoviovroov. 
 
 Iliad, lib. xiv. 214- 
 
 She said ; and from her balmy bosom loosed 
 The girdle that contained all temptingne?s — 
 Love, and desire, and sweet and secret talk 
 Lavish, which robs the wisest of their wits. 
 VOL. II. X 
 
458 
 
 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 But no sooner had Armida gone, than the two 
 warriors issued from their hiding-place, and stood 
 before the lover, glittering in their noble arms. 
 
 As a war-horse, that has been taken from the 
 wars, and become the luxurious husband of the 
 stud, wanders among the drove in the meadows 
 in vile enjoyment; should by chance a trumpet 
 be heard in the place, or a dazzling battle-axe 
 become visible, he turns towards it on the instant, 
 and neighs, and longs to be in the lists, and ve- 
 hemently desires the rider on his back who is to 
 dash and be dashed at in the encounter; — even 
 so turned the young hero when the light of the 
 armour flashed upon him, even so longed for the 
 war, even so shook himself up out of his bed of 
 pleasure, with all his great qualities awaked and 
 eager. 
 
 Ubaldo saw the movement in his heart, and 
 held right in his face the shield of adamant, which 
 had been brought for the purpose. It was a 
 mirror that shewed to the eyes of every one who 
 looked into it the very man as he was. 
 
 But when Rinaldo beheld himself indeed, — 
 when he read his transformation, not in the flat- 
 tering glass of the enchantress, but by the light 
 of this true, and simple, and severe reflector, — 
 his hair tricked out with flowers and unguents. 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 459 
 
 his soft mantle of exquisites t dye, and his very 
 sword rendered undistinguishable for what it was 
 by a garland, — shame and remorse fell upon him. 
 He felt indeed like a dreamer come to himself. 
 He looked down. He could not speak. He wished 
 to hide himself in the bottom of the sea. 
 
 Ubaldo raised his voice and spoke. " All 
 Europe and Asia," said he, *^ are in arms. Who- 
 ever desires fame, or is a worshipper of his Sa- 
 viour, is a fighter in the land of Syria. Thou 
 only, O son of Bertoldo, remainest out of the high 
 way of renown — in luxury — in a little corner; 
 thou only, unmoved with the movement of the 
 world, the champion of a girl. What dream, what 
 lethargy can have drowned a valour like thine ? 
 What vileness have had attraction for thee ? Up, 
 up, and with us. The camp, the commander him- 
 self calls for thee ; fortune and victory await thee. 
 Come, fated warrior, and finish thy work ; see the 
 false creed which thou hast shaken, laid low be- 
 neath thy inevitable sword." 
 
 On hearing these words the noble youth re- 
 mained for a time without speaking, without mov- 
 ing. At length shame gave way to a passionate 
 sense of his duty. With a new fire in his cheeks, 
 he tore away the effeminate ornaments of his 
 servitude, and quitted the spot without a word. 
 
460 
 
 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 In a few moments he had threaded the labyrinth : 
 he was outside the gate. Ere long he was de- 
 scending the mountain. 
 
 But meantime Armida had received news of 
 the two visitors ; and coming to look for them, 
 and casting her eyes down the steep, she beheld 
 — with his face, alas, turned no longer towards 
 her own — the hasty steps of her hero between his 
 companions. She wished to cry aloud, but was 
 unable. She misfht have resorted to some of her 
 magic devices, but her heart forbade her. She 
 ran, however — for what cared she for dignity ? — 
 she ran down the mountain, hoping still by her 
 beauty and her tears to arrest the fugitive; but 
 his feet were too strong, even for love : she did 
 not reach him till he had arrived on the sea-shore. 
 Where was her pride now? where the scorn she 
 had exhibited to so many suitors ? where her co- 
 quetry and her self-sufficiency — her love of being 
 loved, with the power to hate the lover? The 
 enchantress was now taught what the passion was, 
 in all its depair as well as delight. She cried 
 aloud. She cared not for the presence of the 
 messengers. " Oh, go not, Rinaldo," she cried ; 
 " go not, or take me with thee. My heart is torn 
 to pieces. Take me, or turn and kill me. Stop, 
 at least, and be cruel to me here. If thou hast 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 461 
 
 the heart to fly me, it will not be hard to thee to 
 stay and be unkind." 
 
 Even the messengers were moved at this, or 
 seemed to be moved. Ubaldo told the fugitive that 
 it would be heroical in him to wait and hear what 
 the lady had to say, with gentleness and firmness. 
 His conquest over himself would then be complete. 
 
 Rinaldo stopped, and Armida came up breath- 
 less and in tears — lovelier than ever. She looked 
 earnestly at him at first, without a word. He 
 gave her but a glance, and looked aside. 
 
 As a fine singer, before he lets loose his tongue 
 in the lofty utterance of his emotion, prepares the 
 minds of his hearers with some sweet prelude, 
 exquisitely modulating in a lower tone, — so the 
 enchantress, whose anguish had not deprived her 
 of all sense of her art, breathed a few sighs to dis- 
 pose the soul of her idol to listen, and then said : 
 " I do not beg thee to hear me as one that loves 
 me. We both loved once ; but that is over. I 
 beg thee to hear, even though as one that loves 
 me not. It will cost thy disdain nothing to grant 
 me that. Perhaps thou hast discovered a pleasure 
 in hating me. Do so. I come not to deprive thee 
 of it. If it seem just to thee, just let it be. I too 
 once hated. I hated the Christians — hated even 
 thyself. I thought it right to do so : I was bred 
 
462 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 up to think it. I pursued thee to do thee mischief ; 
 I overtook thee ; I bore thee away ; and worse 
 than all — for now perhaps thou loathest me for 
 it — I loved thee. I loved thee, for the first time 
 that I loved any one ; nay, I made thee love me in 
 turn ; and, alas, I gave myself into thine arms. 
 It was wrong. I was foolish ; I was wicked. I 
 grant that I have deserved thou shouldst think ill 
 of me, that thou shouldst punish me, and quit me, 
 and hate to have any remembrance of this place 
 which I had filled with delights. Go ; pass over 
 the seas ; make war against my friends and my 
 country ; destroy us all, and the religion we believe 
 in. Alas \ ' we' do 1 say ? The religion is mine no 
 longer — O thou, the cruel idol of my soul. Oh, 
 let me go with thee, if it be but as thy servant, 
 thy slave. Let the conqueror take with him his 
 captive ; let her be mocked ; let her be pointed 
 at ; only let her be with thee. I will cut ofi" these 
 tresses, which no longer please thee : I will clothe 
 myself in other attire, and go with thee into the 
 battle. I have courage and strength enough to 
 bear thy lance, to lead thy spare-horse, to be, 
 above all, thy shield-bearer — thy shield. Nothing 
 shall touch thee but through me — through this 
 bosom, Rinaldo. Perhaps mischance may spare 
 thee for its sake. Not a word ? not a little word ? 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 463 
 
 Do I dare to boast of what thou hadst once a kind 
 word for, though now thou wilt neither look upon 
 me nor speak to me ?" 
 
 She could say no more : her words were suf- 
 focated by a torrent of tears. But she sought to 
 take his hand, to arrest him by his mantle — in 
 vain. He could scarcely, it is true, restrain his 
 tears : but he did. He looked sorrowful, but 
 composed ; and at length he said : " Armida, 
 would I could do as thou wishest ; but I cannot. 
 I would relieve thee instantly of all this tumult of 
 emotion. No hate is there in him that must quit 
 thee ; no such disdain as thou fanciest ; nothing 
 but the melancholy and impetuous sense of his 
 duty. Thou hast erred, it is true — erred both in 
 love and hate ; but have I not erred with thee ? 
 and can I find excuse which is not found for thy- 
 self? Dear and honoured ever wilt thou be with 
 Rinaldo, whether in joy or sorrow. Count me, 
 if it please thee, thy champion still, as far as my 
 country and my faith permit ; but here, in this 
 spot, must be buried all else — buried, not for my 
 sake only, but for that of thy beauty, thy worthi- 
 ness, thy royal blood. Consent to disparage thy- 
 self no longer. Peace be with thee. I go where 
 I have no permission to take thee with me. Be 
 happy ; be wise." 
 
464 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 While Rinaldo was speaking in this manner, 
 Armida changed colour ; her bosom heaved ; her 
 eyes took a new kind of fire ; scorn rose upon her 
 lip. When he finished, she looked at him with a 
 bitterness that rejected every word he had said ; 
 and then she exclaimed : " Thou hast no such 
 blood in thine own veins as thou canst fear to 
 degrade. Thy boasted descent is a fiction : base, 
 and brutish, and insensible was thy stock. What 
 being of gentle blood could quit a love like mine 
 without even a tear — a sigh ? What but the 
 mockery of a man could call me his, and yet leave 
 me ? vouchsafe me his pardon, as if I had offended 
 him? excuse my guilt and my tenderness; he, 
 the sage of virtue, and me, the wretch ! O God ! 
 and these are the men that take upon them to 
 slaughter the innocent, and dictate faiths to the 
 world ! Go, hard heart, with such peace as thou 
 leavest in this bosom. Begone ; take thine injus- 
 tice from my sight for ever. My spirit will follow 
 thee, not as a help, but as a retribution. I shall 
 die first, and thou wilt die speedily: thou wilt 
 perish in the battle. Thou wilt lie expiring among 
 the dead and bleeding, and wilt call on Armida in 
 thy last moments, and I shall hear it — yes, I shall 
 hear it ; I shall look for that." 
 
 Down fell Armida on the ground, senseless ; 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 465 
 
 and Rinaldo stood over her, weeping at last. Open 
 thine eyes, poor wretch, and see him. Alas, the 
 heavens deny thee the consolation ! What will he 
 do ? Will he leave thee lying there betwixt dead 
 and alive ? Or will he go — pitying thee, but still 
 going ? He goes ; he is gone ; he is in the bark, 
 and the wind is in the sail ; and he looks back 
 — ever back ; but still goes : the shore begins to 
 be out of sight. 
 
 Armida woke, and was alone. She raved 
 again, but it was for vengeance. In a few days 
 she was with the Egyptian army, a queen at the 
 head of her vassals, going against the Christians at 
 Jerusalem. 
 
 XJ^ 
 
^art t|)e fiTtlj. 
 
 THE DISENCHANTMENT OF THE FOREST, AND THE 
 TAKING OF JERUSALEM, &c. 
 
 RiNALDO arrived without loss of time in the Chris- 
 tian camp before Jerusalem. Every body rejoiced 
 to see the right hand of the army. Godfrey gladly 
 pardoned him ; the hermit Peter blessed him ; he 
 himself retired to beg the forgiveness and favour 
 of Heaven ; and then he went straight to the En- 
 chanted Forest. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning, and the forest, in- 
 stead of presenting its usual terrors, appeared to 
 him singularly tranquil and pleasing. On entering 
 it he heard, not dreadful thunder-claps, but har- 
 monies made up of all sorts of gentle and lovely 
 sounds — brooks, whispering winds, nightingales, 
 organs, harps, human voices. He went slowly and 
 cautiously, and soon came to a beautiful river 
 which encircled the heart of the wood. A bridge 
 of gold carried him over. He had no sooner crossed 
 it, than the river higher up suddenly swelled and 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 467 
 
 rushed like a torrent, sweeping the bridge away. 
 The harmony meanwhile had become silent. Ad- 
 miring, but nothing daunted, the hero went on. 
 
 Every thing as he advanced appeared to start 
 into fresh beauty. His steps produced lilies and 
 roses ; here leaped up a fountain, and there came 
 falling a cascade ; the wood itself seemed to grow 
 young as with sudden spring ; and he again heard 
 the music and the human voices, though he could 
 see no one. 
 
 Passing through the trees, he came into a glade 
 in the heart of the wood, in the centre of which 
 he beheld a myrtle-tree, the largest and most 
 beautiful ever seen : it was taller than a cypress 
 or palm, and seemed the queen of the forest. 
 Looking around him, he observed to his astonish- 
 ment an oak suddenly cleave itself open, and out 
 of it there came a nymph. A hundred other trees 
 did the same, giving birth to as many nymphs. 
 They were all habited as we see them in theatres ; 
 only, instead of bows and arrows, each held a lute 
 or guitar. Coming towards the hero with joyful 
 eyes, they formed a circle about him, and danced ; 
 and in their dancing they sang, and bade him wel- 
 come to the haunt of their mistress, their loving 
 mistress, of whom he was the only hope and joy. 
 Looking as they spoke towards the myrtle, Ri- 
 
468 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 naldo looked also, and beheld, issuing out of it — 
 Armida. 
 
 Armida came sweetly towards him, with a 
 countenance at once grieving and rejoicing, but 
 expressing above all infinite affection. " And do 
 I indeed see thee again ?" she said ; "and wilt thou 
 not fly me a second time ? am I visited to be eon- 
 soled, or to be treated again as an enemy ? is poor 
 Armida so formidable, that thou must needs close 
 up thine helmet when thou beholdest her ? Thou 
 mightest surely have vouchsafed her once more a 
 sight of thine eyes. Let us be friends, at least, 
 if we may be nothing more. Wilt thou not take 
 her hand ?" 
 
 Rinaldo's answer was, to turn away as from a 
 cheat, to look towards the myrtle-tree, to draw his 
 sword, and proceed with manifest intentions of 
 assailing it. She ran before him shrieking, and 
 hugged it round. "Nay, thou wilt not," she 
 said, "thou wilt not hurt my tree — not cut and 
 slay what is bound up with the life of Armida ? 
 Thy sword must pass first through her bosom." 
 
 Armida writhed and wailed ; Rinaldo never- 
 theless raised his sword, and it was coming against 
 the tree, when her shape, like a thing in a dream, 
 was metamorphosed as quick as lightning. It 
 became a giant, a Briareus, wielding a hundred 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 469 
 
 swords, and speaking in a voice of thunder. Every 
 one of the nymphs at the same instant became a 
 Cyclops ; tempest and earthquake ensued, and the 
 air was full of ghastly spectres. 
 
 Rinaldo again raised his arm with a more ve- 
 hement will; he struck, and at the same instant 
 every horror disappeared. The sky was cloudless ; 
 the forest was neither terrible nor beautiful, but 
 heavy and sombre as of old — a natural gloomy 
 wood, but no prodigy. 
 
 Rinaldo returned to the camp, his aspect that 
 of a conqueror ; the silver wings of his crest, the 
 white eagle, glittering in the sun. The hermit 
 Peter came forward to greet him ; a shout was sent 
 up by the whole camp ; Godfrey gave him high 
 reception ; nobody envied him. Workmen, no 
 longer trembling, were sent to the forest to cut 
 wood for the machines of war ; and the tower was 
 rebuilt, together wdth battering-rams and balistas, 
 and catapults, most of them an addition to what 
 they had before. The tower also was now clothed 
 with bulls-hides, as a security against being set on 
 fire ; and a bridge was added to the tower, from 
 which the besiegers could at once step on the city- 
 walls. 
 
 With these long-desired invigorations of his 
 strength, the commander of the army lost no time 
 
470 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 ill making a general assault on Jerusalem ; for 
 a dove, supernaturally pursued by a falcon, had 
 brought him letters intended for the besieged, in- 
 forming them, that if they could only hold out four 
 days longer, their Egyptian allies would be at hand. 
 The Pagans beheld with dismay the resuscitated 
 tower, and all the new engines coming against 
 them. They fought valiantly ; but Rinaldo and 
 Godfrey prevailed. The former was the first to 
 scale the walls, the latter to plant his standard 
 from the bridge. The city was entered on all 
 sides, and the enemy driven, first into Solomon's 
 Temple, and then into the Citadel, or Tower of 
 David. Before the assault, Godfrey had been 
 vouchsafed a sight of armies of angels in the air, 
 accompanied by the souls of those who had fallen 
 before Jerusalem ; the latter still fighting, the for- 
 mer rejoicing ; so that there was no longer doubt 
 of triumph ; only it still pleased Heaven that hu- 
 man virtue should be tried. 
 
 And now, after farther exploits on both sides, 
 the last day of the war, and the last hope of the 
 Infidels, arrived at the same time ; for the Egyp- 
 tian army came up to give battle with the Chris- 
 tians, and to restore Jerusalem, if possible, to its 
 late owners, now cramped up in one corner of it — 
 the citadel. The besiegers in their narrow hold 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 471 
 
 raised a shout of joy at the sight; and Godfrey, 
 leaving them to be detained in it by an experienced 
 captain, went forth to meet his new opponents. 
 Crowns of Africa and of Persia were there, and 
 the kifig of the Indies ; and in the midst of all, in 
 a chariot surrounded by her knights and suitors, 
 was Armida. 
 
 The battle joined, and great was the bravery 
 and the slaughter on both sides. It seemed at 
 first all glitter and gaiety — its streamers flying, its 
 arms flashing, drums and trumpets rejoicing, and 
 horses rushing with their horsemen as to the tour- 
 nament. Horror looked beautiful in the spectacle. 
 Out of the midst of the dread itself there issued 
 a delight. But soon it was a bloody, and a tur- 
 bulent, and a raging, and a groaning thing : — pen- 
 nons down, horses and men rolling over, foes 
 heaped upon one another, bright armour exchanged 
 for blood and dirt, flesh trampled, and spirit fa- 
 tigued. Brave were the Pagans ; but how could 
 they stand against Heaven ? Godfrey ordered 
 every thing calmly, like a divine mind ; Rinaldo 
 swept down the fiercest multitudes, like an arm 
 of God. The besieged in the citadel broke forth, 
 only to let the conquerors in. Jerusalem was won 
 before the battle was over. King after king fell, 
 and yet the vanquished did not fly. Rinaldo went 
 
472 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 every where to hasten the rout; and still had to 
 light and slay on. Armida beheld him coming 
 where she sat in the midst of her knights ; he saw 
 her, and blushed a little : she turned as cold as 
 ice, then as hot as fire. Her anger was doubled 
 by the slaughter of her friends; and with her 
 woman's hand she sent an arrow out of her bow, 
 hoping, and yet even then hoping not, to slay or to 
 hurt him. The arrow fell on him like a toy ; and 
 he turned aside, as she thought, in disdain. Yet 
 he disdained not to smite down her champions. 
 Hope of every kind deserted her. Resolving to 
 die by herself in some lonely spot, she got down 
 from her chariot to horse, and fled out of the field. 
 Rinaldo saw the flight ; and though one of the 
 knights that remained to her struck him such a 
 blow as made him reel in his saddle, he despatched 
 the man with another like a thunderbolt, and then 
 galloped after the fugitive. 
 
 Armida was in the act of putting a shaft to her 
 bosom, in order to die upon it, when her arm was 
 arrested by a mighty grasp ; and turning round, she 
 beheld with a shriek the beloved face of him who 
 had caused the ruin of her and hers. She closed 
 her disdainful eyes and fainted away. Rinaldo 
 supported her ; he loosened her girdle ; he bathed 
 her bosom and her eyelids with his tears. Coming 
 
RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 473 
 
 at length to herself, still she would not look at 
 him. She would fain not have been suppoited by 
 him. She endeavoured with her weak fingers to 
 undo the strong ones that clasped her ; she wept 
 bitterly, and at length spoke, but still without 
 meeting his eyes. 
 
 " And may I not," she said, " even die ? must 
 I be followed and tormented even in my last mo- 
 ments ? What mockery of a wish to save me is this ! 
 I will not be watched ; I believe not a syllable of 
 such pity ; and I will not be made a sight of, and 
 a by -word. I ask my life of thee no longer ; I 
 want nothing but death ; and death itself I would 
 not receive at such hands ; they would render even 
 that felicity hateful. Leave me. I could not be 
 hindered long from putting an end to my miseries, 
 whatever barbarous restraint might be put upon 
 me. There are a thousand ways of dying ; and I 
 will be neither hindered, nor deceived, nor flat- 
 tered — oh, never more !" 
 
 Weeping she spoke — weeping always, and sob- 
 bing, and full of wilful words. But yet she felt 
 all the time the arm that was round her. 
 
 " Armida," said Rinaldo, in a voice full of ten- 
 derness, " be calm, and know me for what I am — 
 no enemy, no conqueror, nothing that intends thee 
 shame or dishonour; but thy champion, thy re- 
 
474 RINALDO AND ARMIDA. 
 
 storer — he that will preserve thy kingdom' for 
 thee, and seat thee in house and home. Look at 
 me — look in these eyes, and see if they speak false. 
 And oh, would to Heaven thou wouldst indeed 
 be as I am in faith. There isn't a queen in all the 
 East should equal thee in glory." 
 
 His tears fell on her eyelids as he spoke — 
 scalding tears; and she looked at him, and her 
 heart re-opened to its lord, all love and worship ; 
 and Armida said, " Behold thy handmaid ; dispose 
 of her even as thou wilt." 
 
 And that same day Godfrey of Boulogne was 
 lord of Jerusalem, and paid his vows on the sepul- 
 chre of his Master. 
 
APPENDIX, 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 
 
 BOIARDO. 
 
 Orlando ed Agricane un' altra fiata 
 Ripreso insieme avean crudel battaglia, 
 
 La piu terribil mai non fu mirata, 
 
 L' arme 1' un 1' altro a pezzo a pezzo tagli 
 
 Vede Agrican sua gente sbarattata, 
 Ne le p\i6 dar aiuto, che le vaglia. 
 
 Pero che Orlando tanto stretto il tiene, 
 
 Che star con seco a fronte gli conviene. 
 
 Nel suo segreto fe questo pensiero, 
 
 Trar fuor di schiera quel Conte gagliardo ; 
 
 E poi che ucciso 1' abbia in su '1 sentiero, 
 Tornare a la battaglia senza tardo ; 
 
 Pero che a lui par facile e leggiero 
 Cacciar soletto quel popol codardo ; 
 
 Che tutti insieme, e '1 suo Re Galafrone, 
 
 Non li stimava quanto un vil bottone. 
 
 Con tal proposto si pone a fuggire, 
 Forte correndo sopra la pianura ; 
 
 II Conte nulla pensa a quel fallire, 
 Anzi crede che 'I faccia per paura. 
 
478 APPENDIX. 
 
 Senz' altro dubbio se '1 pone a seguire, 
 E gia sou giunti ad una selva scura : 
 Appunto in mezzo a quella selva plana, 
 Era un bel prato iutoruo a una fontana. 
 
 Fermossi ivi Agricane a quella fonte, 
 E smonto de 1' arcion per riposare, 
 
 Ma non si tolse 1' elmo da la fronte, 
 Ne piastra, o scudo si volse levare ; 
 
 E poco dimoro, che giunse '1 Conte, 
 E come il vide a la fonte aspettare, 
 
 Dissegli : Cavalier, tu sei fuggito, 
 
 E SI forte mostravi e tanto ardito ! 
 
 Come tanta vergogna puoi sofFrire, 
 A dar le spalle ad un sol cavaliero 1 
 
 Forse credesti la morte fuggire, 
 Or vedi che fallito hai il pensiero ; 
 
 Chi morir puo onorato dee morire ; 
 Che spesse volte avviene e di leggiero, 
 
 Che, per durar in questa vita trista, 
 
 Morte e vergogna ad un tratto s' acquista. 
 
 Agrican prima rimonto in arcione, 
 Poi con voce soave rispondia : 
 
 Tu sei per certo il piu franco Barone, 
 Ch' io mai trovassi ne la vita mia, 
 
 E pero del tuo scampo fia cagione 
 La tua prodezza e quella cortesia, 
 
 Che oggi SI grande al campo usato m' hai, 
 
 Quando soccorso a mia gente donai. 
 
 Pero ti voglio la vita lasciare, 
 
 Ma non tornasti piu per darmi inciampo. 
 Questo la fuga mi fe simulare, 
 
 Ne v' ebbi altro partito a darti scampo. 
 Se pur ti place meco battagllare, 
 
 Morto ne rimarrai su questo campo ; 
 
APPENDIX, 479 
 
 Ma siami testimonio il cielo e '1 sole, 
 Che darti morte mi displace e duole. 
 
 II Conte gli rispose molto umano, 
 
 Perche avea preso gia di lui pietate ; 
 Quanto sei, disse, piu franco e soprano, 
 
 Piu di te mi rincresce in veritate, 
 Che sarai morto, e non sei Cristiano, 
 
 Ed anderai tra 1' anime dannate ; 
 Ma se vuoi il corpo e 1' anima salvare, 
 Piglia battesmo, e lascierotti andare. 
 
 Disse Agricane, e riguardollo in viso : 
 
 Se tu sei Cristiano, Orlando sei. 
 Chi mi facesse Re del Paradiso, 
 
 Con tal Ventura non la cangierei ; 
 Ma sin or ti ricordo e dotti avviso, 
 
 Che non mi parli de' fatti de' Dei, 
 Perche potresti predicar invano ; 
 Difenda il suo ciascun co '1 brando in mano. 
 
 Ne piu parole ; ma trasse Tranchera, 
 
 E verso Orlando con ardir s' afFronta. 
 Or si comincia la battaglia fiera, 
 
 Con aspri colpi, di taglio e di ponta ; 
 Ciascun e di prodezza una lumiera, 
 
 E sterno insieme, com' il libro conta, 
 Da mezzo giorno insino a notte scura, 
 Sempre piu franchi a la battaglia dura. 
 
 Ma poi che '1 sol avea passato il monte 
 
 E cominciossi a far il ciel stellate, 
 Prima verso del Re parlava il Conte ; 
 
 Che farem, disse, che '1 giorno n' e andato ? 
 Disse Agricane, con parole pronte : 
 
 Ambi ci poseremo in questo prato, 
 E domattina, come il giorno appare, 
 Ritorneremo insieme a battagliare. 
 
482 APPENDIX. 
 
 Molte fiate son stato per onore 
 
 E per la fede mia sopra la sella ; 
 Or sol per acquistar la bella dama 
 Faccio battaglia, e d' altro non ho brama. 
 
 Quando Agrican ha nel parlare accolto, 
 Che questo e Orlando, ed Angelica amava, 
 
 Fuor di misura si turbo nel volto, 
 Ma per la notte non lo dimostrava ; 
 
 Piangeva sospirando come un stolto, 
 
 L* anima e '1 petto e '1 spirto gli awampava, 
 
 E tanto gelosia gli batte il core, 
 
 Che non e vivo, e di doglia non more. 
 
 Poi disse a Orlando : Tu debbi pensare, 
 Che come il giorno sara dimostrato, 
 
 Debbiamo insieme la battaglia fare, 
 E r uno o r altro rimarr^ su 1 prato. 
 
 Or d' una cosa ti voglio pregare, 
 
 Che, prima che vegnamo e cotal piato, 
 
 Quella donzella, che '1 tuo cor disia, 
 
 Tu r abbandoni e lascila per mia. 
 
 lo non potria patire, essendo vivo, 
 
 Che altri con meco amasse il viso adoruo : 
 
 O r uno o r altro al tutto sara privo 
 Del spirto e de la dama al novo giorno ; 
 
 Altri mai non sapra, che questo rivo 
 E questo bosco, ch' e quivi d' intorao, 
 
 Che 1' abbi rifiutata in cotal loco 
 
 E in cotal tempo, che sara si poco. 
 
 Diceva Orlando al Re : Le mie promesse 
 Tutte ho servate, quante mai ne fei ; 
 
 Ma se quel che or mi chiedi io promettesse 
 E s' io il giurassi, io non V attenderei ; 
 
 Cosi poria spiccar mie membra istesse 
 E levarmi di fronte gli occhi miei, 
 
APPENDIX. 483 
 
 E viver senza spirto e senza core, 
 Come lasciar d' Angelica 1' amore. 
 
 II Re Agrican, che ardeva oltre misura, 
 
 Non puote tal risposta comportare ; 
 Benche sia '1 mezzo de la notte scura, 
 
 Prese Bajardo e su v' ebbe a montare, 
 Ed orgoglioso, con vista sicura, 
 
 Isqrida al Conte, ed ebbel a sfidare, 
 Dicendo : Cavalier, la dama gaglia 
 Lasciar convienti, o far meco battaglia. 
 
 Era gia il Conte in su 1' arcion salito, 
 
 Perche, come si mosse il Re possente, 
 Temendo dal Pagan esser tradito, 
 
 Salto sopra '1 destrier subitamente ; 
 Onde rispose con animo ardito : 
 
 Lasciar colei non posso per niente ; 
 E s' io potess , ancora io non vorria ; 
 Avertela convien per altra via. 
 
 Come in mar la tempesta a gran fortuna, 
 
 Cominciamo 1' assalto i cayalieri : 
 Nel verde prato, per la notte bruna, 
 
 Con sproni urtarno addosso i buon destrieri ; 
 E si scorgeano al lume de la luna, 
 
 Dandosi colpi dispietati e fieri, 
 Ch' era ciascun di lor forte ed ardito : 
 Ma piii non dico ; il Canto e qui finito. 
 
 Signori e cavalieri innamorati, 
 Cortesi damigelle e graziose, 
 
 Venite qui davanti, ed ascoltati 
 
 L' alte avventure e le guerre amorose, 
 
482 APPENDIX. 
 
 Molte fiate son stato per onore 
 
 E per la fede mia sopra la sella ; 
 Or sol per acquistar la bella dama 
 Faccio battaglia, e d' altro non ho brama. 
 
 Quando Agrican ha nel parlare accolto, 
 Che questo e Orlando, ed Angelica amava, 
 
 Fuor di misura si turbo nel vol to, 
 Ma per la notte non lo dimostrava ; 
 
 Piangeva sospirando come un stolto, 
 
 L' anima e '1 petto e '1 spirto gli awampava, 
 
 E tanto gelosia gli batte il core, 
 
 Che non e vivo, e di doglia non more. 
 
 Poi disse a Orlando : Tu debbi pensare, 
 Che come il giorno sara dimostrato, 
 
 Debbiamo insieme la battaglia fare, 
 E 1' uno o 1' altro rimarr^ su '1 prato. 
 
 Or d' una cosa ti voglio pregare, 
 
 Che, prima che vegnamo e cotal piato, 
 
 Quella donzella, che '1 tuo cor disia, 
 
 Tu 1' abbandoni e lascila per mia. 
 
 lo non potria patire, essendo vivo, 
 
 Che altri con meco amasse il viso adorno : 
 
 O r uno o r altro al tutto sara privo 
 Del spirto e de la dama al novo giorno ; 
 
 Altri mai non sapra, che questo rivo 
 E questo bosco, ch' e quivi d' intorao, 
 
 Che r abbi rifiutata in cotal loco 
 
 E in cotal tempo, che sara si poco. 
 
 Diceva Orlando al Re : Le mie promesse 
 Tutte ho servate, quante mai ne fei ; 
 
 Ma se quel che or mi chiedi io promettesse 
 E s' io il giurassi, io non l' attenderei ; 
 
 Cosi poria spiccar mie membra istesse 
 E levarmi di fronte gU occhi miei. 
 
APPENDIX. 483 
 
 E viver senza spirto e senza core, 
 Come lasciar d' Angelica 1' amore. 
 
 II Re Agrican, che ardeva oltre misura, 
 
 Non puote tal risposta comportare ; 
 Benche sia '1 mezzo de la notte scura, 
 
 Prese Bajardo e su v' ebbe a montare, 
 Ed orgoglioso, con vista sicura, 
 
 Isqrida al Conte, ed ebbel a sfidare, 
 Dicendo : Cavalier, la dama gaglia 
 Lasciar convienti, o far meco battaglia. 
 
 Era gia il Conte in su V arcion salito, 
 
 Perche, come si mosse il Re possente, 
 Temendo dal Pagan esser tradito, 
 
 Salto sopra '1 destrier subitamente ; 
 Onde rispose con animo ardito : 
 
 Lasciar colei non posso per niente ; 
 E s' io potess , ancora io non vorria ; 
 Avertela convien per altra via. 
 
 Come in mar la tempesta a gran fortuna, 
 
 Cominciamo 1' assalto i cavalieri : 
 Nel verde prato, peK la notte bnina, 
 
 Con sproni urtarno addosso i buon destrieri ; 
 E si scorgeano al lume de la luna, 
 
 Dandosi colpi dispietati e fieri, 
 Ch' era ciascun di lor forte ed ardito : 
 Ma piii non dico ; il Canto e qui finito. 
 
 Signori e cavalieri innamorati, 
 Cortesi damigelle e graziose, 
 
 Venite qui davanti, ed ascoltati 
 
 L' alte avventure e le guerre araorose, 
 
484 APPENDIX. 
 
 Che fer gli antiqui cavalier pregiati, 
 
 E furno al mondo degne e gloriose ; 
 Ma sopra tutti Orlando ed Agricane 
 Ferno opre per amor alte e soprane. 
 
 Si come io dissi nel Canto di sopra, 
 Con fier assalto dispietato e duro, 
 
 Per una dama ciaschedun s' adopra ; 
 E ben che sia la notte e '1 ciel oscuro, 
 
 Gia non vi fa mestier che alcun si scuopra, 
 Ma comaensi guardare e star sicuro, 
 
 E ben difeso di sopra e d' intomo, 
 
 Come il sol fosse in cielo a mezzo giorno. 
 
 Agrican combattea con piu furore, 
 II Conte con piu senno si servava ; 
 
 Gia contrastato avean piu di cinque ore, 
 E r alba in Oriente si schiarava. 
 
 Or s' incomincia la zuffa maggiore ; 
 II superbo Agrican si disperava, 
 
 Che tanto contra d' esso Orlando dura, 
 
 E mena un colpo fiero oltra misura. 
 
 Giunse a traverso il colpo disperato, 
 
 E '1 scudo com' un latte al mezzo taglia ; 
 
 Piagar non puote Orlando, ch' e affatato. 
 Ma fracassa ad un punto piastra e maglia. 
 
 Non potea il franco Conte aver il fiato, 
 Benche Tranchera sua carne non taglia ; 
 
 Fu con tanta ruina la percossa, 
 
 Che avea fiaccati i nervi, e peste 1' ossa. 
 
 Ma non fu gia per questo sbigottito, 
 Anzi colpisce con maggior fierezza. 
 
 Giunse nel scudo, e tutto 1' ha partito, 
 Ogni piastra del sbergo e maglia spezza, 
 
 E nel sinistro fianco 1' ha ferito ; 
 E fu quel colpo di cotanta asprezza, 
 
APPENDIX. 485 
 
 Che '1 scudo mezzo al prato ando di netto, 
 E ben tre coste gli taglio nel petto. 
 
 Come rugge il leon per la foresta, 
 Allor che 1' ha ferito il cacciatore, 
 
 Cosi il tier Agrican, con piu tempesta, 
 Rimena un colpo di troppo furore ; 
 
 Giunse ne 1' elmo, al mezzo de la testa, 
 Non ebbe il Conte mai botta maggiore, 
 
 E tanto uscito e fuor di conoscenza, 
 
 Che non sa s' egli ha il capo, o s' egli e senza. 
 
 Non vedea lume per gli occhi niente. 
 El' mia e r altra orecchia tintinnava ; 
 
 Si spaventato e '1 suo destrier corrente, 
 Ch' intorno al prato fuggendo il portava ; 
 
 E sarebbe caduto veramente, 
 
 Se in quella stordigion punto durava ; 
 
 Ma sendo nel cader, per tal cagione 
 
 Tomogli '1 spirto e tennesi a 1' arcione. 
 
 E venne di se stesso vergognoso, 
 Poi che cotanto si vede avanzato. 
 
 Com' ainderai, diceva doloroso, 
 Ad Angelica mai, vituperato ? 
 
 Non ti ricordi quel viso amoroso, 
 
 Che a far questa battaglia t' ha mandato ? 
 
 Ma chi e richiesto e indugia il suo servire, 
 
 Servendo poi, fa il guiderdon perire. 
 
 Presso a dui giomi ho gia fatto dimora, 
 Per il conquisto d' un sol cavaliero, 
 
 E seco a fronte mi ritrovo ancora, 
 
 Ne li ho vantaggio piu che *1 di primiero. 
 
 Ma, se piu indugio la battaglia un' ora, 
 L' arme abbandono ed entro al monastero, 
 
 Frate mi faccio, e chiamomi dannato, 
 
 Se mai piii brando mi fia visto allato. 
 
486 APPENDIX. 
 
 II fin del suo parlar gia non e inteso, 
 Che batti i denti e le parole incocca ; 
 
 Fuoco rassembra di furore acceso 
 
 II fiato, ch' esce fuor di naso e bocca. 
 
 Verso Agricane se ne va disteso, 
 
 Con Durindano ad ambe mani il tocca 
 
 Sopra la spalla destra di riverso ; 
 
 Tutta la taglia quel colpo diverso. 
 
 II crudel brando nel petto dichina, 
 
 E rompe il sbergo e taglia il pancirone, 
 
 Benche sia grosso e d' una maglia fina, 
 Tutto lo fende insin sotto al gallone. 
 
 Non fu veduta mai tanta ruina ; 
 
 Scende la spada e guinse ne 1' arcione ; 
 
 D' osso era questa ed intorno ferrato, 
 
 Ma Durindana lo mando su '1 prato. 
 
 Dal destro lato a V anguinaglia stanca 
 Era tagliato il Re cotanto forte ; 
 
 Perse la vista, ed ha la faccia bianca, 
 Come colui eh' e gia giunto a la morte ; 
 
 E ben che '1 spirto e '1 anima gli manca, 
 Chiamava Orlando, e con parole scorte 
 
 Sospirando diceva in bassa voce : 
 
 lo credo nel tuo Dio, che mori in croce. 
 
 Battezzami, Barone, a la fontana, 
 
 Prima ch' io perda in tutto la favella ; 
 
 E se mia vita e stata iniqua e strana, 
 Non sia la morte almen di Dio ribella ; 
 
 Lui, che venne a salvar in gente umana, 
 L' anima mia ricoglia tapinella ; 
 
 Ben mi confesso che molto peccai, 
 
 Ma sua misericordia e grande assai. 
 
 Piangea quel Re, che fu cotanto fiero, 
 E tenea il viso al ciel sempre voltato. 
 
APPENDIX. 487 
 
 Poi ad Orlando disse : Cavaliero, 
 
 In questo giorno d' oggi hai guadagnato, 
 
 Al mio parere, il piu franco destriero, 
 Che mai fosse nel mondo cavalcato ; 
 
 Questo fu tolto ad un forte Barone, 
 
 Che nel mio campo dimora prigione. 
 
 lo non mi posso ormai piii sostenire ; 
 
 Levami tu d' arcion, Baron accorto. 
 Deh non lasciar quest' anima perire ! 
 
 Battezzami oramai, che gia son morto ! 
 Se tu mi lasci a tal guisa morire, 
 
 Ancor n' arai gran pena e discouforto. 
 Questo diceva e molte altre parole ; 
 Oh quanto al Conte ne rincresce e duole ! 
 
 Egli avea pien di lagrime la faccia, 
 E fu smontato in su la terra plana ; 
 
 Ricolse il Re ferito ne le braccia, 
 
 E sopra '1 marmo il pose a la fontana, 
 
 E di pianger con seco non si saccia, 
 Chiedendogli perdon con voce umana. 
 
 Poi battezzollo a 1' acqua de la fonte, 
 
 Pregando Dio per lui con le man gionte. 
 
 Poco poi stette, che 1' ebbe trovato 
 Freddo nel viso e tutta la persona, 
 
 Onde s' avvide ch' egli era passato. 
 
 Sopra al marmor al fonte 1' abbandona, 
 
 Cosi com' era tutto quanto armato, 
 
 Co '1 brando in mano, e con la sua corona. 
 
488 APPENDIX. 
 
 No. II. 
 
 ANGELICA AND MEDORO. 
 ARIOSTO. 
 
 Seguon gli Scotti ove la guida loro 
 Per r alta selva alto disdegno mena, 
 
 Poi che lasciato ha 1' uno e 1' altro Moro, 
 L' un morto in tutto, e 1' altro vivo a pena. 
 
 Giacque gran pezzo il giovine Medoro, 
 Spicciando il sangue da si larga vena, 
 
 Che di sua vita al fin saria venuto, 
 
 Se non sopravenia chi gli die aiuto. 
 
 Gli sopravenne a caso una donzella, 
 Avvolta in pastorale et umil veste, 
 
 Ma di real presenzia, e in viso bella, 
 D' alte maniere e accortamente oneste. 
 
 Tanto 6 eh' io non ne dissi piu novella, 
 Ch' a pena riconoscer la dovreste ; 
 
 Questa, se non sapete, Angelica era, 
 
 Del gran Can del Catai la figlia altiera. 
 
 Poi che '1 suo annello Angelica riebbe, 
 Di che Brunei 1' avea tenuta priva, 
 
 In tanto fasto, in tanto orgoglio crebbe, 
 Ch' esser parea di tutto '1 mondo schiva : 
 
 S6 ne va sola, e non si degnerebbe 
 Compagno aver qual piii famoso viva ; 
 
 Si sdegna a rimembrar che gia suo amante 
 
 Abbia Orlando nomato, o Sacripante. 
 
 E, sopra ogn' altro error, via piu pentita 
 Era del ben che gia a Rinaldo volse. 
 
 Troppo parendole essersi avvilita, 
 
 Ch' a riguardar si basso gli occhi volse. 
 
APPENDIX. 489 
 
 Tant' arroganzia avendo Amor sentita, 
 
 Piu lungamente comportar non volse. 
 Dove giacea Medor, si pose al varco, 
 E 1' aspetto, posto lo strale all' arco. 
 
 Quando Angelica vide il giovinetto 
 Languir ferito, assai vicino a morte, 
 
 Che del suo Re che giacea senza tetto, 
 Piu che del proprio mal, si dolea forte. 
 
 Insolita pietade io mezo al petto 
 Si senti entrar per disusate porte, 
 
 Che le fe' il duro cor tenero e molle ; 
 
 E piu quando il suo caso egli narroUe. 
 
 E rivocando alia memoria 1' arte 
 Ch' in India imparo gia chirurgia, 
 
 (Che par che questo studio in quella parte 
 Nobile e degno e di gran laude sia ; 
 
 E, senza molto rivoltar di carte, 
 
 Che '1 patre a i figli ereditario il dia) 
 
 Si dispose operar con succo d' erbe, 
 
 Ch' a piu matura vita lo riserbe. 
 
 E ricordossi che passando avea 
 
 Veduta un' erba in una piaggia amena ; 
 Fosse dittamo, o fosse panacea, 
 
 O non so qual di tal effetto plena, 
 Che stagna il sangue, a de la piaga rea 
 
 Leva ogni spasmo e perigliosa pena, 
 La trovo non lontana, e, quella colta, 
 Dove lasciato avea Medor, die volta. 
 
 Nel ritornar s' incontra in un pastore, 
 Ch' a cavallo pel bosco ne veniva 
 
 Cercando una iuvenca, che gli fuore 
 Duo di di mandra e senza guardia giva. 
 
 Seco lo trasse ove perdea il vigore 
 
 Medor col sangue che del petto usciva ; 
 
 y2 
 
490 APPENDIX. 
 
 E gia n' avea di tanto il terren tinto, 
 Ch' era omai presso a rimanere estinto. 
 
 Del palafreno Angelica giu scese, 
 E scendere il pastor seco fece anche. 
 
 Pesto con sassi I'erba, indi la presse^ 
 E succo ne cavo fra le man bianche : 
 
 Ne la piaga n' infuse, e ne distese 
 
 E pel petto e pel ventre e fin a 1' anche ; 
 
 E fu di tal virtu questo liquore, 
 
 Che stagno il sangue e gli torno il vigore : 
 
 E gli die forza, che pote salire 
 
 Sopra il cavallo che '1 pastor condusse. 
 
 Non pero volse indi Medor partire 
 
 Prima ch' in terra il suo signor non fosse, 
 
 E Cloridan col Re fe' sepelire ; 
 
 E poi dove a lei piacque si ridusse ; 
 
 Et ella per pieta ne 1' umil case 
 
 Del cortese pastor seco rimase. 
 
 Ne, fin che nol tornasse in sanitade, 
 Volea partir : cosi di lui fe' stima : 
 
 Tanto se inteneri de la pietade 
 
 Che n' ebbe, come in terra il vide prima. 
 
 Poi, vistone i costumi e la beltade, 
 Roder si senti il cor d' ascosa lima ; 
 
 Roder si senti il core, e a poco a poco 
 
 Tutto infiammato d' amoroso fuoco. 
 
 Stava il pastore in assai buona e bella 
 Stanza, nel bosco infra duo monti piatta. 
 
 Con la moglie e co i figli ; et avea quella 
 Tutta di nuovo e poco inanzi fatta. 
 
 Quivi a Medoro fu per la donzella 
 La piaga in breve a sanita ritratta ; 
 
 Ma in minor tempo si senti maggiore 
 
 Piaga di questa avere ella nel core. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 Assai piu larga piaga e piu profonda 
 Nel cor senti da non veduto strale, 
 
 Che da' begli occhi e da la testa bionda 
 Di Medoro avvento 1' arcier c' ha 1' ale. 
 
 Arder si seate, e sempre il fuoco abonda, 
 E piii cura 1' altrui che '1 proprio male. 
 
 Di se non cura ; e non e ad altro intenta, 
 
 Ch' a risanar chi lei fere e tormenta. 
 
 La sua piaga piu s' apre e piii incrudisce, 
 Quanto piu 1' altra si restringe e salda. 
 
 II giovine si sana : ella languisce 
 
 Di nuova febbre, or agghiacciata or calda. 
 
 Di giomo in giorno in lui belta fiorisce : 
 La misera si strugge, come falda 
 
 Strugger di nieve intempestiva suole, 
 
 Ch' in loco aprico abbia scoperta il sole; 
 
 Se di disio non vuol morir, bisogna 
 Che senza indugio ella se stessa aiti : 
 
 E ben le par che, di quel ch' essa agogna, 
 Non sia tempo aspettar ch' altri la 'nviti. 
 
 Dun que, rotto ogni freno di vergogna, 
 
 La lingua ebbe non men che gli occhi arditi 
 
 E di quel colpo domando mercede, 
 
 Che, forse non sapendo, esso le diede. 
 
 O Conte Orlando, o Re di Circassia, 
 Vestra inclita virtu, dite, che giova ? 
 
 Vostro alto onor, dite, in che prezzo sia ? 
 O che merce vostro servir ritruova ? 
 
 Mostratemi una sola cortesia, 
 
 Che mai costei v' usasse, o vecchia o nuova, 
 
 Per ricompensa e guidardone e merto 
 
 Di quanto avete gia per lei soflferto. 
 
 Oh, se potessi ritornar mai vivo, 
 
 Quanto ti parria duro, o Re Agricane ! 
 
 491 
 
492 APPENDIX. 
 
 Che gia mostro costei si avex-ti a schivo 
 Con repulse crudeli et inumane. 
 
 O Ferrau, o mille altri ch' io non scrivo, 
 Ch' avete fatto mille pruove vane 
 
 Per questa ingrata, quanto aspro vi fora 
 
 S' a costu' in braccio voi la vedesse ora ! 
 
 Angelica a Medor la prima rosa 
 
 Coglier lascio, non ancor tocca inante ; 
 
 Ne persona fu mai si avventurosa, 
 
 Ch' in quel giardin potesse por le piante. 
 
 Per adombrar, per onestar la cosa, 
 Si celebro con cerimonie sante 
 
 II matrimonio, ch' auspice ebbe Amore, 
 
 E pronuba la moglie del pastore. 
 
 Fersi le nozze sotto all' umil tetto 
 Le piu solenni che vi potean farsi ; 
 
 E piu d' un mese poi stero a diletto 
 I duo tranquilli amanti a ricrearsi. 
 
 Piu lunge non vedea del giovinetto 
 La donna, ne di lui potea saziarsi : 
 
 Ne, per mai sempre pendegli dal coUo, 
 Ilsuo disir sentia di lui satollo. 
 
 Se stava all' ombra, o se del tetto usciva, 
 Avea di e notte il bel giovine a lato : 
 
 Matino e sera or questa or quella riva 
 Cercando andava, o qualche verde prato : 
 
 Nel mezo giorno un antro li copriva, 
 Forse non men di quel commodo e grato 
 
 Ch' ebber, fuggendo 1' acque, Enea e Dido, 
 
 De' lor secreti testimonio fido. 
 
 Fra piacer tanti, ovunque un arbor dritto 
 Vedesse ombrare o fonte o rivo puro, 
 
 V avea spillo o coltel subito fitto ; 
 Cosi, se v' era alcun sasso men dure. 
 
APPENDIX. 493 
 
 Et era fuori in mille luoghi scritto, 
 
 E cosi in casa in altri tanti il muro, 
 Angelica e Medoro, in varii modi 
 Legati insieme di diversi nodi. 
 
 Poi che le parve aver fatto soggiorno 
 
 Quivi pill ch' a bastanza, fe' disegao 
 Di fare in India del Catai ritorno, 
 
 E Medor coronar del suo bel regno. 
 Portava al braccio un cerchio d' oro, ado mo 
 
 Di ricche gemme, in testimonio e segno 
 Del ben che '1 Conte Orlando le volea ; 
 E portato gran tempo ve 1' avea. 
 
 Quel don6 gia Morgana a Ziliante, 
 
 Nel tempo che nel lago ascoso il tenne ; 
 Et esso, poi ch' al padre Monodante 
 
 Per opra e per virtu d' Orlando venne, 
 Lo diede a Orlando : Orlando ch' era amante, 
 
 Di porsi al braccio il cerchio d' or sostenne, 
 Avendo disegnato di donarlo 
 Alia Regina sua di ch' io vi parlo. 
 
 Non per amor del Paladino, quanto 
 
 Perch' era ricco e d' artificio egregio, 
 Caro avuto 1' avea la donna tanto 
 
 Che piu non si puo aver cosa di pregio. 
 Se lo serbo ne 1' Isola del plan to, 
 
 Non so gia dirvi con che privilegio, 
 La dove esposta al marin mosti'o nuda 
 Fu da la gente inospitale e cruda. 
 
 Quivi non si trovando altra mercede, 
 
 Ch' al buon pastore et alia moglie dessi, 
 Che serviti gli avea con si gran fede 
 
 Dal di che nel suo albergo si fur messi ; 
 Levo dal braccio il cerchio, e gli lo diede, 
 
 E volse per suo amor che lo tenessi ; 
 
4.94 APPENDIX. 
 
 Indi saliron verso la montagna 
 Che divide la Francia da la Spagna. 
 
 Dentro a Valenza o dentro a Barcellona 
 Per qualche giorno avean pensato porsi, 
 
 Fin che accadesse alcuna nave buona, 
 
 Che per Levante apparecchiasse a sciorsi. 
 
 Videro il mar scoprir sotto a Girona 
 Ne lo smontar giu de i montani dorsi ; 
 
 E, costeggiando a man sinistra il lito, 
 
 A Barcellona andar pel camin trito. 
 
 Ma non vi giunser prima ch' un uom pazzo 
 Giacer trovaro in su T estreme arene, 
 
 Che, come porco, di loto e di guazzo 
 
 Tutto era brutto, e vol to e petto e schene. 
 
 Costui si scaglio lor, come cagnazzo 
 Ch' assalir forestier subito viene ; 
 
 E die lor noia e fu per far lor scorno. 
 
 The troop then follow'd where their chief had gone, 
 Pursuing his stern chase among the trees, 
 
 And leave the two companions there alone, 
 One surely dead, the other scarcely less. 
 
 Long time Medoro lay without a groan, 
 Losing his blood in such large quantities. 
 
 That life would surely have gone out at last, 
 
 Had not a helping hand been coming past. 
 
 There came, by chance, a damsel passing there, 
 Dress'd like a shepherdess in lowly wise. 
 
 But of a royal presence, and an air 
 
 Noble as handsome, with clear maiden eyes. 
 
APPENDIX. 495 
 
 'Tis so long since I told you news of her, 
 
 Perhaps you know her not in this disguise. 
 This, you must know then, was Angelica, 
 Proud daughter of the Khan of great Cathay. 
 
 You know the magic ring and her distress ? 
 
 Well, when she had recover' d this same ring, 
 It so increas'd her pride and haughtiness, 
 
 She seem'd too high for any living thing. 
 She goes alone, desiring nothing less 
 
 Than a companion, even though a king : 
 She even scorns to recollect the flame 
 Of one Orlando, or his very name. 
 
 But, above all, she hates to recollect 
 
 That she had taken to Rinaldo so ; 
 She thinks it the last want of self-respect. 
 
 Pure degradation, to have look'd so low. 
 " Such arrogance," said Cupid, " must be check'd." 
 
 The little god betook him with his bow 
 To where Medoro lay ; and, standing by. 
 Held the shaft ready with a lurking eye. 
 
 Now when the princess saw the youth all pale. 
 And found him grieving with his bitter wound, 
 
 Not for what one so young might well bewail, 
 
 But that his king should not be laid in ground, — 
 
 She felt a something strange and gentle steal 
 Into her heart by some new way it found. 
 
 Which touch'd its hardness, and turn'd all to grace ; 
 
 And more so, when he told her all his case. 
 
 And calling to her mind the little arts 
 
 Of healing, which she learnt in India, 
 (For 'twas a study valued in those parts 
 
 Even by those who were in sovereign sway. 
 And yet so easy too, that, like the heart's, 
 
 'Twas more inherited than learnt, they say), 
 
496 APPENDIX. 
 
 She cast about, with herbs and balmy juices, 
 To save so fair a life for all its uses. 
 
 And thinking of an herb that caught her eye 
 
 As she was coming, in a pleasant plain 
 (Whether 'twas panacea, dittany. 
 
 Or some such herb accounted sovereign 
 For stanching blood quickly and tenderly. 
 
 And winning out all spasm and bad pain), 
 She found it not far off, and gathering some, 
 Returned with it to save Medoro's bloom. 
 
 In coming back she met upon the way 
 
 A shepherd, who was riding through the wood 
 
 To find a heifer that had gone astray, 
 And been two days about the solitude. 
 
 She took him with her where Medoro lay, 
 Still feebler than he was with loss of blood ; 
 
 So much he lost, and drew so hard a breath, 
 
 That he was now fast fading to his death. 
 
 Angelica got off her horse in haste, 
 
 And made the shepherd get as fast from his ; 
 
 She ground the herbs with stones, and then express 'd 
 With her white hands the balmy milkiness ; 
 
 Then dropp'd it in the wound, and bath'd his breast. 
 His stomach, feet, and all that was amiss : 
 
 And of such virtue was it, that at length 
 
 The blood was stopp'd, and he look'd round with strength. 
 
 At last he got upon the shepherd's horse. 
 But would not quit the place till he had seen 
 
 Laid in the ground his lord and master's corse ; 
 And Cloridan lay with it, who had been 
 
 Smitten so fatally with sweet remorse. 
 
 He then obey'd the will of the fair queen ; 
 
 And she, for very pity of his lot, 
 
 Went and stay'd with him at the shepherd's cot. 
 
APPENDIX. 497 
 
 Nor would she leave him, she esteem'd him so, 
 Till she had seen him well with her own eye ; 
 
 So full of pity did her bosom grow, 
 
 Since first she saw him faint and like to die. 
 
 Seeing his manners now, and beauty too. 
 She felt her heart yearn somehow inwardly ; 
 
 She felt her heart yearn somehow, till at last 
 
 'Twas all on fire, and burning warm and fast. 
 
 The shepherd's home was good enough and neat, 
 
 A little shady cottage in a dell : 
 The man had just rebuilt it all complete, 
 
 With room to spare, in case more births befell. 
 There with such knowledge did the lady treat 
 
 Her handsome patient, that he soon grew well ; 
 But not before she had, on her own part, 
 A secret wound much greater in her heart. 
 
 Much greater was the wound, and deeper far. 
 
 Which the sweet arrow made in her heart's strings ; 
 
 'Twas from Medoro's lovely eyes and hair ; 
 'Twas from the naked archer with the wings. 
 
 She feels it now ; she feels, and yet can bear 
 Another's less than her own sufferings. 
 
 She thinks not of herself : she thinks alone 
 
 How to cure him by whom she is undone. 
 
 The more his wound recovers and gets ease, 
 Her own grows worse, and widens day by day. 
 
 The youth gets well ; the lady languishes, 
 Now warm, now cold, as fitful fevers play. 
 
 His beauty heightens, like the flowering trees ; 
 She, miserable creature, melts away 
 
 Like the weak snow, which some warm sun has found 
 
 Fall'n, out of season, on a rising ground. 
 
 And must she speak at last, rather than die ? 
 And must she plead, without another's aid ? 
 
498 APPENDIX. 
 
 She must, she must : the vital moments fly : 
 She lives — she dies, a passion -wasted maid. 
 
 At length she bursts all ties of modesty : 
 
 Her tongue explains her eyes ; the words are said 
 
 And she asks pity, underneath that blow 
 
 Which he, perhaps, that gave it did not know. 
 
 O County Orlando ! O King Sacripant ! 
 
 That fame of yours, say, what avails it ye ? 
 That lofty honour, those great deeds ye vaunt, — 
 
 Say, what's their value with the lovely she 
 Shew me — recall to memory (for I can't) — 
 
 Shew me, I beg, one single courtesy 
 That ever she vouchsafed ye, far or near, 
 For aU you've done and have endured for her. 
 
 And you, if you could come to life again, 
 O Agrican, how hard 'twould seem to you, 
 
 Whose love was met by nothing but disdain, 
 And vile repulses, shocking to go through ! 
 
 O Ferragus ! O thousands, who, in vain, 
 
 Did all that loving and great hearts could do, 
 
 How would ye feel, to see, with all her charms, 
 
 This thankless creature in a stripling's arms ? 
 
 The young Medoro had the gathering 
 
 Of the world's rose, the rose untouch'd before ; 
 
 For never, since that garden blush' d with spring, 
 Had human being dared to touch the door. 
 
 To sanction it — to consecrate the thing — 
 The priest was called to read the service o'er, 
 
 (For vdthout marriage what can come but strife ?) 
 
 And the bride-mother was the shepherd's wife. 
 
 All was perform'd, in short, that could be so 
 In such a place, to make the nuptials good; 
 
 Kor did the happy pair think fit to go, 
 
 But spent the month and more within the wood. 
 
APPENDIX. 499 
 
 The lady to the stripling seemed to grow. 
 
 His step her step, his eyes her eyes pursued ; 
 Nor did her love lose any of its zest, 
 Though she was always hanging on his breast. 
 
 In doors and out of doors, by night, by day. 
 She had the charmer by her side for ever ; 
 
 Morning and evening they would stroll away, 
 Now by some field or little tufted river ; 
 
 They chose a cave in middle of the day. 
 Perhaps not less agreeable or clever 
 
 Than Dido and ^neas found to screen them, 
 
 When they had secrets to discuss between them. 
 
 And all this while there was not a smooth tree, 
 
 That stood by stream or fountain with glad breath. 
 
 Nor stone less hard than stones are apt to be, 
 But they would find a knife to carve it with ; 
 
 And in a thousand places you might see. 
 And on the walls about you and beneath, 
 
 Angelica and Medoro, tied in one, 
 
 As many ways as lovers' knots can run. 
 
 And when they thought they had outspent their time, 
 
 Angelica the royal took her way, 
 She and Medoro, to the Indian clime. 
 
 To crown him king of her great realm, Cathay.' 
 
 1 This version of the present episode has appeared in print before. So 
 has a portion of the Monks and the Giants, in the first volume. 
 
500 APPENDIX. 
 
 No. III. 
 THE JEALOUSY OF ORLANDO. 
 
 THE SAME. 
 
 Feron camin diverso i cavallieri, 
 
 Di quel Zerbino, e di la il Conte Orlando. 
 
 Prima che pigli il Conte altri sentieri, 
 All' arbor tolse, e a se ripose il brando; 
 
 E, dove meglio col Pagan pensosse 
 
 Di potersi incontrare, 11 destrier mosse. 
 
 Lo strano corso che tenne il cavallo 
 Del Saracin pel bosco senza via, 
 
 Fece ch' Orlando ando duo giorni in fallo, 
 N6 lo trovo, ne pote aveme spia. 
 
 Giunse ad un rivo, che parea cristallo, 
 Ne le cui sponde un bel pratel fioria, 
 
 Di nativo color vago e dipinto, 
 
 E di molti e belli arbori distinto. 
 
 II merigge facea grato 1' orezo 
 Al duro armento et al pastore ignudo ; 
 
 Si che ne Orlando sentia alcun ribrezo, 
 Che la corazza avea, 1' elmo e lo scudo. 
 
 Quivi egli entro, per riposarsi, in mezo ; 
 E v' ebbe travaglioso albergo e crudo, 
 
 E, piu che dir si possa, empio soggiorno, 
 
 Quell' infelice e sfortunato giorno. 
 
 Volgendosi ivi intomo, vidi scritti 
 
 Molti arbuscelli in su 1' ombrosa riva. 
 
 Tosto che fermi v' ebbe gli occhi e fitti, 
 Fu certo esser di man de la sua Diva. 
 
APPENDIX. 501 
 
 Questo era un di quei lochi gia descritti, 
 
 Ove sovente con Medor veniva 
 Da casa del pastore indi vicina 
 La bella donna del Catai Regina. 
 
 Angelica e Medor con cento nodi 
 Legati insieme, e in cento lochi vede. 
 
 Quante lettere son, tanti son ctiiodi 
 
 Co i quali Amore il cor gli punge e fiede. 
 
 Va col pensier cercando in mille modi 
 
 Non creder quel ch' al suo dispetto crede : 
 
 Ch' altra Angelica sia, creder si sforza, 
 
 Ch' abbia scritto il suo nome in quella scorza. 
 
 Poi dice : Conosco io pur queste note ; 
 Di tal io n' ho tante e vedute e lette. 
 Finger questo Medoro ella si puote ; 
 
 Forse ch' a me questo cognome mette. 
 Con tali opinion dal ver remote 
 
 Usando fraude a se medesmo, stette 
 Ne la speranza il mal contento Orlando, 
 Che si seppe a se stesso ir procacciando. 
 
 Ma sempre piu raccende e piu rinuova, 
 Quanto spenger piu cerca, il rio sospetto ; 
 
 Come r incauto augel che si ritrova 
 In ragna o in visco aver dato di petto, 
 
 Quanto piu batte 1' ale e piu si prova 
 Di disbrigar, piu vi si lega stretto. 
 
 Orlando viene ove s' incurva il monte 
 
 A guisa d' arco in su la chiara fonte. 
 
 Aveano in su 1' entrata il luogo adomo 
 Coi piedi storti edere e viti erranti, 
 
 Quivi soleano al piu cocente giomo 
 Stare abbracciati i duo felici amanti. 
 
 V aveano i nomi lor dentro e d' intomo 
 Piu che in altro de i luoghi circonstanti, 
 
502 APPENDIX. 
 
 Scritti, qual con carbone e qual con gesao, 
 E qual con punte di coltelli impresso. 
 
 II mesto Conte a pie quivi discese; 
 
 E vide in su P entrata de la grotta 
 Parole assai, che di sua man distese 
 
 Medoro avea, che parean scritte allotta. 
 Del gran piacer che ne la grotta prese, 
 
 Questa sentenzia in versi avea ridotta : 
 Che fosse culta in suo linguaggio io penso; 
 Et era ne la nostra tale in senso : 
 
 Liete piante, verdi erbe, limpide acque, 
 Spelunca opaca e di fredde ombre grata, 
 
 Dove la bella Angelica, che nacque 
 Di Galafron, da molti in vano amata, 
 
 Spesso ne le mie braccia nuda giacque; 
 De la commodita che qui m' e data, 
 
 Io povero Medor ricompensarvi 
 
 D' altro non posso, che d' ognior lodarvi : 
 
 E di pregare ogni signore amante 
 
 E cavallieri e damigelle, e ognuna 
 Persona o paesana o viandante, 
 
 Che qui sua volonta meni o Fortuna, 
 Ch' all' erbe, all' ombra, all' antro, al rio, alle piante 
 
 Dica : Benigno abbiate e sole e luna, 
 E de le nimfe il coro che provveggia, 
 Che non conduca a voi pastor mai greggia. 
 
 Era scritta in Arabico, che '1 Conte 
 
 Intendea cosi ben, come Latino. 
 Fra molte lingue e molte ch' avea pronte 
 
 Prontissima avea quella il Paladino 
 E gli schivo piu volte e danni et onte, 
 
 Che si trovo tra il popul Saracino. 
 Ma non si vanti, se gia n' ebbe frutto ; 
 Ch' un danno or n' ha, che puo scontargli il tutto. 
 
APPENDIX. 503 
 
 Tre volte, e quattro, e sei, lesse lo scritto 
 
 Quelle infelice, e pur cercando in vano 
 Che non vi fosse quel che v' era scritto ; 
 
 E sempre lo vedea piu chiaro e piano ; 
 Et ogni volta in mezo il petto afflitto 
 
 Stringersi il cor sentia con fredda mano. 
 Rimase il fin con gli occhi e con la mente 
 Fissi nel sasso, al sasso indifFerente. 
 
 Fu allora per uscir del sentimento; 
 
 Si tutto in preda del dolor si lassa. 
 Credete a chi n' ha fatto esperimento, 
 
 Che questo e '1 duol che tutti gli altri passa. 
 Caduto gli era sopra il petto il mento, 
 
 La fronte priva di baldanza, e bassa ; 
 Ne pote aver (che '1 duol 1' occupo tanto) 
 Alle querele voce, o umore al pianto. 
 
 L' impetuosa doglia entro rimase, 
 
 Che volea tutta uscir con troppa fretta. 
 Cosi veggian restar 1' acqua nel vase, 
 
 Che largo il ventre e la bocca abbia stretta ; 
 Che, nel voltar che si fa in su la base, 
 
 L' umor, che vorria uscir, tanto s' affretta, 
 E ne P angusta via tanto s' intrica, 
 Ch' a goccia a goccia fuore esce a fatica. 
 
 Poi ritoma in se alquanto, e pensa come 
 
 Possa esser che non sia la cosa vera : 
 Che voglia alcun cosi infamare il nome 
 
 De la sua donna e crede e brama e spera, 
 O gravar lui d' insopportabil some 
 
 Tanto di gelosia, che se ne pera; 
 Et abbia quel, sia chi si voglia stato, 
 Molto la man di lei bene imitate. 
 
 In cosi poca, in cosi debol speme 
 
 Sveglia gli spirti, e gli rifranca un poco ; 
 
504 APPENDIX. 
 
 Indi al sao Brigliadoro il dosso preme, 
 Dando gia il sole alia sorella loco. 
 
 Non molto va, die da le vie supreme 
 De i tetti uscir vede il vapor del fuoco, 
 
 Sente cani abbaiar, muggiare armento ; 
 
 Viene alia villa, e piglia alloggiamento. 
 
 Languido smonta, e lascia Brigliadoro 
 A un discrete garzon che n' abbia cura. 
 
 Altri il disarma, altri gli sproni d' oro 
 Gli leva, altri a forbir va 1' armatura. 
 
 Era questa la casa ove Medoro 
 
 Giacque ferito, e v' ebbe alta avventura. 
 
 Corcarsi Orlando e non cenar domanda, 
 
 Di dolor sazio e non d' altra vivanda. 
 
 Quanto piu cerca ritrovar quiete, 
 Tanto ritrova piii travaglio e pene ; 
 
 Che de '1 odiato scritto ogni parete, 
 Ogni uscio, ogni finestra vede plena. 
 
 Chieder ne vuol : poi tien le labra chete ; 
 Che teme non si far troppo serena, 
 
 Troppo chiara la cosa, che di nebbia 
 
 Cerca ofFuscar, perche men nuocer debbia. 
 
 Poco gli giova usar fraude a se stesso ; 
 
 Che senza domandame e chi ne parla. 
 II pastor, che lo vede cosi oppresso 
 
 Da sua tristrizia, e che vorria levarla, 
 L' istoria nota a se che dicea spesso 
 
 Di quel duo amanti a chi volea ascoltarla, 
 Ch' a molti dilettevole fu a udire, 
 Gr incomincio senza rispetto a dire : 
 
 Come esso a prieghi d' Angelica bella, 
 Portato avea Medoro alia sua villa ; 
 
 Ch' era ferito gravemente, e ch' ella 
 Curo la piaga, e in pochi di guarilla : 
 
APPENDIX. 505 
 
 Ma che nel cor d' una maggior di quella 
 
 Lei feri amor : e di poca scintilla 
 L' accese tanto e si cocente fuoco, 
 Che n' ardea tutta, e non trovava loco. 
 
 E, sanza aver rispetto ch' ella fosse 
 
 Figlia del maggior Re ch' abbia il Levante, 
 
 Da troppo amor constretta si condusse 
 A farsi moglie d' un povero fante. 
 
 All ultimo 1' istoria si ridusse, 
 
 Che '1 pastor f e' portar la gemma inante, 
 
 Ch' alia sua dipartenza, per mercede 
 
 Del buono albergo, Angelica gli diede. 
 
 Questa conclusion fu la secure 
 
 Che '1 capo a un colpo gli levo dal collo, 
 Poi che d' innumerabil battiture 
 
 Si vide il manigoldo Amor satollo, 
 Celar si studia Orlando il duolo ; e pure 
 
 Quel gli fa forza, e male asconder puollo; 
 Per lacrime e suspir da bocca e d' occhi 
 Convien, voglia o non voglia, al fin che scocchi. 
 
 Poi ch' allagare il freno al dolor puote 
 
 (Che resta solo, e senza altrui rispetto), 
 Giu da gli occhi rigando per le gote 
 
 Sparge un fiume di lacrime su 'l petto : 
 Sospira e geme, e va con spesse ruote 
 
 Di qua di la tutto cercando il letto; 
 E piii duro ch' un sasso, e piii pungente 
 Che se fosse d' urtica, se lo sente. 
 
 In tanto aspro travaglio gli soccorre, 
 
 Che nel medesmo letto in che giaceva 
 L' ingrata donna venutasi a porre 
 
 Col suo drudo piii volte esser doveva. 
 Non altrimenti or quella piuma abborre 
 
 Ne con minor prestezza se ne leva, 
 VOL. II. Z 
 
506 APPENDIX. 
 
 Che de 1' erba il villan, che s' era messo 
 
 Per chiuder gli occhi, e vegga il serpe appresso. 
 
 Quel letto, quella casa, quel pastore 
 Immantinente in tant' odio gli casca, 
 
 Che senza aspettar luna, o che 1' albore 
 Che va dinanzi al nuovo giorno, nasca, 
 
 Piglia r arme e il destriero, et esce fuore 
 Per mezo il bosco alia piu oscura frasca ; 
 
 E quando poi gli e avviso d' esser solo, 
 
 Con gridi et urli apre le porte al duolo. 
 
 Di pianger mai, niai di gridar non resta ; 
 
 Ne la notte ne '1 di si da mai pace; 
 Fugge cittadi e borghi, e alia foresta 
 
 Su '1 terren duro al discoperto giace. 
 Di se si maraviglia eh' abbia in testa 
 
 Una fontana d' acqua si vivace, 
 E come sospirar possa mai tanto ; 
 E spesso dice a se cosi nel pianto : 
 
 Queste non son piu lacrime, che fuore 
 Stillo da gli occhi con si larga vena. 
 
 Non suppliron le lacrime al dolore ; 
 Finir, ch' a mezo era il dolore a pena. 
 
 Dal fuoco spinto ora il vitale umore 
 
 Fugge per quella via ch' a gli occhi mena ; 
 
 Et e quel che si versa, e trarra insieme 
 
 E '1 dolore e la vita alP ore estreme. 
 
 Questi, ch' indizio fan del mio tormento, 
 Sospir non sono ; ne i sospir son tali. 
 
 Quelli han triegua talora; io mai non sento 
 Che '1 petto mio men la sua pena esali. 
 
 Amor, che m' arde il cor, fa questo vento, 
 Mentre dibatte intorno al fuoco 1' ali. 
 
 Amor, con che miracolo lo fai, 
 
 Che 'n fuoco il tenghi, e nol consumi mai ? 
 
APPENDIX. 507 
 
 Non son, non sono io quel che paio in viso; 
 
 Quel, ch' era Orlando, e morto, et e sotterra; 
 La sua donna ingratissima P ha ucciso ; 
 
 Si, mancando di fe, gli ha fatto guerra. 
 Io son lo spirito suo da lui diviso, 
 
 Ch' in questo inferno tormentandosi erra, 
 Accio con 1' ombra sia, che sola avanza, 
 Esempio a chi in amor pone speranza. 
 
 Pel bosco erro tutta la notte il Conte; 
 
 E alio spuntar della diurna fiamma 
 Lo torno il suo destin sopra la fonte, 
 
 Dove Medoro insculse 1' epigramma. 
 Veder 1' ingiuria sua scritta nel monte 
 
 L* accese si, ch' in lui non resto dramma 
 Che non fosse odio, rabbia, ira e furore ; 
 Ne pill indugio, che trasse il brando fuore. 
 
 Taglio lo scritto e '1 sasso, e sin al cielo 
 
 A volo alzar fe' le minute schegge. 
 Infelice quell' antro, et ogni stelo 
 
 In cui Medoro e Angelica si legge ! 
 Cosi restar quel di, ch' ombra ne gielo 
 
 A pastor mai non daran piii, ne a gregge : 
 E quella fonte gia si chiara e pura. 
 Da cotanta ira fu poco sicura : 
 
 Che rami, e ceppi, e tronchi, e sassi, e zolle 
 
 Non cesso di gittar ne le bell' onde. 
 Fin che da sommo ad imo si turbolle 
 
 Che non furo mai piii chiare ne monde ; 
 E stanco al fin, e, al fin di sudor molle, 
 
 Poi che la lena vinta non risponde 
 Alio sdegno, al grave odio, all' ardente ira. 
 Cade sul prato, e verso il ciel sospira. 
 
 Aiflitto e stanco al fin cade ne 1' erba, 
 E ficca gli occhi al cielo, e non fa motto ; 
 
508 APPENDIX. 
 
 Senza cibo e clormir cosi si serba, 
 
 Che '1 sole esce tre volte, e torna sotto. 
 
 Di crescer non cesso la pena acerba, 
 
 Che fuor del senno al fin P ebbe condotto. 
 
 II quarto di, da gran furor commosso, 
 
 E maglie e piastre si straccio di dosso. 
 
 Qui riman T elmo, e la riman lo scudo ; 
 
 Lontan gli arnesi, e piii lontan P usbergo : 
 L' arme sue tutte, in somma \i conclude, 
 
 Avean pel bosco differente albergo. 
 E poi si squarcid i panni, e mostro ignudo 
 
 L' ispido ventre, e tutto '1 petto e '1 tergo 
 E comincio la gran follia, si orrenda, 
 Che de la piii non sara niai ch' intenda. 
 
 In tanta rabbia, in tanto furor venne, 
 Che rimase ofFuscato in ogni senso. 
 
 Di tor la spada in man non gli sovvenne, 
 Che fatte avria mirabil cose, penso. 
 
 Ma ne quella ne scure ne bipenne 
 Era bisogno al suo vigore immenso. 
 
 Qui^a fe' ben de le sue prove eccelse ; 
 
 Ch' un alto pino al primo crollo svelse; 
 
 E svelse dopo il primo altri parecchi. 
 Come fosser finocchi, ebuli o aneti ; 
 
 F fe' il simil di querce e d' olmi vecchi, 
 Di faggi e d' omi e d' illici a d' abeti ; 
 
 Quel ch' un uccellator, che s' apparecchi 
 II campo mondo, fa, per por le reti, 
 
 De i giunchi e de le stoppie e de 1' urtiche, 
 
 Facchi de cerri e d' altre piante antiche. 
 
 I pastor, che sentito hanno il fracasso, 
 
 Lasciando il gregge sparso alia foresta, 
 Chi di qua, chi di la, tutti a gran passo 
 Vi vengono a veder che cosa e questa. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 509 
 
 The poet breaks off here, and enters afterwards at large into 
 the consequences of the madness of Orlando ; omitted in this 
 work, for the reasons mentioned at page 224. 
 
 No. IV. 
 THE DEATH OF CLORINDA. 
 
 Ma, ecco omai 1' ora fatale e giunta 
 Che 'I viver di Clorinda al suo fin deve. 
 
 Spinge egli il ferro nel bel sen di punta, 
 Che vi s' immerge, e '1 sangue avido beve ; 
 
 E la veste che d' or vago trapunta 
 Le mammelle stringea tenera e leve 
 
 L' empie d' un caldo fiiime. Ella gia sente 
 
 Morirsi, e '1 pie le manca egro e languente. 
 
 Quel segue la vittoria, e la trafitta 
 Vergine minacciando incalza e preme : 
 
 Ella, mentre cadea, la voce afflitta 
 Movendo, disse le parole estreme : 
 
 Parole ch' a lei novo un sjiirto ditta, 
 Spirto di fe, di carita, di speme : 
 
 Virtu eh' or Dio le infonde ; e se rubella 
 
 In vita fu, la vuole in morte ancella : 
 
 Amico, hai vinto ; io ti perdon : perdona 
 Tu ancora, al corpo no, che nulla pave. 
 
 Air alma si : deh ! per lei prega : e dona 
 Battesmo a me ch' ogni mia colpe lave. 
 
 In queste voci languide risuona 
 Un non so che di flebile e soave, 
 
 Che al cor gli serpe, ed ogni sdegno ammorza, 
 
 E gli occhi a lagrimar gl' invoglia e sforza. 
 
510 APPENDIX. 
 
 Poco quindi lontan nel sen del monte 
 Scaturia mormorando un picciol rio : 
 
 Egli v' accorse, e V elmo empie nel fonte, 
 E tomo mesto al grande ufficio e pio. 
 
 Tremar senti la man, mentre la fronte, 
 Non conosciuta ancor, sciolse e scoprio. 
 
 La vide, e la conobbe ; e resto senza 
 
 E voce, e moto. Ahi vista ! ahi cognoscenza ! 
 
 Non mori gia ; che sue virtuti accolse 
 
 Tutte in quel punto, e in guardia al cor le mise 
 
 E, premendo il suo afFanno, a dar si volse 
 Vita coir acqua a chi col ferro uccise. 
 
 Mentre egli il suon de' sacri detti sciolse, 
 Colei di gioia trasmutossi, e rise : 
 
 E in atto di morir lieto e vivace, 
 
 Dir parea ; S' apre il cielo ; io vado in pace. 
 
 D' un bel pallore ha il bianco volto asperso. 
 
 Come a gigli sarian miste viole ; 
 E gli occhi al cielo affisa, e in lei converso 
 
 Sembra per la pietate il cielo e '1 sole ; 
 E la man nuda e fredda alzando verso 
 
 II cavaliero, in vece di parole, 
 Gli da pegno di pace. In questa forma 
 Passa la bella donna, e par che dorma. 
 
 Come r alma gentile uscita ei vede, 
 Rallenta quel vigor ch' avea raccolto, 
 
 E 1' imperio di se libero cede 
 
 Al duol gia fatto impetuoso e stolto, 
 
 Ch' al cor si stringe, e chiusa in breve sede 
 La vita, empie di morte i sensi e '1 volto. 
 
 Gia simile all* estinto il vivo langue 
 
 Al colore, al silenzio, agli atti, al sangue. 
 
 E ben la vita sua sdegnosa e schiva, 
 Spezzando a sforza il suo ritegno frale, 
 
APPENDIX. oil 
 
 La bell' anima sciolta alfin seguiva, 
 Che poco innanzi a lei spiegava 1' ale ; 
 
 Ma quivi stuol de' Franchi a caso arriva, 
 Cui trae bisogno d' acqua, o d' altro tale 
 
 E con la donna il cavalier ne porta, 
 
 In se mal vivo, e morto in lei ch' e morta. 
 
 No V. 
 
 TANCRED IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 
 
 THE SAME. 
 
 Era in prence Tancredi intanto sorto 
 
 A seppellir la sua diletta arnica; 
 E, benche in volto sia languido e smorto, 
 
 E mal atto a portar elmo e lorica, 
 Nulladimen, poi che '1 bisogno ha scorto, 
 
 Ei non ricusa il rischio o la fatica ; 
 Che '1 cor vivace il suo vigor trasfonde 
 Al corpo si, che par ch' esso n' abbonde. 
 
 Vassene il valoroso in se ristretto, 
 
 E tacito e guardingo al rischio ignoto : 
 
 E sostien della selva il fero aspetto, 
 
 E '1 gran romor del tuono e del tremoto ; 
 
 E nulla sbigottisce ; e sol nel petto 
 
 Sente, ma tosto il seda, un picciol moto. 
 
 Trapassa ; ed ecco in quel silvestre loco 
 
 Sorge improvvisa la citta del foco. 
 
 AUor s' arretra, e dubbio aJquanto resta, 
 Fra se dicendo : Or qui che vaglion Tai-mi ? 
 
 Nelle fauci de' mostri, e *n gola a questa 
 Divoratrice fiamma andro a gettarmi ? 
 
512 APPENDIX. 
 
 Non mai la vita, ove cagione onesta 
 
 Del comun pro la chieda, altri risparmi ; 
 Ma ne prodigo sia d' anima grande 
 Uom degno ; e tale e ben chi qui la spande. 
 
 Pur r oste che dira, s' indamo io riedo ? 
 
 Qual altra selva ha di troncar speranza ? 
 Ne intentato lasciar vorra GofFredo 
 
 Mai questo varco. Or, s' oltre alcun s' avanza, 
 Forse 1' incendio, che qui sorto i' vedo, 
 
 Fia d' efFetto minor che sembianza ; 
 Ma seguane che puote. E in questo dire 
 Dentro saltovvi : oh memorando ardire ! 
 
 N6 sotto r arme gia sentir gli parve 
 Caldo o fervor come di foco intenso ; 
 
 Ma pur, se fosser vere fiamme o larve, 
 Mai pote giudicar si tosto il senso : 
 
 Perche repente, apj)ena tocco, sparve 
 
 Quel simulacro, e giunse un nuvol denso, 
 
 Che porto notte e verno ; e '1 verno ancora 
 
 E r ombra dileguossi in piccioP ora. 
 
 Stupido si, ma intrepido rimane 
 
 Tancredi ; e poiche vede il tutto cheto, 
 
 Mette securo il pie nelle profane 
 
 Soglie, e spia della selva ogni secreto. 
 
 Ne piu apparenze inusitate e strane, 
 
 N6 trova alcun per via scontro o divieto, 
 
 Se non quanto per se ritarda il bosco 
 
 La vista e i passi, inviluppato e fosco. 
 
 Alfine un largo spazio in forma scorge 
 D' anfiteatro, e non e pianta in esso. 
 
 Salvo che nel suo mezzo altero sorge. 
 Quasi eccelsa piramide, un cipresso. 
 
 Cola si drizza, e nel mirar s' accorge 
 Ch' era di varj segni il tronco impresso. 
 
APPENDIX. 513 
 
 Simil a quei, che in vece usb di scritto 
 L' antico gia misterioso Egitto. 
 
 Fra i segni ignoti alcune note ha scorte 
 
 Del sermon di Soria, ch' ei ben possiede : 
 O tu, che dentro ai chiostri della morte 
 
 Osasti por, guerriero audace, il piede, 
 Deh ! se non sei crudel, quanto sei forte, 
 
 Deh ! non turbar questa secreta sede. 
 Perdona all' alme omai di luce prive : 
 Non dee guerra co' morti aver chi vive. 
 
 Cosi dicea quel motto. Egli era intento 
 
 Delle brevi parole ai sensi occulti. 
 Fremere intanto udia continuo il vento 
 
 Tra le frondi del bosco e tra i virgulti ; 
 E trame un suon che flebile concento 
 
 Par d' umani sosj)iri e di singulti ; 
 E un non so che confuso instilla al core 
 Di pieta, di spavento e di dolore. 
 
 Pur tragge alfin la spada, e con gran forza 
 
 Percote 1' alta pianta. Oh maraviglia ! 
 Manda fuor sangue la recisa scorza, 
 
 E fa la terra intorno a se vermiglia. 
 Tutto si raccapriccia ; e pur rinforza 
 
 II colpo, e '1 fin vederne ei si consiglia. 
 Allor, quasi di tomba, uscir ne sente 
 Un indistinto gemito dolente ; 
 
 Che poi distinto in voci : Ahi troppo, disse, 
 M' hai tu, Tancredi, offesso : or tanto basti : 
 
 Tu dal corpo, che meco e per me visse, 
 Felice albergo gia, mi discacciasti. 
 
 Perchd il misero tronco, a cui m' affisse 
 II mio duro destino, ancor mi guasti ? 
 
 Dopo la morte gli avversarj tuoi, 
 
 Crudel, ne' lor sepolcri offender vuoi ? 
 
514 APPENDIX. 
 
 Clorinda fui : ne sol qui spirto umano 
 Albergo in questa pianta rozza e dura ; 
 
 Ma ciascun altro ancor, Franco o Pagano, 
 Che lassi i membri a pie dell' alte mura, 
 
 Astretto e qui da novo incanto e strano, 
 Non so s' io dica in corpo o in sepoltura. 
 
 Son di sensi animati i rami e i tronchi ; 
 
 E micidial sei tu, se legno tronchi. 
 
 Qual infermo talor, ch' in sogno scorge 
 Drago, o cinta di fiamme alta Chimera, 
 
 Sebben sospetta, o in parte anco s' accorge 
 Che simulacro sia non forma vera, 
 
 Pur desia di fuggir, tanto gli porge 
 Spavento la sembianza orrida e fera : 
 
 Tale il timido amante appien non crede 
 
 Ai falsi inganni : e pur ne teme, e cede : 
 
 E dentro il cor gli e in modo tal conquiso 
 Da varj affetti, che s' agghiaccia e trema ; 
 
 E nel moto potente ed improvviso 
 Gli cade il ferro : e '1 manco e in lui la tema. 
 
 Va fuor di se. Presente aver gli e avviso 
 L' ofFesa donna sua, che plori e gema : 
 
 Ne puo sofFrir di rimirar quel sangue, 
 
 Ne quel gemiti udir d' egro che langue, 
 
 Cosi quel contra morte audace core 
 Nulla forma turbo d' alto spavento ; 
 
 Ma lui, che solo e fievole in amore. 
 Falsa imago deluse e van lamento. 
 
 Il suo caduto ferro instanto fuore 
 Porto del bosco impetuoso vento, 
 
 Sicche vinto partissi ; e in sulla strada 
 
 Ritrovo poscia, e ripiglio la spada. 
 
 Pur non tomo, ne ritentando ardio 
 Spiar di novo le cagioni ascose ; 
 
APPENDIX. 515 
 
 E poi che, giunto al sommo Duce, unio 
 
 Gli spirti alquanto, e 1' animo compose, 
 Incomincio : Signor, nunzio son io 
 
 Di non credute e non credibil cose. 
 Cio che dicean dello spettacol fero, 
 E del suon paventoso, e tutto vero. 
 
 Maraviglioso foco indi m' apparse, 
 
 Senza materia in un istante appreso ; 
 Che sorse, e, dilatando uh muro farse 
 
 Parve, e d' armati mostri esser difeso. 
 Pur vi passai ; che ne 1' incendio m' arse, 
 
 Ne dal ferro mi fu 1' andar conteso : 
 Vemo in quel punto, ed annotto : fe' il giorno 
 E la serenita poscia ritorno. 
 
 Di piu diro ; ch' agli alberi da vita 
 
 Spirito uman, che sente e che ragiona. 
 Per prova sollo : io n' ho la voce udita, 
 
 Che nel cor flebilmente anco mi suona. 
 Stilla sangue de' tronchi ogni ferita. 
 
 Quasi di molle came abbian persona. 
 No, no, piu non potrei (vinto mi chiamo) 
 Ne corteccia scorzar, ne sveller ramo. 
 
 THE END. 
 
LONDON ; 
 
 PRINTED BY ROBSON, LEVEY, AND FEANKLYN, 
 Great New Street, Fetter Lane.