STORIES FROM THE ITALIAN POETS:

 WITH

 LIVES OF THE WRITERS. 

 BY LEIGH HUNT. 

 IN TWO VOLUMES. 

 VOL. II. 

 MDCCCXLVI. 

 CONTENTS

 OF

 THE SECOND VOLUME. 

 BOIARDO. 

 CRITICAL NOTICE OF HIS LIFE AND GENIUS

 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA

 THE DEATH OF AGRICAN

 THE SARACEN FRIENDS Part the Second

 SEEING AND BELIEVING

 ARIOSTO. 

 CRITICAL NOTICE OF HIS LIFE AND GENIUS

 THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA Part I. Angelica and her Suitors II. Angelica and Medoro III. The Jealousy of Orlando

 ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON

 ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA

 SUSPICION

 ISABELLA

 TASSO. 

 CRITICAL NOTICE OF HIS LIFE AND GENIUS

 OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA

 TANCRED AND CLORINDA

 RINALDO AND ARMIDA;

 WITH THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED FOREST: Part I. Armida in the Christian Camp II. Armida's Hate and Love III. The Terrors of the Enchanted Forest IV. The Loves of Rinaldo and Armida V. The Disenchantment of the Forest, and the Taking of Jerusalem, &c. 

 APPENDIX. 

 I. The Death of Agrican II. Angelica and Medoro Translation III. The Jealousy of Orlando IV. The Death of Clorinda V. Tancred in the Enchanted Forest

BOIARDO:

Critical Notice of his Life and Genius. 

Critical Notice

OF BOIARDO'S LIFE AND GENIUS. [1]

While Pulci in Florence was elevating romance out of the street-ballads, and laying the foundation of the chivalrous epic, a poet appeared inLombardy (whether inspired by his example is uncertain) who was destinedto carry it to a graver though still cheerful height, and prepare the wayfor the crowning glories of Ariosto. In some respects he even excelledAriosto: in all, with the exception of style, shewed himself a genuinethough immature master. 

Little is known of his life, but that little is very pleasant. Itexhibits him in the rare light of a poet who was at once rich, romantic, an Arcadian and a man of the world, a feudal lord and an indulgentphilosopher, 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 ispleasant to repeat such titles when so adorned), is understood to havebeen born about the year 1434, at Scandiano, a castle at the foot of theApennines, not far from Reggio, and famous for its vines. 

He was of an ancient family, once lords of Rubiera, and son of Giovanni, second count of Scandiano, and Lucia, a lady of a branch of the Strozzifamily in Florence, and sister and aunt of Tito and Erole Strozzi, celebrated Latin poets. His parents appear to have been wise people, forthey gave him an education that fitted him equally for public and privatelife. He was even taught, or acquired, more Greek than was common to themen of letters of that age. His whole life seems, accordingly, to havebeen divided, with equal success, between his duties as a servant of thedukes of Modena, both military and civil, and the prosecution of hisbeloved art of poetry, --a combination of pursuits which have been idlysupposed incompatible. Milton's poetry did not hinder him from beingsecretary to Cromwell, and an active partisan. Even the sequesteredSpenser was a statesman; and poets and writers of fiction abound inthe political histories of all the great nations of Europe. When aman possesses a thorough insight into any one intellectual department(except, perhaps, in certain corners of science), it only sharpens hispowers of perception for the others, if he chooses to apply them. 

In the year 1469, Boiardo was one of the noblemen who went to meet theEmperor Frederick the Third on his way to Ferrara, when Duke Borso ofModena entertained him in that city. Two years afterwards, Borso, who hadbeen only Marquis of Ferrara, received its ducal title from the Pope; andon going to Rome to be invested with his new honours, the name of ourpoet is again found among the adorners of his state. A few days after hisreturn home this prince died; and Boiardo, favoured as he had been byhim, appears to have succeeded to a double portion of regard in thefriendship of the new duke, Ercole, who was more of his own age. 

During all this period, from his youth to his prime, our author variedhis occupations with Italian and Latin poetry; some of it addressed to alady of the name of Antonia Caprara, and some to another, whose name isthought to have been Rosa; but whether these ladies died, or his love wasdiverted elsewhere, he took to wife, in the year 1472, Taddea Gonzaga, ofthe noble house of that name, daughter of the Count of Novellara. In thecourse of the same year he is supposed to have begun his great poem. Apopular court-favourite, in the prime of life, marrying and commencinga great poem nearly at one and the same time, presents an image ofprosperity singularly delightful. By this lady Boiardo had two sons andfour daughters. The younger son, Francesco Maria, died in his childhood;but the elder, Camillo, succeeded to his father's title, and left an heirto it, --the last, I believe, of the name. The reception given to thepoet's bride, when he took her to Scandiano, is said to have been verysplendid. 

In the ensuing year the duke his master took a wife himself. She wasEleonora, daughter of the King of Naples; and the newly-married poet wasamong the noblemen who were sent to escort her to Ferrara. For severalyears afterwards, his time was probably filled up with the compositionof the _Orlando Innamorato_, and the entertainments given by a splendidcourt. He was appointed Governor of Reggio, probably in 1478. At theexpiration of two or three years he was made Captain of the citadel ofModena; and in 1482 a war broke out, with the Venetians, in which he tookpart, for it interrupted the progress of his poem. In 1484 he returnedto it; but ten years afterwards was again and finally interrupted by theunprincipled descent of the French on Italy under Charles the Eighth; andin the December following he died. The _Orlando Innamorato_ was thus leftunfinished. Eight years before his decease the author published what hehad written of it up to that time, but the first complete edition wasposthumous. The poet was writing when the French came: he breaks off withan anxious and bitter notice of the interruption, though still unable todeny himself a last word on the episode which he was relating, and a hopethat he should conclude it another time. 

 "Mentre che io canto, o Dio redentore, Vedo l'Italia tutta a fiamma e foco, Per questi Galli, che con gran valore Vengon, per disertar non so che loco: Però 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, I must leave untold How love misled poor Fiordespina's eye. [2] 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, witha vein of natural feeling running through them, and Latin poetry of alike sort, not, indeed, as classical in its style as that of Politian andthe other subsequent revivers of the ancient manner, but perhaps notthe less interesting on that account; for it is difficult to conceivea thorough copyist in style expressing his own thorough feelings. Mr. Panizzi, if I am not mistaken, promised the world a collection of themiscellaneous poems of Boiardo; but we have not yet had the pleasureof seeing them. In his life of the poet, however, he has given severalspecimens, both Latin and Italian, which are extremely agreeable. TheLatin poems consist of ten eclogues and a few epigrams; but the epigrams, this critic tells us, are neither good nor on a fitting subject, beingsatirical sallies against Nicolò of Este, who had attempted to seize onFerrara, and been beheaded. Boiardo was not of a nature qualified toindulge in bitterness. A man of his chivalrous disposition probablymisgave himself while he was writing these epigrams. Perhaps he sufferedthem to escape his pen out of friendship for the reigning branch of thefamily. But it must be confessed, that some of the best-natured men havetoo often lost sight of their higher feelings during the pleasure andpride of composition. 

With respect to the comedy of _Timon_, if the whole of it is written aswell as the concluding address of the misanthrope (which Mr. Panizzi hasextracted into his pages), it must be very pleasant. Timon conceals atreasure in a tomb, and thinks he has baffled some knaves who had adesign upon it. He therefore takes leave of his audience with thefollowing benedictions

 "Pur ho scacciate queste due formiche, Che raspavano l' oro alla mia buca, Or vadan pur, che Dio le malediche. 

 Cotal fortuna a casa li conduca, Che lor fiacchi le gambe al primo passo, E nel secondo l'osso della nuca. 

 Voi altri, che ascoltate giuso al basso, Chiedete, se volete alcuna cosa, Prima ch' io parta, perchè mo vi lasso. 

 Benchè abbia l'alma irata e disdegnosa, Da ingiusti oltraggi combattuta e vinta, A voi già non l'avrò tanto ritrosa. 

 In me non è pietade al tutto estinta Faccia di voi la prova chi gli pare, Sino alla corda, the mi trovo cinta;

 Gli presterò, 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 dust 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 waist_. Let any that would put me to the test, Take it with all my heart, and hang themselves. 

The comedy of _Timon_, which was chiefly taken from Lucian, and one, if not more, of Boiardo's prose translations from other ancients, werewritten at the request of Duke Ercole, who was a great lover of dramaticversions of this kind, and built a theatre for their exhibition at anenormous expense. These prose translations consist of Apuleius's_Golden Ass_, Herodotus (the Duke's order), the _Golden Ass_ of Lucian, Xenophon's _Cyropædia_ (not printed), Emilius Probus (also not printed, and supposed to be Cornelius Nepos), and Riccobaldo's credulous _HistoriaUniversalis_, with additions. It seems not improbable, that he alsotranslated Homer and Diodorus; and Doni the bookmaker asserts, that hewrote a work called the _Testamento dell' Anima_ (the Soul's Testament)but Mr. Panizzi calls Doni "a barefaced impostor;" and says, that asthe work is mentioned by nobody else, we may be "certain that it neverexisted, " and that the title was "a forgery of the impudent priest. "

Nothing else of Boiardo's writing is known to exist, but a collectionof official letters in the archives of Modena, which, according toTiraboschi, are of no great importance. It is difficult to suppose, however, that they would not be worth looking at. The author of the_Orlando Innamorato_ could hardly write, even upon the driest mattersof government, with the aridity of a common clerk. Some little lurkingwell-head of character or circumstance, interesting to readers of a laterage, would probably break through the barren ground. Perhaps the letterswent counter to some of the good Jesuit's theology. 

Boiardo's prose translations from the authors of antiquity are so scarce, that Mr. Panizzi himself, a learned and miscellaneous reader, says henever saw them. I am willing to get the only advantage in my powerover an Italian critic, by saying that I have had some of them in myhands, --brought there by the pleasant chances of the bookstalls; but Ican give no account of them. A modern critic, quoted by this gentleman(Gamba, _Testi di Lingua_), calls the version of Apuleius "rude andcurious;"[3] but adds, that it contains "expressions full of livelinessand propriety. " By "rude" is probably meant obsolete, and comparativelyunlearned. Correctness of interpretation and classical nicety of style(as Mr. Panizzi observes) were the growths of a later age. 

Nothing is told us by his biographers of the person of Boiardo: and it isnot safe to determine a man's _physique_ from his writings, unlessperhaps with respect to the greater or less amount of his animal spirits;for the able-bodied may write effeminately, and the feeblest supply thedefect of corporal stamina with spiritual. Portraits, however, seem to beextant. Mazzuchelli discovered that a medal had been struck in thepoet's honour; and in the castle of Scandiano (though "the halls whereknights and ladies listened to the adventures of the Paladin are nowturned into granaries, " and Orlando himself has nearly disappearedfrom the outside, where he was painted in huge dimensions asif "entrusted with the wardenship") there was a likeness of Boiardoexecuted by Niccolo dell' Abate, together with the principal events ofthe _Orlando Innamorato_ and the _Æneid_. But part of thesepaintings (Mr. Panizzi tells us) were destroyed, and part removed fromthe castle to Modena" to save them from certain loss;" and he does notadd whether the portrait was among the latter. 

From anecdotes, however, and from the poet's writings, we gather thenature of the man; and this appears to have been very amiable. There isan aristocratic tone in his poem, when speaking of the sort of people ofwhom the mass of soldiers is wont to consist; and Foscolo says, that theCount of Scandiano writes like a feudal lord. But common soldiers are notapt to be the _elite_ of mankind; neither do we know with how goodnatureda smile the mention of them may have been accompanied. People often givea tone to what they read, more belonging to their own minds than theauthor's. All the accounts left us of Boiardo, hostile as well asfriendly, prove him to have been an indulgent and popular man. Accordingto one, he was fond of making personal inquiries among its inhabitantsinto the history of his native place; and he requited them so generouslyfor their information, that it was customary with them to say, when theywished good fortune to one another, "Heaven send Boiardo to your house!"There is said to have been a tradition at Scandiano, that having tried invain one day, as he was riding out, to discover a name for one of hisheroes, expressive of his lofty character, and the word _Rodamonte_coming into his head, he galloped back with a pleasant ostentation to hiscastle, crying it out aloud, and ordering the bells of the place to berung in its holiour; to the astonishment of the good people, who took"Rodamonte" for some newly-discovered saint. His friend Paganelli ofModena, who wrote a Latin poem on the _Empire of Cupid_, extolledthe Governor of Reggio for ranking among the deity's most generousvassals, --one who, in spite of his office of magistrate, looked withan indulgent eye on errors to which himself was liable, and who wasaccustomed to prefer the study of love-verses to that of the law. Thelearned lawyer, his countryman Panciroli, probably in resentment, asPanizzi says, of this preference, accused him of an excess of benignity, and of being fitter for writing poems than punishing ill deeds; and intruth, as the same critic observes, "he must have been considered crazyby the whole tribe of lawyers of that age, " if it be true that heanticipated the opinion of Beccaria, in thinking that no crime ought tobe punished with death. 

The great work of this interesting and accomplished person, the _OrlandoInnamorato_, is an epic romance, founded on the love of the great Paladinfor the peerless beauty Angelica, whose name has enamoured the ears ofposterity. The poem introduces us to the pleasantest paths in that trackof reading in which Milton has told us that his "young feet delighted towander. " Nor did he forsake it in his age. 

 "Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp, When Agrican with all his northern powers 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 principalportions:-the search for Angelica by Orlando and her other lovers; thesiege of her father's city Albracca by the Tartars; and that of Parisand Charlemagne by the Moors. These, however, are all more or lessintermingled, and with the greatest art; and there are numerous episodesof a like intertexture. The fairies and fairy-gardens of British romance, and the fabulous glories of the house of Este, now proclaimed for thefirst time, were added by the author to the enchantments of Pulci, together with a pervading elegance; and had the poem been completed, wewere to have heard again of the traitor Gan of Maganza, for the purposeof exalting the imaginary 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 heroOrlando to the passion of love; so, besides the heroine and her name, was that of other interesting characters with beautiful names, whichafterwards figured in Ariosto. This inventive faculty is indeed soconspicuous in every part of the work, on small as well as greatoccasions, in fairy-adventures and those of flesh and blood, thatalthough the author appears to have had both his loves and his fairiessuggested to him by our romances of Arthur and the Round Table, itconstitutes, next to the pervading elegance above mentioned, his chiefclaim to our admiration. Another of his merits is a certain tendergallantry, or rather an honest admixture of animal passion withspiritual, also the precursor of the like ingenuous emotions in Ariosto;and he furthermore set his follower the example, not only of goodbreeding, but of a constant heroical cheerfulness, looking with faith onnature. Pulci has a constant cheerfulness, but not with so much grace anddignity. Foscolo has remarked, that Boiardo's characters even surpassthose of Ariosto in truth and variety, and that his Angelica more engagesour feelings;[4] to which I will venture to add, that if his style isless strong and complete, it never gives us a sense of elaboration. Ishould take Boiardo to have been the healthier man, though of a lessdetermined will than Ariosto, and perhaps, on the whole, less robust. You find in Boiardo almost which Ariosto perfected, --chivalry, battles, combats, loves and graces, passions, enchantments, classical and romanticfable, eulogy, satire, mirth, pathos, philosophy. It is like the firstsketch of a great picture, not the worse in some respects for being asketch; free and light, though not so grandly coloured. It is the morningbefore the sun is up, and when the dew is on the grass. Take the storieswhich are translated in the present volume, and you might fancy them allwritten by Ariosto, with a difference; the _Death of Agrican_ perhapswith minuter touches of nature, but certainly not with greater simplicityand earnestness. In the _Saracen Friends_ there is just Ariosto's balanceof passion and levity; and in the story which I have entitled _Seeing andBelieving_, his exhibition of triumphant cunning. During the lives ofPulci and Boiardo, the fierce passions and severe ethics of Dante hadbeen gradually giving way to a gentler and laxer state of opinion beforethe progress of luxury; and though Boiardo's enamoured Paladin retains akind of virtue not common in any age to the heroes of warfare, the lordof Scandiano, who appears to have recited his poem, sometimes to hisvassals and sometimes to the ducal circle at court, intimates a smilingsuspicion that such a virtue would be considered a little rude andobsolete by his hearers. Pulci's wandering gallant, Uliviero, who inDante's time would have been a scandalous profligate, had become theprototype of the court-lover in Boiardo's. The poet, however, in his mostfavourite characters, retained and recommended a truer sentiment, as inthe instance of the loves of Brandimart and Fiordelisa; and there isa graceful cheerfulness in some of his least sentimental ones, whichredeems them from grossness. I know not a more charming fancy in thewhole loving circle of fairy-land, than the female's shaking her longtresses round Mandricardo, in order to furnish him with a mantle, when heissues out of the enchanted fountain. [5]

But Boiardo's poem was unfinished: there are many prosaical passagesin it, many lame and harsh lines, incorrect and even ungrammaticalexpressions, trivial images, and, above all, many Lombard provincialisms, which are not in their nature of a "significant or graceful" sort, [6] andwhich shocked the fastidious Florentines, the arbiters of Italian taste. It was to avoid these in his own poetry, that Boiardo's countrymanAriosto carefully studied the Tuscan dialect, if not visited Florenceitself; and the consequence was, that his greater genius so obscured thepopularity of his predecessor, that a remarkable process, unique in thehistory of letters, appears to have been thought necessary to restoreits perusal. The facetious Berni, a Tuscan wit full of genius, withoutomitting any particulars of consequence, or adding a single story exceptof himself, re-cast the whole poem of Boiardo, altering the diction ofalmost every stanza, and supplying introductions to the cantos after themanner of Ariosto; and the Florentine idiom and unfailing spirit of thisre-fashioner's verse (though, what is very curious, not till after a longchance of its being overlooked itself, and a posthumous editorship whichhas left doubts on the authority of the text) gradually effaced almostthe very mention of the man's name who had supplied him with the wholestaple commodity of his book, with all the heart of its interest, andwith far the greater part of the actual words. The first edition of Berniwas prohibited in consequence of its containing a severe attack on theclergy; but even the prohibition did not help to make it popular. Thereader may imagine a similar occurrence in England, by supposing thatDryden had re-written the whole of Chaucer, and that his reconstructionhad 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 beginning ofthe present century. 

I do not mean to compare Chaucer with Boiardo, or Dryden with Berni. Finepoet as I think Boiardo, I hold Chaucer to be a far finer; and spirited, and in some respects admirable, as are Dryden's versions of Chaucer, theydo not equal that of Boiardo by the Tuscan. Dryden did not apprehendthe sentiment of Chaucer in any such degree as Berni did that of hisoriginal. Indeed, Mr. Panizzi himself, to whom the world is indebted bothfor the only good edition of Boiardo and for the knowledge of the mostcurious facts respecting Berni's _rifacimento_, declares himself unableto pronounce which of the two poems is the better one, the originalBoiardo, or the re-modelled. It would therefore not very well become aforeigner to give a verdict, even if he were able; and I confess, afterno little consideration (and apart, of course, from questions of dialect, which I cannot pretend to look into), I feel myself almost entirely at aloss to conjecture on which side the superiority lies, except in pointof invention and a certain early simplicity. The advantage in those tworespects unquestionably belongs to Boiardo; and a great one it is, andmay not unreasonably be supposed to settle the rest of the question inhis favour; and yet Berni's fancy, during a more sophisticate period ofItalian 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 theearnestness and sentiment of his original in his gravest moments, that Icannot help thinking the two men would have been each what the other wasin their respective times;--the Lombard the comparative idler, given moreto witty than serious invention, under a corrupt Roman court; and theTuscan the originator of romantic fictions, in a court more suited to himthan the one he avowedly despised. I look upon them as two men singularlywell matched. The nature of the present work does not require, and thelimits to which it is confined do not permit, me to indulge myself in acomparison between them corroborated by proofs; but it is impossible notto notice the connexion: and therefore, begging the reader's pardon forthe sorry substitute of affirmative for demonstrative criticism, I may beallowed to say, that if Boiardo has the praise of invention to himself, Berni thoroughly appreciated and even enriched it; that if Boiardo hassometimes a more thoroughly charming simplicity, Berni still appreciatesit so well, that the difference of their times is sufficient to restorethe claim of equality of feeling; and finally, that if Berni strengthensand adorns the interest of the composition with more felicitousexpressions, and with a variety of lively and beautiful trains ofthought, you feel that Boiardo was quite capable of them all, and mighthave done precisely the same had he lived in Berni's age. In the greaterpart 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 therequirements of the Tuscan manner. And this is the case with most of thenoblest, and even the liveliest passages. My first acquaintance, forexample, with the _Orlando Innamorato_ was through the medium of Berni;and on turning to those stories in his version, which I have translatedfrom his original for the present volume, I found that every passage butone, to which I had given a mark of admiration, was the property of theold poet. That single one, however, was in the exquisitest taste, full ofas deep a feeling as any thing in its company (I have noticed it in thetranslated passage). And then, in the celebrated introductions to hiscantos, and the additions to Boiardo's passages of description andcharacter (those about Rodamonte, for example, so admired by Foscolo), ifBerni occasionally spews a comparative want of faith which you regret, hedoes it with a regret on his own part, visible through all his jesting. Lastly, the singular and indignant strength of his execution often makesup for the trustingness that he was sorry to miss. If I were asked, inshort, which of the two poems I should prefer keeping, were I compelledto choose, I should first complain of being forced upon so hard analternative, and then, with many a look after Berni, retain Boiardo. Theinvention is his; the first earnest impulse; the unmisgivings joy; theprimitive morning breath, when the town-smoke has not polluted thefields, and the birds are singing their "wood-notes wild. " Besides, afterall, one cannot be _sure_ that Berni could have invented as Boiardo did. If he could, he would probably have written some fine serious poem of hisown. And Panizzi has observed, with striking and conclusive truth, that"without Berni the _Orlando Innamorato_ will be read and enjoyed; withoutBoiardo not even the name of the poem remains. "[7]

Nevertheless this conclusion need not deprive us of either work. Berniraised a fine polished edifice, copied and enlarged after that ofBoiardo;--on the other hand, the old house, thank Heaven, remains; andour best way of settling the question between the two is, to be glad thatwe have got both. Let the reader who is rich in such possessions lookupon Berni's as one of his town mansions, erected in the park-likeneighbourhood of some metropolis; and Boiardo's as the ancient countryoriginal of it, embosomed in the woods afar off, and beautiful as theEnchanted Castle of Claude--

 "Lone sitting by the shores of old romance. "

 * * * * *

[Footnote 1: The materials for the biography in this notice have beengathered from Tiraboschi and others, but more immediately from thecopious critical memoir from the pen of Mr. Panizzi, in that gentleman'sadmirable edition of the combined poems of Boiardo and Ariosto, in ninevolumes octavo, published by Mr. Pickering. I have been under obligationsto this work in the notice of Pulci, and shall again be so in that ofBoiardo's successor; but I must not a third time run the risk of omittingto give it my thanks (such as they are), and of earnestly recommendingevery lover of Italian poetry, who can afford it, to possess himself ofthis learned, entertaining, and only satisfactory edition of either ofthe Orlandos. The author writes an English almost as correct as it iselegant; and he is as painstaking as he is lively. ]

[Footnote 2: She had taken a damsel in male attire for a man]

[Footnote 3: Crescimbeni himself had not seen the translation fromApuleius, nor, apparently, several others--_Commentari, &c_. Vol. Ii. Part ii. Lib. Vii. Sect. Xi. ]

[Footnote 4: Article on the _Narrative and Romantic Poems of theItalians_, in the _Quarterly Review_, No. 62, p. 527. ]

[Footnote 5:

 "E' suoi capelli a sè sciolse di testa, Che n'avea molti la dama gioconda; Ed, abbracciato il cavalier con festa, Tutto il coperse de la treccia bionda: Così, 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. ]

[Footnote 6: Foscolo, _ut sup_. P. 528. ]

[Footnote 7: A late amiable man of wit, Mr. Stewart Rose, has givena prose abstract of Berni's _Orlando Innamorato_, with occasionalversification; but it is hardly more than a dry outline, and was, indeed, intended only as an introduction to his version of the _Furioso_. A goodidea, however, of one of the phases of Berni's humour may be obtainedfrom the same gentleman's abridgment of the _Animali Parlanti_ of Casti, in which he has introduced a translation of the Tuscan's description ofhimself 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 hedenounced the corruptions of the clergy, have been published, for thefirst 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 havebeen "Protestant at his heart. "

Since writing this note I have called to mind that a translation ofBerni's account of himself is to be found in Mr. Rose's prose abstract ofthe _Innamorato. _]

THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 

Argument. 

Angelica, daughter of Galafron, king of Cathay, the most beautiful ofwomankind, and a possessor of the art of magic, comes, with her brotherArgalia, to the court of Charlemagne under false pretences, in orderto carry away his knights to the country of her father. Her immediatepurpose is defeated, and her brother slain; but all the knights, Orlandoin particular, fall in love with her; and she herself, in consequence ofdrinking at an enchanted fountain, becomes in love with Rinaldo. On theother hand, Rinaldo, from drinking a neighbouring fountain of a reversequality, finds his own love converted to loathing. Various adventuresarise out of these circumstances; and the fountains are again drunk, witha mutual reversal of their effects. 

THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA

It was the month of May and the feast of Pentecost, and Charlemagne hadordained a great jousting, which brought into Paris an infinite number ofpeople, baptised and infidel; for there was truce proclaimed, in orderthat every knight might come. There was King Grandonio from Spain, withhis serpent's face; and Ferragus, with his eyes like an eagle; andBalugante, the emperor's kinsman; and Orlando, and Rinaldo, and DukeNamo; and Astolfo of England, the handsomest of mankind; and theenchanter Malagigi; and Isoliero and Salamone; and the traitor Gan, withhis scoundrel followers; and, in short, the whole flower of the chivalryof the age, the greatest in the world. The tables at which they feastedwere on three sides of the hall, with the emperor's canopy midway at thetop; and at that first table sat crowned heads; and down the table on theright sat dukes and marquises; and down the table on the left, counts andcavaliers. But the Saracen nobles, after their doggish fashion, lookedneither for chair nor bench, but preferred a carpet on the floor, whichwas accordingly spread for them in the midst. 

High sat Charlemagne at the head of his vassals 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 thetempest. To each of his lords, as they drank, he sent round, by hispages, gifts of enamelled cups of exquisite workmanship; and to everybody some mark of his princely distinction; and so they were all sittingand hearing music, and feasting off dishes of gold, and talking of lovelythings with low voices, [1] when suddenly there came into the hall fourenormous giants, in the midst of whom was a lady, and behind the ladythere followed a cavalier. She was a very lily of the field, and a roseof the garden, and a morning-star; in short, so beautiful that the likehad never been seen. There was Galerana in the hall; there was Alda, the wife of Orlando; and Clarice, and Armellina the kind-hearted, andabundance of other ladies, all beautiful till she made her appearance;but after that they seemed nothing. Every Christian knight turned hisface that way; and not a Pagan remained on the floor, but arose and gotas near to her as he could; while she, with a cheerful sweetness, anda smile fit to enamour a heart of stone, began speaking the followingwords:

"High-minded lord, the renown of your worthiness, and the valour of theseyour knights, which echoes from sea to sea, encourages me to hope, thattwo pilgrims who have come from the ends of the world to behold you, willnot have encountered their fatigue in vain. And to the end that I may nothold your attention too long with speaking, let me briefly say, thatthis knight here, Uberto of the Lion, a prince renowned also for hisachievements, has been wrongfully driven from out his dominions; and thatI, who was driven out with him, am his sister, whose name is Angelica. Fame has told us of the jousting this day appointed, and of the noblepress of knights here assembled, and how your generous natures care notto win prizes of gold or jewels, or gifts of cities, but only a wreath ofroses; and so the prince my brother has come to prove his own valour, andto say, that if any or all of your guests, whether baptised or infidel, choose to meet him in the joust, he will encounter them one by one, inthe green meadow without the walls, near the place called the Horseblockof Merlin, by the Fountain of the Pine. And his conditions arethese, --that no knight who chances to be thrown shall have license torenew the combat in any way whatsoever, but remain a submissive prisonerin his hands; he, on the other hand, if himself be thrown, agreeing totake his departure out of the country with his giants, and to leave hissister, for prize, in the hands of the conqueror. "

Kneeling at the close of these words, the lady awaited the answer ofCharlemagne, and every body gazed on her with astonishment. Orlandoespecially, more than all the rest, felt irresistibly drawn towards her, so that his heart trembled, and he changed countenance. But he feltashamed at the same time; and casting his eyes down, he said to himself, "Ah, mad and unworthy Orlando! whither is thy soul being hurried? I amdrawn, and cannot say nay to what draws me. I reckoned the whole world asnothing, and now I am conquered by a girl. I cannot get her sweet lookout of my heart. My soul seems to die within me, at the thought of beingwithout her. It is love that has seized me, and I feel that nothing willset me free;--not strength, nor courage, nor my own wisdom, nor that ofany adviser. I see the better part, and cleave to the worse. "[2]

Thus secretly in his heart did the frank and noble Orlando lament overhis new feelings; and no wonder; for every knight in the hall wasenamoured of the beautiful stranger, not excepting even old white-headedDuke Namo. Charlemagne himself did not escape. 

All stood for awhile in silence, lost in the delight of looking ather. The fiery youth Ferragus was the first to exhibit symptoms in hiscountenance of uncontrollable passion. He refrained with difficulty fromgoing up to the giants, and tearing her out of their keeping. Rinaldoalso turned as red as fire; while his cousin Malagigi the enchanter, whohad discovered that the stranger was not speaking truth, muttered softly, as he looked at her, "Exquisite false creature! I will play thee such atrick 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 speechin answer, in which he talked and looked, and looked and talked, tillthere seemed no end of it. At length, however, the challenge was acceptedin all its forms; and the lady quitted the hall with her brother and thegiants. 

She had not yet passed the gates, when Malagigi the enchanter consultedhis books; and that no means might be wanting to complete thecounteraction of what he suspected, he summoned to his aid three spiritsout of the lower regions. But how serious his look turned, how his verysoul within him was shaken, when he discovered that the most dreadfuldisasters hung over Charles and his court, and that the sister of thepretended Uberto was daughter of King Galafron of Cathay, a beautyaccomplished in every species of enchantment, and sent there by herfather 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, anenchanted sword, a golden lance, also enchanted, which overthrew all whomit touched, [3] and a ring of a virtue so extraordinary, that if put intothe mouth, it rendered the person invisible, and if worn on the finger, nullified every enchantment. But beyond even all this, he gave him hissister for a companion; rightly judging, that every body that saw herwould fall into the proposal of the joust; and trusting that, at theclose of it, she would bring him the whole court of France into Cathay, prisoners in her hands. 

Such, Malagigi discovered, was the plot of the accursed infidel hound, King Galafron. [4]

Meantime the pretended Uberto had returned to his station at theHorseblock of Merlin. He had had a beautiful pavilion pitched there; andunder this pavilion he lay down awhile to refresh himself with sleep. Hissister Angelica lay down also, but in the open air, under the great pineby 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 downfrom heaven. 

By this time Malagigi, borne by one of his demons, had arrived in thesame place. He saw the beauty asleep by the flowery water, and the fourgiants 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 instantthe whole four giants were buried in sleep. Then, drawing his sword, hesoftly approached the young lady, intending to despatch her as quickly:but seeing her look so lovely as she slept, he paused, and consideredwithin himself, and resolved to detain her in the same state byenchantment, so long as it should please him. Laying down the naked swordin the grass, he again took his book, and read and read on, and stillread on, and fancied he was locking up her senses all the while in asleep 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 allother magic of no avail. A touch from Malagigi to prove the force of hisspell awoke her, to the magician's consternation, with a great cry. Shefled into the arms of her brother, whom it aroused; and, by the help ofhis sister's knowledge of enchantment, Argalia mastered and bound themagician. The book was then turned against him, and the place wassuddenly filled with a crowd of his own demons, every one of them cryingout to Angelica, "What commandest thou?"

"Take this man, " said Angelica, "and bear him prisoner to the great citybetween Tartary and India, where my father Galafron is lord. Present himto him in my name, and say it was I that took him; and add, that havingso taken the master of the book, I care not for all the other lords ofthe court of Charlemagne. "

At the end of these words, and at one and the same instant, the magicianwas conveyed to the feet of Galafron in Cathay, and locked up in a rockunder the sea. 

In due time the enamoured knights, according to agreement, came to thespot, for the purpose of jousting with the supposed Uberto, each anxiousto have the first encounter, particularly Orlando, in order that he mightnot see the beauty carried off by another. But they were obliged to drawlots; and thirty other names appeared before his, the first of which wasthat of Astolfo the Englishman. 

Now Astolfo was son of the king of England; and as I said before, he wasthe handsomest man in the world. He was also very rich and well bred, andloved to dress well, and was as brave as he was handsome; but his successwas not always equal to his bravery. He had a trick of being thrown fromhis horse, a failing which he was accustomed to attribute to accident;and then he would mount again, and be again thrown from the saddle, inthe boldest manner conceivable. 

This gallant prince was habited, on the present occasion, in arms worth awhole treasury. His shield had a border of large pearls; his mail was ofgold; on his helmet was a ruby as big as a chestnut; and his horse wascovered with a cloth all over golden leopards. [5] He issued to thecombat, looking at nobody and fearing nothing; and on his soundingthe horn to battle, Argalia came forth to meet him. After courteoussalutations, the two combatants rushed together; but the moment theEnglishman was touched with the golden lance, his legs flew over hishead. 

"Cursed fortune!" cried he, as he lay on the grass; "this is out of allcalculation. But it was entirely owing to the saddle. You can't butacknowledge, that if I had kept my seat, the beautiful lady would havebeen mine. But thus it is when Fortune chooses to befriend infidels!"[6]

The four giants, who had by this time been disenchanted out of theirsleep by Angelica, took up the English prince, and put him in thepavilion. But when he was stripped of his armour, he looked so handsome, that the lovely stranger secretly took pity on him, and bade them shewhim all the courtesies that captivity allowed. He was permitted to walkoutside by the fountain; and Angelica, from a dark corner, looked at himwith admiration, as he walked up and down in the moonlight. [7]

The violent Ferragus had the next chance in the encounter, and was thrownno less speedily than Astolfo; but he did not so easily put up with themischance. Crying out, "What are the emperor's engagements to me?" herushed with his sword against Argalia, who, being forced to defend himselfunexpectedly, dismounted and set aside his lance, and got so much theworse of the fight, that he listened to proposals of marriage fromFerragus to his sister. The beauty, however, not feeling an inclinationto match with so rough and savage-looking a person, was so dismayed atthe offer, that, hastily bidding her brother meet her in the forest ofArden, she vanished from the sight of both, by means of the enchantedring. Argalia, seeing this, took to his horse of swiftness, and dashedaway 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 ofthe result, but determined to run all risks, in any thing that mightensue, for the sake of the emperor. In fine, to cut this part of thehistory short, Charlemagne, finding the lady and her brother 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 theenchanted lance, unhorsed all comers against him like so many children, equally to their astonishment and his own. 

The Paladin Rinaldo now learnt the issue of the fight between Ferragusand the stranger, and galloped in a loving agony of pursuit afterthe fair fugitive. Orlando learnt the disappearance of Rinaldo, and, distracted with jealousy, pushed forth in like manner; and at length allthree 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 itto 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 twowaters Rinaldo happened to come; and being flushed with heat and anxiety, he dismounted from his horse, and quenched, in one cold draught, both histhirst and his passion. So far from loving Angelica as before, or holdingher beauty of any account, he became disgusted with its pursuit, nay, hated her from the bottom of his heart; and so, in this new state ofmind, and with feelings of lofty contempt, he remounted and rode away, and happened to come on the bank of the running stream. There, enticed bythe beauty of the place, which was all sweet meadow-ground and bowers oftrees, he again quitted his saddle, and, throwing himself on the ground, fell fast asleep. Unfortunately for the proud beauty Angelica, or ratherin just punishment for her contempt, her palfrey conducted her to thisvery place. The water tempted her to drink, and, dismounting and tyingthe animal to one of the trees, she did so, and then cast her eyes on thesleeping Rinaldo. Love instantly seized her, and she stood rooted to thespot. 

The meadow round about was all full of lilies of the valley and wildroses. Angelica, not knowing what to do, at length plucked a quantityof these, and with her white hand she dropped them on the face of thesleeper. He woke up; and seeing who it was, not only received hersalutations with a change of countenance, but remounting his horse, galloped away through the thickest part of the forest. In vain thebeautiful creature followed and called after him; in vain asked him whatshe had done to be so despised, and entreated him, at any rate, to takecare how he went so fast. Rinaldo disappeared, leaving her to wring herhands in despair; and she returned in tears to the spot on which she hadfound him sleeping. There, in her turn, she herself lay down, pressingthe spot of earth on which he had lain; and so, weeping and lamenting, yet blessing every flower and bit of grass that he had touched, fellasleep out of fatigue and sorrow. 

As Angelica thus lay, the good or bad fortune of Orlando conducted him tothe same place. The attitude in which she was sleeping was so lovelythat it is not even to be conceived, much less expressed. The very grassseemed to flower on all sides of her for joy; and the stream, as itmurmured along, to go talking of love. [8] Orlando stood gazing like a manwho 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 ismy 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 acombat ensued which awoke the sleeper. Terrified at what she beheld, sherushed to her palfrey; and while the fighters were occupied with oneanother, fled away through the forest. 

Fast fled the beauty in the direction taken by Rinaldo; nor did shecease travelling, by one conveyance or another, till she reached her owncountry, whither she had sent Malagigi. Him she freed from his prison, on condition that he would employ his art for the purpose of bringingRinaldo to a palace of hers, which she possessed in an island; andaccordingly Rinaldo was inveigled by a spirit into an enchanted barque, which he found on a sea-shore, and which conveyed him, without anyvisible pilot, into Joyous Palace (for so the island was called). 

The whole island was a garden, fifteen miles in extent. It was full oftrees and lawns; and on the western side, close to the sea, was thepalace, built of a marble so clear and polished, that it reflected thelandscape round about. Rinaldo, not knowing what to think of his strangeconveyance, lost no time in leaping to shore; upon which a lady made herappearance, 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 without it were the loveliest flowers, the purestfountains, and a fragrance fit to turn sorrow to joy. The lady led theknight into an apartment painted with stories, and opening to the gardenthrough pillars of crystal with golden capitals. Here he found a bevy ofladies, three of whom were singing in concert, while another played onsome foreign instrument of exquisite accord, and the rest were dancinground about them. When the ladies beheld him coming, they turned thedance into a circuit round about himself; and then one of them, in thesweetest manner, said, "Sir knight, the tables are set, and the hourfor the banquet is come:" and with these words they all drew him, stilldancing, across the lawn in front of the apartment, to a table that wasspread with cloth of gold and fine linen, under a bower of damask roses, by the side of a fountain. [9]

Four ladies were already seated there, who rose and placed Rinaldoat their head, in a chair set with pearls. And truly indeed was heastonished. A repast ensued, consisting of viands the most delicate, andwines as fragrant as they were fine, drunk out of jewelled cups; andwhen it drew towards its conclusion, harps and lutes were heard in thedistance, 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, andthe builder is a queen; and happy indeed must you think yourself, forshe loves you, and she is the greatest beauty in the world. Her name isAngelica. "

The moment Rinaldo heard the name he so detested, disgust andwretchedness fell upon his heart, notwithstanding the joys around him. Hestarted up with a changed countenance, and, in spite of all that the ladycould say, broke off across the garden, and never ceased hastening tillhe reached the place where he landed. He would have thrown himself intothe sea, rather than stay any longer in that island; but the enchantedbarque was still on the shore. He sprang into it, and attempted instantlyto push off, for he still saw nobody in it but himself; but the barquefor a while resisted his efforts; till, on his feeling a wish to drownhimself, or to do any thing rather than return to that detested house, itsuddenly loosed itself from its moorings, and dashed away with him overthe sea, as if in a fury. 

All night did the pilotless barque dash on, till it reached, in themorning, a distant shore covered with a gloomy forest. Here Rinaldo, surrounded by enchantments of a very different sort from those which hehad lately resisted, was entrapped into a pit. The pit belonged to acastle which was hung with human heads, and painted red with blood; andas the Paladin was calling upon God to help him, a hideous white-headedold woman, of a spiteful countenance, made her appearance on the edge ofthe pit, and told him that he must fight with a monster born of Death andDesire. 

"Be it so, " said the Paladin. "Let me but remain armed as I am, and Ifear nothing. " For Rinaldo had with him his renowned sword Fusberta. [10]

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, andthe monster rushed forth. He was a mixture of hog and serpent, largerthan an ox, and not to be looked at without horror. He had eyes like atraitor, the hands of a man, but clawed, a beard dabbled with blood, askin of coarse variegated colours, too hard to be cut through, and twohorns on his temples, which he could turn on all sides of him at hispleasure, and which were so sharp that they cut like a sword. 

Rising on his hind-legs, and opening a mouth six palms in width, thishorrible beast fell heavily on Rinaldo, who was nevertheless quick enoughto give it a blow on the snout which increased its fury. Returning theknight a tremendous cuff, it seized his coat of mail between breast andshoulder, and tore away a great strip of it down to the girdle, leaving the skin bare. Every successive rent and blow was of the likeirresistible violence; and though the Paladin himself never fought withmore force and fury, he lost blood every instant. The monster at lengthtearing his sword out of his hand, the Paladin surely began to think thathis last hour was arrived. 

Looking about to see what might possibly help him, he observed overheada beam sticking out of a wall at the height of some ten feet. He took aleap more than human; and reaching the beam with his hand, succeeded inflinging himself up across it. Here he sat for hours, the furious brutecontinually trying to reach him. Night-time then came on with a clearstarry sky and moonlight, and the Paladin could discern no way ofescaping, when he heard a sound of something, he knew not what, comingthrough the air like a bird. Suddenly a female figure stood on the end ofthe beam, holding something in her hand towards him, and speaking in aloving voice. 

It was Angelica, come with means for destroying the monster, and carryingthe 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 soexasperated with her good offices, especially when she opened her armsand offered to bear him away in them, that he threatened to cast himselfdown to the monster if she did not go away. [11]

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 whichfastened up his teeth, and then caught and fixed him in a set of noosesshe had brought for that purpose, took her miserable departure. Rinaldoupon this got down from the beam himself; and having succeeded, thoughwith the greatest difficulty, in beating and squeezing the life out ofthe monster, dealt such havoc among the people of the castle whoassailed him, that the horrible old woman, whose crimes had made her thecreature's housekeeper, and led her to take delight in its cruelty, threwherself 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; andthe pertinacity of others in seeking her love being as great as that ofhers for Rinaldo, she found King Galafron, in a short time, besiegedthere for her sake, by the fierce Agrican, king of Tartary. 

In a short time a jealous feud sprang up between the loving friendsRinaldo and Orlando; and Angelica, torn with conflicting emotions, fromher dread on her father's account as well as her own, and her aversionto every knight but her detester, was at one time compelled to apply toOrlando for assistance, and at another, being afraid that he would havethe better of Rinaldo in combat, to send him away on a perilous adventureelsewhere, with a promise of accepting his love should he succeed. [12]Orlando went, but not before he had slain Agrican and delivered Albracca. Circumstances, however, again took him with her to a distance, as thereader will see, ere he could bring her to perform her promise; and thePaladins in general having again been scattered abroad, it happened thatRinaldo a second time found himself in the forest of Arden; and here, without expecting it, he became an altered man; for he now tasted a verydifferent 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 ledto do this by a very extraordinary adventure. 

In the thick of the forest he had come upon a mead full of flowers, inwhich there was a naked youth, singing in the midst of three damsels, whowere naked also, and who were dancing round about him. They had bunchesof flowers in their hands, and garlands on their heads; and as theywere thus delighting themselves, with faces full of love and joy, theysuddenly changed countenance on seeing Rinaldo. "Behold, " cried they, "thetraitor! 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 himwith the flowers like so many furies; and tender as such scourges mightbe thought, every blow which the roses and violets gave him, every freshstroke of the lilies and the hyacinths, smote him to the very heart, andfilled his veins with fire. The flowers in the bands of the nymphsbeing exhausted, the youth gave him a blow on the helmet with a tallgarden-lily, which felled him to the earth; and so, taking him by thelegs, and dragging him over the grass, his conqueror went the wholecircuit of the mead with him, the nymphs taking the very garlands offtheir heads, and again scourging him with their white and red roses. [13]

At the close of this discipline, which left him more exhausted thantwenty battles, his enemies suddenly developed wings from theirshoulders, the feathers of which were of white and gold and vermilion, every feather having an eye in it, not like those in the peacock'sfeathers, but one full of life and motion, being a female eye, lovely andgracious. And with these wings they poised themselves a little, and sosprung up to heaven. [14]

The Paladin, more dead than alive, lay helpless among the flowers, when afourth nymph came up to him, of inexpressible beauty. She told him thathe had grievously offended the naked youth, who was no other than Lovehimself; and added, that his only remedy was to be penitent, and to drinkof the waters of a stream hard by, which he would find running from theroots of an olive-tree and a pine. With these words, she vanished in herturn like the rest; and Rinaldo, dragging himself as well as he could tothe olive and pine, stooped down, and greedily drank of the water. Againand again he drank, and wished still to be drinking, for it took not onlyall 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 hewould fain have galloped that instant to Cathay, and prostrated himselfat her feet. By degrees he knew the place; and looking round about him, and preparing to remount his horse, he discerned a knight and a lady inthe distance. The knight was in a coat of armour unknown to him, and thelady kneeling and drinking at a fountain, which was the one that hadformerly quenched his own thirst; to wit, the Fountain of Disdain. 

Alas! it was Angelica herself; and the knight was Orlando. She hadallowed him to bring her into France, ostensibly for the purpose ofwedding him at the court of Charlemagne, whither the hero's assistancehad been called against Agramant king of the Moors, but secretly with theobject of discovering Rinaldo. Rinaldo, behold! is discovered; but thefatal averse water has been drunk, and Angelica now hates him in turn, ascordially as he detested her. In vain he accosted her in the humblest andmost repentant manner, calling himself the unworthiest of mankind, andentreating to be allowed to love her. Orlando, disclosing himself, fiercely interrupted him; and a combat so terrific ensued, that Angelicafled away on her palfrey till she came to a large plain, in which shebeheld an army encamped. 

The army was Charlemagne's, who had come to meet Rodamonte, one of thevassals of Agramant. Angelica, in a tremble, related how she had left thetwo Paladins fighting in the wood; and Charlemagne, who was delighted tofind Orlando so near him, proceeded thither with his lords, and partingthe combatants by his royal authority, suppressed the dispute betweenthem for the present, by consigning the object of their contention to thecare of Namo duke of Bavaria, with the understanding that she was to bethe prize of the warrior who should best deserve her in the approachingbattle with the infidels. 

[This is the last we hear of Angelica in the unfinished poem of Boiardo. For the close of her history see its continuation by Ariosto in thepresent volume. ]

[Footnote 1: "Con parlar basso e bei ragionamenti. "]

[Footnote 2: _Video meliora, proboque, &c. _ Writers were now beginningto pride themselves on their classical reading. The present occasion, it must be owned, was a very good one for introducing the passage fromHorace. The previous words have an affecting ingenuousness; and, indeed, the whole stanza is beautiful:

 "Io non mi posso dal cor dipartire La dolce vista del viso sereno, Perch'io mi sento senza lei morire, E 'l spirto a poco a poco venir meno. Or non mi vale forza, nè l'ardire Contra d' amor, the m' ha già posto il freno; Nè mi giova saper, ne altrui consiglio: Il 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 clasp the worse. ]

[Footnote 3: [Greek: Argureais logchaisi machou, kai panta krataeseis. ]

 "Make war with silver spears, and you'll beat all. "

The reader will note the allegory or not, as he pleases. It is a verygood allegory; but allegory, by the due process of enchantment, becomesmatter of fact; and it is pleasant to take it as such. ]

[Footnote 4: "Rè Galagron, il maledetto cane"]

[Footnote 5: The lions in the shield of England were leopards in the"olden time, " and it is understood, I believe, ought still to be so, --asNapoleon, with an invidious pedantry, once permitted himself to be angryenough to inform us. ]

[Footnote 6: The character of Astolfo, the germ of which is in our ownancient British romances, appears to have been completed by the livelyinvention of Boiardo, and is a curious epitome of almost all which hasbeen discerned in the travelled Englishmen by the envy of poorer and thewit of livelier foreigners. He has the handsomeness and ostentation of aBuckingham, the wealth of a Beckford, the generosity of a Carlisle, theinvincible pretensions of a Crichton, the self-commitals and bravery ofa Digby, the lucklessness of a Stuart, and the _nonchalance_ "underdifficulties" of "_Milord What-then_" in Voltaire's _Princess ofBabylon_, where the noble traveller is discovered philosophically readingthe news-paper in his carriage after it was overturned. English beauty, ever since the days of Pope Gregory, with his pun about Angles andAngels, has been greatly admired in the south of Europe--not a little, perhaps, on account of the general fairness of its complexion. I onceheard a fair-faced English gentleman, who would have been thought rathereffeminate looking at home, called an "Angel" by a lady in Genoa. ]

[Footnote 7:

 "Stava disciolto, senza guardia alcuna, Ed intorno a la fonte sollazzava; Angelica nel lume de la luna, Quanto potea nascosa, lo mirava. "

There is something wonderfully soft and _lunar_ in the liquid monotony ofthe third line. ]

[Footnote 8:

 "La qual dormiva in atto tanto adorno, Che pensar non si può, non ch'io lo scriva Parea che l'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. ]

[Footnote 9: Supremely elegant all this appears to me. ]

[Footnote 10: Sometimes called in the romances _Frusberta_ (query, from_fourbir_, to burnish; or, _froisser_, to crush?). The meaning does notseem to be known. I ought to have observed, in the notes to Pulci, thatthe name of Orlando's sword, _Durlindana_ (called also _Durindana, Durandal_, &c. ), is understood to mean _Hardhitter_. ]

[Footnote 11: The force of aversion was surely never better imagined thanin this scene of the opened arms of beauty, and the knight's preferenceof the most odious death. ]

[Footnote 12: 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. ]

[Footnote 13: This violent effect of weapons so extremely gentle isbeautifully conceived. ]

[Footnote 14: The "female eye, lovely and gracious, " is charminglypainted _per se_, but of this otherwise thoroughly beautiful descriptionI must venture to doubt, whether _living_ eyes of any sort, instead ofthose in the peacock's feathers, are in good taste. The imaginationrevolts from life misplaced. ]

THE

DEATH OF AGRICAN

Argument. 

Agrican king of Tartary, in love with Angelica, and baffled by theprowess of the unknown Orlando in his attempts to bring the siege ofAlbracca to a favourable conclusion, entices him apart from the battleinto a wood, in the hope of killing him in single combat. The combat issuspended by the arrival of night-time; and a conversation ensues betweenthe warriors, which is furiously interrupted by Agrican's discovery ofhis rival, and the latter's refusal to renounce his love. Agrican isslain; and in his dying moments requests baptism at the hand of hisconqueror, who, with great tenderness, bestows it. 

THE

DEATH OF AGRICAN. 

The siege of Albracca was going on formidably under the command ofAgrican, and the city of Galafron was threatened with the loss of themonarch's daughter, Angelica, when Orlando, at his earnest prayer, cameto assist him, and changing at once the whole course of the war, threwthe enemy in his turn into transports of anxiety. Wherever the greatPaladin came, pennon and standard fell before him. Men were cut up andcloven down, at every stroke of his sword; and whereas the Indians hadbeen in full rout but a moment before, and the Tartars ever on theirflanks, Galafron himself being the swiftest among the spurrers away, itwas now the Tartars that fled for their lives; for Orlando was there, anda band of fresh knights were about him, and Agrican in vain attempted torally his troops. The Paladin kept him constantly in his front, forcinghim to attend to nobody else. The Tartar king, who cared not a button forGalafron and all his army, [1] provided he could but rid himself of thisterrible knight (whom he guessed at, but did not know), bethought him ofa stratagem. He turned his horse, and made a show of flying in despair. Orlando dashed after him, as he desired; and Agrican fled till he reacheda green place in a wood, with a fountain in it. 

The place was beautiful, and the Tartar dismounted to refresh himself atthe fountain, but without taking off his helmet, or laying aside any ofhis armour. Orlando was quickly at his back, crying out, "So bold, andyet such a fugitive! How could you fly from a single arm, and yet thinkto escape? When a man can die with honour, he should be glad to die; forhe 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; andwhen the Paladin had done speaking, he said in a mild voice, "Withoutdoubt you are the best knight I ever encountered; and fain would I leaveyou untouched for your own sake, if you would cease to hinder me fromrallying my people. I pretended to fly, in order to bring you out of thefield. If you insist upon fighting, I must needs fight and slay you; butI call the sun in the heavens to witness, that I would rather not. Ishould be very sorry for your death. "

The County Orlando felt pity for so much gallantry; and he said, " Thenobler you shew yourself, the more it grieves me to think, that in dyingwithout a knowledge of the true faith, you will be lost in the otherworld. 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 thePaladin Orlando. If you are, I would not lose this opportunity offighting with you, to be king of Paradise. Talk to me no more about yourthings of the other world; for you will preach in vain. Each of us forhimself, and let the sword be umpire. "

No sooner said than done. The Tartar drew his sword, boldly advancingupon 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 lastedfrom noon till night. Orlando then, seeing the stars come out, was thefirst to propose a respite. "What are we to do, " said he, "now thatdaylight has left us?"

Agrican answered readily enough, "Let us repose in this meadow, and renewthe combat at dawn. "

The repose was taken accordingly. Each tied up his horse, and reclinedhimself on the grass, not far from one another, just as if they had beenfriends, --Orlando by the fountain, Agrican beneath a pine. It was abeautiful clear night; and as they talked together, before addressingthemselves to sleep, the champion of Christendom, looking up at thefirmament, said, "That is a fine piece of workmanship, that starryspectacle. God made it all, --that moon of silver, and those stars ofgold, 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. "NowI may as well tell you at once, that I have no sort of skill in suchmatters, nor learning of any kind. I never could learn anything whenI was a boy. I hated it so, that I broke the man's head who wascommissioned to teach me; and it produced such an effect on others, thatnobody ever afterwards dared so much as shew me a book. My boyhood wastherefore passed as it should be, in horsemanship, and hunting, andlearning to fight. What is the good of a gentleman's poring all day overa book? Prowess to the knight, and prattle to the clergyman. That is mymotto. "

"I acknowledge, " returned Orlando, "that arms are the first considerationof a gentleman; but not at all that he does himself dishonour byknowledge. On the contrary, knowledge is as great an embellishment of therest of his attainments, as the flowers are to the meadow before us; andas to the knowledge of his Maker, the man that is without it is no betterthan a stock or a stone, or a brute beast. Neither, without study, canhe reach anything like a due sense of the depth and divineness of thecontemplation. "

"Learned or not learned, " said Agrican, "you might skew yourself betterbred than by endeavouring to make me talk on a subject on which you haveme 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. Youwill therefore permit me, if you say anything more of such things, tomake you no answer. If you choose to sleep, I wish you good night; butif you prefer talking, I recommend you to talk of fighting, or of fairladies. And, by the way, pray tell me-are you, or are you not, may I ask, that Orlando 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 musthave been; for to be a knight, and never to have been in love, would belike being a man with no heart in his breast. "

The County replied, "Orlando I am, and in love I am. [2] Love has made meabandon every thing, and brought me into these distant regions; and totell you all in one word, my heart is in the hands of the daughter ofKing Galafron. You have come against him with fire and sword, to getpossession of his castles and his dominions; and I have come to helphim, for no object in the world but to please his daughter, and win herbeautiful hand. I care for nothing else in existence. "

Now when the Tartar king Agrican heard his antagonist speak in thismanner, and knew him to be indeed Orlando, and to be in love withAngelica, his face changed colour for grief and jealousy, though it couldnot 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, "weare to fight when it is daylight, and one or the other is to be lefthere, dead on the ground. I have a proposal to make to you; nay, anentreaty. My love is so excessive for the same lady, that I beg you toleave 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 shallknow it. "[3]

"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 tearaway the limbs from my body, and the eyes out of my head. I could as soonlive without breath itself, as cease loving Angelica. "

Agrican bad scarcely patience enough to let the speaker finish, ere heleaped furiously on horseback, though it was midnight. "Quit her, " saidhe, "or die!"

Orlando, seeing the infidel getting up, and not being sure that he wouldnot add treachery to fierceness, had been hardly less quick in mountingfor the combat. "Never!" exclaimed he. "I never could have quitted her ifI would; and now I wouldn't if I could. You must seek her by othermeans than these. "

Fiercely dashed their horses together, in the night-time, on the greenmead. Despiteful and terrible were the blows they gave and took by themoonlight. There was no need of their looking out for one another, night-time though it was. Their business was to take as sharp heed ofevery movement, as if it had been noon-day. [4]

Agrican fought in a rage: Orlando was cooler. And now the struggle hadlasted more than five hours, and dawn began to be visible, when theTartar king, furious to find so much trouble given him, dealt his enemy ablow sharp and violent beyond conception. It cut the shield in two, asif it had been a cheesecake; and though blood could not be drawn fromOrlando, because he was fated, it shook and bruised him, as if it hadstarted every joint in his body. 

His body only, however; not a particle of his soul. So dreadful was theblow which the Paladin gave in return, that not only shield, but everybit of mail on the body of Agrican, was broken in pieces, and three ofhis left ribs cut asunder. 

The Tartar, roaring like a lion, raised his sword with still greatervehemence than before, and dealt a blow on the Paladin's helmet, such ashe had never yet received from mortal man. For a moment it took away hissenses. His sight failed; his ears tinkled; his frightened horse turnedabout to fly; and he was falling from the saddle, when the very actionof falling jerked his head upwards, and with the jerk he regained hisrecollection. 

"O my God!" thought he, "what a shame is this! how shall I ever againdare to face Angelica! I have been fighting, hour after hour, with thisman, and he is but one, and I call myself Orlando. If the combat lastany longer, I will bury myself in a monastery, and never look on swordagain. "

Orlando muttered with his lips closed and his teeth ground together; andyou might have thought that fire instead of breath came out of his noseand mouth. He raised his sword Durindana with both his hands, and sentit down so tremendously on Agrican's left shoulder, that it cut throughbreast-plate and belly-piece down to the very haunch; nay, crushed thesaddle-bow, though it was made of bone and iron, and felled man and horseto the earth. From shoulder to hip was Agrican cut through his wearysoul, and he turned as white as ashes, and felt death upon him. He calledOrlando to come close to him with a gentle voice, and said, as well as hecould, "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 saveall 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 theking tenderly in his arms, and took and laid him by the fountain, ona marble cirque which it had; and then he wept in concert with himheartily, and asked his pardon, and so baptised him in the water of thefountain, and knelt and prayed to God for him with joined hands. 

He then paused and looked at him; and when he perceived his countenancechanged, and that his whole person was cold, he left him there on themarble cirque by the fountain, all armed as he was, with the sword by hisside, and the crown upon his head. 

 * * * * *

I think I may anticipate the warm admiration of the reader for the wholeof this beautiful episode, particularly its close. "I think, " saysPanizzi, "that Tasso had this passage particularly in view when he wrotethe duel of Clorinda and Tancredi, and her conversion and baptism beforedying. The whole passage, from stanza xii. (where Agrican receives hismortal blow) to this, is beautiful; and the delicate proceeding ofOrlando 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 thesame noble delicacy, who is in distress for a set of arms, borrows thosebelonging to the dead body, with many excuses, and a kiss on its face. 

[Footnote 1:

 "Che tutti insieme, e 'l suo Rè Galafrone, Non li stimava quanto un vil bottone. "]

[Footnote 2: Berni has here introduced the touching words, "Would I werenot so!" (Così non foss'io!)]

[Footnote 3: This proposal is in the highest ingenuous spirit of theabsurd wilfulness of passion, thinking that every thing is to give waybefore it, not excepting the same identical wishes in other people. ]

[Footnote 4: Very fine all this, I think. ]

THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 

A FAIRY LOVE-TALE

Argument. 

Prasildo, a nobleman of Babylon, to his great anguish, falls in love withhis friend's wife, Tisbina; and being overheard by her and her husbandthreatening to kill himself, the lady, hoping to divert him from hispassion by time and absence, promises to return it on condition of hisperforming a distant and perilous adventure. He performs the adventure;and the husband and wife, supposing that there is no other way of herescaping the consequences, resolve to take poison; after which the ladygoes to Prasildo's house, and informs him of their having done so. Prasildo resolves to die with them; but hearing, in the mean time, thatthe apothecary had given them a drink that was harmless, he goes andtells them of their good fortune; upon which the husband is so struckwith his generosity, that he voluntarily quits Babylon for life and thelady marries the lover. The new husband subsequently hears that hisfriend's life is in danger, and quits the wife to go and deliver him fromit at the risk of his own, which he does. 

This story, which has resemblances to it in Boccaccio and Chaucer, istold to Rinaldo while riding through a wood in Asia, with a damsel behindhim on the same horse. He has engaged to combat in her behalf with a bandof knights; and the lady relates it to beguile the way. 

The reader is to bear in mind, that the age of chivalry took delight inmooting points of love and friendship, such as in after-times wouldhave been out of the question; and that the parties in this story areMahometans, with whom divorce was an easy thing, and caused no scandal. 

THE SARACEN FRIENDS. 

Iroldo, a knight of Babylon, had to wife a lady of the name of Tisbina, whom he loved with a passion equal to that of Tristan for Iseult;[1] andshe returned his love with such fondness, that her thoughts were occupiedwith him from morning till night. Among other pleasant circumstancesof their position, they had a neighbour who was accounted the greatestnobleman in the city; and he deserved his credit, for he spent his greatriches in doing nothing but honour to his rank. He was pleasant incompany, formidable in battle, full of grace in love; an open-hearted, accomplished gentleman. 

This personage, whose name was Prasildo, happened to be of a party oneday with Tisbina, who were amusing themselves in a garden, with a game inwhich the players knelt down with their faces bent on one another's laps, and guessed who it was that struck them. The turn came to himself, andhe knelt down to the lap of Tisbina; but no sooner was he there, than heexperienced feelings he had never dreamt of; and instead of trying toguess correctly, took all the pains he could to remain in the sameposition. 

These feelings pursued him all the rest of the day, and still moreclosely at night. He did nothing but think and sigh, and find the softfeathers harder than any stone. Nor did he get better as time advanced. His once favourite pastime of hunting now ceased to afford him anydelight. Nothing pleased him but to be giving dinners and balls, to makeverses and sing them to his lute, and to joust and tournay in the eyes ofhis love, dressed in the most sumptuous apparel. But above all, gentleand graceful as he had been before, he now became still more gentle andgraceful--for good qualities are always increased when a man is inlove. Never in my life did I know them turn to ill in that case. So, inPrasildo's, you may guess what a super-excellent person he became. 

The passion which had thus taken possession of this gentleman was notlost upon the lady for want of her knowing it. A mutual acquaintancewas always talking to her on the subject, but to no purpose; she neverrelaxed her pride and dignity for a moment. The lover at last fell ill;he fairly wasted away; and was so unhappy, that he gave up all hisfeastings and entertainments. The only pleasure he took was in a solitarywood, in which he used to plunge himself in order to give way to hisgrief 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. Hehad Tisbina with him; and as they were coming along, they overheard theirneighbour during one of his paroxysms, and stopped to listen to what hesaid. 

"Hear me, " exclaimed he, "ye flowers and ye woods. Hear to what a pass ofwretchedness I am come, since that cruel one will hear me not. Hear, Osun that hast taken away the night from the heavens, and you, ye stars, and thou the departing moon, hear the voice of my grief for the lasttime, for exist I can no longer; my death is the only way left me togratify that proud beauty, to whom it has pleased Heaven to give acruel heart with a merciful countenance. Fain would I have died in herpresence. It would have comforted me to see her pleased even with thatproof 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 scornso extreme; and I love her so, I would not have her pained for all hercruelty. Surely I shall love her even in my grave. "

With these words, turning pale with his own mortal resolution, Prasildodrew his sword, and pronouncing the name of Tisbina more than once with aloving voice, as though its very sound would be sufficient to waft himto Paradise, was about to plunge the steel into his bosom, when the ladyherself, by leave of her husband, whose manly visage was all in tears forpity, stood suddenly before him. 

"Prasildo, " said she, "if you love me, listen to me. You have often toldme that you do so. Now prove it. I happen to be threatened with nothingless than the loss of life and honour. Nothing short of such a calamitycould have induced 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 fromthose to whom we have refused them. But I now promise you, that if you dowhat I desire, your love shall be returned. I give you my word for it. Igive you my honour. On the other side of the wilds of Barbary is a gardenwhich has a wall of iron. It has four gates. Life itself keeps one; Deathanother; Poverty the third; the fairy of Riches the fourth. He who goesin at one gate must go out at the other opposite; and in the midst of thegarden is a tree, tall as the reach of an arrow, which produces pearlsfor blossoms. It is called the Tree of Wealth, and has fruit of emeraldsand boughs of gold. I must have a bough of that tree, or suffer the mostpainful consequences. Now, then, if you love me, I say, prove it. Proveit, and most assuredly I shall love you in turn, better than ever youloved myself. "

What need of saying that Prasildo, with haste and joy, undertook to doall that she required? If she had asked the sun and stars, and the wholeuniverse, he would have promised them. Quitting her in spite of his love, he set out on the journey without delay, only dressing himself before heleft the city in the habit of a pilgrim. 

Now you must know, that Iroldo and his lady had set Prasildo on thatadventure, in the hope that the great distance which he would have totravel, and the change which it might assist time to produce, woulddeliver him from his passion. At all events, in case this good end wasnot effected before he arrived at the garden, they counted to a certaintyon 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, thatwhosoever did but look on her countenance forgot the reason for his goingthither; and whoever saluted, touched, and sat down to converse by herside, forgot all that had ever occurred in his lifetime. 

Away, however, on his steed went our bold lover; all alone, or ratherwith Love for his companion; and so, riding hard till he came to the RedSea, he took ship, and journeyed through Egypt, and came to the mountainsof Barca, where he overtook an old grey-headed palmer. 

Prasildo told the palmer the reason of his coming, and the palmer toldhim what the reader has heard about the garden; adding, that he mustenter 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 beholdher beauty. The old man gave him other directions necessary for hispassing out of the gate of Riches; and Prasildo, thanking him, went on, and in thirty days found himself entering the garden with the greatestease, by the gate of Poverty. 

The garden looked like a Paradise, it was so full of beautiful trees, andflowers, and fresh grass. Prasildo took care to hold the shield over hiseyes, that he might avoid seeing the fairy Medusa; and in this manner, guarding his approach, he arrived at the Golden Tree. The fairy, who wasreclining against the trunk of it, looked up, and saw herself in theglass. Wonderful was the effect on her. Instead of her own white-and-redblooming face, she beheld that of a dreadful serpent. The spectacle madeher take to flight in terror; and the lover, finding his object so fargained, looked freely at the tree, and climbed it, and bore away abough[2]. 

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 hemade the fairy who kept it a present of half the bough; and so he issuedforth out of the garden, with indescribable joy. 

Behold our loving adventurer now on his road home. Every step of the wayappeared to him a thousand. He took the road of Nubia to shorten thejourney; crossed the Arabian Gulf with a breeze in his favour; andtravelling by night as well as by day, arrived one fine morning inBabylon. 

No sooner was he there, than he sent to tell the object of his passionhow fortunate he had been. He begged her to name her own place and timefor receiving the bough at his hands, taking care to remind her of herpromise; and he could not help adding, that he should die if she broke it. 

Terrible was the grief of Tisbina at this unlooked-for news. She threwherself 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 noremedy for a case like this, since it is only another mode of breaking myword. To think that Prasildo should return from the garden of Medusa! whocould have supposed it possible? And yet, in truth, what a fool I was tosuppose any thing impossible to love! O my husband! little didst thouthink what thou thyself advisedst me to promise!"

The husband was coming that moment towards the room; and overhearing hiswife grieving in this distracted manner, he entered and clasped her inhis arms. On learning the cause of her affliction, he felt as though heshould have died with her on the spot. 

"Alas!" cried he, "that it should be possible for me to be miserablewhile I am so dear to your heart. But you know, O my soul! that when loveand jealousy come together, the torment is the greatest in the world. Myself--myself, alas! caused the mischief, and myself alone ought tosuffer for it. You must keep your promise. You must abide by the word youhave given, especially to one who has undergone so much to perform whatyou asked him. Sweet face, you must. But oh! see him not till after I amdead. Let Fortune do with me what she pleases, so that I be saved from adisgrace like that. It will be a comfort to me in death to think thatI alone, while I was on earth, enjoyed the fond looking of that lovelyface. Nay, " concluded the wretched husband, "I feel as though I shoulddie over again, if I could call to mind in my grave how you were takenfrom me. "

Iroldo became dumb for anguish. It seemed to him as if his very heart hadbeen taken out of his breast. Nor was Tisbina less miserable. She was aspale as death, and could hardly speak to him, or bear to look at him. Atlength turning her eyes upon him, she said, "And do you believe I couldmake 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, thatif 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 ofus. 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. Itneed not even be a hard death, saving our misery. There are poisons sogentle in their deadliness, that we need but faint away into sleep, andso, in the course of a few hours, be delivered. Our misery and our follywill then alike be ended. "

Iroldo assenting, clasped his wife in distraction; and for a long timethey remained in the same posture, half stifled with grief, and bathingone another's cheeks with their tears. Afterwards they sent quietly forthe poison; and the apothecary made up a preparation in a cup, withoutasking any questions; and so the husband and wife took it. Iroldo drankfirst, and then endeavoured to give the cup to his wife, uttering not aword, and trembling in every limb; not because he was afraid of death, but because he could not bear to ask her to share it. At length, turningaway his face and looking down, he held the cup towards her, and she tookit with a chilled heart and trembling hand, and drank the remainder tothe dregs. Iroldo then covered his face and head, not daring to see herdepart for the house of Prasildo; and Tisbina, with pangs bitterer thandeath, left him in solitude. 

Tisbina, accompanied by a servant, went to Prasildo, who could scarcelybelieve his ears when he heard that she was at the door requesting tospeak with him. He hastened down to shew her all honour, leading herfrom the door into a room by themselves; and when he found her in tears, addressed her in the most considerate and subdued, yet still not unhappymanner, taking her confusion for bashfulness, and never dreaming what atragedy had been meditated. 

Finding at length that her grief was not to be done away, he conjuredher 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 herany service. Tisbina spoke at these words; and Prasildo then heard whathe did not wish to hear. "I am in your hands, " answered she, "while Iam yet alive. I am bound to my word, but I cannot survive the dishonourwhich 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 mydisappearance from the earth. Had my affections not belonged to another, ungentle would have been my heart not to have loved yourself, who are socapable of loving; but (as you must well know) to love two at once isneither fitting nor in one's power. It was for that reason I never lovedyou, baron; I was only touched with compassion for you; and hence themiseries of us all. Before this day closes, I shall have learnt the tasteof death. " And without further preface she disclosed to him how she andher husband had taken poison. 

Prasildo was struck dumb with horror. He had thought his felicity athand, and was at the same instant to behold it gone for ever. She who wasrooted in his heart, she who carried his life in her sweet looks, evenshe was sitting there before him, already, so to speak, dead. 

"It has pleased neither Heaven nor you, Tisbina, " exclaimed the unhappyyoung man, "to put my best feelings to the proof. Often have two loversperished for love; the world will now behold a sacrifice of three. Oh, why did you not make a request to me in your turn, and ask me to free youfrom your promise? You say you took pity on me! Alas, cruel one, confessthat you have killed yourself, in order to kill me. Yet why? Never did Ithink of giving you displeasure; and I now do what I would have done atany time to prevent it, I absolve you from your oath. Stay, or go thisinstant, as it seems best to you. "

A stronger feeling than compassion moved the heart of Tisbina at thesewords. "This indeed, " replied she, "I feel to be noble; and truly couldI also now die to save you. But life is flitting; and how may I prove myregard?"

Prasildo, who had in good earnest resolved that three instead of twoshould perish, experienced such anguish at the extraordinary position inwhich he found all three, that even her sweet words came but dimly to hisears. He stood like a man stupified; then begged of her to give him butone kiss, and so took his leave without further ado, only intimating thather way out of the house lay before her. As he spake, he removed himselffrom her sight. 

Tisbina reached home. She found her husband with his head covered up asshe left him; but when she recounted what had passed, and the courtesy ofPrasildo, and how he had exacted from her but a single kiss, Iroldo gotup, and removed the covering from his face, and then clasping his hands, and raising it to heaven, he knelt with grateful humility, and prayed Godto give pardon to himself, and reward to his neighbour. But before he hadended, Tisbina sunk on the floor in a swoon. Her weaker frame was thefirst to undergo the effects of what she had taken. Iroldo felt icy chillto see her, albeit she seemed to sleep sweetly. Her aspect was not at alllike death. He taxed Heaven with cruelty for treating two loving heartsso hardly, and cried out against Fortune, and life, and Love itself. 

Nor was Prasildo happier in his chamber. He also exclaimed against thebitter tyrant "whom men call Love;" and protested, that he would gladlyencounter any fate, to be delivered from the worse evils of his false andcruel ascendency. 

But his lamentations were interrupted. The apothecary who sold the potionto the husband and wife was at the door below, requesting to speak withhim. The servants at first had refused to carry the message; but the oldman persisting, and saying it was a matter of life and death, entrancefor him into his master's chamber was obtained. "Noble sir, " said theapothecary, "I have always held you in love and reverence. I haveunfortunately reason to fear that somebody is desiring your death. Thismorning a handmaiden of the lady Tisbina applied to me for a secretpoison; and just now it was told me, that the lady herself had been atthis house. I am old, sir, and you are young; and I warn you against theviolence and jealousies of womankind. Talk of their flames of love! Satanhimself burn them, say I, for they are fit for nothing better. Do not betoo much alarmed, however, this time: for in truth I gave the young womannothing 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 maydepend on it, that in this city of ours there are ninety-nine wicked onesamong them to one good. "

You may guess how Prasildo's heart revived at these words. Truly might hebe compared to flowers in sunshine after rain; he rejoiced through allhis being, and displayed again a cheerful countenance. Hastily thankingthe 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 wastheirs. But behold a wonder! Iroldo was so struck with the generosityof his neighbour's conduct throughout the whole of this extraordinaryaffair, that nothing would content his grateful though ever-grievingheart, but he must fairly give up Tisbina after all. Prasildo, to do himjustice, resisted the proposition as stoutly as he could; but a man'spowers are ill seconded by an unwilling heart; and though the contest waslong and handsome, as is customary between generous natures, the husbandadhered 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 thelover. And I must add (concluded the fair lady who was telling the storyto Rinaldo), that although Tisbina took his departure greatly to heart, and sometimes felt as if she should die at the thoughts of it, yet sincehe persisted in staying away, and there appeared no chance of his everdoing otherwise, she did, as in that case we should all do, we at leastthat are young and kind, and took the handsome Prasildo for secondspouse. [3]

PART THE SECOND

The conclusion of this part of the history of Iroldo and Prasildo wasscarcely out of the lady's mouth, when a tremendous voice was heard amongthe trees, and Rinaldo found himself confronting a giant of a frightfulaspect, who with a griffin on each side of him was guarding a cavernthat contained the enchanted horse which had belonged to the brother ofAngelica. A combat ensued; and after winning the horse, and subsequentlylosing the company of the lady, the Paladin, in the course of hisadventures, came upon a knight who lay lamenting in a green place by afountain. The knight heeding nothing but his grief, did not perceive thenew comer, who for some time remained 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 turnlooked a little while in silence at Rinaldo, and then told him he hadresolved to die, in order to be rid of a life of misery. And yet, headded, it was not his own lot which grieved him, so much as that of anoble friend who would die at the same time, and who had nobody to helphim. 

The knight, who was no other than Tisbina's husband Iroldo, then brieflyrelated the events which the reader has heard, and proceeded to state howhe lead traversed the world ever since for two years, when it was hismisfortune to arrive in the territories of the enchantress Falerina, whose custom it was to detain foreigners in prison, and daily give acouple of them (a lady and a cavalier) for food to a serpent which keptthe entrance of her enchanted garden. To this serpent he himself wasdestined to be sacrificed, when Prasildo, the possessor of his wifeTisbina, hearing of his peril, set out instantly from Babylon, and rodenight and day till he came to the abode of the enchantress, determinedthat nothing should hinder him from doing his utmost to save the life ofa friend so generous. Save it he did, and that by a generosity no lessdevoted; for having attempted in vain to bribe the keeper of the prison, he succeeded in prevailing on the man to let him substitute himself forhis friend; and he was that very day, perhaps that very moment, preparingfor the dreadful death to which he would speedily be brought. 

"I will not survive such a friend, " concluded Iroldo. "I know I shallcontend with his warders to no purpose; but let the wretches come, ifthey will, by thousands; I shall fight them to the last gasp. One comfortin death, one joy I shall at all events experience. I shall be withPrasildo in the other world. And yet when I think what sort of death hemust endure, even the release from my own miseries afflicts me, since itwill not prevent him from undergoing that horror. "

The Paladin shed tears to hear of a case so piteous and affectionate, andin a tone of encouragement offered his services towards the rescue of hisfriend. 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 noblecavalier, to be so fearless and good-hearted; but what right have I tobring you to destruction for no reason and to no purpose? There is nota man on earth but Orlando himself, or his cousin Rinaldo, who couldpossibly do us any good; and so I beg you to accept my thanks and departin safety, and may God reward you. "

"It is true, " replied the Paladin, "I am not Orlando; and yet, for allthat, I doubt not to be able to effect what I propose. Nor do I offer myassistance out of desire of glory, or of thanks, or return of any kind;except indeed, that if two such unparalleled friends could admit me to bea third, I should hold myself a happy man. What! you have given up thewoman of your heart, and deprived yourself of all joy and comfort; andyour friend, on the other hand, has become a prisoner and devoted todeath, for your sake; and can I be expected to leave two such friends ina jeopardy so monstrous, and not do all in my power to save them? I wouldrather die first myself, and on your own principle; I mean, in order togo 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 banner, and bringing forth two prisoners to die. The wretches were armed aftertheir disorderly fashion; and the prisoners each tied upon a horse. Oneof these hapless persons too surely was Prasildo; and the other turnedout to be the damsel who had told Rinaldo the story of the friends. Having been deprived of the Paladin's assistance, her subsequentmisadventures had brought her to this terrible pass. The moment Rinaldobeheld her, he leaped on his horse, and dashed among the villains. Thesight of such an onset was enough for their cowardly hearts. The wholeposse fled before him with precipitation, all except the leader, who wasa villain of gigantic strength; and him the Paladin, at one blow, clovethrough the middle. Iroldo could not speak for joy, as he hastened torelease Prasildo. He was forced to give him tears instead of words. Butwhen speech at length became possible, the two friends, fervently andwith a religious awe, declared that their deliverer must have been divineand not human, so tremendous was the death-blow he had given the ruffian, and such winged and contemptuous slaughter he had dealt among thefugitives. By the time he returned from the pursuit, their astonishmenthad risen to such a pitch, that they fell on their knees and worshippedhim for the Prophet of the Saracens, not believing such prowess possibleto humanity, and devoutly thanking him for the mercy he had shewn them incoming thus visibly from heaven. Rinaldo for the moment was not a littledisturbed at this sally of enthusiasm; but the singular good faith andsimplicity of it restored him to himself; and with a smile betweenlovingness and humility he begged them to lay aside all such fancies, andknow him for a man like themselves. He then disclosed himself for theRinaldo of whom they had spoken, and made such an impression on them withhis piety, and his attributing what had appeared a superhuman valour tonothing but his belief in the Christian religion, that the transportedfriends became converts on the spot, and accompanied him thenceforth asthe most faithful of his knights. 

 * * * * *

The story tells us nothing further of Tisbina, though there can be nodoubt 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 newfriend Rinaldo. Perhaps, however, the discontinuance of the poem itselfwas lucky for the author, as far as this episode was concerned; for itis difficult to conceive in what manner he would have wound it up to thesatisfaction of the reader. 

[Footnote 1: The hero and heroine of the famous romance of _Tristan deLeonois_. ]

[Footnote 2: "Mr. Rose observes, that Medusa may be designed by Boiardoas the 'type of conscience;' and he is confirmed in his opinion by thecircumstance mentioned in this canto (12, lib. I. Stan. 39) of Medusa notbeing able to contemplate the reflection of her own hideous appearance, though beautiful in the sight of others. I fully agree withhim. "--PANIZZI, _ut sup_. Vol. Iii p. 333. ]

[Footnote 3: "Tisbina, " says Panizzi, in a note on this passage, "verywisely acted like Emilia (in Chaucer), who, when she saw she could notmarry Arcita, because he was killed, thought of marrying Palemone, ratherthan 'be a mayden all hire lyf. ' It is to be observed, that although sheregretted very much what had happened, and even fainted away, she didnot, however, stand on ceremonies, as the poet says in the next stanza, but yielded immediately, and married Prasildo. This, at first, I thoughtto be a somewhat inconsistent; but on consideration I found I was wrong. Tisbina was wrong; because, having lost Iroldo, she did not know whatPrasildo would do; but so soon as the latter offered to fill up theplace, she nobly and magnanimously resigned herself to her fate. "--_Utsup_. Vol. Iii. P. 336. 

It might be thought inconsistent in Tisbina, notwithstanding Mr. Panizzi's pleasantry, to be so willing to take another husband, afterhaving poisoned herself for the first; but she seems intended by the poetto exhibit a character of impulse in contradistinction to permanency ofsentiment. She cannot help shewing pity for Prasildo; she cannot helppoisoning herself for her husband; and she cannot help taking his friend, when she has lost him. Nor must it be forgotten, that the husband was thefirst to break the tie. We respect him more than we do her, because hewas capable of greater self-denial; but if he himself preferred hisfriend to his love, we can hardly blame her (custom apart) for followingthe example. ]

SEEING AND BELIEVING. 

ARGUMENT

A lady has two suitors, a young and an old one, the latter of whom winsher against her inclinations by practising the artifice of Hippomanes inhis race with Atalanta. Being very jealous, he locks her up in a tower;and the youth, who continued to be her lover, makes a subterraneouspassage to it; and pretending to have married her sister, invites the oldman to his house, and introduces his own wife to him as the bride. Thehusband, deceived, but still jealous, facilitates their departure out ofthe country, and returns to his tower to find himself deserted. 

This story, like that of the _Saracen Friends_, is told by a damsel to aknight while riding in his company; with this difference, that she is theheroine of it herself. She is a damsel of a nature still lighter than theformer; and the reader's sympathy with the trouble she brings on herself, and the way she gets out of it, will be modified accordingly. On theother hand, nobody can respect the foolish old man with his unwarrantablemarriage; 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 forhis story. The subterranean passage has been more than once repeated inromance; and the closing incident, the assistance given by the husbandto his wife's elopement, has been imitated in the farce of _Lionel andClarissa. _

SEEING AND BELIEVING. 

My father (said the damsel) is King of the Distant Islands, where thetreasure of the earth is collected. Never was greater wealth known, and Iwas heiress of it all. 

But it is impossible to foresee what is most to be desired for us in thisworld. 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 ofwhom was a youth named Ordauro, handsome from head to foot; the other anold man of seventy, whose name was Folderico. Both were rich and of noblebirth; but the greybeard was counted extremely wise, and of a foresightmore than human. As I did not feel in want of his foresight, the youthwas far more to my taste; and accordingly I listened to him with perfectgood-will, and gave the wise man no sort of encouragement. I was not atliberty, however, to determine the matter; my father had a voice in it;so, fearing what he would advise, I thought to secure a good result bycunning and management. It is an old observation, that the craft of awoman exceeds all other craft. Indeed, it is Solomon's own saying. Butnow-a-days people laugh at it; and I found to my cost that the laugh isjust. I requested my father to proclaim, first, that nobody should haveme in marriage who did not surpass me in swiftness (for I was a damsel ofa mighty agility); and secondly, that he who did surpass me should be myhusband. 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 seemedimpatient for a gallop; the old roan on a mule, carrying a great bag athis side, and looking already tired out. They dismounted on the placechosen for the trial, which was a meadow. It was encircled by a world ofspectators; and the greybeard and myself (for his age gave him the firstchance) only waited for the sound of the trumpet to set off. 

I held my competitor in such contempt, that I let him get the start ofme, on purpose to make him ridiculous; but I was not prepared for hispulling a golden apple out of his bag, and throwing it as far as he couldin a direction different from that of the goal. The sight of a curiosityso 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 Ilooked 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 ourcourse was now at hand, and my marriage with an old man instead of ayoung man was out of the question, he seduced me to give chase to athird apple, and fairly reached the goal before me. I wept for rage anddisgust, and meditated every species of unconjugal treatment of the oldfox. What right had he to marry such a child as I was? I asked myself thequestion at the time; I asked it a thousand times afterwards; and I mustconfess, that the more I have tormented him, the more the retaliationdelights me. 

However, it was of no use at the moment. The old wretch bore me offto his domains with an ostentatious triumph; and then, his jealousymisgiving him, he shut me up in a castle on a rock, where he endeavouredfrom that day forth to keep me from the sight of living being. You mayjudge what sort of castle it was by its name--_Altamura_ (lofty wall). Itoverlooked a desert on three sides, and the sea on the fourth; and a manmight as well have flown as endeavoured to scale it. There was but onepath up to the entrance, very steep and difficult; and when you werethere, you must have pierced outwork after outwork, and picked the lockof gate after gate. So there sat I in this delicious retreat, hopeless, and bursting with rage. I called upon death day and night, as my onlyrefuge. I had no comfort but in seeing my keeper mad with jealousy, evenin that desolate spot. I think he was jealous of the very flies. 

My handsome youth, Ordauro, however, had not forgotten me; no, nor evengiven 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 neighbourhood on thesea-shore; and while my tormentor, in alarm and horror, watches everymovement, and thinks him coming if he sees a cloud or a bird, Ordaurosets people secretly to work night and day, and makes a subterraneouspassage up to the very tower! Guess what I felt when I saw him enter!Assuredly I did not show him the face which I shewed Folderico. Idie with joy this moment to think of my delight. As soon as we coulddiscourse of any thing but our meeting, Ordauro concerted measures for myescape; and the greatest difficulty being surmounted by the subterraneouspassage, they at last succeeded. But our enemy gave us a frightful degreeof 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 coastthereabouts at his command, together with the few boats that ever touchedit. 

Ordauro, however, did a thing at once the most bold and the mostingenious. He gave out that he was married; and inviting my husband todinner, who had heard the news with transport, presented me, to hisastonished eyes, for the bride. The old man looked as if he would havedied 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 becomingmy wife? I invited you in order to do honour to yourself, and so bringthe good families together. "

"Detestable falsehood!" cried Folderico. "Do you think I'm blind, or aborn idiot? But I'll see to this business directly; and terrible shall bemy revenge. "

So saying, he flung out, and hastened, as fast as age would let him, tothe room in the tower, where he expected to find me not. But there he didfind me:--there was I, sitting as if nothing had happened, with my handon my cheek, and full of my old melancholy. 

"God preserve me!" exclaimed he; "this is astonishing indeed! Never couldI have dreamt that one sister could be so like another! But is it so, oris it not? I have terrible suspicions. It is impossible to believe it. Tell me truly, " he continued; "answer me on the faith of a daring woman, and you shall get no hurt by it. Has any one opened the portals for youto-day? Who was it? How did you get out? Tell me the truth, and you shallnot suffer for it; but deceive me, and there is no punishment that youmay not look for. "

It is needless to say how I vowed and protested that I had never stirred;that it was quite impossible; that I could not have done it if I would, &c. I took all the saints to witness to my veracity, and swore I hadnever seen the outside of his tremendous castle. 

The monster had nothing to say to this; but I saw what he meant to do--Isaw that he would return instantly to the house of Ordauro, and ascertainif the bride was there. Accordingly, the moment he turned the key on me, I flew down the subterraneous passage, tossed on my new clothes likelightning, and sat in my lover's house as before, waiting the arrival ofthe panting old gentleman. 

"Well, " exclaimed he, as soon as he set eyes upon me, "never in all mylife--no--I must allow it to be impossible--never can my wife at home bethe 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 theheart to bring the two wives together, for fear of old recollections. Nevertheless, this state of things was still very perilous; and my newhusband and myself lost no time in considering how we should put an endto it by leaving the country. Ordauro resorted, as before, to a boldexpedient. He told Folderico that the air of the sea-coast disagreedwith him; and the old man, whose delight at getting rid of his neighbourhelped to blind him to the deceit, not only expedited the movement, butoffered to see him part of the way on his journey!

The offer was accepted. Six miles he rode forth with us, the stupid oldman; and then, taking his leave, to return home, we pushed our horseslike lightning, and so left him to tear his hair and his old beard withcries and curses, as soon as he opened the door of his tower. 

ARIOSTO:

Critical Notice of his Life and Genius. 

CRITICAL NOTICE

OF

ARIOSTO'S LIFE AND GENIUS. [1]

The congenial spirits of Pulci and Boiardo may be said to have attainedto their height in the person of Ariosto, upon the principle of atransmigration of souls, or after the fashion of that 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 thefortress at Reggio, in Lombardy, and was the son of Niccolò Ariosto, captain of that citadel (as Boiardo had been), and Daria Maleguzzi, whose family still exists. The race was transplanted from Bologna in thecentury previous, when Obizzo the Third of Este, Marquess of Ferrara, married a lady belonging to it, whose Christian name was Lippa. NiccolòAriosto, besides holding the same office as Boiardo had done, at Modenaas well as at Reggio, was master of the household to his two successivepatrons, 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 atcourt, 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 tohim, and probably encouraged his attempts), his successor is understoodto have dramatised, after his infant fashion, the story of Pyramus andThisbe, and to have got his brothers and sisters to perform it. Panizzidoubts the possibility of these precocious private theatricals; butconsidering what is called "writing" on the part of children, and thatonly one other performer was required in the piece, or at best a thirdfor the lion (which some little brother might have "roared like anysucking-dove"), I cannot see good reason for disbelieving the story. Popewas 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 tothe gardener. Man is a theatrical animal ([Greek: zoon mimaetikon]), andthe instinct is developed at a very early period, as almost every familycan witness that has taken its children to the "playhouse. "

At fifteen the young poet, like so many others of his class, wasconsigned to the study of the law, and took a great dislike to it. Theextreme mobility of his nature, and the wish to please his father, appearto have made him enter on it willingly enough in the first instance;[2]but as soon as he betrayed symptoms of disgust, Niccolò, whose affairswere in a bad way, drove him back to it with a vehemence which must havemade bad worse. [3] At the expiration of five years he was allowed to giveit up. 

There is reason to believe that Ariosto was "theatricalising" duringno little portion of this time; for, in his nineteenth year, he isunderstood to have been taken by Duke Ercole to Pavia and to Milan, either as a writer or performer of comedies, probably both, since thecourtiers and ducal family themselves occasionally appeared on the stage;and one of the poet's brothers mentions his having frequently seen himdressed in character. [4]

On being delivered from the study of the law, the young poet appearsto have led a cheerful and unrestrained life for the next four or fiveyears. 

He wrote, or began to write, the comedy of the _Cassaria_; probablymeditated some poem in the style of Boiardo, then in the height of hisfame; and he cultivated the Latin language, and intended to learn Greek, but delayed, and unfortunately missed it in consequence of losing histutor. Some of his happiest days were passed at a villa, still possessedby the Maleguzzi family, called La Mauriziana, two miles from Reggio. Twenty-five years afterwards he called to mind, with sighs, the pleasantspots there which used to invite him to write verses; the garden, thelittle river, the mill, the trees by the water-side, and all the othershady places in which he enjoyed himself during that sweet season of hislife "betwixt April and May. "[5] To complete his happiness, he had afriend 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 losthis father, and found a large family left on his hands in narrowcircumstances. The charge was at first so heavy, especially whenaggravated by the death of Pandolfo, that he tells us he wished to die. He took to it manfully, however, in spite of these fits of gloom; and helived to see his admirable efforts rewarded; his brothers enabled to seektheir fortunes, and his sisters properly taken care of. Two of them, itseems, had become nuns. A third married; and a fourth remained long inhis house. It is not known what became of the fifth. 

In these family-matters the anxious son and brother was occupied forthree or four years, not, however, without recreating himself with hisverses, Latin and Italian, and recording his admiration of a number ofgoddesses of his youth. He mentions, in particular, one of the name ofLydia, who kept him often from "his dear mother and household, " andwho is probably represented by the princess of the same name in the_Orlando_, punished in the smoke of Tartarus for being a jilt andcoquette. [6] His friend Bembo, afterwards the celebrated cardinal, recommended him to be blind to such little immaterial points as ladies'infidelities. But he is shocked at the advice. He was far more ofOthello's opinion than Congreve's in such matters; and declared, that hewould not have shared his mistress' good-will with Jupiter himself. [7]

Towards the year 1504, the poet entered the service of the unworthyprince, Cardinal Ippolito of Este, brother of the new Duke of Ferrara, Alfonso the First. His eminence, who had been made a prince of the churchat 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 activepart in the duke's affairs, both civil and military, and is said tohave made himself conspicuous in his father's lifetime for his vices andbrutality. He is charged with having ordered a papal messenger to beseverely beaten for bringing him some unpleasant despatches: which soexasperated his unfortunate parent, that he was exiled to Mantua; and themarquess of that city, his brother-in-law, was obliged to come to Ferrarato obtain his pardon. But this was a trifle compared with what heis accused of having done to one of his brothers. A female of theiracquaintance, in answer to a speech made her by the reverend gallant, hadbeen so unlucky as to say that she preferred his brother Giulio's eyesto his eminence's whole body: upon which the monstrous villain hired tworuffians to put out his brother's eyes; some say, was present at theattempt. 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. [8]

Party-spirit has so much to do with stories of princes, and princes areso little in a condition to notice them, that, on the principle ofnot condemning a man till he has been heard in his defence, an honestbiographer would be loath to credit these horrors of Cardinal Ippolito, did not the violent nature of the times, and the general character of theman, even with his defenders, incline him to do so. His being a soldierrather than a churchman was a fault of the age, perhaps a credit to theman, for he appears to have had abilities for war, and it was no crime ofhis if he was put into the church when a boy. But his conduct to Ariostoshewed him coarse and selfish; and those who say all they can for himadmit that he was proud and revengeful, and that nobody regretted himwhen he died. He is said to have had a taste for mathematics, as hisbrother 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 tohinder 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 butfor war; and if it had not been for their connexion with Ariosto, nobodywould have heard of them, except while perusing the annals of the time. Ippolito might have been, and probably was, the ruffian which theanecdote of his brother Giulio represents him; but the world would haveheard little of the villany, had he not treated a poet with contempt. 

The admirers of our author may wonder how he could become the servant ofsuch a man, much more how he could praise him as he did in the great workwhich he was soon to begin writing. But Ariosto was the son of a man whohad passed his life in the service of the family; he had probably beentaught a loyal blindness to its defects; gratuitous panegyrics of princeshad been the fashion of men of letters since the time of Augustus; andthe poet wanted help for his relatives, and was of a nature to takethe least show of favour for a virtue, till he had learnt, as heunfortunately did, to be disappointed in the substance. It is not knownwhat his appointment was under the cardinal. Probably he was a kind ofgentleman of all work; an officer in his guards, a companion to amuse, and a confidential agent for the transaction of business. The employmentin which he is chiefly seen is that of an envoy, but he is said also tohave been in the field of battle; and he intimates in his _Satires_, that household attentions were expected of him which he was not quickto offer, such as pulling off his eminence's boots, and putting onhis spurs. [9] It is certain that he was employed in very delicatenegotiations, sometimes to the risk of his life from the perils of roadsand torrents. Ippolito, who was a man of no delicacy, probably made useof him on every occasion that required address, the smallest as wellas greatest, --an interview with a pope one day, and a despatch to adog-fancier the next. 

His great poem, however, proceeded. It was probably begun before heentered the cardinal's service; certainly was in progress during theearly part of his engagement. This appears from a letter written toIppolito by his sister the Marchioness of Mantua, to whom he had sentAriosto at the beginning of the year 1509 to congratulate her on thebirth of a child. She gives her brother special thanks for sending hismessage 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 waswriting. [10] Isabella was the name of this princess; and the gratefulpoet did not forget to embalm it in his verse. [11]

Ariosto's latest biographer, Panizzi, thinks he never served under anyother leader than the cardinal; but I cannot help being of opinion with aformer one, whom he quotes, that he once took arms under a captain of thename of Pio, probably a kinsman of his friend Alberto Pio, to whom headdresses a Latin poem. It was probably on occasion of some early disgustwith the cardinal; but I am at a loss to discover at what period of time. Perhaps, indeed, he had the cardinal's permission, both to quit hisservice, and return to it. Possibly he was not to quit it at all, exceptaccording to events; but merely had leave given him to join a party inarms, who were furthering Ippolito's own objects. Italy was full ofcaptains in arms and conflicting interests. The poet might even, at someperiod of his life, have headed a troop under another cardinal, hisfriend Giovanni de' Medici, afterwards Leo the Tenth. He had certainlybeen with him in various parts of Italy; and might have taken part insome of his bloodless, if not his most military, equitations. 

Be this as it may, it is understood that Ariosto was present at therepulse given to the Venetians by Ippolito, when they came up the riverPo against Ferrara towards the close of the year 1509; though he was awayfrom the scene of action at his subsequent capture of their flotilla, thepoet having been despatched between the two events to Pope Julius theSecond on the delicate business of at once appeasing his anger with theduke for resisting his allies, and requesting his help to a feudatary ofthe church. Julius was in one of his towering passions at first, butgave way before the address of the envoy, and did what he desired. ButAriosto's success in this mission was nearly being the death of him inanother; for Alfonso having accompanied the French the year followingin their attack on Vicenza, where they committed cruelties of the samehorrible kind as have shocked Europe within a few months past, [12] thepoet's tongue, it was thought, might be equally efficacious a secondtime; but Julius, worn out of patience with his too independent vassal, who maintained an alliance with the French when the pope had ceased todesire it, was to be appeased no longer. He excommunicated Alfonso, andthreatened to pitch his envoy into the Tiber; so that the poet was fainto run for it, as the duke himself was afterwards, when he visited Rometo be absolved. Would Julius have thus treated Ariosto, could he haveforeseen his renown? Probably he would. The greater the opposition to thewill, the greater the will itself. To chuck an accomplished envoy intothe river would have been much; but to chuck the immortal poet there, laurels and all, in the teeth of the amazement of posterity, would havebeen a temptation irresistible. 

It was on this occasion that Ariosto, probably from inability to choosehis times or anodes of returning home, contracted a cough, which isunderstood to have shortened his existence; so that Julius may havekilled him after all. But the pope had a worse enemy in his ownbosom--his violence--which killed himself in a much shorter period. Hedied in little more than two years afterwards; and the poet's prospectswere all now of a very different sort--at least he thought so; for inMarch 1513, his friend Giovanni de' Medici succeeded to the papacy, underthe title of Leo the Tenth. 

Ariosto hastened to Rome, among a shoal of visitants, to congratulate thenew pope, perhaps not without a commission from Alfonso to see what hecould do for his native country, on which the rival Medici family neverceased to have designs. The poet was full of hope, for he had known Leounder various fortunes; had been styled by him not only a friend, but abrother; and promised all sorts of participations of his prosperity. Notone of them came. The visitor was cordially received. Leo stooped fromhis throne, squeezed his hand, and kissed him on both his cheeks; but "atnight, " 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 onesecuring to him the profits of his _Orlando;_ and the poet's friendBibbiena--wit, cardinal, and kinsman of Berni--facilitated the bull, butthe receiver discharged the fees. He did not get one penny by promise, pope, or friend. [13] He complains a little, but all in good humour; andgood-naturedly asks what he was to expect, when so many hungry kinsmenand partisans were to be served first. Well and wisely asked too, andwith a superiority to his fortunes which Leo and Bibbiena might haveenvied. 

It is thought probable, however, that if the poet had been less a friendto the house of Este, Leo would have kept his word with him, for theirintimacy had undoubtedly been of the most cordial description. But it issupposed that Leo was afraid he should have a Ferrarese envoy constantlyabout him, had he detained Ariosto in Rome. The poet, however, it isadmitted, was not a good hunter of preferment. He could not play theassenter, and bow and importune: and sovereigns, however friendly theymay have been before their elevation, go the way of most princely fleshwhen they have attained it. They like to take out a man's gratitudebeforehand, perhaps because they feel little security in it afterwards. 

The elevation to the papacy of the cheerful and indulgent son of Lorenzode' Medici, after the troublous reign of Julius, was hailed with delightby all Christendom, and nowhere more so than in the pope's native place, Florence. Ariosto went there to see the spectacles; and there, in themidst of them, he found himself robbed of his heart by the lady whom heafterwards married. Her name was Alessandra Benucci. She was the widow ofone of the Strozzi family, whom he had known in Ferrara, and he had longadmired her. The poet, who, like Petrarch and Boccaccio, has recorded theday on which he fell in love, which was that of St. John the Baptist (theshowy 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 vinesintertwisted; and "between her serene forehead and the path that wentdividing in two her rich and golden tresses, " was a sprig of laurel inbud. Her observer, probably her welcome if not yet accepted lover, beheldsomething very significant in this attire; and a mysterious poem, inwhich he records a device of a black pen feathered with gold, which hewore 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 thepen to have been the black-haired poet himself, and the golden featherthe tresses of the lady. Beautiful as he describes her, with a face fullof sweetness, and manners noble and engaging, he speaks most of thecharms of her golden locks. The black gown could hardly have implied herwidowhood: the allusion would not have been delicate. The vine belongs todramatic poets, among whom the lover was at that time to be classed, the_Orlando_ not having appeared. Its duplification intimated another self;and the crowning laurel was the success that awaited the heroic poet andthe conqueror of the lady's heart. [14]

The marriage was never acknowledged. The husband was in the receipt ofprofits arising from church-offices, which put him into the condition ofthe fellow of a college with us, who cannot marry so long as he retainshis fellowship: but it is proved to have taken place, though the date ofit is uncertain. Ariosto, in a satire written three or four years afterhis falling in love, says he never intends either to marry or to takeorders; 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-priestlyemoluments. This is one of the falsehoods which the Roman Catholicreligion thinks itself warranted in tempting honest men to fall into;thus perplexing their faith as to the very roots of all faith, andtending to maintain a sensual hypocrisy, which can do no good to thestrongest minds, and must terribly injure the weak. 

Ariosto's love for this lady I take to have been one of the causes ofdissatisfaction between him and the cardinal. "Fortunately for the poet, "as Panizzi observes, Ippolito was not always in Ferrara. He travelledin Italy, and he had an archbishopric in Hungary, the tenure of whichcompelled occasional residence. His company was not desired in Rome, sothat he was seldom there. Ariosto, however, was an amusing companion; andthe cardinal seems not to have liked to go anywhere without him. In theyear 1515 he was attended by the poet part of the way on a journey toRome and Urbino; but Ariosto fell ill, and had leave to return. Heconfesses that his illness was owing to an anxiety of love; and he evenmakes an appeal to the cardinal's experience of such feelings; so that itmight seem he was not afraid of Ippolito's displeasure in that direction. But the weakness which selfish people excuse in themselves becomes a"very different thing" (as they phrase it) in another. The appeal to thecardinal's experience might only have exasperated him, in its assumptionof the identity of the case. However, the poet was, at all events, leftthis time to the indulgence of his love and his poetry; and in thecourse of the ensuing year, a copy of the first edition of the _OrlandoFurioso_, in forty cantos, was put into the hands of the illustriousperson to whom it was dedicated. 

The words in which the cardinal was pleased to express himself on thisoccasion have become memorable. "Where the devil, Master Lodovick, " saidthe reverend personage, "have you picked up such a parcel of trumpery?"The original term is much stronger, aggravating the insult withindecency. There is no equivalent for it in English; and I shall notrepeat it in Italian. "It is as low and indecent, " says Panizzi, "asany in the language. " Suffice it to say that, although the age was notscrupulous in such matters, it was one of the last words befitting thelips of the reverend Catholic; and that, when Ippolito of Este(as Ginguéné observes) made that speech to the great poet, "heuttered--prince, cardinal, and mathematician as he was--animpertinence. "[15]

Was the cardinal put out of temper by a device which appeared in thisbook? On the leaf succeeding the title-page was the privilege for itspublication, granted by Leo in terms of the most flattering personalrecognition. [16] So far so good; unless the unpoetical Este patron wasnot pleased to see such interest taken in the book by the tasteful Medicipatron. But on the back of this leaf was a device of a hive, with thebees burnt out of it for their honey, and the motto, "Evil for good"(_Pro bono malum_). Most biographers are of opinion that this device wasaimed at the cardinal's ill return for all the sweet words lavished onhim and his house. If so, and supposing Ariosto to have presented thededication-copy in person, it would have been curious to see the faces ofthe two men while his Eminence was looking at it. Some will think thatthe good-natured poet could hardly have taken such an occasion ofdisplaying his resentment. But the device did not express at whom it wasaimed: the cardinal need not have applied it to himself if he did notchoose, especially as the book was full of his praises; and good-naturedpeople will not always miss an opportunity of covertly inflicting asting. The device, at all events, shewed that the honey-maker had gotworse than nothing by his honey; and the house of Este could not say theyhad done any thing to contradict it. 

I think it probable that neither the poet's device nor the cardinal'sspeech were forgotten, when, in the course of the next year, the partiescame to a rupture in consequence of the servant's refusing to attend hismaster into Hungary. Ariosto excused himself on account of the state ofhis health and of his family. He said that a cold climate did not agreewith him; that his chest was affected, and could not bear even the stovesof Hungary; and that he could not, in common decency and humanity, leavehis mother in her old age, especially as all the rest of the family wereaway but his youngest sister, whose interests he had also to take careof. But Ippolito was not to be appeased. The public have seen, in a latefemale biography, a deplorable instance of the unfeelingness with whicheven a princess with a reputation for religion could treat the declininghealth and unwilling retirement of a poor slave in her service, fiftytimes her superior in every thing but servility. Greater delicacy wasnot to be expected of the military priest. The nobler the servant, thegreater the desire to trample upon him and keep him at a disadvantage. Itis a grudge which rank owes to genius, and which it can only wave whenits possessor is himself "one of God Almighty's gentlemen. " I do not meanin 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 allthings, which is nobleness of heart. I confess I think Ariosto was wrongin expecting what he did of a man he must have known so well, and incomplaining so much of courts, however good-humouredly. A prince occupiesthe station he does, to avert the perils of disputed successions, andnot to be what his birth cannot make him--if nature has not supplied thematerials. Besides, the cardinal, in his quality of a mechanical-mindedman with no taste, might with reason have complained of his servant'sattending to poetry when it was "not in his bond;" when it divertedhim from the only attentions which his employer understood or desired. Ippolito candidly confessed, as Ariosto himself tells us, that he notonly did not care for poetry, but never gave his attendant one stiver inpatronage of it, or for any thing whatsoever but going his journeys anddoing as he was bidden. [17] On the other hand, the cardinal's paymentswere sorry ones; and the poet might with justice have thought, that hewas not bound to consider them an equivalent for the time be was expectedto give up. The only thing to have been desired in this case was, that heshould have said so; and, in truth, at the close of the explanation whichhe gave on the subject to his friends at court, he did--boldly desiringthem, as became him, to tell the cardinal, that if his eminence expectedhim to be a "serf" for what he received, he should decline the bargain;and that he preferred the humblest freedom and his studies to a slaveryso preposterous. [18] The truth is, the poet should have attached himselfwholly to the Medici. Had he not adhered to the duller house, he mighthave led as happy a life with the pope as Pulci did with the pope'sfather; perhaps have been made a cardinal, like his friends Bembo andSadolet. But then we might have lost the _Orlando_. 

The only sinecure which the poet is now supposed to have retained, was agrant of twenty-five crowns every four months on the episcopal chanceryof Milan: so, to help out his petty income, he proceeded to enter intothe service of Alfonso, which shews that both the brothers were not angrywith him. He tells us, that he would gladly have had no new master, couldhe have helped it; but that, if he must needs serve, he would ratherserve the master of every body else than a subordinate one. At thisjuncture he had a brief prospect of being as free as he wished; for anuncle died leaving a large landed property still known as the Ariostolands (_Le Arioste_); but a convent demanded it on the part of one oftheir brotherhood, who was a natural son of this gentleman; and a moreformidable and ultimately successful claim was advanced in a court oflaw by the Chamber of the Duchy of Ferrara, the first judge in the causebeing 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 himselfwith his fees from Milan and a monthly allowance which he received fromthe duke of "about thirty-eight shillings, " together with provisionsfor three servants and two horses. He entered the duke's service in thespring of 1518, and remained in it for the rest of his life. But it wasnot so burden-some as that of the cardinal; and the consequence of thepoet's greater leisure was a second edition of the _Furioso_, in the year1521, with additions and corrections; still, however, in forty cantosonly. It appears, by a deed of agreement, [19] that the work was printedat the author's expense; that he was to sell the bookseller one hundredcopies for sixty livres (about 5_l_. 12_s_. ) on condition of the book'snot being sold at the rate of more than sixteen sous (1_s_. 8_d_. ); thatthe author was not to give, sell, or allow to be sold, any copy of thebook at Ferrara, except by the bookseller; that the bookseller, afterdisposing of the hundred copies, was to have as many more as he chose onthe 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 poetwould soon become independent;" and it may be added, that he certainlygot nothing by the first edition, whatever he may have done by thesecond. He expressly tells us, in the satire which he wrote on decliningto go abroad with Ippolito, that all his poetry had not procured himmoney enough to purchase a cloak. [20] Twenty years afterwards, when hewas dead, the poem was in such request, that, between 1542 and 1551, Panizzi calculates there must have been a sale of it in Europe to theamount of a hundred thousand copies. [21]

The second edition of the _Furioso_ did not extricate the author fromvery serious difficulties; for the next year he was compelled to applyto either to relieve him from his necessities, or permit him to look forsome employment more profitable than the ducal service. The answer ofthis prince, who was now rich, but had always been penurious, and whonever laid out a farthing, if he could help it, except in defence of hiscapital, was an appointment of Ariosto to the government of a district ina state of anarchy, called Garfagnana, which had nominally returned tohis rule in consequence 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 andpapal territories. Ariosto was there three years, and is said to havereduced it to order; but, according to his own account, he had verydoubtful work of it. The place was overrun with banditti, including thetroops commissioned to suppress them. It required a severer governor thanhe was inclined to be; and Alfonso did not attend to his requisitions forsupplies. The candid and good-natured poet intimates that the duke mighthave given him the appointment rather for the governor's sake than thepeople's; and the cold, the loneliness and barrenness 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 says he felt like a birdmoulting[22]. 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 walkingout in a fit of absence of mind--when he found himself in the midst ofa band of outlaws, who, in a suspicious manner, barely suffered himto pass. A reader of Mrs. Radcliffe might suppose them a band of_condottieri_, under the command of some profligate desperado; and suchperhaps they were. The governor had scarcely gone by, when the leader ofthe band, discovering who he was, came riding back with much earnestness, and making his obeisance to the poet, said, that he never should haveallowed him to pass in that manner had he known him to be the SignorLudovico Ariosto, author of the _Orlando Furioso_; that his own name wasFilippo Pacchione (a celebrated personage of his order); and that his menand himself, so far from doing the Signor displeasure, would have thehonour of conducting him back to his castle. "And so they did, " saysBaretti, "entertaining him all along the way with the various excellencesthey had discerned in his poem, and bestowing upon it the most rapturouspraises[23]. "

On his return from Garfagnana, Ariosto is understood to have made severaljourneys in Italy, either with or without the duke his master; some ofthem to Mantua, where it has been said that he was crowned with laurel bythe Emperor Charles the Fifth. But the truth seems to be, that he onlyreceived a laureate diploma: it does not appear that Charles made him anyother gift. His majesty, and the whole house of Este, and the pope, andall the other Italian princes, left that to be done by the imperialgeneral, the celebrated Alfonso Davallos, Marquess of Vasto, to whom hewas sent on some mission by the Duke of Ferrara, and who settled on himan annuity of a hundred golden ducats; "the only reward, " says Panizzi, "which we find to have been conferred on Ariosto expressly as apoet. "[24] Davallos was one of the conquerors of Francis the First, young and handsome, and himself a writer of verses. The grateful poetaccordingly availed himself of his benefactor's accomplishments to makehim, in turn, a present of every virtue under the sun. Cæsar was not soliberal, Nestor so wise, Achilles so potent, Nireus so beautiful, noreven Ladas, Alexander's messenger, so swift. [25] Ariosto was now vergingtowards the grave; and he probably saw in the hundred ducats a goldensunset of his cares. 

Meantime, however, the poet had built a house, which, although small, wasraised with his own money; so that the second edition of the _Orlando_may have realised some profits at last. He recorded the pleasant fact inan inscription over the door, which has become celebrated:

 "Parva, sed apta mihi; sed nulli obnoxia; sed non Sordida; parta meo sed tamen acre 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 longa life before him to enjoy it, as Gil Blas had with his own comfortablequotation over his retreat at Lirias![26]

The house still remains; but the inscription unfortunately becameeffaced; though the following one remains, which was added by his sonVirginio:

 "Sic domus hæc 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 abouthis own house, addressed to "Captains and Collonels, " during the civilwar. [27]

Davallos made the poet his generous present in the October of the year1513; and in the same month of the year following the _Orlando_ waspublished as it now stands, with various insertions throughout, chieflystories, and six additional cantos. Cardinal Ippolito had been dead sometime; 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 superbenignitatem_). The allusion is understood to have been to certaincritics whose names have all perished, unless Sperone (of whom we shallhear more by and by) was one of them. The appearance of this edition waseagerly looked for; but the trouble of correcting the press, and thedestruction of a theatre by fire which had been built under the poet'sdirection, did his health no good in its rapidly declining condition; andafter suffering greatly from an obstruction, he died, much attenuated, onthe sixth day of June, 1533. His decease, his fond biographers havetold us, took place "about three in the afternoon;" and he was "agedfifty-eight years, eight months, and twenty-eight days. " His body, according to his direction, was taken to the church of the Benedictinesduring the night by four men, with only two tapers, and in the mostprivate and simple manner. The monks followed it to the grave out ofrespect, contrary to their usual custom. 

So lived, and so died, and so desired humbly to be buried, one of thedelights of the world. 

His son Virginio had erected a chapel in the garden of the house built byhis father, and he wished to have his body removed thither; but themonks would not allow it. The tomb, at first a very humble one, wassubsequently altered and enriched several times; but remains, Ibelieve, as rebuilt at the beginning of the century before last by hisgrand-nephew, Ludovico Ariosto, with a bust of the poet, and two statuesrepresenting Poetry and Glory. 

Ariosto was tall and stout, with a dark complexion, bright black eyes, black and curling hair, aquiline nose, and shoulders broad but a littlestooping. His aspect was thoughtful, and his gestures deliberate. Titian, besides painting his portrait, designed that which appeared in thewoodcut of the author's own third edition of his poem, which has beencopied into Mr. Panizzi's. It has all the look of truth of that greatartist's vital hand; but, though there is an expression of the, genialcharacter of the mouth, notwithstanding the exuberance of beard, it doesnot 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 muchdelicacy and grace. [28]

The poet's temperament inclined him to melancholy, but his intercoursewas always cheerful. One biographer says he was strong andhealthy--another, that he was neither. In all probability he wasnaturally strong, but weakened by a life full of emotion. He talks ofgrowing old at forty four, and of leaving been bald for some time. [29] Hehad a cough for many years before he died. His son says he cured it bydrinking good old wine. Ariosto says that "vin fumoso" did not agree withhim; but that might only mean wine of a heady sort. The chances, undersuch circumstances, were probably against wine of any kind; and Panizzithinks the cough was never subdued. His physicians forbade him all sortsof stimulants with his food. [30]

His temper and habits were those of a man wholly given up to love andpoetry. In his youth he was volatile, and at no time without what iscalled some "affair of the heart. " Every woman attracted him who hadmodesty 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, wouldhave led no easy life. But it is evident he could practise very generousself-denial; and probably the married portion of his existence, supposingAlessandra's sweet countenance not to have belied her, was happy on bothsides. He was beloved by his family, which is never the case with theunamiable. Among his friends were most Of the great names of the age, including a world of ladies, and the whole graceful court of Guidobaldoda Montefeltro, duke of Urbino, for which Catiglione wrote his book ofthe _Gentleman (Il Cortegiano)_. Raphael addressed him a sonnet, andTitian painted his likeness. He knew Vittoria Colonna, and Veronica daGambera, and Giulia Gonzaga (whom the Turks would have run away with), and Ippolita Sforza, the beautiful blue-stocking, who set Bandello onwriting his novels, and Bembo, and Flaminio, and Berni, and Molza, andSannazzaro, and the Medici family, and Vida, and Macchiavelli; and nobodydoubts that he might have shone at the court of Leo the brightest of thebright. But he thought it "better to enjoy a little in peace, than seekafter much with trouble. "[31] He cared for none of the pleasures of thegreat, except building, and that he was content to satisfy in Cowley'sfashion, with "a small house in a large garden. " He was plain in hisdiet, disliked ceremony, and was frequently absorbed in thought. Hisindignation was roused by mean and brutal vices; but he took a large andliberal view of human nature in general; and, if he was somewhat free inhis life, must be pardoned for the custom of the times, for his charityto others, and for the genial disposition which made him an enchantingpoet. Above all, he was an affectionate son; lived like a friend with hischildren; and, in spite of his tendency to pleasure, supplied the placeof an anxious and careful father to his brothers and sisters, whoidolized 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 elementia mitis, Ambitione procul pulsa fastûsque tumore; Credere uti posses natum felicibus horis, Felici fulgente astro Jovis atque Diones. "[32]

 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 variety of anecdotescorroborating points in his character. I shall give them all, for theyput us into his company. It is recorded, as an instance of his reputationfor honesty, that an old kinsman, a clergyman, who was afraid of beingpoisoned for his possessions, would trust himself in no other hands; butthe clergyman was his own grand-uncle and namesake, probably godfather;so that the compliment is not so very great. 

In his youth he underwent a long rebuke one day from his father withoutsaying a word, though a satisfactory answer was in his power; on whichhis brother Gabriel expressing his surprise, he said that he was thinkingall the time of a scene in a comedy he was writing, for which thepaternal lecture afforded an excellent study. 

He loved gardening better than he understood it; was always shiftinghis plants, and destroying the seeds, out of impatience to see themgerminate. He was rejoicing once on the coming up of some "capers, " whichhe had been visiting every day to see how they got on, when it turned outthat his capers were elder-trees!

He was perpetually altering his verses. His manuscripts are full ofcorrections. He wrote the exordium of the _Orlando_ over and over again;and at last could only be satisfied with it in proportion as it was nothis own; that is to say, in proportion as it came nearer to the beautifulpassage in Dante from which his ear and his feelings had caught it. [33]

He, however, discovered that correction was not always improvement. Heused to say, it was with verses as with trees. A plant naturally wellgrowing might be made perfect by a little delicate treatment; butover-cultivation destroyed its native grace. In like manner, you mightperfect a happily-inspired verse by taking away any little fault ofexpression; but too great a polish deprived it of the charm of the firstconception. It was like over-training a naturally graceful child. If itbe wondered how he who corrected so much should succeed so well, even toan appearance of happy negligence, it is to be considered that the mostimpulsive writers often put down their thoughts too hastily, then correctand re-correct them in the same impatient manner; and so have to bringthem round, by as many steps, to the feeling which they really had atfirst, though they were too hasty to do it justice. 

Ariosto would have altered his house as often as his verses, but did notfind it so convenient. Somebody wondering that he contented himself withso small an abode, when he built such magnificent mansions in his poetry, he said it was easier to put words together than blocks of stone. [34]

He liked Virgil; commended the style of Tibullus; did not care forPropertius; but expressed high approbation of Catullus and Horace. Isuspect his favourite to have been Ovid. His son says he did not studymuch, nor look after books; but this may have been in his decline, orwhen Virginio first took to observing him. A different conclusion as tostudy is to be drawn from the corrected state of his manuscripts, and thevariety of his knowledge; and with regard to books, he not only mentionsthe library of the Vatican as one of his greatest temptations to visitRome, but describes himself, with all the gusto of a book-worm, asenjoying them in his chimney-corner. [35]

To intimate his secrecy in love-matters, he had an inkstand with aCupid on it, holding a finger on his lips. I believe it is still inexistence. [36] He did not disclose his mistresses' names, as Dante did, for the purpose of treating them with contempt; nor, on the other hand, does he appear to have been so indiscriminately gallant as to be fond ofgoitres. [37] The only mistress of whom he complained he concealed in aLatin appellation; and of her he did not complain with scorn. He hadloved, besides Alessandra Benucci, a lady of the name of Ginevra; themother of one of his children is recorded as a certain Orsolina; and thatof the other was named Maria, and is understood to have been a governessin his father's family. [38]

He ate fast, and of whatever was next him, often beginning with the breadon the table before the dishes came; and he would finish his dinner withanother bit of bread. "Appetiva le rape, " says his good son; videlicet, he was fond of turnips. In his fourth Satire, he mentions as a favouritedish, turnips seasoned with vinegar and boiled _must_ (sapa), whichseems, not unjustifiably, to startle Mr. Panizzi. [39] He cared so littlefor good eating, that he said of himself, he should have done very wellin the days when people lived on acorns. 

A stranger coming in one day at the dinner-hour, he ate up what wasprovided for both; saying afterwards, when told of it, that the gentlemanshould have taken care of himself. This does not look very polite; but ofcourse it was said in jest. His son attributed this carelessness at tableto absorption in his studies. 

He carried this absence of mind so far, and was at the same time so gooda pedestrian, that Virginio tells us he once walked all the way fromCarpi to Ferrara in his slippers, owing to his having strolled out ofdoors in that direction. 

The same biographers who describe him as a brave soldier, add, that hewas a timid horseman and seaman; and indeed he appears to have eschewedevery kind of unnecessary danger. It was a maxim of his, to be the lastin 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 inpursuit of his duty. He more than once risked his life in the service ofgovernment from the perils of travelling among war-makers and banditti. Imagination finds something worthy of itself on great occasions, but isapt to discover the absurdity of staking existence on small ones. Ariostodid not care to travel out of Italy. He preferred, he says, going roundthe earth in a map; visiting countries without having to pay innkeepers, and ploughing harmless seas without thunder and lightning[40]. 

His outward religion, like the one he ascribed to his friend CardinalBembo, was "that of other people. " He did not think it of use to disturbtheir belief; yet excused rather than blamed Luther, attributing hisheresy to the necessary consequences of mooting points too subtle forhuman apprehension[41]. He found it impossible, however, to restrain hiscontempt of bigotry; and, like most great writers in Catholic countries, was a derider of the pretensions of devotees, and the discords andhypocrisies of the convent. He evidently laughed at Dante's figmentsabout the other world; not at the poetry of them, for that he admired, and sometimes imitated, but at the superstition and presumption. Heturned the Florentine's moon into a depository of non-sense; and found nohell so bad as the hearts of tyrants. The only other people he put intothe infernal regions are ladies who were cruel to their lovers! He hada noble confidence in the intentions of his Creator; and died ill theexpectation of meeting his friends again in a higher state of existence. 

Of Ariosto's four brothers, one became a courtier at Naples, another aclergyman, another an envoy to the Emperor Charles the Fifth; and thefourth, who was a cripple and a scholar, lived with Lodovico, andcelebrated his memory. His two sons, whose names were Virginio andGianbattista, and who were illegitimate (the reader is always to bearin mind the more indulgent customs of Italy in matters of this nature, especially in the poet's time), became, the first a canon in thecathedral of Ferrara, and the other an officer in the army. It does notappear that he had any other children. 

Ariosto's renown is wholly founded on the _Orlando Furioso_, though hewrote satires, comedies, and a good deal of miscellaneous poetry, alloccasionally exhibiting a master-hand. The comedies, however, wereunfortunately modelled on those of the ancients; and the constanttermination of the verse with trisyllables contributes to render themtedious. What comedies might he not have written, had he given himself upto existing times and manners[42]!

The satires are rather good-natured epistles to his friends, written witha charming ease and straightforwardness, and containing much exquisitesense and interesting autobiography. 

On his lyrical poetry he set little value; and his Latin verse is not ofthe best order. Critics have expressed their surprise at its inferiorityto that of contemporaries inferior to him in genius; but the reason layin the very circumstance. I mean, that his large and liberal inspirationcould only find its proper vent in his own language; he could not becontent with potting up little delicacies in old-fashioned vessels. 

The _Orlando Furioso_ is, literally, a continuation of the _OrlandoInnamorato_; so much so, that the story is not thoroughly intelligiblewithout it. This was probably the reason of a circumstance that would beotherwise unaccountable, and that was ridiculously charged against him asa proof of despairing envy by the despairing envy of Sperone; namely, hisnever having once mentioned the name of his predecessor. If Ariosto haddespaired of equalling Boiardo, he must have been hopeless of reachingposterity, in which case his silence must have been useless; and, inany case, it is clear that he looked on himself as the continuator ofanother's narration. But Boiardo was so popular when he wrote, thatthe very silence shews he must have thought the mention of his namesuperfluous. Still it is curious that he never should have alluded to itin the course of the poem. It could not have been from any dislike to thename itself, or the family; for in his Latin poems he has eulogised thehospitality of the house of Boiardo[43]. 

The _Furioso_ continued not only what Boiardo did, but what he intendedto do; for as its subject is Orlando's love, and knight-errantry ingeneral, so its object was to extol the house of Este, and deduce it fromits fabulous ancestor Ruggiero. Orlando is the open, Ruggiero the coverthero; and almost all the incidents of this supposed irregular poem, which, as Panizzi has shewn, is one of the most regular in the world, goto crown with triumph and wedlock the originator of that unworthy race. This is done on the old groundwork of Charlemagne and his Paladins, ofthe treacheries of the house of Gan of Maganza, and of the wars of theSaracens against Christendom. Bradamante, the Amazonian _intended_ ofRuggiero, is of the same race as Orlando, and a great overthrower ofinfidels. Ruggiero begins with being an infidel himself, and is kept fromthe wars, like a second Achilles, by the devices of an anxious guardian, but ultimately fights, is converted, and marries; and Orlando all thewhile slays his thousands, as of old, loves, goes mad for jealousy, isthe foolishest and wisest of mankind (somewhat like the poet himself);and crowns the glory of Ruggiero, not only by being present at hismarriage, but putting on his spurs with his own hand when he goes forthto conclude the war by the death of the king of Algiers. 

The great charm, however, of the _Orlando Furioso_ is not in itsknight-errantry, or its main plot, or the cunning interweavement of itsminor ones, but in its endless variety, truth, force, and animal spirits;in its fidelity to actual nature while it keeps within the bounds of theprobable, and its no less enchanting verisimilitude during its wildestsallies of imagination. At one moment we are in the midst of flesh andblood like ourselves; at the next with fairies and goblins; at the nextin a tremendous battle or tempest; then in one of the loveliest ofsolitudes; then hearing a tragedy, then a comedy; then mystified in someenchanted palace; then riding, dancing, dining, looking at pictures; thenagain descending to the depths of the earth, or soaring to the moon, orseeing lovers in a glade, or witnessing the extravagances of the greatjealous hero Orlando; and the music of an enchanting style perpetuallyattends us, and the sweet face of Angelica glances here and there likea bud: and there are gallantries of all kinds, and stories endless, andhonest tears, and joyous bursts of laughter, and beardings for all baseopinions, and no bigotry, and reverence for whatsoever is venerable, and candour exquisite, and the happy interwoven names of "Angelica andMedoro, " young for ever. 

But so great a work is not to be dismissed with a mere rhapsody ofpanegyric. Ariosto is inferior, in some remarkable respects, to hispredecessors Pulci and Boiardo. His characters, for the most part, do notinterest us as much as theirs by their variety and good fellowship; heinvented none as Boiardo did, with the exception, indeed, of Orlando's, as modified by jealousy; and he has no passage, I thick, equal in pathosto that of the struggle at Roncesvalles; for though Orlando's jealousyis pathetic, as well as appalling, the effects of it are confined to oneperson, and disputed by his excessive strength. Ariosto has taken alltenderness out of Angelica, except that of a kind of boarding-schoolfirst love (which, however, as here-after intimated, may have simplifiedand improved her general effect), and he has omitted all that was amusingin the character of Astolfo. Knight-errantry has fallen off a littlein his hands from its first youthful and trusting freshness; moresophisticate times are opening upon us; and satire more frequently andbitterly interferes. The licentious passages (though never gross inwords, like those of his contemporaries, ) are not redeemed by sentimentas in Boiardo; and it seems to me, that Ariosto hardly improved so muchas he might have done Upon his predecessor's imitations of the classics. I cannot help thinking that, upon the whole, he had better have left themalone, and depended entirely on himself. Shelley says, he has too muchfighting and "revenge, "[44]--which is true; but the revenge was onlyamong his knights. He was himself (like my admirable friend) one of themost forgiving of men; and the fighting was the taste of the age, inwhich chivalry was still flourishing in the shape of such men as Bayard, and ferocity in men like Gaston de Foix. Ariosto certainly did notanticipate, any more than Shakspeare did, that spirit of humanamelioration which has ennobled the present age. He thought only ofreflecting nature as he found it. He is sometimes even as uninterestingas he found other people; but the tiresome passages, thank God, allbelong to the house of Este! His panegyrics of Ippolito and his ancestorsrecoiled on the poet with a retributive dulness. 

But in all the rest there is a wonderful invigoration 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 louderand 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, inknowledge of human nature, and a brave and joyous candour in shewing it. The poet takes a universal, an acute, and, upon the whole, a cheerfulview, like the sun itself, of all which the sun looks on; and readers arecharmed to see a knowledge at once so keen and so happy. Herein lies thesecret of Ariosto's greatness; which is great, not because it has theintensity of Dante, or the incessant thought and passion of Shakspeare, or the dignified imagination of Milton, to all of whom he is far inferiorin sustained excellence, --but because he is like very Nature herself. Whether great, small, serious, pleasureable, or even indifferent, hestill has the life, ease, and beauty of the operations of the dailyplanet. Even where he seems dull and common-place, his brightness andoriginality at other times make it look like a good-natured condescensionto our own common habits of thought and discourse; as though he did itbut on purpose to leave nothing unsaid that could bring him within thecategory of ourselves. His charming manner intimates that, instead oftaking thought, he chooses to take pleasure with us, and compare oldnotes; and we are delighted that he does us so much honour, and makes, asit were, Ariostos of us all. He is Shakspearian in going all lengths withNature as he found her, not blinking the fact of evil, yet finding a"soul of goodness" in it, and, at the same time, never compromising theworth of noble and generous qualities. His young and handsome Medoro is apitiless slayer of his enemies; but they were his master's enemies, andhe would have lost his life, even to preserve his dead body. His Orlando, for all his wisdom and greatness, runs mad for love of a coquette, whotriumphs over warriors and kings, only to fall in love herself with anobscure lad. His kings laugh with all their hearts, like common people;his mourners weep like such unaffected children of sorrow, that they mustneeds "swallow some of their tears. "[45] His heroes, on the arrival ofintelligence that excites them, leap out of bed and write letters beforethey dress, from natural impatience, thinking nothing of their "dignity. "When Astolfo blows the magic horn which drives every body out of thecastle of Atlantes, "not a mouse" stays behind;--not, as Hoole and suchcritics think, because the poet is here writing ludicrously, but becausehe uses the same image seriously, to give an idea of desolation, asShakspeare in _Hamlet_ does to give that of silence, when "not a mouse isstirring. " Instead of being mere comic writing, such incidents are in thehighest epic taste of the meeting of extremes, --of the impartial eye withwhich Nature regards high and low. So, give Ariosto his hippogriff, andother marvels with which he has enriched the stock of romance, and Naturetakes as much care of the verisimilitude of their actions, as if she hadmade them herself. His hippogriff returns, like a common horse, to thestable to which he has been accustomed. His enchanter, who is gifted withthe power of surviving decapitation and pursuing the decapitator so longas a fated hair remains on his head, turns deadly pale in the face whenit is scalped, and falls lifeless from his horse. His truth, indeed, isso genuine, and at the same time his style is so unaffected, sometimes sofamiliar in its grace, and sets us so much at ease in his company, thatthe familiarity is in danger of bringing him into contempt with theinexperienced, and the truth of being considered old and obvious, becausethe mode of its introduction makes it seem an old acquaintance. WhenVoltaire was a young man, and (to Anglicise a favourite Gallic phrase)fancied he had _profounded_ every thing deep and knowing, he thoughtnothing of Ariosto. Some years afterwards he took him for the first ofgrotesque writers, but nothing more. At last he pronounced him equally"entertaining and sublime, and humbly apologised for his error. " Foscoloquotes this passage from the _Dictionnaire Philosophique_; and addsanother from Sir Joshua Reynolds, in which the painter speaks of asimilar inability on his own part, when young, to enjoy the perfectnature of Raphael, and the admiration and astonishment which, in hisriper years, he grew to feel for it. [46]

The excessive "wildness" attributed to Ariosto is not wilder thanmany things in Homer, or even than some things in Virgil (such as thetransformation of ships into sea-nymphs). The reason why it has beenthought so is, that he rendered them more popular by mixing them withsatire, and thus brought them more universally into notice. One mainsecret of the delight they give us is their being poetical comments, as it were, on fancies and metaphors of our own. Thus, we say ofa suspicious man, that he is suspicion itself; Ariosto turns himaccordingly into an actual being of that name. We speak of the flights ofthe poets; Ariosto makes them literally flights--flights on a hippogriff, and to the moon. The moon, it has been said, makes lunatics; heaccordingly puts a man's wits into that planet. Vice deforms beauty;therefore his beautiful enchantress turns out to be an old hag. Ancientdefeated empires are sounds and emptiness; therefore the Assyrian andPersian monarchies become, in his limbo of vanities, a heap of positivebladders. Youth is headstrong, and kissing goes by favour; so Angelica, queen of Cathay, and beauty of the world, jilts warriors and kings, andmarries a common soldier. 

And what a creature is this Angelica! what effect has she not had uponthe world in spite of all her faults, nay, probably by very reason ofthem! I know not whether it has been remarked before, but it appears tome, that the charm which every body has felt in the story of Angelicaconsists mainly in that very fact of her being nothing but a beauty anda woman, dashed even with coquetry, which renders her so inferior incharacter to most heroines of romance. Her interest is founded on nothingexclusive or prejudiced. It is not addressed to any special class. Shemight or might not have been liked by this person or that; but the worldin general will adore her, because nature has made them to adore beautyand the sex, apart from prejudices right or wrong. Youth will attributevirtues to her, whether she has them or not; middle-age be unable to helpgazing on her; old-age dote on her. She is womankind itself, in form andsubstance; and that is a stronger thing, for the most part, than all ourfigments about it. Two musical names, "Angelica and Medoro, " have becomeidentified in the minds of poetical readers with the honeymoon ofyouthful passion. 

The only false acid insipid fiction I can call to mind in the _OrlandoFurioso_ is that of the "swans" who rescue "medals" from the river ofoblivion (canto xxxv. ). It betrays a singular forgetfulness of the poet'swonted verisimilitude; for what metaphor can reconcile us to swans takingan interest in medals? Popular belief had made them singers; but it wasnot a wise step to convert them into antiquaries. 

Ariosto's animal spirits, and the brilliant hurry and abundance of hisincidents, 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), spew that no man couldpaint better when he chose. The bosoms of his females "come and go, likethe waves on the sea-coast in summer airs. "[47] His witches draw the fishout of the water

 "With simple words and a pure warbled spell. "[48]

He borrows the word "painting" itself, --like a true Italian and friendof Raphael and Titian, to express the commiseration in the faces of theblest for the sufferings of mortality

 "Dipinte di pietade il viso pio. "[49]

 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 the pur adorna il mondo. "[50]

 The gentle bevy that adorns the world. 

He paints cabinet-pictures like Spenser, in isolated stanzas, with apencil at once solid and light; as in the instance of the charming onethat tells the story of Mercury and his net; how he watched the Goddessof Flowers as she issued forth at dawn with her lap full of roses andviolets, and so threw the net over her "one day, " and "took her;"

 "un dì lo prese[51]. "

But he does not confine himself to these gentle pictures. He has manyas strong as Michael Angelo, some as intense as Dante. He paints theconquest of America in five words

 "Veggio da diece cacciar mille. "[52] I see thousands Hunted by tens. 

He compares the noise of a tremendous battle heard in the neighbourhoodto the sound of the cataracts of the Nile:

 "un alto suon ch' a quel s' accorda Con che i vicin' cadendo il Nil assorda. "[53]

He "scourges" ships at sea with tempests--say rather the "miserableseamen;" while night-time grows blacker and blacker on the "exasperatedwaters. "[54]

When Rodomont has plunged into the thick of Paris, and is carrying everything before him ("like a serpent that has newly cast his skin, andgoes shaking his three tongues under his eyes of fire"), he makes thistremendous hero break the middle of the palace-gate into a huge "window, "and look through it with a countenance which is suddenly beheld by acrowd of faces as pale as death:

 "E dentro fatto l' ha tanta finestra, Che ben vedere e veduto esser puote Dai visi impressi di color di morte[55]. "

The whole description of Orlando's jealousy and growing madness isShakspearian for passion and circumstance, as the reader may see evenin the prose abstract of it in this volume; and his sublimation of asuspicious king into suspicion itself (which it also contains) is asgrandly and felicitously audacious as any thing ever invented by poet. Spenser thought so; and has imitated and emulated it in one of his ownfinest passages. Ariosto has not the spleen and gall of Dante, andtherefore his satire is not so tremendous; yet it is very exquisite, asall the world have acknowledged in the instances of the lost things foundin the moon, and the angel who finds Discord in a convent. He does nottake things so much to heart as Chaucer. He has nothing so profoundlypathetic as our great poet's _Griselda_. Yet many a gentle eye hasmoistened at the conclusion of the story of Isabella; and to recur oncemore to Orlando's jealousy, all who have experienced that passion willfeel it shake them. I have read somewhere of a visit paid to Voltaire byan Italian gentleman, who recited it to him, and who (being moved perhapsby the recollection of some passage in his own history) had the tears allthe while pouring down his cheeks. 

Such is the poem which the gracious and good Cardinal Ippolito designatedas a "parcel of trumpery. " It had, indeed, to contend with more slightsthan his. Like all originals, it was obliged to wait for the death ofthe envious and the self-loving, before it acquired a popularity whichsurpassed all precedent. Foscolo says, that Macchiavelli and Ariosto, "the two writers of that age who really possessed most excellence, werethe least praised during their lives. Bembo was approached in a postureof adoration and fear; the infamous Aretino extorted a fulsome letter ofpraises from the great and the learned[56]. " He might have added, thatthe writer most in request "in the circles" was a gentleman of the nameof Bernardo Accolti, then called the _Unique_, now never heard of. Ariosto himself eulogised him among a shoal of writers, half of whosenames have perished; and who most likely included in that half the menwho thought he did not praise them enough. For such was the fact! Iallude to the charming invention in his last canto, in which he supposeshimself welcomed home after a long voyage. Gay imitated it verypleasantly in an address to Pope on the conclusion of his Homer. Some ofthe persons thus honoured by Ariosto were vexed, it is said, at not beingpraised 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 atall! These silly people thought it taking too great a liberty! The poorflies of a day did not know that a god had taken them in hand to givethem wings for eternity. Happily for them the names of most of thesemighty personages are not known. One or two, however, took care to makeposterity laugh. Trissino, a very great man in his day, and the would-berestorer of the ancient epic, had the face, in return for the poet'stoo honourable mention of him, to speak, in his own absurd verses, of"Ariosto, with that _Furioso_ of his, which pleases the vulgar:"

 "L' Ariosto Con quel _Furioso_ suo the piace al volgo. "

"_His_ poem, " adds Panizzi, "has the merit of not having pleased anybody[57]. " A sullen critic, Sperone (the same that afterwards plaguedTasso), was so disappointed at being left out, that he became the poet'sbitter enemy. He talked of Ariosto taking himself for a swan and "dyinglike a goose" (the allusion was to the fragment he left called the _FiveCantos_). What has become of the swan Sperone? Bernardo Tasso, Torquato'sfather, made a more reasonable (but which turned out to be an unfounded)complaint, that Ariosto had established a precedent which poets wouldfind inconvenient. And Macchiavelli, like the true genius he was, expressed a good-natured and flattering regret that his friend Ariostohad left him out of his list of congratulators, in a work which was "finethroughout, " and in some places "wonderful[58]. "

The great Galileo knew Ariosto nearly by heart[59]. 

He is a poet whom it may require a certain amount of animal spirits torelish thoroughly. The _air_ of his verse must agree with you before youcan perceive all its freshness and vitality. But if read with any thinglike Italian sympathy, with allowance for times and manners, and with a_sense_ as well as _admittance_ of the different kinds of the beautifulin poetry (two very different things), you will be almost as much charmedwith the "divine Ariosto" as his countrymen have been for ages. 

[Footnote 1: The materials for this notice have been chiefly collectedfrom the poet's own writings (rich in autobiographical intimation)and from his latest editor Panizzi. I was unable to see this writer'sprincipal authority, Baruffaldi, till I corrected the proofs and thepress was waiting; otherwise I might have added two or three moreparticulars, not, however, of any great consequence. Panizzi is, asusual, 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 beconsidered patrons of literature. It is only a pity that his _Lifeof Ariosto is_ not better arranged. I have, of course, drawn my ownconclusions respecting particulars, and sometimes have thought I hadreason to differ with those who have preceded me; but not, I hope, with apresumption unbecoming a foreigner. ]

[Footnote 2: See in his Latin poems the lines beginning, "Hæc meverbosas suasit perdiscere leges. "_De Diversis Amoribus. _]

[Footnote 3:

 "Mio padre mi cacciò con spiedi e lancie, " &c. 

 _Satira_ vi. 

There is some appearance of contradiction in this passage and the onereferred to in the preceding note; but I think the conclusion in the testthe probable one, and that he was not compelled to study the law in thefirst instance. He speaks more than once of his father's memory withgreat tenderness, particularly in the lines on his death, entitled _DeNicolao Areosto_. ]

[Footnote 4: His brother Gabriel expressly mentions it in his prologue tothe _Scholastica_. ]

[Footnote 5:

 "Già mi fur dolci inviti, " &c. 

 _Satira_ v. ]

[Footnote 6: See, in the present volume, the beginning of _Astolfo'sJourney to the Moon_. ]

[Footnote 7:

 "Me potius fugiat, nullis mollita querelis, Dum simulet reliquos Lydia dura procos. Parte carere omni malo, quam admittere quemquam In partem. Cupiat Juppiter ipse, negem. "

 _Ad Petrum Bembum. _]

[Footnote 8: Panizzi, on the authority of Guicciardini and others. Giulioand another brother (Ferrante) afterwards conspired against Alfonso andIppolito, and, on the failure of their enterprise, were sentenced to beimprisoned for life. Ferrante died in confinement at the expiration ofthirty-four years; Giulio, at the end of fifty-three, was pardoned. Hecame out of prison on horseback, dressed according to the fashion of thetime when he was arrested, and "greatly excited the curiosity of thepeople. "--_Idem_, vol. I. P xii. ]

[Footnote 9:

 "Che debbo fare io qui? Agli usatti, agli spron (perch'io son grande) Non mi posso adattar, per porne o trarne. " _Satira_ ii. ]

[Footnote 10: "Per la lettera de la S. V. Reverendiss. Et a bocha da Ms. Ludovico Ariosto ho inteso quanta leticia ha conceputa del felice partomio: il che mi è stato summamente grato, cussi lo ringrazio de lavisitazione, et particolarmente di havermi mandato il dicto Ms. Ludovico, per che ultra che mi sia stato acetto, representando la persona dela S. V. Reverendiss. Lui anche per conto suo mi ha addutta gransatisfazione, havendomi cum la narratione de l'opera the compone factopassar questi due giorni non solum senza fastidio, ma cum piacergrandissimo. "--Tiraboschi, _Storia della Poesia Italiana_, Matthias'edition, vol. Iii. P. 197. ]

[Footnote 11: _Orlando Furioso_, canto xxix, st. 29. ]

[Footnote 12: See the horrible account of the suffocated VicentineGrottoes, in Sismondi, _Histoire des Republiques Italiennes_, &c vol. Iv. P. 48. ]

[Footnote 13:

 "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 piena Di speme, ma di pioggia molle e brutto, La notte andai sin al Montone a cena. " _Sat_. Iv. ]

[Footnote 14: See _canzone_ the first, "Non so s'io potrò, " &c. And the_copitolo_ beginning "Della mia negra penna in fregio d'oro. "]

[Footnote 15: _Histoire Litteraire_, &c. Vol. Iv. P. 335. ]

[Footnote 16:"Singularis tua et pervetus erga nos familiamque nostrum observantia, egregiaque bonarum artium et litterarum doctrina, atque in studiismitioribus, praesertimque poetices elegans et præclarum ingenium, jureprope suo a nobis exposcere videntur, ut quae tibi usui futurae sint, justa praesertim et honesta petenti, ea tibi liberaliter et gratioseconcedamus. Quamobrem, " &c. . "On the same page, " says Panizzi, "arementioned the privileges granted by the king of France, by the republicof Venice, and other potentates;" so that authors, in those days, appearto have been thought worthy of profiting by their labours, wherever theycontributed to the enjoyment of mankind. 

Leo's privilege is the one that so long underwent the singular obloquy ofbeing a bull of excommunication against all who objected to the poem! amisconception on the part of some ignorant man, or misrepresentation bysome malignant one, which affords a remarkable warning against takingthings on trust from one writer after another. Even Bayle (see thearticle "Leo X. " in his Dictionary) suffered his inclinations to blindhis vigilance. ]

[Footnote 17:

 "Apollo, tua mercè, tua mercè, santo Collegio delle Muse, io non mi trovo Tanto per voi, ch'io possa farmi un manto

 E se 'l signor m'ha dato onde far novo Ogni anno mi potrei piu d'un mantello, Che mi abbia per voi dato, non approve. 

 Egli l' ha detto. " _Satira_ ii. ]

[Footnote 18:

 "Se avermi dato onde ogni quattro mesi Ho venticinque scudi, nè sì fermi, Che molte volte non mi sien contesi, 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 più tosto ch'esser servo, Torrò la povertade in pazienza"

 _Satira_ ii. ]

[Footnote 19: Panizzi, vol. I. P. 29. The agreement itself is inBaruffaldi. ]

[Footnote 20: See the lines before quoted, beginning" Apollo, tuamercè. "]

[Footnote 21: _Bibliographical Notices of Editions of

Ariosto_, prefixed to his first vol. P. 51. ]

[Footnote 22:

 "La novità del loco è stata tanta, C' ho fatto come augel che muta gabbia, Che molti giorni resta the non canta. "

For the rest of the above particulars see the fifth satire, beginning"Il vigesimo giorno di Febbraio. " I quote the exordium, because thesecompositions are differently numbered in different editions. The one Igenerally use is that of Molini--_Poesie Varie di Lodovico Ariosto, conAnnotazioni_. Firenze, 12mo, 1824. ]

[Footnote 23: _Italian Library_, p. 52. I quote Baretti, because hespeaks with a corresponding enthusiasm. He calls the incident "a veryrare proof of the irresistible powers of poetry, and a noble comment onthe fables of Orpheus and Amphion, " &c. The words "noble comment" mightlead us to fancy that Johnson had made some such remark to him whilerelating the story in Bolt Court. Nor is the former part of the sentenceunlike him: "A very rare proof, _sir_, of the irresistible powers ofpoetry, and a noble comment, " &c. Johnson, notwithstanding his classicalpredilections, was likely to take much interest in Ariosto on accountof his universality and the heartiness of his passions. He had a secretregard for "wildness" of all sorts, provided it came within any paleof the sympathetic. He was also fond of romances of chivalry. On oneoccasion he selected the history of Felixmarte of Hyrcania as his courseof reading during a visit. ]

[Footnote 24: The deed of gift sets forth the interest which it becomesprinces and commanders to take in men of letters, particularly poets, as heralds of their fame, and consequently the special fitness of theillustrious and superexcellent poet Lodovico Ariosto for receiving fromAlfonso Davallos, Marquess of Vasto, the irrevocable sum of, &c. &c. Panizzi has copied the substance of it from Baruffaldi, vol. I. P. 67. ]

[Footnote 25: _Orlando Furioso_ canto xxxiii. St. 28. ]

[Footnote 26:

 "Inveni portum: spes et fortuna valete; Sat me lusistis; Indite nune alios. "

 My port is found: adieu, ye freaks of chance; The dance ye led me, now let others dance. ]

[Footnote 27:

 "The great Emathian conqueror bade spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower went to the ground, " &c. ]

[Footnote 28: This medal is inscribed "Ludovicus Ariost. Poet. " and hasthe bee-hive on the reverse, with the motto "Pro bono malum. " Ariosto wasso 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. ]

[Footnote 29:

 "Io son de' dieci il primo, e vecchio fatto Di quaranta quattro anni, e il capo calvo Da un tempo in qua sotto il cuffiotto appiatto. "

 _Satira_ ii. ]

[Footnote 30:

 "Il vin fumoso, a me vie più interdetto Che 'l tosco, costì a inviti si tracanna, E sacrilegio è non ber molto, e schietto. 

(He is speaking of the wines of Hungary, and of the hard drinkingexpected of strangers in that country. )

 Tutti li cibi son con pope e canna, Di amomo e d' altri aromati, che tutti Come nocivi il medico mi danna. "

 _Satira_ ii. ]

[Footnote 31: Pigna, _I Romanzi_, p. 119. ]

[Footnote 32: _Epicedium_ on his brother's death. It is reprinted(perhaps for the first time since 1582) in Mr. Panizzi's Appendix to theLife, in his first volume, p. Clxi. ]

[Footnote 33:

 "Le donne, i cavalier, l' 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 thedegeneracy of his country, calls to mind with graceful and touchingregret, "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. ]

[Footnote 34: The original is much pithier, but I cannot find equivalentsfor the alliteration. He said, "Porvi le pietre e porvi le parole non èil medesimo. "--_Pigna_, p. 119. According to his son, however, his remarkwas, that "palaces could be made in poems without money. " He probablyexpressed the same thing in different ways to different people. ]

[Footnote 35: Vide Sat. Iii. "Mi sia un tempo, " &c. And the passage inSat. Vii. Beginning "Di libri antiqui. "]

[Footnote 36: The inkstand which Shelley saw at Ferrara (_Essays andLetters_, p. 149) could not have been this; probably his eye was caughtby a wrong one. Doubts also, after what we know of the tricks practisedupon visitors of Stratford-upon-Avon, may unfortunately be entertainedof the "plain old wooden piece of furniture, " the arm-chair. Shelleydescribes the handwriting of Ariosto as "a small, firm, and pointedcharacter, expressing, as he should say, a strong and keen, butcircumscribed energy of mind. " Every one of Shelley s words is alwaysworth consideration; but handwritings are surely equivocal testimoniesof character; they depend so much on education, on times and seasons andmoods, conscious and unconscious wills, &c. What would be said by anautographist to the strange old, ungraceful, slovenly handwriting ofShakspeare?]

[Footnote 37: See vol. I. Of the present work, pp. 30, 202, and 216. ]

[Footnote 38: Baruffaldi, 1807; p. 105. ]

[Footnote 39:

 "In casa 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 all'altrui mensa tordo, starno, o porco Selvaggio. "]

[Footnote 40: "Chi vuole andare, " &c. _Satira_ iv. ]

[Footnote 41:

 "Se Nicoletto o Fra Martin fan segno D' infedele o d' cretico, ne accuso Il saper troppo, e men con lor mi sdegno:

 Perchè salendo lo intelletto in suso Per veder Dio, non de' parerci strano Se talor cade giù cieco e confuso. "

 _Satira_ vi. 

This satire was addressed to Bembo. The cardinal is said to have askeda visitor from Germany whether Brother Martin really believed what hepreached; and to have expressed the greatest astonishment when toldthat he did. Cardinals were then what augurs were in the time ofCicero--wondering that they did not burst out a-laughing in one another'sfaces. This was bad; but inquisitors are a million times worse. By theNicoletto here mentioned by Ariosto in company with Luther, we are tounderstand (according to the conjecture of Molini) a Paduan professor ofthe name of Niccolò Vernia, who was accused of holding the Pantheisticopinions of Averroes. ]

[Footnote 42: Take a specimen of this leap-frog versification from theprologue to the _Cassaria_:--

 "Questa commedia, ch'oggi _recitàtavi_ Sarà, se nol sapete, è la _Cassària_, Ch'un altra volta, già vent'anni _pàssano_, Veder si fece sopra questi _pùlpiti_, Ed allora assai piacque a tutto il _pòpolo_, Ma non ne ripostò già degno _prèmio_, Che data in preda a gl'importuni ed _àvidi_ Stampator fu, " &c. 

This through five comedies in five acts!]

[Footnote 43: In the verses entitled _Bacchi Statua_. ]

[Footnote 44: Essays and Letters, _ut sup. _ vol. Ii. P. 125. ]

[Footnote 45:

 "Le lacrime scendean tra gigli e rôse, Là dove avvien ch' alcune sè 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. "]

[Footnote 46: Essay on the _Narrative and Romantic Poems of theItalians_, in the _Quarterly Review_, vol. Xxi. ]

[Footnote 47:

 "Vengono e van, come onda al primo margo Quando piacevole aura il mar combatte. "

 Canto vii. St. 14. ]

[Footnote 48:

 "Con semplici parole e puri incanti. "

 Canto vi. St. 38. ]

[Footnote 49: Canto xiv. St. 79. ]

[Footnote 50: Canto xxviii. St. 98. ]

[Footnote 51: Canto XV. St. 57. ]

[Footnote 52: _Id_. St. 23. ]

[Footnote 53: Canto xvi. St. 56. ]

[Footnote 54: Canto xviii. St. 142. ]

[Footnote 55: Canto XVII. St. 12. ]

[Footnote 56: _Essay_, as above, p. 534. ]

[Footnote 57: _Boiardo and Ariosto_, vol. Iv. P. 318. ]

[Footnote 58: _Life_, in Panizzi p. Ix. ]

[Footnote 59: _Opere di Galileo_, Padova, 1744, vol. I. P. Lxxii. ]

THE

ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 

Argument. 

PART I. --Angelica flies from the camp of Charlemagne into a wood, whereshe meets with a number of her suitors. Description of a beautifulnatural bower. She claims the protection of Sacripant, who is overthrown, in passing, by an unknown warrior that turns out to be a damsel. Rinaldocomes up, and Angelica flies from both. She meets a pretended hermit, whotakes her to some rocks in the sea, and casts her asleep by magic. Theyare seized and carried off by some mariners from the isle of Ebuda, whereshe is exposed to be devoured by an orc, but is rescued by a knight on awinged horse. He descends with her into a beautiful spot on the coast ofBrittany, but suddenly misses both horse and lady. He is lured, with theother knights, into an enchanted palace, whither Angelica comes too. Shequits it, and again eludes her suitors. 

PART II. --Cloridan and Medoro, two Moorish youths, after a battle withthe Christians, resolve to find the dead body of their master, KingDardinel, and bury it. They kill many sleepers as they pass through theenemy's camp, and then discover the body; but are surprised, and left fordead themselves. Medoro, however, survives his friend, and is cured ofhis wounds by Angelica, who happens to come up. She falls in love withand marries him. Account of their honeymoon in the woods. They quit themto 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-doorsand out-of-doors, inscriptions of "Angelica and Medoro. " He tries in vainto disbelieve his eyes; finally, learns the whole story from the owner ofthe cottage, and loses his senses. What he did in that state, both in theneighbourhood and afar off, where he runs naked through the country. Hisarrival among his brother Paladins; and the result. 

THE

ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA. 

(CONTINUED BY ARIOSTO FROM BOIARDO[1]. )

Part the First. 

ANGELICA AND HER SUITORS. 

Angelica, not at all approving her consignment to the care of Namo byCharlemagne, for the purpose of being made the prize of the conqueror, resolved to escape before the battle with the Pagans. She accordinglymounted her palfrey at once, and fled with all her might till she foundherself 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 bethe once-loved but now detested Rinaldo. He had lost his horse, and waslooking for it. Angelica turned her palfrey aside instantly, and gallopedwhithersoever it chose to carry her, till she came to a river-side, whereshe found another of her suitors, Ferragus. She called loudly upon himfor 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, havingseen its mother's throat seized by a wild beast, scours through thewoods, and fancies herself every instant in the jaws of the monster. Every sweep of the wind in the trees--every shadow across her path--droveher with sudden starts into the wildest cross-roads; for it made her feelas if Rinaldo was at her shoulders. [2]

Slackening her speed by degrees, she wandered afterwards she knew notwhither, till she came, next day, to a pleasant wood that was gentlystirring with the breeze. There were two streams in it, which kept thegrass always green; and when you listened, you heard them softly runningamong the pebbles with a broken murmur. 

Thinking herself secure at last, and indeed feeling as if she were now athousand miles off from Rinaldo--tired also with her long journey, andwith the heat of the summer sun--she here determined to rest herself. She dismounted; and having relieved her horse of his bridle, and let himwander away in the fresh pasture, she cast her eyes upon a lovely naturalbower, formed of wild roses, which made a sort of little room by thewater's side. The bower beheld itself in the water; trees enclosed itoverhead, on the three other sides; and in the middle was room enough tolie down on the sward; while the whole was so thickly trellised with theleaves and branches, that the sunbeams themselves could not enter, muchless any prying sight. The place invited her to rest; and accordingly thebeautiful creature laid herself down, and so gathering herself, as itwere, together, went fast asleep[3]. 

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 perceiveda cavalier, who dismounted from his steed, and sat himself down by thewater in a melancholy posture. It was Sacripant, king of Circassia, oneof her lovers, wretched at the thought of having missed her in the campof King Charles. Angelica loved Sacripant no more than the rest; but, considering him a man of great conscientiousness, she thought he wouldmake her a good protector while on her journey home. She thereforesuddenly appeared before him out of the bower, like a goddess of thewoods, or Venus herself, and claimed his protection. 

Never did a mother bathe the eyes of her son with tears of such exquisitejoy, when he came home after news of his death in battle, as the Saracenking beheld this sudden apparition with

 Così vôto nel mezo, the concede Fresca stanza fra l'ombre più nascose: E la foglie coi rami in modo è mista, Che 'l 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! Its divine face and beautiful manners. [4] He couldnot help clasping her in his arms; and very different intentions werecoming into his head than those for which she had given him credit, whenthe noise of a second warrior thundering through the woods made himremount his horse and prepare for an encounter. The stranger speedilymade his appearance, a personage of a gallant and fiery bearing, clad ina surcoat white as snow, with a white streamer for a crest. He seemedmore bent on having the way cleared before him than anxious about themanner of it; so couching his lance as he came, while Sacripant did thelike with his, he dashed upon the Circassian with such violence as tocast him on the ground; and though his own horse slipped at the sametime, he had it up again in an instant with his spurs; and so, continuing his way, was a mile off before the Saracen recovered from hisastonishment. 

As the stunned and stupid ploughman, who has been stretched by athunderbolt beside his slain oxen, raises himself from the ground afterthe lofty crash, and looks with astonishment at the old pine-tree nearhim which has been stripped from head to foot, with just such amazementthe Circassian got up from his downfall, and stood in the presence ofAngelica, who had witnessed it. Never in his life had he blushed so redas at that moment. 

Angelica comforted him in sorry fashion, attributing the disaster to histired and ill-fed horse, and observing that his enemy had chosen to riskno second encounter; but, while she was talking, a messenger, with anappearance of great fatigue and anxiety, came riding up, who askedSacripant if he had seen a knight in a white surcoat and crest. 

"He has this instant, " answered the king, "overthrown me, and gallopedaway. Who is he?"

"It is no _he_, " replied the messenger. "The rider who has overthrownyou, and thus taken possession of whatever glory you may have acquired, is a damsel; and she is still more beautiful than brave. Bradalnante isher illustrious name. " And with these words the horseman set spurs tohis horse, and left the Saracen more miserable than before. He mountedAngelica's horse without a word, his own having been disabled; and so, taking her up behind him, proceeded on the road in continued silence. [5]

They had just gone a couple of miles, when they again heard a noise, asof some powerful body in haste; and in a little while, a horse without arider came rushing towards them, in golden trappings. It was Rinaldo'shorse, Bayardo. [6] The Circassian, dismounting, thought to seize it, but was welcomed with a curvet, which made him beware how he hazardedsomething worse. The horse then went straight to Angelica in a way ascaressing as a dog; for he remembered how she fed him in Albracca at thetime when she was in love with his ungracious master: and the beautyrecollected Bayardo with equal pleasure, for she had need of him. Sacripant, however, watched his opportunity, and mounted the horse; sothat now the two companions had each a separate steed. They were aboutto proceed more at their ease, when again a great noise was heard, andRinaldo himself was seen coming after them on foot, threatening theSaracen with furious gestures, for he saw that he had got his horse; andhe recognised, above all, in a rage of jealousy, the lovely face besidehim. Angelica in vain implored the Circassian to fly with her. He askedif she had forgotten the wars of Albracca, and all which he had done toserve her, that thus she supposed him afraid of another battle. 

Sacripant endeavoured to push Bayardo against Rinaldo; but the horserefusing to fight his master, he dismounted, and the two rivalsencountered each other with their swords. At first they went throughthe whole sword-exercise to no effect; but Rinaldo, tired of the delay, raised the terrible Fusberta, [7] and at one blow cut through the other'stwofold buckler of bone and steel, and benumbed his arm. Angelica turnedas pale as a criminal going to execution; and, without farther waiting, galloped off through the forest, looking round every instant to see ifRinaldo was upon her. 

She had not gone far when she met an old man who seemed to be a hermit, but was in reality a magician, coming along upon an ass. He was ofvenerable aspect, and seemed worn out with age and mortifications; yet, when he beheld the exquisite face before him, and heard the lady explainhow 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 thepurpose of keeping his two rivals at a distance. Taking out a book, andreading a little in it, there issued from the air a spirit in likenessof a servant, whom he sent to the two combatants with directions togive them a false account of Orlando's having gone off to France withAngelica. The spirit disappeared; and the magician journeying with hiscompanion to the sea-coast, raised another, who entered Angelica's horse, and carried her, to her astonishment and terror, out to sea, and so roundto some lonely rocks. There, to her great comfort at first, the old manrejoined her; but his proceedings becoming very mysterious, and excitingher indignation, he cast her into a deep sleep. 

It happened, at this moment, that a ship was passing by the rocks, boundupon a tragical commission from the island of Ebuda. It was the custom ofthat place to consign a female daily to the jaws of a sea-monster, forthe purpose of averting the wrath of one of their gods; and as it wasthought that the god would be appeased if they brought him one ofsingular beauty, the mariners of the ship seized with avidity on thesleeping Angelica, and carried her off, together with the old man. The people of Ebuda, out of love and pity, kept her, unexposed to thesea-monster, for some days; but at length she was bound to the rock whereit was accustomed to seek its food; and thus, in tears and horror, withnot a friend to look to, the delight of the world expected her fate. Eastand west she looked in vain; to the heavens she looked in vain; everywhere she looked in vain. That beauty which had made King Agrican comefrom the Caspian gates, with half Scythia, to find his death from thehands of Orlando; that beauty which had made King Sacripant forget bothhis country and his honour; that beauty which had tarnished the renownand the wisdom of the great Orlando himself, and turned the whole Eastupside down, and laid it at the feet of loveliness, has now not a soulnear it to give it the comfort of a word. 

Leaving our heroine awhile in this condition, I must now tell you thatRuggiero, the greatest of all the infidel warriors, had been presented byhis guardian, the magician Atlantes, with two wonderful gifts; the onea shield of dazzling metal, which blinded and overthrew every one thatlooked at it; and the other an animal which combined the bird with thequadruped, and was called the Hippogriff, or griffin-horse. It had theplumage, the wings, head, beak, and front-legs of a griffin, and the restlike a horse. It was not made by enchantment, but was a creature of anatural kind found but very rarely in the Riphæan mountains, far on theother side of the Frozen Sea. [8]

With these gifts, high mounted in the air, the young ward of Atlanteswas now making the grandest of grand tours. He had for some time beenconfined by the magician in a castle, in order to save him from thedangers threatened in his horoscope. From this he had been set free bythe lady with whom he was destined to fall in love; he had then beeninveigled 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 andpursue knightly adventures. 

Casting his eyes on the coast of Ebuda, the rider of the hippogriffbeheld the amazing spectacle of the lady tied to the rock; and struckwith a beauty which reminded him of her whom he loved, heresolved to deliver her from a peril which soon became too manifest. 

A noise was heard in the sea; and the huge monster, the Orc, appearedhalf in the water and half out of it, like a ship which drags its wayinto port after a long and tempestuous voyage. [9] It seemed a huge masswithout form except the head, which had eyes sticking out, and bristleslike a boar. Ruggiero, who had dashed down to the side of Angelica, andattempted to encourage her in vain, now rose in the air; and the monster, whose attention was diverted by a shadow on the water of a couple ofgreat wings dashing round and above him, presently felt a spear on hisDeck; but only to irritate him, for it could not pierce the skin. In vainRuggiero tried to do so a hundred times. The combat was of no more effectthan that of the fly with the mastiff, when it dashes against his eyesand mouth, and at last comes once too often within the gape of hissnapping teeth. The orc raised such a foam and tempest in the waters withthe flapping of his tail, that the knight of the hippogriff hardly knewwhether he was in air or sea. He began to fear that the monster woulddisable the creature's wings; and where would its rider be then? Hetherefore had recourse to a weapon which he never used but at the lastmoment, when skill and courage became of no service: he unveiled themagic shield. But first he flew to Angelica, and put on her finger thering which neutralised its effect. The shield blazed on the waterlike another sun. The orc, beholding it, felt it smite its eyes likelightning; and rolling over its unwieldy body in the foam which it hadraised, 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, thatAngelica cried out to him for God's sake to release her while he had theopportunity, lest the monster should revive. "Take Ime with you, " shesaid; "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 wingedhorse, and in a few minutes was in the air, transported with havingdeprived the brute of his delicate supper. Then, turning as he went, heimprinted on her a thousand kisses. He had intended to make a tour ofSpain, which was not far off; but he now altered his mind, and descendedwith his prize into a lovely spot, on the coast of Brittany, encircledwith oaks full of nightingales, with here and there a solitary mountain. 

It was a little green meadow with a brook. [10]

Ruggiero looked about him with transport, and was preparing todisencumber himself of his hot armour, when the blushing beauty, castingher eyes downwards, beheld on her finger the identical magic ring whichher father had given her when she first entered Christendom, and whichhad delivered her out of so many dangers. If put on the finger only, itneutralised all enchantment; but put into the mouth, it rendered thewearer invisible. It had been stolen from her, and came into the hands ofa good fairy, who gave it to Ruggiero, in order to deliver him fromthe wiles of a bad one. Falsehood to the good fairy's friend, his ownmistress Bradamante, now rendered him unworthy of its possession; andat the moment when he thought Angelica his own beyond redemption, shevanished out of his sight. In vain he knew the secret of the ring, andthe 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 alittle while she was distant far enough; and Ruggiero, stamping about tono purpose in a rage of disappointment, and at length resolving totake horse, perceived he had been deprived, in the mean time, of hishippogriff. It had loosened itself from the tree to which he had tiedit, and taken its own course over the mountains. Thus he had lost horse, ring, and lady, all at once. [11]

Pursuing his way, with contending emotions, through a valley betweenlofty woods, he heard a great noise in the thick of them. He rushed tosee what it was; and found a giant combating with a young knight. Thegiant got the better of the knight; and having cast him on the ground, unloosed his helmet for the purpose of slaying him, when Ruggiero, tohis horror, beheld in the youth's face that of his unworthily-treatedmistress Bradamante. He rushed to assault her enemy; but the giant, seizing her in his arms, took to his heels; and the penitent loverfollowed him with all his might, but in vain. The wretch was hidden fromhis eyes by the trees. At length Ruggiero, incessantly pursuing him, issued forth into a great meadow, containing a noble mansion; and here hebeheld the giant in the act of dashing through the gate of it with hisprize. 

The mansion was an enchanted one, raised by the anxious old guardian ofRuggiero for the purpose of enticing into it both the youth himself, andall from whom he could experience danger in the course of his adventures. Orlando had just been brought there by a similar device, that of theapparition of a knight carrying off Angelica; for the supposed Bradamantewas equally a deception, and the giant no other than the magicianhimself. There also were the knights Ferragus, and Brandimart, andGrandonio, and King Sacripant, all searching for something they hadmissed. They wandered about the house to no purpose; and sometimesRuggiero heard Bradamante calling him; and sometimes Orlando beheldAngelica's face at a window. [12]

At length the beauty arrived in her own veritable person. She was againon horseback, and once more on the look-out for a knight who shouldconduct her safely home--whether Orlando or Sacripant she had notdetermined. The same road which had brought Ruggiero to the enchantedhouse having done as much for her, she now entered it invisibly by meansof the ring. 

Finding both the knights in the place, and feeling under the necessity ofcoming to a determination respecting one or the other, Angelica made upher mind in favour of King Sacripant, whom she reckoned to be more at herdisposal. Contriving therefore to meet him by himself, she took thering out of her mouth, and suddenly appeared before him. He had hardlyrecovered from his amazement, when Ferragus and Orlando himself came up;and as Angelica now was visible to all, she took occasion to deliver themfrom the enchanted house by hastening before them into a wood. They allfollowed of course, in a frenzy of anxiety and delight; but the ladybeing perplexed with the presence of the whole three, and recollectingthat she had again obtained possession of her ring, resolved to trust hersafe conduct to invisibility alone; so, in the old fashion, she leftthem to new quarrels by suddenly vanishing from their eyes. She stopped, nevertheless, a while to laugh at them, as they all turned theirstupefied faces hither and thither; then suffered them to pass her in ablind thunder of pursuit; and so, gently following at her leisure on thesame road, took her way towards the East. 

It was a long journey, and she saw many places and people, and was nowhidden and now seen, like the moon, till she calve one day into a forestnear the walls of Paris, where she beheld a youth lying wounded on thegrass, between two companions that were dead. 

Part the Second. 

ANGELICA AND MEDORO. 

Now, in order to understand who the youth was that Angelica found lyingon the grass between the two dead companions, and how he came to be solying, you must know that a great battle had been fought there betweenCharlemagne and the Saracens, in which the latter were defeated, and thatthese three people belonged to the Saracens. The two that were slain wereDardinel, king of Zumara, and Cloridan, one of his followers; and thewounded survivor was another, whose name was Medoro. Cloridan and Medorohad been loving and grateful servants of Dardinel, and very fast friendsof one another; such friends, indeed, that on their own account, as wellas in honour of what they did for their master, their history deserves aparticular mention. 

They were of a lowly stock on the coast of Syria, and in all the variousfortunes of their lord had shewn him a special attachment. Cloridan hadbeen bred a huntsman, and was the robuster person of the two. Medoro wasin the first bloom of youth, with a complexion rosy and fair, and a mostpleasant as well as beautiful countenance. He had black eyes, and hairthat ran into curls of gold; in short, looked like a very angel fromheaven. 

These two were keeping anxious watch upon the trenches of the defeatedarmy, when Medoro, unable to cease thinking of the master who had beenleft dead on the field, told his friend that he could no longer delay togo and look for his dead body, and bury it. "You, " said he, "will remain, and so be able to do justice to my memory, in case I fail. "

Cloridan, though he delighted in this proof of his friend'snoble-heartedness, did all he could to dissuade him from so perilous anenterprise; but Medoro, in the fervour of his gratitude for benefitsconferred on him by his lord, was immovable in his determination to dieor to succeed; and Cloridan, seeing this, determined to go with him. 

They took their way accordingly out of the Saracen camp, and in a shorttime found themselves in that of the enemy. The Christians had beendrinking over-night for joy at their victory, and were buried in wine andsleep. 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 ourbeloved master? Keep watch, and I will do it. Look about you, and listenon every side, while I make a passage for us among these sleepers with mysword. "

Without waiting an answer, the vigorous huntsman pushed into the firsttent before him. It contained, among other occupants, a certain Alpheus, a physician and caster of nativities, who had prophesied to himself along life, and a death in the bosom of his family. Cloridan cautiouslyput 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 giventhem to utter a syllable. After them went another, who had entrenchedhimself between two horses; then the luckless Grill, who had made himselfa pillow of a barrel which he had emptied. He was dreaming of openinga second barrel, but, alas, was tapped himself. A Greek and a Germanfollowed, who had been playing late at dice; fortunate, if they hadcontinued to do so a little longer; but they never counted a throw likethis among their chances. 

By this time the Saracen had grown ferocious with his bloody work, andwent slaughtering along like a wild beast among sheep. Nor couldMedoro keep his own sword unemployed; but he disdained to strikeindiscriminately--he was choice in his victims. Among these was a certainDuke La Brett, who had his lady fast asleep in his arms. Shall I pitythem? That will I not. Sweet was their fated hour, most happy theirdeparture; for, embraced as the sword found them, even so, I believe, itdismissed them into the other world, loving and enfolded. 

Two brothers were slain next, sons of the Count of Flanders, andnewly-made valorous knights. Charlemagne had seen them turn red withslaughter in the field, and had augmented their coat of arms with hislilies, and promised them lands beside in Friesland. And he would havebestowed the lands, only Medoro forbade it. 

The friends now discovered that they had approached the quarter inwhich the Paladins kept guard about their sovereign. They were afraid, therefore, to continue the slaughter any further; so they put up theirswords, and picked their way cautiously through the rest of the camp intothe field where the battle had taken place. There they experienced somuch difficulty in the search for their master's body, in consequence ofthe horrible mixture of the corpses, that they might have searched tillthe perilous return of daylight, had not the moon, at the close of aprayer of Medoro's, sent forth its beams right on the spot where the kingwas lying. Medoro knew him by his cognizance, _argent_ and _gules_. Thepoor youth burst into tears at the sight, weeping plentifully as heapproached 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 embracedit, so deep was his affection for his lord; but he was anxious not to behindered in his pious office of consigning him to the earth. 

The two friends took up the dead king on their shoulders, and werehasting away with the beloved burden, when the whiteness of dawn began toappear, 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 awarrior of extreme vigilance and activity, and was returning to the campafter having been occupied all night in pursuing such of the enemy as hadnot succeeded in getting into their entrenchments[13]. 

"My friend, " exclaimed the huntsman, "we must e'en take to our heels. Twoliving people must not be sacrificed to one who is dead. "

With these words he let go his share of the burden, taking for grantedthat 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 hismaster, Medoro was far more so. He accordingly received the whole burdenon his shoulders. Cloridan meantime scoured away, as fast as feet couldcarry him, thinking his companion was at his side: otherwise he wouldsooner have died a hundred times over than have left him. 

In the interim, the party of the Scottish prince had dispersed themselvesabout the plain, for the purpose of intercepting the two fugitives, whichever way they went; for they saw plainly they were enemies, by thealarm they shewed. 

There was an old forest at hand in those days, which, besides being thickand dark, was full of the most intricate cross-paths, and inhabited onlyby game. Into this Cloridan had plunged. Medoro, as well as he could, hastened after him; but hampered as he was with his burden, the more hesought the darkest and most intricate paths, the less advanced he foundhimself, especially as he had no acquaintance with the place. 

On a sudden, Cloridan having arrived at a spot so quiet that he becameaware of the silence, missed his beloved friend. "Great God!" heexclaimed, "what have I done? Left him I know not where, or how!" Theswift runner instantly turned about, and, retracing his steps, camevoluntarily back on the road to his own death. As he approached the scenewhere 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 unhappyfriend; and at length he saw him, still bearing his load, in the midst ofthe whole troop of horsemen. The prince was commanding them to seize him. The poor youth, however, burdened as he was, rendered it no such easymatter; 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 andthither, over and round about it, parrying the horsemen's endeavoursto take him prisoner. Never did poor hunted bear feel more conflictingemotions, when, surprised in her den, she stands over her offspring withuncertain heart, groaning with a mingled sound of tenderness and rage. Wrath bids her rush forward, and bury her nails in the flesh of theirenemy; love melts her, and holds her back in the middle of her fury, tolook upon those whom she bore. [14]

Cloridan was in an agony of perplexity what to do. He longed to rushforth 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 beforehe issued from the trees, and, putting an arrow to his bow, sent itwell-aimed among the horsemen. A Scotsman fell dead from his saddle. Thetroop all turned to see whence the arrow came; and as they were ragingand crying out, a second stuck in the throat of the loudest. 

"This is not to be borne, " cried the prince, pushing his horse towardsMedoro; "you shall suffer for this. " And so speaking, he thrust his handinto the golden locks of the youth, and dragged him violently backwards, intending to kill him; but when he looked on his beautiful face, hecouldn't do it. 

The youth betook himself to entreaty. "For God's sake, sir knight!" criedhe, "be not so cruel as to deny me leave to bury my lord and master. Hewas a king. I ask nothing for myself--not even my life. I do not care formy life. I care for nothing but to bury my lord and master. "

These words were spoken in a manner so earnest, that the good princecould feel nothing but pity; but a ruffian among the troop, losing sighteven of respect for his lord, thrust his lance into the poor youth'sbosom right over the prince's hand. Zerbino turned with indignation tosmite him, but the villain, seeing what was coming, galloped off; andmeanwhile Cloridan, thinking that his friend was slain, came leaping fullof rage out of the wood, and laid about him with his sword in mortaldesperation. Twenty swords were upon him in a moment; and perceivinglife flowing out of him, he let himself fall down by the side of hisfriend. [15]

The Scotsmen, supposing both the friends to be dead, now took theirdeparture; and Medoro indeed would have been dead before long, he bled soprofusely. But assistance of a very unusual sort was at hand. 

A lady on a palfrey happened to be coming by, who observed signs of lifein him, and was struck with his youth and beauty. She was attired withgreat simplicity, but her air was that of a person of high rank, and herbeauty inexpressible. In short, it was the proud daughter of the lord ofCathay, Angelica herself. Finding that she could travel in safety andindependence by means of the magic ring, her self-estimation had risen tosuch a height, that she disdained to stoop to the companionship of thegreatest man living. She could not even call to mind that such lovers asthe County Orlando or King Sacripant existed and it mortified her beyondmeasure to think of the affection she had entertained for Rinaldo. 

"Such arrogance, " thought Love, "is not to be endured. " The little archerwith the wings put an arrow to his bow, and stood waiting for her by thespot where Medoro lay. 

Now, when the beauty beheld the youth lying half dead with his wounds, and yet, on accosting him, found that he lamented less for himself thanfor the unburied body of the king his master, she felt a tendernessunknown before creep into every particle of her being; and as thegreatest ladies of India were accustomed to dress the wounds of theirknights, she bethought her of a balsam which she had observed in comingalong; and so, looking about for it, brought it back with her to thespot, together with a herdsman whom she had met on horseback in searchof one of his stray cattle. The blood was ebbing so fast, that the pooryouth was on the point of expiring; but Angelica bruised the plantbetween stones, and gathered the juice into her delicate hands, andrestored his strength with infusing it into the wounds; so that, in alittle while, he was able to get on the horse belonging to the herdsman, and be carried away to the man's cottage. He would not quit his lord'sbody, however, nor that of his friend, till he had seen them laid in theground. He then went with the lady, and she took up her abode with him inthe cottage, and attended him till he recovered, loving him more and moreday by day; so that at length she fairly told him as much, and he lovedher 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 itrated? What is the reward ye have obtained for all your services? Shew usa single courtesy which the lady ever vouchsafed, late or early, for allthat you ever suffered in her behalf. 

O King Agrican! if you could return to life, how hard would you think itto call to mind all the repulses she gave you--all the pride and aversionand contempt with which she received your advances! O Ferragus! Othousands of others too numerous to speak of, who performed thousands ofexploits for this ungrateful one, what would you all think at beholdingher in the arms of the courted boy!

Yes, Medoro had the first gathering of the kiss off the lips ofAngelica--those lips never touched before--that garden of roses onthe threshold of which nobody ever yet dared to venture. The love washeadlong and irresistible; but the priest was called in to sanctifyit; and the brideswoman of the daughter of Cathay was the wife of thecottager. The lovers remained upwards of a month in the cottage. Angelicacould not bear her young husband out of her sight. She was for evergazing on him, and hanging on his neck. In-doors and out-of-doors, day aswell as night, she had him at her side. In the morning or evening theywandered forth along the banks of some stream, or by the hedge-rows ofsome verdant meadow. In the middle of the day they took refuge from theheat in a grotto that seemed made for lovers; and wherever, in theirwanderings, they found a tree fit to carve and write on, by the side offount or river, or even a slab of rock soft enough for the purpose, therethey were sure to leave their names on the bark or marble; so that, whatwith the inscriptions in-doors and out-of-doors (for the walls of thecottage displayed them also), a visitor of the place could not haveturned his eye in any direction without seeing the words

 "ANGELICA AND MEDORO"

written in as many different ways as true-lovers' knots could run. [16]

Having thus awhile enjoyed themselves in the rustic solitude, the Queenof Cathay (for in the course of her adventures in Christendom she hadsucceeded to her father's crown) thought it time to return to herbeautiful empire, and complete the triumph of love by crowning Medoroking of it. 

She took leave of the cottagers with a princely gift. The islanders ofEbuda had deprived her of every thing valuable but a rich bracelet, which, for some strange, perhaps superstitious, reason, they left on herarm. This she took off, and made a present of it to the good couple fortheir hospitality; and so bade them farewell. 

The bracelet was of inimitable workmanship, adorned with gems, and hadbeen given by the enchantress Morgana to a favourite youth, who wasrescued from her wiles by Orlando. The youth, in gratitude, bestowed iton his preserver; and the hero had humbly presented it to Angelica, whovouchsafed to accept it, not because of the giver, but for the rarity ofthe gift. 

The happy bride and bridegroom, bidding farewell to France, proceeded byeasy journeys, and crossed the mountains into Spain, where it was theirintention to take ship for the Levant. Descending the Pyrenees, theydiscerned the ocean in the distance, and had now reached the coast, andwere proceeding by the water-side along the high road to Barcelona, whenthey beheld a miserable-looking creature, a madman, all over mud anddirt, lying naked in the sands. He had buried himself half inside themfor shelter from the sun; but having observed the lovers as they camealong, he leaped out of his hole like a dog, and came raging againstthem. 

But, before I proceed to relate who this madman was, I must return to thecottage which the two lovers had occupied, and recount what passed in itduring the interval between their bidding it adieu and their arrival inthis place. 

PART THE THIRD

THE JEALOUSY OF ORLANDO. 

During the course of his search for Angelica, the County Orlando had justrestored two lovers to one another, and was pursuing a Pagan enemy to nopurpose through a wild and tangled wood, when he came into a beautifulspot 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 surroundedwith trees. There was an air abroad, notwithstanding the heat, which madethe shepherds glad to sit without their jerkins, and receive the coolnesson their naked bodies: even the hard-skinned cattle were glad of it; andOrlando, 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 sorefreshing. Alas! it was the unhappiest moment of his life. 

Casting his eyes around him, while about to get off his horse, heobserved 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 inscriptions of which I havespoken. The spot was one of the haunts of the lovers while they abode inthe 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 letterwas a dagger that pierced his heart. 

The unhappy lover tried in vain to disbelieve what he saw. He endeavouredto compel himself to think that it was some other Angelica who hadwritten the words; but he knew the handwriting too well. Too often had hedwelt upon it, and made himself familiar with every turn of the letters. He then strove to fancy that "Medoro" was a feigned name, intended forhimself; but he felt that he was trying to delude himself, and that themore he tried, the bitterer was his conviction of the truth. He was likea bird fixing itself only the more deeply in the lime in which it iscaught, by struggling and beating its wings. 

Orlando turned his horse away in his anguish, and paced it towards agrotto covered with vine and ivy, which he looked into. The grotto, bothoutside and in, was full of the like inscriptions. It was the retreat thelovers were so fond of at noon. Their names were written on all sides ofit, some in chalk and coal, [17] others carved with a knife. 

The wretched beholder got off his horse and entered the grotto. The firstthing that met his eyes was a larger inscription in the Saracen lover'sown handwriting and tongue--a language which the slayer of the infidelswas too well acquainted with. The words were in verse, and expressed thegratitude of the "poor Medoro, " the writer, for having had in his arms, in that grotto, the beautiful Angelica, daughter of King Galafron, whomso many had loved in vain. The writer invoked a blessing on every partof it, its shades, its waters, its flowers, its creeping plants; andentreated every person, high and low, who should chance to visit it, particularly lovers, that they would bless the place likewise, and takecare that it was never polluted by foot of herd. 

Thrice, and four times, did the unhappy Orlando read these words, tryingalways, but in vain, to disbelieve what he saw. Every time he read, theyappeared plainer and plainer; and every time did a cold hand seem to bewringing the heart in his bosom. At length he remained with his eyesfixed on the stone, seeing nothing more, not even the stone itself. Hefelt as if his wits were leaving him, so abandoned did he seem of allcomfort. Let those imagine what he felt who have experienced the sameemotions--who know, by their own sufferings, that this is the grief whichsurpasses all other griefs. His head had fallen on his bosom; his lookwas deprived of all confidence; he could not even speak or shed atear. His impetuous grief remained within him by reason of hisimpetuosity--like water which attempts to rush out of the narrow-neckedbottle, but which is so compressed as it comes, that it scarcely issuesdrop by drop. 

Again he endeavoured to disbelieve his eyes--to conclude that somebodyhad wished to calumniate his mistress, and drive her lover mad, and sohad done his best to imitate her handwriting. With these sorry attemptsat consolation, he again took horse, the sun having now given way to themoon, and so rode a little onward, till he beheld smoke rising out ofthe tops of the trees, and heard the barking of dogs and the lowing ofcattle. By these signs he knew that he was approaching a village. Heentered it, and going into the first house he came to, gave his horse tothe care of a youth, and was disarmed, and had his spurs of gold takenoff, and so went into a room that was shewn him without demanding eithermeat or drink, so entirely was he filled with his sorrow. 

Now it happened that this was the very cottage into which Medoro had beencarried out of the wood by the loving Angelica. There he had been curedof his wounds--there he had been loved and made happy--and there, wherever the County Orlando turned his eyes, he beheld the detestedwriting on the walls, the windows, the doors. He made no inquiries aboutit of the people of the house: he still dreaded to render the certaintyclearer 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 openedon the subject of his own accord. It was a story be told to every bodywho came, and he was accustomed to have it admired; so with littlepreface he related all the particulars to his new guest--how the youthhad been left for dead on the field, and how the lady had found him, andhad him brought to the cottage--and how she fell in love with him as hegrew 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 queenherself. At the conclusion of his narrative, the good man produced thebracelet which had been given him by Angelica, as evidence of the truthof all that he had been saying. 

This was the final stroke, the last fatal blow, given to the poor hopesof Orlando by the executioner, Love. He tried to conceal his misery, butit was no longer to be repressed; so finding the tears rush into hiseyes, he desired to be alone. As soon as the man had retired, he let themflow in passion and agony. In vain he attempted to rest, much less tosleep. 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 thatvery bed. He rose instantly, as if he had been lying on a serpent. Thebed, the house, the herdsman, every thing about the place, gave him suchhorror and detestation, that, without waiting for dawn, or the light ofmoon, he dressed himself, and went forth and took his horse from thestable, and galloped onwards into the middle of the woods. There, as soonas he found himself in the solitude, he opened all the flood-gates of hisgrief, and gave way to cries and outcries. 

But he still rode on. Day and night did Orlando ride on, weeping andlamenting. He avoided towns and cities, and made his bed on the hardearth, and wondered at himself that he could weep so long. 

"These, " thought he, "are no tears that are thus poured forth. They arelife itself, the fountains of vitality; and I am weeping and dying both. These are no sighs that I thus eternally exhale. Nature could not supplythem. They are Love himself storming in my heart, and at once consumingme and keeping me alive with his miraculous fires. No more--no more am Ithe man I seem. He that was Orlando is dead and buried. His ungratefulmistress has slain him. I am but the soul divided from his body--doomedto wander here in this misery, an example to those that put their trustin love. "

For the wits of the County Orlando were going; and he wandered all nightround and round in the wood, till he came back to the grotto where Medorohad written his triumphant verses. Madness then indeed fell upon him. Every particle of his being seemed torn up with rage and fury; and hedrew his mighty sword, and hewed the grotto and the writing, till thewords flew in pieces to the heavens. Woe to every spot in the place inwhich were written the names of "Angelica and Medoro. " Woe to the placeitself: never again did it afford refuge from the heat of day to sheep orshepherd; for not a particle of it remained as it was. With arm and swordOrlando defaced it all, the clear and gentle fountain included. He hackedand hewed it inside and out, and cut down the branches of the trees thathung over it, and tore away the ivy and the vine, and rooted up greatbits of earth and stone, and filled the sweet water with the rubbish, sothat it was never clear and sweet again; and at the end of his toil, nothaving satisfied or being able to satisfy his soul with the excess ofhis violence, he cast himself on the ground in rage and disdain, and laygroaning towards the heavens. 

On the ground Orlando threw himself, and on the ground he remained, hiseyes fixed on heaven, his lips closed in dumbness; and thus he continuedfor the space of three days and three nights, till his frenzy had mountedto such a pitch that it turned against himself. He then arose in fury, and tore off mail and breastplate, and every particle of clothing fromhis body, till humanity was degraded in his heroical person, and hebecame naked as the beasts of the field. In this condition, and his witsquite gone, sword was forgotten as well as shield and helm; and he toreup fir-tree and ash, and began running through the woods. The shepherdshearing the cries of the strong man, and the crashing of the boughs, camehastening from all quarters to know what it was; but when he saw them hegave them chase, and smote to death those whom he reached, till the wholecountry was up in arms, though to no purpose; for they were seized withsuch terror, that while they threatened and closed after him, theyavoided him. He entered cottages, and tore away the food from the tables;and ran up the craggy hills and down into the valleys; and chased beastsas well as men, tearing the fawn and the goat to pieces, and stuffingtheir flesh into his stomach with fierce will. 

Raging and scouring onwards in this manner, he arrived one day at abridge over a torrent, on which the fierce Rodomont had fixed himself forthe purpose of throwing any one that attempted to pass it into the water. It was a very narrow bridge, with scarcely room for two horses. ButOrlando took no heed of its narrowness. He dashed right forwards againstman and steed, and forced the champion to wrestle with him on foot; and, winding himself about him with hideous strength, he leaped backwards withhim into the torrent, where he left him, and so mounted the oppositebank, and again rushed over the country. A more terrible bridge thanthis was in his way--even a precipitous pass of frightful height overa valley; but still he scoured onwards, throwing over it the agonisedpassengers that dared, in their ignorance of his strength, to opposehim; and so always rushing and raging, he came down the mountains by thesea-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 andrepose; and so he grubbed up the sand, and laid himself down in it: andthis was the terrible madman whom Angelica and Medoro saw looking at themas they were approaching the city. 

Neither of them knew him, nor did he know Angelica; but, with an idiotlaugh, he looked at her beauty, and liked her, and came horribly towardsher to carry her away. Shrieking, she put spurs to her horse and fled;and Medoro, in a fury, came after the pursuer and smote him, but to nopurpose. The great madman turned round and smote the other's horse to theground, and so renewed his chase after Angelica, who suddenly regainedenough of her wits to recollect the enchanted ring. Instantly she putit into her lips and disappeared; but in her hurry she fell from herpalfrey, and Orlando forgot her in the instant, and, mounting the poorbeast, 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 intoa camp full of his brother 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 thespecial 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 becameashamed of that passion for an infidel beauty which the heavenly powershad thus resolved to punish. 

But Angelica and Medoro pursued the rest of their journey in peace, andtook ship on the coast of Spain for India; and there she crowned herbridegroom King of Cathay. The description of Orlando's jealousy andgrowing madness is reckoned one of the finest things in Italian poetry;and very fine it surely is--as strong as the hero's strength, andsensitive as the heart of man. The circumstances are heightened, oneafter the other, with the utmost art as well as nature. There is ascriptural awfulness in the account of the hero's becoming naked; and theviolent result is tremendous. I have not followed Orlando into his featsof ultra-supernatural strength. The reader requires to be preparedfor them by the whole poem. Nor are they necessary, I think, tothe production of the best effect; perhaps would hurt it in an ageunaccustomed to the old romances. 

 * * * * *

[Footnote 1: See p. 58 of the present volume. ]

[Footnote 2:

 "Fugge tra selve spaventose e scure, Per lochi inabitati, ermi e selvaggi. Il mover de le frondi e di verzure Che di cerri sentia, d' olmi e di faggi, Fatto le avea con subite paure Trovar di quà e di là strani viaggi; Ch' ad ogni ombra veduta o in monte o in valle Temea Rinaldo aver sempre alle spalle. "

 Canto i. St. 33. ]

[Footnote 3:

 "Ecco non lungi un bel cespuglio vede Di spin fioriti e di vermiglic rôse, Che de le liquide onde al specchio siede, Chiuso dal Sol fra l' alte quercie ombrose; ]

[Footnote 4: 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. ]

[Footnote 5: How admirable is the suddenness, brevity, and force of thisscene! 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, andthe beauty from whose marriage with Ruggiero is to spring the house ofEste. Nor without her appearance at this moment, as Panizzi has shewn(vol. I. P. Cvi. ), could a variety of subsequent events have taken placenecessary to the greatest interests of the story. All the previouspassages in romance about Amazons are nothing compared with this flash ofa thunderbolt. ]

[Footnote 6: From _bayard_, old French; _bay-colour. _]

Footnote 7: His famous sword, vide p. 48. ]

[Footnote 8: To richness and rarity, how much is added by remoteness! Itadds distance to the other difficulties of procuring it. ]

[Footnote 9:

 "Ecco apparir lo smisurato mostro Mezo ascoso ne l'onda, e mezo sorto. Come sospinto suol da Borca o d'Ostro Venir lungo navilio a pigliar porto, " Canto x. St. 100. 

Improved from Ovid, _Metamorph_. Lib. Iv. 706

 "Ecce velut navis præfixo 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 theponderousness and dreary triumph of the monster. The comparison of thefly and the mastiff is in the same higher and more epic taste. Theclassical reader need not be told that the whole ensuing passage, as faras the combat is concerned, is imitated from Ovid's story of Perseus andAndromeda. ]

[Footnote 10:

 "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 itwith his nightingales! and then what figures besides! A knight on awinged steed descending with a naked beauty into a meadow in the thick ofwoods, with "here and there a solitary mountain. " The mountains make noformal circle; they keep their separate distances, with their variousintervals of light and shade. And what a heart of solitude is given tothe meadow by the loneliness of these its waiters aloof!]

[Footnote 11: Nothing can be more perfectly wrought up than this suddenchange of circumstances. ]

[Footnote 12: To feel the complete force of this picture, a reader shouldhave been in the South, and beheld the like sudden apparitions, at openwindows, of ladies looking forth in dresses of beautiful colours, andwith faces the most interesting. I remember a vision of this sort atCarrara, on a bright but not too hot day (I fancied that the marblemountains there cooled it). It resembled one of Titian's women, with itsbroad shoulders, and boddice and sleeves differently coloured from thepetticoat; and seemed literally framed in the unsashed window. But I amdigressing. ]

[Footnote 13: Ariosto elsewhere represents him as the handsomest man inthe world; saying of him, in a line that has become famous, "Natura il fece, e poi roppe la stampa. "

 Canto x. St. 84. 

 --Nature made him, and then broke the mould. 

(The word is generally printed _ruppe_; but I use the primitive textof Mr. Pannizi's edition. ) Boiardo's handsomest man, Astolfo, was anEnglishman; Ariosto's is a Scotchman. See, in the present volume, the note on the character of Astolfo, p. 41. ]

[Footnote 14:

 "Come orsa, che l'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 l'ugne, e a insanguinar le labbia; Amor la 'ntenerisce, e la ritira A riguardare a i figli in mezo l'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 in blood; 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 transcript of abeautiful passage in Statius, which, indeed, it surpasses in style, butnot in feeling, especially when we consider with whom the comparisonoriginates:

 "Ut lea, quam saevo foetam pressere cubili Venantes Numidae, natos erecta superstat Mente sub incerta, torvum ac miserabile frendens Illa quidem turbare globes, et frangere morsu Tela queat; sed prolis amor crudelia vincit Pectora, et in media catulos circumspicit ira. "

 _Thebais_, x. 414. ]

[Footnote 15: This adventure of Cloridan and Medoro is imitated from theNisus and Euryalus of Virgil. An Italian critic, quoted by Panizzi, says, that the way in which Cloridan exposes himself to the enemy is inferiorto 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. Thecircumstance, also, of Euryalus's bequeathing his aged mother to the careof his prince, in case he fails in his enterprise, is very touching;and the main honour, both of the invention of the whole episode and itsparticulars, remains with Virgil. On the other hand, the enterprise ofthe friends in the Italian poet, which is that of burying their deadmaster, and not merely of communicating with an absent general, is moreaffecting, though it may be less patriotic; the inability of Zerbino tokill him, when he looked on his face, is extremely so; and, as Panizzihas shewn, the adventure is made of importance to the whole story of thepoem, and is not simply an episode, like that in the Æneid. It serves, too, in a very particular manner to introduce Medoro worthily to theaffection of Angelica; for, mere female though she be, we should hardlyhave gone along with her passion as we do, in a poem of any seriousness, had it been founded merely on his beauty. ]

[Footnote 16: Canto xix. St. 34, &c. All the world have felt this to bea true picture of first love. The inscription may be said to be that ofevery other pair of lovers that ever existed, who knew how to write theirnames. How musical, too, are the words "Angelica and Medoro!" Boiardoinvented the one; Ariosto found the match for it. One has no end to thepleasure of repeating them. All hail to the moment when I first becameaware of their existence, more than fifty years ago, in the house ofthe gentle artist Benjamin West! (Let the reader indulge me with thisrecollection. ) I sighed with pleasure to look on them at that time; Isigh now, with far more pleasure than pain, to look back on them, forthey never come across me but with delight; and poetry is a world inwhich nothing beautiful ever thoroughly forsakes us. ]

[Footnote 17:

 "Scritti, qual con carbone e qual con gesso. "

 Canto xxiii. St. 106. 

Ariosto did not mind soiling the beautiful fingers of Angelica with coaland chalk. He knew that Love did not mind it. 

 * * * * *

ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON. 

Argument. 

The Paladin Astolfo ascends on the hippogriff to the top of one of themountains at the source of the Nile, called the Mountains of the Moon, where he discovers the Terrestrial Paradise, and is welcomed by St. Johnthe Evangelist. The Evangelist then conveys him to the Moon itself, wherehe is shewn all the things that have been lost on earth, among which isthe Reason of Orlando, who had been deprived of it for loving a Paganbeauty. Astolfo is favoured with a singular discourse by the Apostle, andis then presented with a vial containing the Reason of his great brotherPaladin, which he conveys to earth. 

ASTOLFO'S

JOURNEY TO THE MOON

When the hippogriff loosened itself from the tree to which Ruggiero hadtied it in the beautiful spot to which he descended with Angelica, [1] itsoared away, like the faithful creature it was, to the house of its ownmaster, Atlantes the magician. But not long did it remain there--no, northe house itself, nor the magician; for the Paladin Astolfo came with amighty horn given him by a greater magician, the sound of which overthrewall such abodes, and put to flight whoever heard it; and so the houseof Atlantes vanished, and the enchanter fled; and the Paladin tookpossession of the griffin-horse, and rode away with it on fartheradventures. 

One of these was the deliverance of Senapus, king of Ethiopia, from thevisitation of the dreadful harpies of old, who came infesting his tableas they did those of Æneas and Phineus. Astolfo drove them with his horsetowards the sources of the river Nile, in the Mountains of the Moon, andpursued them with the hippogriff till they entered a great cavern, which, by the dreadful cries and lamentings that issued from the depths withinit, the Paladin discovered to be the entrance from earth to Hell. 

The daring Englishman, whose curiosity was excited, resolved to penetrateto the regions of darkness. "What have I to fear?" thought he; "the hornwill assist me, if I want it. I'll drive the triple-mouthed dog out ofthe way, and put Pluto and Satan to flight. "[2]

Astolfo tied the hippogriff to a tree, and pushed forward in spite of asmoke that grew thicker and thicker, offending his eyes and nostrils. Itbecame, however, so exceedingly heavy and noisome, that he found it wouldbe impossible to complete his enterprise. Still he pushed forward as faras he could, especially as he began to discern in the darkness somethingthat appeared to stir with an involuntary motion. It looked like a deadbody which has hung up many days in the rain and sun, and is wavedunsteadily by the wind. It turned out to be a condemned spirit in thisfirst threshold of Hell, sentenced there, with thousands of others, forhaving been cruel and false in love. Her name was Lydia, and she had beenprincess of the country so called. [3] Anaxarete was among them, who, forher hard-heartedness, became a stone; and Daphne, who now discovered howshe had erred in making Apollo "run so much;" and multitudes of otherwomen; but a far greater number of men--men being worthier of punishmentin offences of love, because women are proner to believe. Theseus andJason were among them; and Amnon, the abuser of Tamar; and he thatdisturbed the old kingdom of Latinus. [4]

Astolfo would fain have gone deeper into the jaws of Hell, but the smokegrew so thick and palpable, it was impossible to move a step farther. Turning about, therefore, he regained the entrance; and having refreshedhimself in a fountain hard by, and re-mounted the hippogriff, felt aninclination to ascend as high as he possibly could in the air. Theexcessive loftiness of the mountain above the cavern made him think thatits top could be at no great distance from the region of the Moon; andaccordingly he pushed his horse upwards, and rose and rose, till atlength he found himself on its table-land. It exhibited a region ofcelestial beauty. The flowers were like beds of precious stones forcolour and brightness; the grass, if you could have brought any to earth, would have been found to surpass emeralds; and the trees, whose leaveswere no less beautiful, were in fruit and flower at once. Birds of asmany colours were singing in the branches; the murmuring rivulets anddumb lakes were more limpid than crystal: a sweet air was for everstirring, which reduced the warmth to a gentle temperature; and everybreath of it brought an odour from flowers, fruit-trees, and herbage allat once, which nourished the soul with sweetness. [5]

In the middle of this lonely plain was a palace radiant as fire. Astolforode his horse round about it, constantly admiring all he saw, and filledwith increasing astonishment; for he found that the dwelling was thirtymiles in circuit, and composed of one entire carbuncle, lucid andvermilion. What became of the boasted wonders of the world before this?The world itself, in the comparison, appeared but a lump of brute andfetid matter. [6]

As the Paladin approached the vestibule, he was met by a venerable oldman, clad in a white gown and red mantle, whose beard descended on hisbosom, 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 andElijah, the only three mortals who never tasted death; for the place, asthe saint informed him, was the Terrestrial Paradise; and the inhabitantswere to live there till the angelical trumpet announced the coming ofChrist "on the white cloud. " The Paladin, he said, had been allowed tovisit it, by the favour of God, for the purpose of fetching away to earththe lost wits of Orlando, which the champion of the Church had beendeprived of for loving a Pagan, and which had been attracted out of hisbrains to the neighbouring sphere, the Moon. 

Accordingly, after the new friends had spent two days in discourse, andmeals had been served up, consisting of fruit so exquisite that thePaladin could not help thinking our first parents had some excuse foreating it, [7] the Evangelist, when the Moon arose, took him into the carwhich had borne Elijah 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 hisown, 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 solarge which had seemed so petty afar off; and no less strange was it tolook down on the world he had left, and be compelled to knit his browsand look sharply before he could well discern it, for it happened at thetime to want light. [8]

But his guide did not leave him much time to look about him. He conductedhim with due speed into a valley that contained, in one miraculouscollection, whatsoever had been lost or wasted on earth. I do not speakonly (says the poet) of riches and dominions, and such like gratuities ofFortune, but of things also which Fortune can neither grant nor resume. Much fame is there which Time has withdrawn--infinite prayers and vowswhich are made to God Almighty by us poor sinners. There lie the tearsand the sighs of lovers, the hours lost in pastimes, the leisures of thedull, and the intentions of the lazy. As to desires, they are so numerousthat they shadow the whole place. Astolfo went round among the differentheaps, asking what they were. His eyes were first struck with a hugeone of bladders which seemed to contain mighty sounds and the voices ofmultitudes. These he found were the Assyrian and Persian monarchies, together with those of Greece and Lydia. [9] One heap was nothing buthooks of silver and gold, which were the presents, it seems, made topatrons and great men in hopes of a return. Another consisted of snaresin the shape of garlands, the manufacture of parasites. Others wereverses in praise of great lords, all made of crickets which had burstthemselves with singing. Chains of gold he saw there, which werepretended and unhappy love-matches; and eagles' claws, which were deputedauthorities; and pairs of bellows, which were princes' favours; andoverturned cities and treasuries, being treasons and conspiracies; andserpents with female faces, that were coiners and thieves; and all sortsof broken bottles, which were services rendered in miserable courts. Agreat heap of overturned soup[10] he found to be alms to the poor, whichhad been delayed till the giver's death. He then came to a great mountof flowers, which once had a sweet smell, but now a most rank one. This(_with submission_) was the present which the Emperor Constantine made togood Pope Sylvester. [11] Heaps of twigs he saw next, set with bird-lime, which, dear ladies, are your charms. In short there was no end to what hesaw. Thousands and thousands would not complete the list. Every thingwas there which was to be met with on earth, except folly in the rawmaterial, for that is never exported. [12]

There he beheld some of his own lost time and deeds; and yet, if nobodyhad been with him to make him aware of them, never would he haverecognised them as his. [13]

They then arrived at something, which none of us ever prayed God tobestow, for we fancy we possess it in superabundance; yet here it was ingreater quantities than any thing else in the place--I mean, sense. It was a subtle fluid, apt to evaporate if not kept closely; and hereaccordingly it was kept in vials of greater or less size. The greatest ofthem all was inscribed with the following words: "The sense of Orlando. "Others, in like manner, exhibited the names of the proper possessors; andamong them the frank-hearted Paladin beheld the greater portion of hisown. But what more astonished him, was to see multitudes of the vialsalmost full to the stopper, which bore the names of men whom he hadsupposed to enjoy their senses in perfection. Some had lost them forlove, others for glory, others for riches, others for hopes from greatmen, others for stupid conjurers, for jewels, for paintings, for allsorts of whims. There was a heap belonging to sophists and astrologers, and a still greater to poets. [14]

Astolfo, with leave of the "writer of the dark Apocalypse, " tookpossession of his own. He had but to uncork it, and set it under hisnose, and the wit shot up to its place at once. Turpin acknowledges thatthe Paladin, for a long time afterwards, led the life of a sage man, till, unfortunately, a mistake which he made lost him his brains a secondtime. [15]

The Evangelist now presented him with the vial containing the wits ofOrlando, and the travellers quitted the vale of Lost Treasure. Beforethey returned to earth, however, the good saint chewed his guest othercuriosities, and favoured him with many a sage remark, particularly onthe subject of poets, and the neglect of them by courts. He shewed himhow foolish it was in princes and other great men not to make friends ofthose who can immortalise them; and observed, with singular indulgence, that crimes themselves might be no hindrance to a good name withposterity, if the poet were but feed well enough for spices to embalm thecriminal. He instanced the cases of Homer and Virgil. 

"You are not to take for granted, " said he, "that Æneas was so piousas fame reports him, or Achilles and Hector so brave. Thousands andthousands of warriors have excelled them; but their descendents bestowedfine houses and estates on great writers, and it is from their honouredpages that all the glory has proceeded. Augustus was no such religious orclement prince as the trumpet of Virgil has proclaimed him. It was hisgood taste in poetry that got him pardoned his iniquitous proscription. Nero himself might have fared as well as Augustus, had he possessed asmuch wit. Heaven and earth might have been his enemies to no purpose, hadhe known how to keep friends with good authors. Homer makes the Greeksvictorious, the Trojans a poor set, and Penelope undergo a thousandwrongs rather than be unfaithful to her husband; and yet, if you wouldhave the real truth of the matter, the Greeks were beaten, and theTrojans the conquerors, and Penelope was a --. [16] See, on the otherhand, what infamy has become the portion of Dido. She was honest to herheart's core; and yet, because Virgil was no friend of hers, she islooked upon as a baggage. 

"Be not surprised, " concluded the good saint, "if I have expressed myselfwith warmth on this subject. I love writers, and look upon their cause asmy own, for I was a writer myself when I lived among you; and I succeededso well in the vocation, that time and death will never prevail againstme. Just therefore is it, that I should be thankful to my beloved Master, who procured me so great a lot. I grieve for writers who have fallenon evil times--men that, with pale and hungry faces, find the doors ofcourtesy closed against all their hardships. This is the reason there areso few poets now, and why nobody cares to study. Why should he study? Thevery beasts abandon places where there is nothing to feed them. "

At these words the eyes of the blessed old man grew so inflamed withanger, that they sparkled like two fires. But he presently suppressedwhat 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 hisgentle benediction, descended on his hippogriff from the mountain, and, joining the delighted Paladins with the vial, his wits were restored, asyou have heard, to the noble Orlando. 

The figure which is here cut by St. John gives this remarkable satire amost remarkable close. His association of himself with the fraternity ofauthors was thought a little "strong" by Ariosto's contemporaries. Thelesson read to the house of Este is obvious, and could hardly have beenpleasant to men reputed to be such "criminals" themselves. Nor canAriosto, in this passage, be reckoned a very flattering or conscientiouspleader for his brother-poets. Resentment, and a good jest, seem to haveconspired to make him forget what was due to himself. 

The original of St. John's remarks about Augustus and the ancient poetsmust not be omitted. It is exquisite of its kind, both in matter andstyle. Voltaire has quoted it somewhere with rapture. 

 "Non fu sì santo nè benigno Augusto Come la tuba di Virgilio suona: L'aver avuto in poesia buon gusto La proscrizion iniqua gli perdona. Nessun sapria se Neron fosse ingiusto, Nè 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 'l ver non ti sia ascoso, Tutta al contrario l'istoria converti: Che i Greci rotti, e che Troia vittrice, E che Penelopea fu meretrice. 

 Da l'altra parte odi che fama lascia Elissa, ch'ebbe il cor tanto pudico; Che riputata viene una bagascia, Solo perchè Maron non le fu amico. "

 Canto xxxv. St. 26. ]

 * * * * *

[Footnote 1: See p. 192. ]

[Footnote 2: Ariosto is here imitating Pulci, and bearding Dante. Seevol. I. P. 336. ]

[Footnote 3: I know of no story of a cruel Lydia but the poet's ownmistress of that name, whom I take to be the lady here "shadowed forth. "See Life, p. 114. ]

[Footnote 4: The story of Anaxarete is in Ovid, lib. Xiv. Every bodyknows that of Daphne, who made Apollo, as Ariosto says, "run so much"(correr tanto). Theseus and Jason are in hell, as deserters of Ariadneand Medea; Amnon, for the atrocity recorded in the Bible (2 Samuel, chap. Xiii. ); and Æneas for interfering with Turnus and Lavinia, and takingpossession of places he had no right to. It is delightful to see thegreat, generous poet going upon grounds of reason and justice in theteeth of the trumped-up rights of the "pious Æneas, " that shabby deserterof Dido, and canting prototype of Augustus. He turns the tables, also, with brave candour, upon the tyrannical claims of the stronger sex toprivileges which they deny the other; and says, that there are morefaithless men in Hell than faithless women; which, if personal infidelitysends people there, most undoubtedly is the case beyond all comparison. ]

[Footnote 5: "Che di soävità l'alma notriva" is beautiful; but thepassage, as a whole, is not well imitated from the Terrestrial Paradiseof Dante. It is not bad in itself, but it is very inferior to the onethat suggested it. See vol. I. P. 210, &c. Ariosto's Terrestrial Paradisewas at home, among the friends who loved him, and whom he made happy. ]

[Footnote 6: This is better; and the house made of one jewel thirty milesin circuit is an extravagance that becomes reasonable on reflection, affording a just idea of what might be looked for among the endlessplanetary wonders of Nature, which confound all our relative ideas ofsize and splendour. The "lucid vermilion" of a structure so enormous, andunder a sun so pure, presents a gorgeous spectacle to the imagination. Dante himself, if he could have forgiven the poet his animal spiritsand views of the Moon so different from his own, might have stood inadmiration before an abode at once so lustrous and so vast. ]

[Footnote 7:

 "De' frutti a lui del Paradiso diero, Di tal sapor, ch'a suo giudizio, sanza Scusa non sono i due primi parenti, Se pur quei fur si poco ubbidienti. "

 Canto xxxiv. St. 60. ]

[Footnote 8: Modern astronomers differ very much both with Dante's andAriosto's Moon; nor do the "argent fields" of Milton appear better placedin our mysterious satellite, with its no-atmosphere and no-water, and itstremendous precipices. It is to be hoped (and believed) that knowledgewill be best for us all in the end; for it is not always so by the way. It displaces beautiful ignorances. ]

[Footnote 9: Very fine and scornful, I think, this. Mighty monarchiesreduced to actual bladders, which, little too as they were, contained bigsounds. ]

[Footnote 10: Such, I suppose, as was given at convent-gates. ]

[Footnote 11: The pretended gift of the palace of St. John Lateran, thefoundation of the pope's temporal sovereignty. This famous passage wasquoted and translated by Milton. 

 "Di varii fiori ad on gran monte passa Ch'ebbe già buon odore, or putia forte. Questo era il dono (se però 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 già buon odore, or putia forte, Ch'era corrotto; e da Giovanni intese, Che fu un gran don ch'un gran signor mal spese. "

"He came to a mount of lilies and roses, that once had a sweet smell, but now stank with corruption; and be understood from John that it was agreat gift which a great lord ill expended. "

The change of these lines to the stronger ones in the third edition, asthey now stand, served to occasion a charge against Ariosto of having gothis privilege of publication from the court of Rome for passages whichnever existed, and which he afterwards basely introduced; but, as Panizziobserves, the third edition had a privilege also; so that the papacyput its hand, as it were, to these very lines. This is remarkable; anddoubtless it would not have occurred in some other ages. The SpanishInquisition, for instance, erased it, though the holy brotherhood foundno fault with the story of Giocondo. ]

 [Footnote 12: "Sol la pazzia non v'è, poca nè assai; Che sta quà giù, nè se ne parte mai" St. 78. ]

[Footnote 13: Part of this very striking passage is well translated by Harrington

 "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 touchingearnestness by Charles Lamb. ]

[Footnote 14: Readers need not have the points of this exquisite satirepointed out to them. In noticing it, I only mean to enjoy it in theircompany--particularly the passage about the men accounted wisest, and theemphatic "I mean, sense" (Io dico, il senno). ]

[Footnote 15: Admirable lesson to frailty!]

[Footnote 16: I do not feel warranted in injuring the strength of theterm here made use of by the indignant apostle, and yet am withheld fromgiving 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 therequirements of his own feelings. ]

ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. 

Argument. 

The Duke of Albany, pretending to be in love with a damsel in the serviceof Ginevra, Princess of Scotland, but desiring to marry the princessherself, and not being able to compass his design by reason of her beingin love with a gentleman from Italy named Ariodante, persuades thedamsel, in his revenge, to personate 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 brotherLurcanio publicly denounces Ginevra, who, according to the laws ofScotland, is sentenced to death for her supposed lawless passion. Lurcanio then challenges the unknown paramour (for the duke's face hadnot been discerned in the balcony); and Ariodante, who is not dead, isfighting him in disguise, when the Paladin Rinaldo comes up, disclosesthe whole affair, and slays the deceiver. 

ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA. [1]

Charlemagne had suffered a great defeat at Paris, and the Paladin Rinaldowas sent across the Channel to ask succours of the King of England; but atempest arose ere he could reach the coast, and drove him northwards uponthat of Scotland, where he found himself in the Caledonian Forest, aplace famous of old for knightly adventure. Many a clash of arms had beenheard in its shady recesses--many great things had been done there byknights from all quarters, particularly the Tristans and the Launcelots, and the Gawains, and others of the Round Table of King Arthur. 

Rinaldo, bidding the ship await him at the town of Berwick, plunged intothe forest with no other companion than his horse Bayardo, seeking thewildest paths he could find, in the hope of some strange adventure. [2] Heput up, for the first day, at an abbey which was accustomed to entertainthe knights and ladies that journeyed that way; and after availinghimself of its hospitality, he inquired of the abbot and his monks ifthey could direct him where to find what he looked for. They said thatplenty of adventures were to be met with in the forest; but that, for themost part, they remained in as much obscurity as the spots in which theyoccurred. It would be more becoming his valour, they thought, to exertitself where it would not be hidden; and they concluded with telling himof one of the noblest chances for renown that ever awaited a sword. Thedaughter of their king was in need of a defender against a certain baronof the name of Lurcanio, who sought to deprive her both of life andreputation. He accused her of having been found in the arms of a loverwithout the license of the priest; which, by the laws of Scotland, was acrime only to be expiated at the stake, unless a champion could be foundto disprove the charge before the end of a month. Unfortunately the monthhad nearly expired, and no champion yet made his appearance, though theking had promised his daughter's hand to anybody of noble blood whoshould establish her innocence; and the saddest part of the thing was, that she was accounted innocent by all the world, and a very pattern ofmodesty. 

While this horrible story was being told him, the Paladin fell into aprofound state of thought. After remaining silent for a little while, at the close of it he looked up, and said, "A lady then, it seems, iscondemned to death for having been too kind to one lover, while thousandsof our sex are playing the gallant with whomsoever they please, andnot only go unpunished for it, but are admired! Perish such infamousinjustice! The man was a madman who made such a law, and they are littlebetter who maintain it. I hope in God to be able to shew them theirerror. "

The good monks agreed, that their ancestors were very unwise to make sucha law, and kings very wrong who could, but would not, put an end to it. So, when the morning came, they speeded their guest on his noble purposeof fighting in the lady's behalf. A guide from the abbey took him a shortcut through the forest towards the place where the matter was to bedecided; but, before they arrived, they heard cries of distress in a darkquarter of the forest, and, turning their horses thither to see what itwas, they observed a damsel between two vagabonds, who were standing overher with drawn swords. The moment the wretches saw the new comer, theyfled; and Rinaldo, after re-assuring the damsel, and requesting to knowwhat had brought her to a pass so dreadful, made his guide take her upon his horse behind him, in order that they might lose no more time. Thedamsel, who was very beautiful, could not speak at first, for the horrorof what she had expected to undergo; but, on Rinaldo's repeating hisrequest, 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. --"Ofall 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 thatlays violent hands on the female of his species. The bear offers noinjury to his; the lioness is safe by the side of the lion; the heiferhas no fear of the horns of the bull. What pest of abomination, what furyfrom hell, has come to disturb, in this respect, the bosom of human kind?Husband and wife deafen one another with injurious speeches, tear oneanother's faces, bathe the genial bed with tears, nay, some times withbloodshed. In my eyes the man who can allow himself to give a blow to awoman, or to hurt even a hair of her head, is a violater of nature, and arebel against God; but to poison her, to strangle her, to take the soulout of her body with a knife, --he that can do that, never will I believehim to be a man at all, but a fiend out of hell with a man's face. "[3]

Such must have been the two villains who fled at the sight of Rinaldo, and who had brought the woman into this dark spot to stifle her testimonyfor 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 inthe service of the king's daughter, the princess Ginevra. I grew up withher; I was held in bonour, and I led a happy life, till it pleased thecruel passion of love to envy me my condition, and make me think thatthere was no being on earth to be compared to the Duke of Albany. Hepretended to love me so much, that, in return, I loved him with all myheart. Unable, by degrees, to refuse him anything, I let him into thepalace at night, nay, into the room which of all others the princessregarded as most exclusively her own; for there she kept her jewels, andthere she was accustomed to sleep during inclement states of the weather. It communicated with the other sleeping-room by a covered gallery, whichlooked out to some lonely ruins; and nobody ever passed that way, day ornight. 

"Our intercourse continued for several months; and, finding that I placedall my happiness in obliging him, he ventured to disclose to me one daya design he had upon the princess's hand; nay, did not blush to ask myassistance in furthering it. Judge how I set his wishes above my own, when I confess that I undertook to do so. It is true, his rank was nearerto the princess's than to mine; and he pretended that he sought thealliance merely on that account; protesting that he should love me morethan ever, and that Ginevra would be little better than his wife in name. But, God knows, I did it wholly out of the excess of my desire to pleasehim. 

"Day and night I exerted all my endeavours to recommend him to theprincess. Heaven is my witness that I did it in real earnest, howeverwrong it was. But my labour was to no purpose, for she was in loveherself. She returned in all its warmth the passion of a mostaccomplished and valiant gentleman, who had come into Scotland with ayounger brother from Italy, and who had made himself such a favouritewith every body, my lover included, that the king himself had bestowed onhim titles and estates, and put him on a footing with the greatest lordsof the land. 

"Unfortunately, the princess not only turned a deaf ear to all I saidin the duke's favour, but grew to dislike him in proportion to myrecommendation; so that, finding there was no likelihood of his success, his own love was secretly turned into hate and rage. He studied, littleas I dreamt he could be so base, how he could best destroy her prospectof happiness. He resorted, for this purpose, to a most crafty expedient, which I, poor fool, took for nothing but what he feigned it to be. Hepretended that a whim had come into his head for seeming to prosper inhis suit, out of a kind of revenge for his not being able to do so inreality; and, in order to indulge this whim, he requested me to dressmyself in the identical clothes which the princess put off when she wentto bed that night, and then to appear in them at my usual post in thebalcony, and so let down the ladder as though I were her very self, andreceive him into my arms. 

"I did all that he desired, mad fool that I was; and out of the partwhich I played has come all this mischief. I have intimated to you thatthe duke and Ariodante (for such was the other's name) had been goodfriends before Ginevra preferred hint to my false lover. Pretendingtherefore to be still his friend, and entering on the subject of apassion which he said he had long entertained for her, he expressed hiswonder at finding it interfered with by so noble a gentleman, especiallyas it was returned by the princess with a fervour of which the other, ifhe pleased, might have ocular testimony. "Greatly astonished at this newswas Ariodante. He had received all the proofs of his mistress's affectionwhich it was possible for chaste love to bestow, and with the greatestscorn refused to believe it; but as the duke, with the air of a man whocould not help the melancholy communication, quietly persisted in hisstory, the unhappy lover found himself compelled, at any rate, to lethim afford those proofs of her infidelity which he asserted to be in hispower. The consequence was, that Ariodante came with his brother to theruins I spoke of; and there the two were posted on the night when Iplayed my unhappy part in the balcony. He brought Lurcanio with him (thatwas the brother's name), because he suspected that the duke had a designon his life, not conceiving what he alleged against Ginevra to bepossible. Lurcanio, however, was not in the secret of his brother'sengagement with the princess. It had been disclosed hitherto neither tohim nor to any one, the lady not yet having chosen to divulge it to theking himself. Ariodante, therefore, requested his brother to take hisstation at a little distance, out of sight of the palace, and not to cometo him unless he should call: 'otherwise, my dear brother, ' concluded he, 'stir not a step, if you love me. ' "'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 personvisible at that moment in all the place. In a few minutes the Dukeof Albany appeared below it, making the signal to which I had beenaccustomed; and then I, in my horrible folly, became visible to the eyesof both, and let down the ladder. 

"Meantime Lurcanio, beginning to be very uneasy at the mysterioussituation in which he found himself, and to have the most alarming fearsfor his brother, had cautiously picked his way after him at a littledistance; so that he also, though still hidden in the shade of the lonelyhouses, perceived all that was going on. 

"I was dressed, as I had undertaken to be, in the identical clothes whichthe princess had put off that night; and as I was not unlike her in airand figure, and wore the golden net with red tassels peculiar to ladiesof the royal family, and the two brothers, besides, were at quitesufficient distance to be deceived, I was taken by both of them for hervery self. The duke impatiently mounted the ladder; I received him asimpatiently in my arms; and circumstances, though from very differentfeelings, rendered the caresses that passed between us of unusual ardour. 

"You may imagine the grief of Ariodante. It rose at once to despair. Hedid not call out; so that, had not his brother followed him, still worsewould have ensued than did; for he drew his sword, and was proceeding indistraction to fall upon it, when Lurcanio rushed in and stopped him. 'Miserable brother!' exclaimed he, 'are you mad? Would you die for awoman like this? You see what a wretch she is. I discern all your caseat once, and, thank God, have preserved you to turn your sword where itought 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 hisbrother. He even pretended, in a little while, to be able to review hiscondition calmly, but not the less had he secretly resolved to perish. Next day he disappeared, nobody knew whither; and about eight daysafterwards, news was secretly brought to Ginevra, by a pilgrim, that hehad thrown himself from a headland into the sea. 

"'I met him by chance, ' said the pilgrim, 'and we happened to be standingon the top of the headland, conversing, when he cried out to me, 'Relateto the princess what you beheld on parting from me; and add, that thecause of it was my having seen too much. Happy had it been for me had Ibeen blind!' And with these words, ' concluded the pilgrim, 'he leapedinto the sea below, and was instantly buried beneath it. '

"The princess turned as pale as death at this story, and for a whileremained stupefied. 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 hermisery. She tore her clothes, and her very flesh, and her beautifulhair, and kept repeating the last words of her lover with amazement anddespair. 

The disappearance of Ariodante, and a rumour which transpired of hishaving slain himself on account of some hidden anguish, surprised andafflicted the whole court. But his brother Lurcanio evinced more and morehis impatience at it, and let fall the most terrible words. At lengthhe entered the court when the king was holding one of his fullestassemblies, and laid open, as he thought, the whole matter; setting forthhow his unhappy brother had secretly, but honourably, loved the princess;how she had professed to love him in return; and how she had grosslydeceived him, and played him impudently false before his own eyes. Heconcluded with calling upon her unknown paramour to come forth, and shewreasons against him with his sword why she ought not to die. 

"I need not tell you what the king suffered at hearing this strange andterrible recital. He lost no time in sharply investigating the truth ofthe allegation; and for this purpose, among other proceedings, he sentfor the ladies of his daughter's chamber. You may judge, sir, --especiallyas, I blush to say it, I still loved the Duke of Albany, --that I couldnot await an examination like that. I hastened to meet the duke, who wasas anxious to get me out of the way as I was to go; and to this end, professing the greatest zeal for my security, he commissioned two men toconvey me secretly to a fortress he possessed in this forest. 'Tis at nogreat distance from the place where Heaven sent you to my deliverance. You saw, sir, how little those wretches intended to take me anywhereexcept to my grave; and by this you may judge of the agonies and shame Ihave endured in knowing what a dupe I have been to one of the cruelest ofmen. But thus it is that Love treats his most faithful servants. "

The damsel here concluded her story; and the Paladin, rejoicing at havingbecome possessed of all that was required to establish the falsehood ofthe duke, proceeded with her on his road to St. Andrews, where the listshad been set up for the determination of the question. The king and hiscourt were anxiously praying at that instant for the arrival of somechampion to fight with the dreaded Lurcanio; for the month, as I havestated, was nearly expired, and this terrible brother appeared to havethe business all his own way; so that the stake was soon to be looked forat which the hapless Ginevra was to die. 

Fast and eagerly the Paladin rode for St. Andrews, with his squire andthe trembling damsel, who was now agitated for new reasons, though theknight gave her assurances of his protection. They were not far fromthe city when they found people talking of a champion who had certainlyarrived, but whose name was unknown, and his face constantly concealed byhis visor. Even his own squire, it seems, did not know him; for theman had but lately been taken into his service. Rinaldo, as soon ashe entered the city, left the damsel in a place of security, and thenspurred his horse to the scene of action, when he found the accuser andthe champion in the very midst of the fight. The Paladin, whose horse, notwithstanding the noise of the combat, had been heard coming like atempest, and whose sudden and heroical appearance turned all eyes towardshim, rode straight to the royal canopy, and, begging the king to stop thecombat, disclosed the whole state of the matter, to the enchantment ofall present, except the Duke of Albany; for the villain himself was onhorseback there in state as grand constable, and had been feasting hismiserable soul with the hope of seeing Ginevra condemned. The combatantswere soon changed. Instead of Lurcanio and the unknown champion (whom thenew comer had taken care to extol for his generosity), it was the Paladinand the Duke that were opposed; and horribly did the latter's heart failhim. But he had no remedy. Fight he must. Rinaldo, desirous to make shortwork of him, took his station with fierce delight; and at the third soundof the trumpets, the Duke was forced to couch his spear and meet himat full charge. Sheer went the Paladin's ashen staff through the falsebosom, sending the villain to the earth eight feet beyond the saddle. Theconqueror dismounted instantly, and unlacing the man's helmet, enabledthe king to hear his dying confession, which he had hardly finished, whenlife forsook him. Rinaldo then took off his own helmet; and the king, who had seen the great Paladin before, and who felt more rejoiced at hisdaughter's deliverance than if he had lost and regained his crown, liftedup his hands to heaven, and thanked God for having honoured her innocencewith so illustrious a defender. 

The other champion, who, in the mean time, had been looking on throughthe eyelets of his visor, was now entreated to disclose his own face. Hedid so with peculiar emotion, and king and all recognised with transportthe face of the loved and, as it was supposed, lost Ariodante. Thepilgrim, however, had told no falsehood. The lover had indeed thrownhimself into the sea, and disappeared from the man's eyes; but (asoftener happens than people suppose) the death which was desired whennot present became hated when it was so; and Ariodante, lover as hewas, rising at a little distance, struck out lustily for the shore, andreached it. [4] He felt even a secret contempt for his attempt to killhimself; yet putting up at an hermitage, became interested in the reportsconcerning the princess, whose sorrow flattered, and whose danger, though he could not cease to think her guilty, afflicted him. He grewexasperated with the very brother he loved, when he found that Lurcaniopursued her thus to the death; and on all these accounts he made hisappearance at the place of combat to fight him, though not to slay. Hispurpose was to seek his own death. He concluded that Ginevra would thensee who it was that had really loved her, while his brother would mournthe rashness which made him pursue the destruction of a woman. "Guiltyshe is, " thought he, "but no such guilt can deserve so cruel apunishment. Besides, I could not bear that she should die before me. Sheis 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 asquire 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 theissue of the whole business, with the resuscitation of the favourite whomhe thought dead, and the restoration of the more than life of his beloveddaughter, that, to the joy of all Scotland, and at the special instanceof the great Paladin, he made the two lovers happy without delay; and thebride brought her husband for dowry the title and estates of the man whohad wronged him. 

[Footnote 1: The main point of this story, the personation of Ginevra byone of her ladies, has been repeated by many writers--among others byShakspeare, in _Much Ado about Nothing_. The circumstance is said to haveactually occurred in Ferrara, and in Ariosto's own time. Was Ariostohimself a party? "Ariodante" almost includes his name; and it is certainthat he was once in love with a lady of the name of Ginevra. ]

[Footnote 2: Rinaldo is an ambassador, and one upon very urgent business;yet he halts by the way in search of adventures. This has been said to bein the true taste of knight-errantry; and in one respect it is so. Wemay imagine, however, that the ship is wind-bound, and that he meant toreturn to it on change of weather. The Caledonian Forest, it is to beobserved, is close at hand. ]

[Footnote 3: All honour and glory to the manly and loving poet!

"Lavezzuola, " says Panizzi, "doubts the conjugal concord of beasts, moreparticularly of bears. 'Ho letto presso degno autore un orso aver cavatoun occhio ad un orsa con la zampa. ' (I have read in an author worthy ofcredit, that a bear once deprived a she-bear of an eye with a blow of hispaw. ) The reader may choose between Ariosto and this nameless author, which of them is to be believed. I, of course, am for my poet. "--Vol. I. P. 84. I am afraid, however, that Lavezzuola is right. Even turtle-dovesare said not to be always the models of tenderness they are supposedto be. Brutes have even devoured their offspring. The violence is mostprobably owing (at least in excessive cases) to some unnatural conditionof circumstances. ]

[Footnote 4: This is quite in Ariosto's high and bold taste for truthunder all circumstances. A less great and unmisgiving poet would have hadthe lover picked up by a fisherman. ]

SUSPICION [1]

It is impossible to conceive a nobler thing in the world than a justprince--a thoroughly good man, who shuns no part of the burden of hisduty, though it bend him double; who loves and cares for his people as afather does for his children, and who is almost incessantly occupied intheir welfare, very seldom for his own. 

Such a man puts himself in front of dangers and difficulties in orderthat he may be a shield to others; for he is not a mercenary, taking careof none but himself when he sees the wolf coming; he is the right goodshepherd, staking his own life in that of his flock, and knowing thefaces of every one of them, just as they do his own. 

Such princes, in times of old, were Saturn, Hercules, Jupiter, andothers--men who reigned gently, yet firmly, equal to all chances thatcame, and worthy of the divine honours that awaited them. For mankindcould not believe that they quitted the world in the same way as othermen. They thought they must be taken up into heaven to be the lords ofdemigods. 

When the prince is good, the subjects are good, for they always imitatetheir masters; or at least, if the subjects cannot attain to this heightof virtue, they at least are not as bad as they would be otherwise; and, at all events, public decency is observed. Oh, blessed kingdoms that aregoverned by such hearts! and oh, most miserable ones that are at themercy of a man without justice--a fellow-creature without feelings!

Our Italy is full of such, who will have their reward from the pens ofposterity. Greater wretches never appeared in the shapes of Neros andCaligulas, or any other such monsters, let them have been who they might. I enter not into particulars; for it is always better to speak of thedead than the living; but I must say, that Agrigentum never fared worseunder Phalaris, nor Syracuse under Dionysius, nor Thebes in the hand ofthe bloody tyrant Eteocles, even though all those wretches were villainsby whose orders every day, without fault, without even charge, men weresent by dozens to the scaffold or into hopeless exile. 

But they are not without torments of their own. At the core of their ownhearts there stands an inflicter of no less agonies. There he standsevery day and every moment--one who was born of the same mother withWrath, and Cruelty, and Rapine, and who never ceased tormenting hisinfant brethren before they saw the light. His name is Suspicion. [2]

Yes, Suspicion;--the cruelest visitation, the worst evil spirit and pestthat ever haunted with its poisonous whisper the mind of human being. This is their tormentor by excellence. He does not trouble the poor andlowly. He agonises the brain in the proud heads of those whom fortunehas put over the heads of their fellow-creatures. Well may the man hughimself on his freedom who fears nobody because nobody hates him. Tyrantsare in perpetual fear. They never cease thinking of the mortal revengetaken upon tormentors of their species openly or in secret. The fearwhich all men feel of the one single wretch, makes the single wretchafraid of every soul among them. 

Hear a story of one of these miserables, which, whatever you may think ofit, is true to the letter; such letter, at all events, as is written uponthe hearts of his race. He was one of the first who took to the customof wearing beards, for, great as he was, he had a fear of the race ofbarbers! He built a tower in his palace, guarded by deep ditches andthick walls. It had but one drawbridge and one bay-window. There was noother opening; so that the very light of day had scarcely admittance, orthe inmates a place to breathe at. In this tower he slept; and it was hiswife's business to put a ladder down for him when he came in. A dog keptwatch at the drawbridge; and except the dog and the wife, not a soul wasto 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 forthe 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 wasastonished to find that he betrayed no symptoms of anguish. He did notweep and howl as the rest did, or cry out, "I burn, I burn!" He evincedso little suffering, that Rhadamanthus said, "I must put this fellow intoother quarters. " Accordingly, he sent him into the lowest pit, where thetorments are beyond all others. 

Nevertheless, even here he seemed to be under no distress. At length theyasked him the reason. The wretch then candidly acknowledged, that hellitself had no torments for him, compared with those which suspicion hadgiven him on earth. 

The sages of hell laid their heads together at this news. Amelioration ofhis lot on the part of a sinner was not to be thought of in a place ofeternal punishment; so they called a parliament together, the result ofwhich was an unanimous conclusion, that the man should be sent back toearth, and consigned to the torments of suspicion for ever. 

He went; and the earthly fiend re-entered his being anew with a subtletyso incorporate, that their two natures were identified, and he becameSUSPICION ITSELF. Fruits are thus engrafted on wild stocks. One colourthus becomes the parent of many, when the painter takes a portion of thisand 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 thousandfeet high, girt all about with mouldering crags, which threatened everyinstant to fall. It had a fortress on the top, the approach to which wasby seven drawbridges, and seven gates, each locked up more strongly thanthe other; and here, now this moment, constantly thinking Death is uponhim, Suspicion lives in everlasting terror. He is alone. He is everwatching. He cries out from the battlements, to see that the guards areawake below, and never does he sleep day or night. He wears mail uponmail, and mail again, and feels the less safe the more he puts on; and isalways altering and strengthening everything on gate, and on barricado, and on ditch, and on wall. And do whatever he will, he never seems tohave 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 afflicthumanity nor degrade God. 

Spenser has imitated this sublime piece of pleasantry; for, by a curiousintermixture of all which the mind can experience from such a fiction, pleasant it is in the midst of its sublimity, --laughable with satiricalarchness, as well as grand and terrible in the climax. The transformationin Spenser is from a jealous man into Jealousy. His wife has gone to livewith the Satyrs, and a villain has stolen his money. The husband, inorder to persuade his wife to return, steals into the horde of theSatyrs, by mixing with their flock of goats, --as Norandino does in apassage imitated from Homer by Ariosto. The wife flatly refuses to do anysuch 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 be came unto the place Where late his treasure he entombèd had; Where, when he found it not (for Trompart base Had it purloined for his master bad), 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 escapèd 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 lurkèd in his wounded mind. 

 Still 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-damnèd 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 forpinèd quite, That all 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 chancèd 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. 

 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; Where 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 specialcircumstances. Indeed, it might be taken rather for a picture ofhypochondria than jealousy, and under that aspect is very appalling. Butnothing, under more obvious circumstances, comes so dreadfully home to usas Ariosto's poor wretch feeling himself "the less safe the more he putson, " and calling out dismally from his tower, a thousand feet high, tothe watchers and warders below to see that all is secure. 

[Footnote 1: This daring and grand apologue is not in the _Furioso_, butin a poem which Ariosto left unfinished, and which goes under the nameof the _Five Cantos_. The fragment, though bearing marks of want ofcorrection, is in some respects a beautiful, and altogether a curiousone, especially as it seems to have been written after the _Furioso_;for it touches in a remarkable manner on several points of morals andpolitics, and contains an extravagance wilder than any thing in Pulci, --awhale _inhabited_ by knights! It was most likely for these reasons thathis friend Bembo and others advised him to suppress it. Was it written inhis youth? The apologue itself is not one of the least daring attacks onthe Borgias and such scoundrels, who had just then afflicted Italy. 

Did Ariosto, by the way, omit Macchiavelli in his list of the friends whohailed the close of his great poem, from not knowing what to make of hisbook entitled the _Prince?_ It has perplexed all the world to this day, and is not unlikely to have made a particularly unpleasant impression ona mind at once so candid and humane as Ariosto's. ]

[Footnote 2: A tremendous fancy this last!

 "Sta for la pena, de la qual dicea Che nacque quando la brutt'Ira nacque, La Crudeltade, e la Rapina rea; E quantunque in un ventre con for giacque, Di tormentarle mai non rimanea. "]

ISABELLA. [1]

Rodomont, King of Algiers, was the fiercest of all the enemies ofChristendom, not out of love for his own faith (for he had no piety), butout of hatred to those that opposed him. He had now quarrelled, however, with his friends too. He had been rejected by a lady, in favour of theTartar king, Mandricardo, and mortified by the publicity of the rejectionbefore his own lord paramount, Agramante, the leader of the infidelarmies. He could not bear the rejection; he could not bear the sanctionof it by his liege lord; he resolved to quit the scene of warfare andreturn to Africa; and, in the course of his journey thither, he had comeinto the south of France, where, observing a sequestered spot that suitedhis humour, be changed his mind as to going home, and persuaded himselfhe could live in it for the rest of his life. He accordingly took up hisabode with his attendants in a chapel, which had been deserted by itsclergy during the rage of war. 

This vehement personage was standing one morning at the door of thechapel in a state of unusual thoughtfulness, when he beheld comingtowards him, through a path in the green meadow before it, a lady ofa lovely aspect, accompanied by a bearded monk. They were followed bysomething covered with black, which they were bringing along on a greathorse. 

Alas! the lady was the widow of Zerbino, the Scottish prince, who sparedthe life of Medoro, and who now himself lay dead under that pall. Hehad expired in her arms from wounds inflicted during a combat withMandricardo; and she had been thrown by the loss into such anguish ofmind that she would have died on his sword but for the intervention ofthe hermit now with her, who persuaded her to devote the rest of her daysto God in a nunnery. She had now come into Provence with the good man forthat purpose, and to bury the corpse of her husband in the chapel whichthey were approaching. 

Though the lady seemed lost in grief, and was very pale, and had her hairall about the ears, and though she did nothing but weep and lament, andlooked in all respects quite borne down with her misery, nevertheless shewas still so beautiful that love and grace appeared to be indestructiblein her aspect. The moment the Saracen beheld her, he dismissed from hismind 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 before him. She seemedprecisely the sort of person to make him forget the one that had rejectedhim. Advancing, therefore, to meet her without delay, he begged, in asgentle a manner as he could assume, to know the cause of her sorrow. 

The lady, with all the candour of wretchedness, explained who she was, and how precious a burden she was conveying to its last home, and theresolution she had taken to withdraw from a vain world into the serviceof God. The proud pagan, who had no belief in a God, much less anyrespect for restraints or fidelities of what kind soever, forgot hisassumed gravity when he heard this determination, and laughed outright atthe simplicity of such a proceeding. He pronounced it, in his peremptoryway, to be foolish and frivolous; compared it with the miser who, inburying a treasure, does good neither to himself nor any one else; andsaid, that lions and serpents might indeed be shut up in cages, but notthings lovely and innocent. 

The monk, overhearing these observations, thought it his duty tointerfere. He calmly opposed all which the other asserted, and thenproceeded to set forth a repast of spiritual consolation not at all tothe Saracen's taste. The fierce warrior interrupted the preacher severaltimes; told him that he had nothing to do with the lady, and that thesooner he returned to his cell the better; but the hermit, nothingdaunted, went on with his advice till his antagonist lost all patience. He laid hands on his sacred person; seized him by the beard; tore awayas much of it as he grasped; and at length worked himself up into such apitch of fury, that he griped the good man's throat with all the force ofa pair of pincers, and, swinging him twice or thrice round, as one mighta dog, flung him off the headland into the sea. 

What became of the poor creature I cannot say. Reports are various. Sometell us that he was found on the rocks, dashed all to pieces, so that youcould not distinguish foot from head; others, that he fell into thesea at the distance of three miles, and perished in consequence of notknowing how to swim, in spite of the prayers and tears that he addressedto Heaven; others again affirm, that a saint came and assisted him, anddrew him to shore before people's eyes. I must leave the reader to adoptwhich 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 facesome what less disturbed, began to talk to her in the common language ofgallantry, protesting that she was his life and soul, and that he shouldnot know what to do without her; for the sweetness of her appearancemollified even him; and indeed, with all his violence, he would ratherhave possessed her by fair means than by foul. He therefore flatteredhimself that, by a little hypocritical attention, he should dispose herto return his inclinations. 

On the other hand, the poor disconsolate creature, who, in a countryunknown to her, and a place so remote from help, felt like a mouse in thecat's claws, began casting in her mind by what possible contrivance shecould escape from such a wretch with honour. She had made up her mind toperish by her own hand, rather than be faithless, however unwillingly, tothe dear husband that had died in her arms: but the question was, how shecould protect herself from the pagan's violence, before she had securedthe means of so doing; for his manner was becoming very impatient, andhis speeches every moment less and less civil. 

At length an expedient occurred to her. She told him, that if he wouldpromise to respect her virtue, she would put him in possession of asecret that would redound far more to his honour and glory, than anywrong which he could inflict on the innocent. She conjured him not tothrow away the satisfaction he would experience all the rest of his lifefrom the consciousness of having done right, for the sake of injuring oneunhappy creature. "There were thousands of her sex, " she observed, "withcheerful 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 butherself. "

She then told him the secret; which consisted in the preparation of acertain herb boiled with ivy and rue over a fire of cypress-wood, andsqueezed into a cup by hands that had never done harm. The juice thusobtained, if applied fresh every month, had the virtue of renderingbodies invulnerable. Isabella said she had seen the herb in theneighbourhood, as she came along, and that she would not only make thepreparation forth-with, but let its effects be proved on her own person. She only stipulated, that the receiver of the gift should swear not tooffend her purity in deed or word. 

The fierce infidel took the oath immediately. It delighted him to thinkthat he should be enabled to have his fill of war and slaughter fornothing; and the oath was the more easy to him, inasmuch as he had nointention 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 ofhis 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 mixturewith busy solemnity, --Rodomont always remaining with her. 

The room became so hot and close with the fire of cypress-wood, that theSaracen, contrary to his law and indeed to his habits, indulged himselfin drinking; and the consequence was, that, as 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 tobathe myself thus, over the head and neck, and if you then strike me withall your force, as though you intended to cut off my head, --which youmust do in good earnest, --you will see the wonderful result. "

With a glad and rejoicing countenance the paragon of virtue held forthher neck to the sword; and the bestial pagan, giving way to his naturalviolence, and heated perhaps beyond all thought of a suspicion with hiswine, 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 washeard to come out of it, calling the name of "Zerbino, " doubtless in joyof the rare way which its owner had found of escaping from the Saracen. 

O blessed soul, that heldest thy virtue and thy fidelity dearer to theethan life and youth! go in peace, then soul blessed and beautiful. If anywords of mine could have force in them sufficient to endure so long, hardwould I labour to give them all the worthiness that art can bestow, sothat the world might rejoice in thy name for thousands and thousands ofyears. Go in peace, and take thy seat in the skies, and be an example towomankind of faith beyond all weakness. 

[Footnote 1: The ingenious martyrdom in this story, which has been toldby other writers of fiction, is taken from an alleged fact related inBarbaro's treatise _De Re Uxoria_. It is said, indeed, to have beenactually resorted to more than once; and possibly may have been so, evenfrom a knowledge of it; for what is more natural with heroical minds thanthat the like outrages should produce the like virtues? But the colouringof Ariosto's narration is peculiarly his own; and his apostrophe at theclose beautiful. ]

TASSO:

Critical Notice of his Life and Genius. 

Critical Notice

OF

TASSO'S LIFE AND GENIUS. [1]

The romantic poetry of Italy having risen to its highest and apparentlyits most lawless pitch in the _Orlando Furioso_, a reaction took place inthe next age in the _Jerusalem Delivered_. It did not hurt, however, thepopularity of Ariosto. It only increased the number of poetic readers;and under the auspices, or rather the control, of a Luther-fearingChurch, produced, if not as classical a work as it claimed to be, orone, in the true sense of the word, as catholic as its predecessor, yetcertainly a far more Roman Catholic, and at the same time very delightfulfiction. The circle of fabulous narrative was thus completed, and a linkformed, though in a very gentle and qualified manner, both with Dante'stheocracy and the obvious regularity of the _Aeneid_, the oldest romanceof Italy. 

The author of this epic of the Crusades was of a family so noble andso widely diffused, that, under the patronage of the emperors and theItalian princes, it flourished in a very remarkable manner, not only inits own country, but in Flanders, Germany, and Spain. There was aTasso once in England, ambassador of Philip the Second; another, likeCervantes, distinguished himself at the battle of Lepanto; and a thirdgave rise to the sovereign German house of Tour and Taxis. _Taxus_ is theLatin of Tasso. The Latin word, like the Italian, means both a badgerand a yew-tree; and the family in general appear to have taken it in theformer sense. The animal is in their coat of arms. But the poet, or hisimmediate relatives, preferred being more romantically shadowed forth bythe yew-tree. The parent stock of the race was at Bergamo in Lombardy;and here was born 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 ofletters, not uninteresting but too florid, and of the _Amadigi_, an epicromance now little read, was a man of small property, very honest andgood-hearted, but restless, ambitious, and with a turn for expense beyondhis means. He attached himself to various princes, with little ultimateadvantage, particularly to the unfortunate Sanseverino, Prince ofSalerno, whom he faithfully served for many years. The prince had a highsense of his worth, and would probably have settled him in the wealth andhonours he was qualified to adorn, but for those Spanish oppressions inthe history of Naples which ended in the ruin of both master and servant. Bernardo, however, had one happy interval of prosperity; and during this, at the age of forty-six, he married Porzia di Rossi, a young lady of arich and noble family, with a claim to a handsome dowry. He spent somedelightful years with her at Sorrento, a spot so charming as to have beenconsidered the habitation of the Sirens; and here, in the midst of hisorange-trees, his verses, and the breezes of an aromatic coast, he hadthree children, the eldest of whom was a daughter named Cornelia, and theyoungest the author of the _Jerusalem Delivered_. The other child diedyoung. The house distinguished by the poet's birth was restored from adilapidated condition by order of Joseph Bonaparte when King of Naples, and is now an hotel. 

Torquato Tasso was born March the 11th, 1544, nine years after the deathof Ariosto, who was intimate with his father. He was very devoutlybrought up; and grew so tall, and became so premature a scholar, thatat nine, he tells us, he might have been taken for a boy of twelve. Ateleven, in consequence of the misfortunes of his father, who had beenexiled 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. Herbrothers deprived her of it; and in two years' time she died, Bernardothought by poison. Twenty-four years afterwards her illustrious son, inthe midst of his own misfortunes, remembered with sighs the tears withwhich the kisses of his poor mother were bathed when she was forced tolet him go. [2]

The little Torquato following, as he says, like another Ascanius, thefootsteps of his wandering father, joined Bernardo in Rome. After twoyears' study in that city, partly under an old priest who lived withthem, the vicissitudes of the father's lot took away the son first toBergamo, among his relations, and then to Pesaro, in the duchy of Urbino, where his education was associated for nearly two years with that of theyoung prince, afterwards Duke Francesco Maria the Second (della Rovere), who retained a regard for him through life. In 1559 the boy joined hisfather in Venice, where the latter had been appointed secretary to theAcademy; but next year he was withdrawn from these pleasing varietiesof scene by the parental delusion so common in the history of men ofletters--the study of the law; which Bernardo intended him to pursuehenceforth in the city of Padua. He accordingly arrived in Padua at theage of sixteen and a half, and fulfilled his legal destiny by writing thepoem of _Rinaldo_, which was published in the course of less than twoyears at Venice. The goodnatured and poetic father, convinced by thisspecimen of jurisprudence how useless it was to thwart the hereditarypassion, permitted him to devote himself wholly to literature, which hetherefore went to study in the university of Bologna; and there, at theearly age of nineteen, he began his _Jerusalem Delivered_; that is tosay, he planned it, and wrote three cantos, several of the stanzas ofwhich 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, returnedto Padua on the invitation of his friend Scipio Gonzaga, afterwardscardinal, who wished him to become a member of an academy he hadinstituted, called the _Eterei_(Ethereals). Here he studied his favouritephilosopher, 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 issaid, he fell in love with a young lady of a distinguished family, whosename was Laura Peperara; but this did not hinder him from returning tohis Paduan studies, in which he spent nearly the whole of the followingyear. He was then informed that the Cardinal of Este, to whom he haddedicated his _Rinaldo_, and with whom interest had been made for thepurpose, had appointed him one of his attendants, and that he wasexpected at Ferrara by the 1st of December. Returning to Mantua, in orderto prepare for this appointment with his father, he was seized with adangerous illness, which detained him there nearly a twelvemonth longer. On his recovery he hastened to Ferrara, and arrived in that city on thelast 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 curiousto see the two most celebrated romantic poets of Italy thrown intounfortunate connexion with two princes of the same house and the samerespective ranks. Tasso's cardinal, however, though the poet lost hisfavour, and though very little is known about him, left no such badreputation behind him as Ippolito. It was in the service of the duke thatthe poet experienced his sufferings. 

This prince, who was haughty, ostentatious, and quarrelsome, was, at thetime of the stranger's arrival, rehearsing the shows and tournamentsintended to welcome his bride, the sister of the Emperor Maximilian theSecond. She was his second wife. The first was a daughter of the rivalhouse 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 cityin great pomp; and for a time all went happily with the young poet. Hewas in a state of ecstasy with the beauty and grandeur he beheld aroundhim--obtained the favourable notice of the duke's two sisters and theduke himself--went on with his _Jerusalem Delivered_, which, in spite ofthe presence of Ariosto's memory, he was resolved to load with praises ofthe house of Este; and in this tumult of pride and expectation, he beheldthe duke, like one of the heroes of his poem, set out to assist theemperor against the Turks at the head of three hundred gentlemen, armedat all points, and mantled in various-coloured velvets embroidered withgold. 

To complete the young poet's happiness, or commence his disappointments, he fell in love, notwithstanding the goddess he had left in Mantua, withthe beautiful Lucrezia Bendidio, who does not seem, however, to haveloved in return; for she became the wife of a Macchiavelli. Among hisrivals was Guarini, who afterwards emulated him in pastoral poetry, andwho accused him on this occasion of courting two ladies at once. 

Guarini's accusation has been supposed to refer to the duke's sisterLeonora, whose name has become so romantically mixed up with the poet'sbiography; but the latest inquiries render it probable that the allusionwas to Laura Peperara. [3] The young poet, however, who had not escapedthe influence of the free manners of Italy, and whose senses and vanitymay hitherto have been more interested than his heart, rhymed andflattered on all sides of him, not of course omitting the charms ofprincesses. In order to win the admiration of the ladies in a body, hesustained for three days, in public, after the fashion of the times, _Fifty Amorous Conclusions_; that is to say, affirmations on the subjectof 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 ofsuch persons of his own sex as had not wit or spirits enough for thedisplay of so much logic and love-making. 

In 1569, the death of his father, who had been made governor of Ostigliaby the Duke of Mantua, cost the loving son a fit of illness; but thecontinuation of his _Jerusalem_, an _Oration_ spoken at the opening ofthe Ferrarese academy, the marriage of Leonora's sister Lucrezia with thePrince of Urbino, and the society of Leonora herself, who led the retiredlife of a person in delicate health, and was fond of the company of menof letters, helped to divert him from melancholy recollections; and ajourney to France, at the close of the year following, took him intoscenes that were not only totally new, but otherwise highly interestingto the singer of Godfrey of Boulogne. The occasion of it was a visit ofthe 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 mattersrelative to the disputes which not long afterwards occasioned thedetestable massacre of St. Bartholomew. 

Before his departure, Tasso put into the hands of one of his friends adocument, which, as it is very curious, and serves to illustrate perhapsmore than one cause of his misfortunes, is here given entire. 

_Memorial left by Tasso on his departure to France. _

"Since life is frail, and it may please Almighty God to dispose of meotherwise in this my journey to France, it is requested of Signor ErcoleRondinelli that he will, in that case, undertake the management of thefollowing concerns:

"In the first place, with regard to my compositions, it is my wish thatall my love-sonnets and madrigals should be collected and published; butwith regard to those, whether amatory or otherwise, _which I have writtenfor any friend_, my request is, that _they should be buried with myself_, save only the one commencing "_Or che l'aura mia dolce altrove spira_. " Iwish the publication of the _Oration_ spoken in Ferrara at the opening ofthe academy, of the four books on _Heroic Poetry_, of the six last cantosof the _Godfrey_ (the _Jerusalem_), and of those stanzas of the two firstwhich shall seem least imperfect. All these compositions, however, are tobe submitted to the review and consideration of Signor Scipio Gonzaga, ofSignor Domenico Veniero, and of Signor Battista Guarini, who, I persuademyself, will not refuse this trouble, when they consider the zealousfriendship I have entertained for themselves. 

"Let them be informed, too, that it was my intention that they shouldcut and hew without mercy whatever should appear to them defective orsuperfluous. With regard to additions or changes, I should wish themto proceed more cautiously, since, after all, the poem would remainimperfect. As to my other compositions, should there be any which, tothe aforesaid Signor Rondinelli and the other gentlemen, might seem notunworthy of publication, let them be disposed of according to theirpleasure. 

"In respect to my property, I wish that such part of it as I have_pledged to Abram --_ 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 theoverplus of the proceeds should go to defray the expense of the followingepitaph 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 entreatSignor Ercole _to have recourse to the favour of the most excellentMadame Leonora, whose liberality I confide in, for my sake. _

"I, Torquato Tasso, have written this, Ferrara, 1570. "

I shall have occasion to recur to this document by and by. I will merelyobserve, for the present, that the marks in it, both of imprudence inmoney-matters and confidence in the goodwill of a princess, are verystriking. "Abram" and "Signor Ascanio" were both Jews. The pieces ofarras belonged to his father; and probably this was an additional reasonwhy the affectionate son wished the proceeds to defray the expense of theepitaph. The epitaph recorded his father's poetry, state-services, andvicissitudes of fortune. 

Tasso was introduced to the French king as the poet of a French hero andof a Catholic victory; and his reception was so favourable (particularlyas the wretched Charles, the victim of his mother's bigotry, had himselfno mean poetic feeling), that, with a rash mixture of simplicity andself-reliance (respect makes me unwilling to call it self-importance), the poet expressed an impolitic amount of astonishment at the favourshewn at court to the Hugonots--little suspecting the horrible design itcovered. He shortly afterwards broke with his master the cardinal; andit is supposed that this unseasonable escape of zeal was the cause. Hehimself appears to have thought so. [4] Perhaps the cardinal only wantedto get the imprudent poet back to Italy; for, on Tasso's return toFerrara, he was not only received into the service of the duke witha salary of some fifteen golden scudi a-month, but told that he wasexempted from any particular duty, and might attend in peace to hisstudies. Balzac affirms, that while Tasso was at the court of France, hewas 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. [5] The assertions of aprofessed wit and hyperbolist are not to be taken for granted; yet it isdifficult 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 honours thathe was fond of; he occupied himself in perfecting the _Jerusalem_; and hewrote his beautiful pastoral, the _Aminta_, which was performed beforethe duke and his court to the delight of the brilliant assembly. Theduke's sister Lucrezia, princess of Urbino, who was a special friend ofthe poet, sent for him to read it to her at Pesaro; and in the course ofthe ensuing carnival it was performed with similar applause at thecourt of her father-in-law. The poet had been as much enchanted by thespectacle which the audience at Ferrara presented to his eyes, as theaudience with the loves and graces with which he enriched their stage. The shepherd Thyrsis; by whom he meant himself, reflected it back uponthem in a passage of the performance. It is worth while dwelling on thispassage a little, because it exhibits a brief interval of happiness inthe author's life, and also chews us what he had already begun tothink of courts at the moment he was praising them. But he ingeniouslycontrives 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 meantSperoni), had warned him against going to court

 "Però, figlio, Va su l'avviso, " &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. [6]

 * * * * *

 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 woods, But go the whole talk over, word for word, With something else besides, that no one said[7]. 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

 Whether to think him better knight or leader. [8] 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 hisrespects to the successor of Charles the Ninth, Henry the Third, then onhis 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 printerof his _Jerusalem_, which was now almost finished. Writers were anxiousto publish in that crafty city, because its government would give nosecurity of profit to books printed elsewhere. Alfonso, who was inmourning for Henry's brother, and to whom mourning itself only suggesteda new occasion of pomp and vanity, took with him to this interview fivehundred Ferrarese gentlemen, all dressed in long black cloaks; whowalking about Venice (says a reporter) "by twos and threes, " wonderfullyimpressed the inhabitants with their "gravity and magnificence. "[9] Themourners feasted, however; and Tasso had a quartan fever, which delayedthe completion of the _Jerusalem_ till next year. This was at lengtheffected; and now once more, it might have been thought, that the writerwould have reposed on his laurels. 

But Tasso had already begun to experience the uneasiness attendingsuperiority; and, unfortunately, the strength of his mind was not equalto that of his genius. He was of an ultra-sensitive temperament, andsubject to depressing fits of sickness. He could not calmly bear envy. Sarcasm exasperated, and hostile criticism afflicted him. The seeds of asuspicious temper were nourished by prosperity itself. The author of the_Armida_ and the _Jerusalem_ began to think the attentions he receivedunequal to his merits; while with a sort of hysterical mixture of demandfor applause, and provocation of censure, he not only condescended toread his poems in manuscript wherever he went, but, in order to securethe goodwill of the papal licenser, he transmitted it for revisal toRome, where it was mercilessly criticised for the space of two years bythe bigots and hypocrites of a court, which Luther had rendered a verydifferent 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 wherethan in Ferrara; perhaps more able to communicate with and convincehis critics; and, unfortunately, he permitted himself to descend to aweakness the most fatal of all others to a mind naturally exaltedand ingenuous. Perhaps it was one of the main causes of all which hesuffered. Indeed, he himself attributed his misfortunes to irresolution. What I mean in the present instance was, that he did not disdain to adoptunderhand measures. He skewed a face of satisfaction with Alfonso, at themoment that he was taking steps to exchange his court for another. Hewrote for that purpose to his friend Scipio Gonzaga, now a prelate at thecourt of Rome, earnestly begging him, at the same time, not to commit himin their correspondence; and Scipio, who was one of his kindest and mostindulgent friends, and who doubtless saw that the Duke of Ferrara and hispoet were not of dispositions to accord, did all he could to procure himan appointment with one of the family of the Medici. 

Most unhappily for this speculation (and perhaps even the good-naturedGonzaga took a little more pleasure in it on that account), Alfonsoinherited all the detestation of his house for that lucky race; and it isremarkable, that the same jealousies which hindered Ariosto's advancementwith the Medici were still more fatal to the hopes of Tasso; for theyserved to plunge him into the deepest adversity. In vain he had warningsgiven him, both friendly and hostile. The princess, now Duchess ofUrbino, who was his particular friend, strongly cautioned him against thetemptation of going away. She said he was watched. He himself thought hisletters were opened; and probably they were. They certainly were at asubsequent period. Tasso, however, persisted, and went to Rome. ScipioGonzaga introduced him to Cardinal Ferdinand de' Medici, afterwards GrandDuke of Tuscany; and Ferdinand made him offers of protection so handsome, that they excited his suspicion. The self-tormenting poet thought theysavoured more of hatred to the Este family, than honour to himself. [10]He did not accept them. He did nothing at Rome but make friends, in orderto perplex them; listen to his critics, in order to worry himself;and perform acts of piety in the churches, by way of shewing that thelove-scenes in the _Jerusalem_ were innocent. For the bigots had begun tofind something very questionable in mixing up so much love with war. Thebloodshed they had no objection to. The love bearded their prejudices, and excited their envy. 

Tasso returned to Ferrara, and endeavoured to solace himselfwith eulogising two fair strangers who had arrived at Alfonso'scourt, --Eleonora Sanvitale, who had been newly married to the Count ofScandiano (a Tiene, not a Boiardo, whose line was extinct), and BarbaraSanseverino, Countess of Sala, her mother-in-law. The mother-in-law, whowas a Juno-like beauty, wore her hair in the form of a crown. The stillmore beautiful daughter-in-law had an under lip such as Anacreon or SirJohn Suckling would have admired, --pouting and provoking, --[prokaloymenonphileama]. Tasso wrote verses on them both, but particularly to the lip;and this Countess of Scandiano is the second, out of the three Leonoras, with whom Tasso was said by his friend Manso to have been in love. Thethird, it is now ascertained, never existed; and his love-making to thenew, or second Leonora, goes to shew how little of real passion there wasin the praises of the first (the Princess Leonora), or probably ofany lady at court. He even professed love, as a forlorn hope, to thecountess's waiting-maid. Yet these gallantries of sonnets are exaltedinto bewilderments of the heart. 

His restlessness returning, the poet now condescended to craft a secondtime. Expecting to meet with a refusal, and so to be afforded apretext for quitting Ferrara, he applied for the vacant office ofhistoriographer. It was granted him; and he then disgusted the Medici bypleading an unlooked-for engagement, which he could only reconcile to hisapplications for their favour by renouncing his claim to be believed. Ifhe could have deceived others, why might he not have deceived them?

All the lurking weakness of the poet's temperament began to displayitself at this juncture. His perplexity excited him to a degree ofirritability bordering on delirium; and circumstances conspired toincrease it. He had lent an acquaintance the key of his rooms at court, for the purpose (he tells us) of accommodating some intrigue; andhe suspected this person of opening cabinets containing his papers. Remonstrating with him one day in the court of the palace, either on thator some other account, the man gave him the lie. He received in returna blow on the face, and is said by Tasso to have brought a set of hiskinsmen to assassinate him, all of whom the heroical poet immediately putto flight. At one time he suspected the duke of jealousy respectingthe dedication of his poem, and at another, of a wish to burn it. Hesuspected his servants. He became suspicious of the truth of his friendGonzaga. He doubted, even, whether some praises addressed to him byOrazio Ariosto, the nephew of the great poet, which, one would havethought, would have been to him a consummation of bliss, were notintended to mystify and hurt him. At length he fancied that hispersecutors had accused him of heresy to the Inquisition; and, as he hadgone through the metaphysical doubts, common with most men of reflectionrespecting points of faith and the mysteries of creation, he feared thatsome indiscreet words had escaped him, giving colour to the charge. Hethus beheld enemies all around him. He dreaded stabbing and poison; andone day, in some paroxysm of rage or horror, how occasioned it is notknown, ran with a knife or dagger at one of the servants of the Duchessof 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 thehands of the physician. These unfortunate events took place in the summerof 1577, and in the poet's thirty-third year. 

Tasso shewed so much affliction at this treatment, and, at the same time, bore it so patiently, that the duke took him to his beautiful countryseat of Belriguardo; where, in one of his accounts of the matter, thepoet says that he treated him as a brother; but in another, he accuseshim of having taken pains to make him criminate himself, and confesscertain matters, real or supposed, the nature of which is a puzzle withposterity. Some are of opinion (and this is the prevailing one), that hewas found guilty of being in love with the Princess Leonora, perhaps ofbeing loved by herself. Others think the love out of the question, andthat the duke was concerned at nothing but his endeavouring to transferhis services and his poetic reputation into the hands of the Medici. Others see in the duke's conduct nothing but that of a good masterinteresting himself in the welfare of an afflicted servant. 

It is certain that Alfonso did all he could to prevent the surreptitiousprinting of the _Jerusalem Delivered_ in various towns of Italy, thedread 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, notdependent either on the testimony of third persons or the partialrepresentations of the sufferer. But Tasso felt so uneasy at Belriguardo, that he requested leave to retire a while into a convent. He remainedthere several days, apparently so much to his satisfaction, that he wroteto the duke to say that it was his intention to become a friar; and, yethe had no sooner got into the place, than he addressed a letter to theInquisition at Rome, beseeching it to desire permission for him to cometo that city, in order to clear himself from the charges of his enemies. He also wrote to two other friends, requesting them to further hispetition; and adding that the duke was enraged with him in consequence ofthe anger of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, who, it is supposed, had accusedTasso of having revealed to Alfonso some indecent epithet which hishighness had applied to him. [11] These letters were undoubtedlyintercepted, for they were found among the secret archives of Modena, the only principality ultimately remaining in the Este family; so that, agreeably to the saying of listeners hearing no good of themselves, ifAlfonso did not know the epithet before, he learnt it then. The readermay conceive his feelings. Tasso, too, at the same time, was plaguinghim with letters to similar purpose; and it is observable, that whilein those which he sent to Rome he speaks of Cosmo de' Medici as "GrandDuke, " he takes care in the others to call him simply the "Duke ofFlorence. " Alfonso had been exasperated to the last degree at Cosmo'shaving had the epithet "Grand" added by the Pope to his ducal title;and the reader may imagine the little allowance that would be made bya haughty and angry prince for the rebellious courtesy thus shewn to adetested rival. Tasso, furthermore, who had not only an infantine hatredof bitter "physic, " but reasonably thought the fashion of the agefor giving it a ridiculous one, begged hard, in a manner which it ishumiliating to witness, that he might not be drenched with medicine. Theduke at length forbade his writing to him any more; and Tasso, whosefears of every kind of ill usage had been wound up to a pitch unbearable, watched an opportunity when he was carelessly guarded, and fled at oncefrom the convent and Ferrara. 

The unhappy poet selected the loneliest ways he could find, and directedhis course to the kingdom of Naples, where his sister lived. He wasafraid of pursuit; he probably had little money; and considering his illhealth and his dread of the Inquisition, it is pitiable to think what hemay have endured while picking his long way through the back states ofthe Church and over the mountains of Abruzzo, as far as the Gulf ofNaples. For better security, he exchanged clothes with a shepherd; and ashe feared even his sister at first, from doubting whether she stillloved him, his interview with her was in all its circumstances painfullydramatic. Cornelia Tasso, now a widow, with two sons, was still residingat Sorrento, where the poet, casting his eyes around him as heproceeded towards the house, must have beheld with singular feelings ofwretchedness the lovely spots in which he had been a happy little boy. Hedid not announce himself at once. He brought letters, he said, from thelady's brother; and it is affecting to think, that whether his sistermight or might not have retained otherwise any personal recollectionof him since that time (for he had not seen her in the interval), hisdisguise was completed by the alterations which sorrow had made in hisappearance. For, at all events, she did not know him. She saw in himnothing but a haggard stranger who was acquainted with the writer of theletters, and to whom they referred for particulars of the risk whichher brother ran, unless she could afford him her protection. Theseparticulars were given by the stranger with all the pathos of the realman, and the loving sister fainted away. On her recovery, the visitorsaid what he could to reassure her, and then by degrees discoveredhimself. Cornelia welcomed him in the tenderest manner. She did all thathe desired; and gave out to her friends that the gentleman was a cousinfrom Bergamo, who had come to Naples on family affairs. 

For a little while, the affection of his sister, and the beauty andfreshness of Sorrento, rendered the mind of Tasso more easy: but hisrestlessness returned. He feared he had mortally offended the Duke ofFerrara; and, with his wonted fluctuation of purpose, he now wished to berestored to his presence for the very reason he had run away from it. Hedid not know with what vengeance he might be pursued. He wrote to theduke; but received no answer. The Duchess of Urbino was equally silent. Leonora alone responded, but with no encouragement. These appearancesonly made him the more anxious to dare or to propitiate his doom; and heaccordingly determined to put himself in the duke's hands. His sisterentreated him in vain to alter his resolution. He quitted her before theautumn was over; and, proceeding to Rome, went directly to the house ofthe duke's agent there, who, in concert with the Ferrarese ambassador, gave his master advice of the circumstance. Gonzaga, however, and anothergood friend, Cardinal Albano, doubted whether it would be wise in thepoet to return to Ferrara under any circumstances. They counselled himto be satisfied with being pardoned at a distance, and with having hispapers and other things returned to him; and the two friends immediatelywrote to the duke requesting as much. The duke apparently acquiesced inall that was desired; but he said that the illness of his sister, theDuchess of Urbino, delayed the procuration of the papers, which, itseems, were chiefly in her hands. The upshot was, that the papers did notcome; and Tasso, with a mixture of rage and fear, and perhaps for morereasons than he has told, became uncontrollably desirous of retracing therest of his steps to Ferrara. 

Love may have been among these reasons--probably was; though it does notfollow that the passion must have been for a princess. The poet now, therefore, petitioned to that effect; and Alfonso wrote again, and saidhe might come, but only on condition of his again undergoing the ducalcourse of medicine; adding, that if he did not, he was to be finallyexpelled his highness's territories. 

He was graciously received--too graciously, it would seem, for hisequanimity; for it gave him such a flow of spirits, that the duke appearsto have thought it necessary to repress them. The unhappy poet, at this, began to have some of his old suspicions; and the unaccountable detentionof his papers confirmed them. He made an effort to keep the suspicionsdown, but it was by means, unfortunately, of drowning them in wine andjollity; and this gave him such a fit of sickness as had nearly been hisdeath. He recovered, only to make a fresh stir about his papers, anda still greater one about his poems in general, which, though his_Jerusalem_ was yet only known in manuscript, and not even his _Aminta_published, he believed ought to occupy the attention of mankind. Peopleat Ferrara, therefore, not foreseeing the respect that posterity wouldentertain for the poet, and having no great desire perhaps to encourage aman who claimed to be a rival of their countryman Ariosto, now began toconsider their Neapolitan guest not merely an ingenious and pitiable, butan overweening and tiresome enthusiast. The court, however, still seemedto be interested in its panegyrist, though Tasso feared that Alfonsomeant to burn his _Jerusalem_. Alfonso, on the other hand, is supposed tohave feared that he would burn it himself, and the ducal praises with it. The papers, at all events, apparently including the only fair copy of thepoem, were constantly withheld; and Tasso, in a new fit of despair, again quitted Ferrara. This mystery of the papers is certainly veryextraordinary. 

The poet's first steps were to Mantua, where he met with no suchreception as encouraged him to stay. He then went to Urbino, but did notstop long. The prince, it is true, was very gracious; and bandages fora cautery were applied by the fair hands of his highness's sister; but, though the nurse enchanted, the surgery frightened him. The hapless poetfound himself pursued wherever he went by the tormenting beneficenceof medicine. He escaped, and went to Turin. He had no passport; andpresented, besides, so miserable an appearance, that the people at thegates roughly refused him admittance. He was well received, however, atcourt; and as he had begun to acknowledge that he was subject to humoursand delusions, and wrote to say as much to Cardinal Albano, who returnedhim a most excellent and affecting letter, full of the kindest regardand good counsel, his friends entertained a hope that he would becometranquil. But he disappointed them. He again applied to Alfonso forpermission to return to Ferrara--again received it, though on worse thanthe old conditions--and again found himself in that city in the beginningof the year 1579, delighted at seeing a brilliant assemblage from allquarters of Italy on occasion of a new marriage of the duke's (with aprincess of Mantua). He made up his mind to think that nothing could bedenied him, at such a moment, by the bridegroom whom he meant to honourand glorify. 

Alas! the very circumstance to which he looked for success, tended tothrow him into the greatest of his calamities. Alfonso was to be marriedthe day after the poet's arrival. He was therefore too busy to attend tohim. The princesses did not attend to him. Nobody attended to him. Heagain applied in vain for his papers. He regretted his return; becameanxious to be any where else; thought himself not only neglected butderided; and at length became excited to a pitch of frenzy. He brokeforth into the most unmeasured invectives against the duke, even inpublic; invoked curses on his head and that of his whole race; retractedall he had ever said in the praise of any of them, prince or otherwise;and pronounced him and his whole court "a parcel of ingrates, rascals, and poltroons. "[12] The outbreak was reported to the duke; and theconsequence was, that the poet was sent to the hospital of St. Anne, an establishment for the reception of the poor and lunatic, where heremained (with the exception of a few unaccountable leave-days) upwardsof seven years. This melancholy event happened in the March of the year1579. 

Tasso was stunned by this blow as much as if he had never done orsuffered any thing to expect it. He could at first do nothing but wonderand bewail himself, and implore to be set free. The duke answered, thathe must be cured first. Tasso replied by fresh entreaties; the dukereturned the same answers. The unhappy poet had recourse to every friend, prince, and great man he could think of, to join his entreaties; hesought refuge in composition, but still entreated; he occasionallyreproached and even bantered the duke in some of his letters to hisfriends, all of which, doubtless, were opened; but still he entreated, flattered, adored, all to no purpose, for seven long years and upwards. In time he became subject to maniacal illusions; so that if he was notactually mad before, he was now considered so. He was not only visitedwith sights and sounds, such as many people have experienced whose brainshave been over-excited, but he fancied himself haunted by a sprite, andbecome the sport of "magicians. " The sprite stole his things, and themagicians would not let him get well. He had a vision such as BenvenutoCellini had, of the Virgin Mary in her glory; and his nights were somiserable, that he ate too much in order that he might sleep. When hewas temperate, he lay awake. Sometimes he felt "as if a horse had thrownhimself on him. " "Have pity on me, " he says to the friend to whom hegives these affecting accounts; "I am miserable, because the world isunjust. "[13]

The physicians advised him to leave off wine; but he says he could not dothat, though he was content to use it in moderation. In truth he requiredsomething to support him against the physicians themselves, for theycontinued to exhaust his strength by their medicines, and could notsupply 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 notdeplorably pathetic, to hear so great a man, in the commonestmedical terms, now protesting against the eternal drenches of thesepractitioners, now humbly submitting to them, and now entreating like achild, that they might at least not be "so bitter. " The physicians, withthe duke at their head, were as mad for their rhubarbs and lancets as thequacks in Molière; and nothing but the very imagination that had nearlysacrificed the poet's life to their ignorance could have hinderedhim from dashing his head against the wall, and leaving them to theexecrations of posterity. It is the only occasion in which the nobleprofession of medicine has not appeared in wise and beneficent connexionwith the sufferings of men of letters. Why did Ferrara possess noBrocklesby in those days? no Garth, Mead, Warren, or Southwood Smith?

Tasso enabled himself to endure his imprisonment with composition. Hesupported it with his poetry and his poem, and what, alas! he had beentoo proud of during his liberty, the praises of his admirers. His geniusbrought 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, froma surreptitious and mutilated copy. But it was followed by a storm ofapplause; and if this was succeeded by as great a storm of objection andcontroversy, still the healthier part of his faculties were roused, andhe exasperated his critics and astonished the world by shewing how coollyand learnedly the poor, wild, imprisoned genius could discuss the mostintricate questions of poetry and philosophy. The disputes excited by hispoem are generally supposed to have done him harm; but the conclusionappears to be ill founded. They diverted his thoughts, and made himconscious of his powers and his fame. I doubt whether he would havebeen better for entire approbation: it would have put him in a state ofelevation, unfit for what he had to endure. He had found his penhis great solace, and he had never employed it so well. It would beincredible what a heap of things he wrote in this complicated torment ofimprisonment, sickness, and "physic, " if habit and mental activity hadnot been sufficient to account for much greater wonders. His lettersto his friends and others would make a good-sized volume; those to hiscritics, another; sonnets and odes, a third; and his Dialogues afterthe manner of Plato, two more. Perhaps a good half of all he wrote waswritten 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 thediscussions about his _Jerusalem_, which, in the latest edition of hisworks, amount to three out of six volumes octavo! Many of the occasions, however, of his poems, as well as letters, are most painful to thinkof, their object having been to exchange praise for money. And it isdistressing, in the letters, to see his other little wants, and thefluctuations and moods of his mind. Now he is angry about some book notrestored, or some gift promised and delayed. Now he is in want of somebooks to be lent him; now of some praise to comfort him; now of a littlefresh linen. He is very thankful for visits, for respectful letters, for"sweetmeats;" and greatly puzzled to know what to do with the bad sonnetsand panegyrics that are sent him. They were sometimes too much even forthe allowed ultra courtesies of Italian acknowledgment. His complimentsto most people are varied with astonishing grace and ingenuity; hisaccounts of his condition often sufficient to bring the tears intothe manliest eyes; and his ceaseless and vain efforts to procure hisliberation mortifying when we think of himself, and exasperating when wethink of the petty despot who detained him in so long, so degrading, andso worse than useless a confinement. 

Tasso could not always conceal his contempt of his imprisoner from theducal servants. Alfonso excelled the grandiloquent poet himself in hislove of pomp and worship; and as he had no particular merits to warrantit, his victim bantered his love of titles. He says, in a letter to theduke'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 hewill have the goodness to return certain little things of mine, whichhis Most Invincible, Most Clement, and Most Serene Highness has so oftenpromised me. [14]

But these were rare ebullitions of gaiety, perhaps rather of bitterdespair. 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 itdoes not appear to have been denied him), may be taken as more probableevidence of a mind relieved at the moment, though the necessity forthe relief may have been very sad. But the style in which he generallyalludes to his situation is far different. He continually begs hiscorrespondents to pity him, to pray for him, to attribute his errors toinfirmity. He complains of impaired memory, and acknowledges that he hasbecome subject to the deliriums formerly attributed to him by the enemiesthat had helped to produce them. Petitioning the native city of hisancestors (Bergamo) to intercede for him with the duke, he speaks of thewriter as "this unhappy person;" and subscribes himself, --

"Most illustrious Signors, your affectionate servant, Torquato Tasso, aprisoner, and infirm, in the hospital of St. Anne in Ferrara. "

In one of his addresses to Alfonso, he says most affectingly:

"I have sometimes attributed much to myself, and considered myself assomebody. But now, seeing in how many ways imagination has imposed onme, I suspect that it has also deceived me in this opinion of my ownconsequence. Indeed, methinks the past has been a dream; and hence I amresolved to rely on my imagination no longer. "

Alfonso made no answer. 

The causes of Tasso's imprisonment, and its long duration, are amongthe puzzles of biography. The prevailing opinion, notwithstanding theopposition made to it by Serassi and Black, is, that the poet made loveto the Princess Leonora--perhaps was beloved by her; and that her brotherthe duke punished him for his arrogance. This was the belief of hisearliest biographer, Manso, who was intimately acquainted with the poetin his latter days; and from Manso (though he did not profess to receivethe information from Tasso, but only to gather it from his poems) itspread over all Europe. Milton took it on trust from him;[15] and so haveour English translators Hoole and Wiffen. The Abbé de Charnes, however, declined to do so;[16] and Montaigne, who saw the poet in St. Anne'shospital, says nothing of the love at all. He attributes his conditionto poetical excitement, hard study, and the meeting of the extremes ofwisdom and folly. The philosopher, however, speaks of the poet's havingsurvived his reason, and become unconscious both of himself and hisworks, which the reader knows to be untrue. He does not appear to haveconversed with Tasso. The poet was only shewn him; probably at a sickmoment, or by a new and ignorant official. [17] Muratori, who was in theservice of the Este family at Modena, tells us, on the authority ofan old acquaintance who knew contemporaries of Tasso, that the "goodTorquato" finding himself one day in company with the duke and hissister, and going close to the princess in order to answer some questionwhich she had put to him, was so transported by an impulse "more thanpoetical, " as to give her a kiss; upon which the duke, who had observedit, turned about to his gentlemen, and said, "What a pity to see so greata man distracted!" and so ordered him to be locked up. [18] But thiswriter adds, that he does not know what to think of the anecdote: heneither denies nor admits it. Tiraboschi, who was also in the service ofthe Este family, doubts the truth of the anecdote, and believes thatthe duke shut the poet up solely for fear lest his violence should doharm. [19] Serassi, the second biographer of Tasso, who dedicated hisbook to an Este princess inimical to the poet's memory, attributes theconfinement, on his own shewing, to the violent words he had utteredagainst his master. [20] Walker, the author of the _Memoir on ItalianTragedy_, says, that the life by Serassi himself induced him to creditthe love-story:[21] so does Ginguéné. [22] Black, forgetting the age andillnesses of hundreds of enamoured ladies, and the distraction of loversat all times, derides the notion of passion on either side; because, heargues, Tasso was subject to frenzies, and Leonora forty-two years ofage, and not in good health. [23] What would Madame d'Houdetot have saidto him? or Mademoiselle L'Espinasse? or Mrs. Inchbald, who used to walkup and down Sackville Street in order that she might see Dr. Warren'slight in his window? Foscolo was a believer in the love;[24] Sismondiadmits it;[25] and Rosini, the editor of the latest edition of the poet'sworks, is passionate for it. He wonders how any body can fail to discernit in a number of passages, which, in truth, may mean a variety of otherloves; and he insists much upon certain loose verses (_lascivi_) whichthe poet, among his various accounts of the origin of his imprisonment, assigns as the cause, or one of the causes, of it. [26]

I confess, after a reasonable amount of inquiry into this subject, thatI can find no proofs whatsoever of Tasso's having made love to Leonora;though I think it highly probable. I believe the main cause of the duke'sproceedings was the poet's own violence of behaviour and incontinenceof speech. I think it very likely that, in the course of the poeticallove-making to various ladies, which was almost identical in that agewith addressing them in verse, Torquato, whether he was in love or not, took more liberties with the princesses than Alfonso approved; and it isequally probable, that one of those liberties consisted in his indulginghis imagination too far. It is not even impossible, that more gallantrymay have been going on at court than Alfonso could endure to see alludedto, especially by an ambitious pen. But there is no evidence that suchwas the case. Tasso, as a gentleman, could not have hinted at such athing on the part of a princess of staid reputation; and, on the otherhand, the "love" he speaks of as entertained by her for him, andwarranting the application to her for money in case of his death, wastoo plainly worded to mean any thing but love in the sense of friendlyregard. "Per amor mio" is an idiomatical expression, meaning "for mysake;" a strong one, no doubt, and such as a proud man like Alfonso mightthink a liberty, but not at all of necessity an amatory boast. If it was, its very effrontery and vanity were presumptions of its falsehood. Thelady whom Tasso alludes to in the passage quoted on his first confinementis complained of for her coldness towards him; and, unless this wasitself a gentlemanly blind, it might apply to fifty other ladies besidesthe princess. The man who assaulted him in the streets, and who issupposed to have been the violator of his papers, need not have found anysecrets of love in them. The servant at whom he aimed the knife or thedagger might be as little connected with such matters; and the sonnetswhich the poet said he wrote for a friend, and which he desired to beburied with him, might be alike innocent of all reference to Leonora, whether he wrote them for a friend or not. Leonora's death tookplace during the poet's confinement; and, lamented as she was by theverse-writers according to custom, Tasso wrote nothing on the event. Thissilence has been attributed to the depth of his passion; but how is thefact proved? and why may it not have been occasioned by there having beenno passion at all?

All that appears certain is, that Tasso spoke violent and contemptuouswords against the duke; that he often spoke ill of him in his letters;that he endeavoured, not with perfect ingenuousness, to exchange hisservice for that of another prince; that he asserted his madness to havebeen pretended in the first instance purely to gratify the duke's whimfor thinking it so (which was one of the reasons perhaps why Alfonso, as he complained, would not believe a word be said); and finally, that, whether the madness was or was not so pretended, it unfortunately becamea confirmed though milder form of mania, during a long confinement. Alfonso, too proud to forgive the poet's contempt, continued thus todetain him, partly perhaps because he was not sorry to have a pretext forrevenge, partly because he did not know what to do with him, consistentlyeither with his own or the poet's safety. He had not been generous enoughto put Tasso above his wants; he had not address enough to secure hisrespect; he had not merit enough to overlook his reproaches. If Tasso hadbeen as great a man as he was a poet, Alfonso would not have been reducedto these perplexities. The poet would have known how to settle quietlydown on his small court-income, and wait patiently in the midst of hisbeautiful visions for what fortune had or had not in store for him. Butin truth, he, as well as the duke, was weak; they made a bad business ofit between them; and Alfonso the Second closed the accounts of theEste family with the Muses, by keeping his panegyrist seven years in amad-house, to the astonishment of posterity, and the destruction of hisown claims to renown. 

It does not appear that Tasso was confined in any such dungeon as theynow exhibit in Ferrara. The conduct of the Prior of the Hospital is moredoubtful. His name was Agostino Mosti; and, strangely enough, he wasthe person who had raised a monument to Ariosto, of whom he was anenthusiastic admirer. To this predilection has been attributed hisalleged cruelty to the stranger from Sorrento, who dared to emulate thefame of his idol;--an extraordinary, though perhaps not incredible, modeof skewing a critic's regard for poetry. But Tasso, while he lamentshis severity, wonders at it in a man so well bred and so imbued withliterature, and thinks it can only have originated in "orders. "[27]Perhaps there were faults of temper on both sides; and Mosti, not likinghis office, forgot the allowance to be made for that of a prisoner andsick man. His nephew, 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, DonVincenzo Gonzaga, Prince of Mantua, kinsman of the poet's friend Scipio, came to Ferrara for the purpose of complimenting Alfonso's heir on hisnuptials. The whole court of Mantua, with hereditary regard for Tasso, whose father had been one of their ornaments, were desirous of havinghim among them; and the prince extorted Alfonso's permission to take himaway, 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 deliverershould not allow him to quit Mantua without obtaining leave. A young anddear friend, his most frequent visitor, Antonio Constantini, secretaryto the Tuscan ambassador, went to St. Anne's to prepare the captive bydegrees for the good news. He told him that he really might look for hisrelease in the course of a few days. The sensitive poet, now a prematureold man of forty-two, was thrown into a transport of mingled delight andanxiety. He had been disappointed so often that he could scarcely believehis good fortune. In a day or two he writes thus to his visitor

"Your kindness, my dear friend, has so accustomed me to your precious andfrequent visits, that I have been all day long at the window expectingyour coming to comfort me as you are wont. But since you have not yetarrived, and in order not to remain altogether without consolation, Ivisit you with this letter. It encloses a sonnet to the ambassador, written with a trembling 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 poetsome verses on a given subject, expressed his esteem for his genius andvirtues, and told him that, on his return to Mantua, he should have thepleasure of conducting him to that city. Tasso lay awake almost allnight, composing the verses; and next day enclosed them, with a letter, in another to Constantini, ardently begging him to keep the prince inmind of his promise. The prince had not forgotten it; and two or threedays afterwards, the order for the release arrived, and Tasso quitted hisprison. 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'sabode, paying no visits, probably from inability to endure so muchnovelty. Neither was he inclined or sent for to pay his respects to theduke. Two such parties could hardly have been desirous to look on eachother. The duke must especially have disliked the thought of it; thoughTasso afterwards fancied otherwise, and that he was offended at hisnon-appearance. But his letters, unfortunately, differ with themselves onthis point, as on most others. About the middle of July 1586, the poetquitted Ferrara for ever. 

At Mantua Tasso was greeted with all the honours and attentions which hislove of distinction could desire. The good old duke, the friend of hisfather, ordered handsome apartments to be provided for him in the palace;the prince made him presents of costly attire, including perfumed silkenhose (kindred elegancies to the Italian gloves of Queen Elizabeth); theprincess and her mother-in-law were declared admirers of his poetry; thecourtiers caressed the favourite of their masters; Tasso found literarysociety; he pronounced the very bread and fruit, the fish and the flesh, excellent; the wines were sharp and brisk ("such as his father was fondof"); and even the physician was admirable, for he ordered confections. One might imagine, if circumstances had not proved the cordial nature ofthe Gonzaga family, and the real respect and admiration entertained forthe poet's genius by the greatest men of the time, in spite of the rebukeit had received from Alfonso, that there had been a confederacy to mockand mystify him, after the fashion of the duke and duchess with DonQuixote (the only blot, by the way, in the book of Cervantes; 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_Torrismond_, which he had begun some years before, corresponded withprinces, and completed and published a narrative poem left unfinished byhis father. Torquato was as loving a son as Mozart or Montaigne. Wheneverhe had a glimpse of felicity, he appears to have associated the idea ofit with that of his father. In the conclusion of his fragment, "O delgrand' Apennino, " he affectingly begs pardon of his blessed spirit fortroubling him with his earthly griefs. [28]

But, alas, what had been an indulgence of self-esteem had now become thehabit of a disease; and in the course of a few months the restless poetbegan 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 "yieldhim the first place, " or at least (he adds) they did not allow him to betreated "externally as their equal;" and he candidly confessed that hecould not live in a place where such was the custom. [29] He felt also, naturally enough, however well it might have been intended, that it wasnot pleasant to be confined to the range of the city of Mantua, attendedby a servant, even though he confessed that he was now subject to"frenzy. " He contrived to stay another half-year by help of a brilliantcarnival and of the select society of the prince's court, who wereevidently most kind to him; but at the end of the twelvemonth he was inBergamo among his relations. The prince gave him leave to go; and theCavaliere Tasso, his kinsman, sent his chariot on purpose to fetch him. 

Here again he found himself at a beautiful country-seat, which the familyof Tasso still possesses near that city; and here again, in the house ofhis father, he proposed to be happy, "having never desired, " he says, "any journey more earnestly than this. " He left it in the course of amonth, to return to Mantua. 

And it was only to wander still. Mantua he quitted in less than twomonths to go to Rome, in spite of the advice of his best friends. He vindicated the proceeding by a hope of obtaining some permanentsettlement from the Pope. He took Loretto by the way, to refresh himselfwith 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 thedowry of his mother and the confiscated property of his father, heproceeded to Naples. 

Naples was in its most beautiful vernal condition, and the Neapolitanswelcomed the poet with all honour and glory; but his sister, alas, wasdead; he got none of his father's property, nor (till too late) any ofhis mother's; and before the year was out, he was again in Rome. Heacquired in Naples, however, another friend, as attached to him andas constant in his attentions as his beloved Constantini, to wit, Giambattista Manso, Marquis of Villa, who became his biographer, and whowas visited and praised for his good offices by Milton. In the society ofthis gentleman he seemed for a short while to have become a new man. Heentered into field-sports, listened to songs and music, nay, danced, saysManso, with "the girls. " (One fancies a poetical Dr. Johnson with the twocountry damsels on his knees. ) In short, good air and freedom, and nomedicine, had conspired with the lessons of disappointment to give him, before he died, a glimpse of the power to be pleased. He had not got ridof all his spiritual illusions, even those of a melancholy nature; but hetook the latter more quietly, and had grown so comfortable with the racein general, that he encouraged them. He was so entirely freed from hisfears of the Inquisition and of charges of magic, that whereas he hadformerly been anxious to shew that he meant nothing but a poetical fancyby the spirit which he introduced as communing with him in his dialogueentitled the _Messenger_, he now maintained its reality against thearguments of his friend Manso; and these arguments gave rise to the mostpoetical scene in his history. He told Manso that he should have oculartestimony of the spirit's existence; and accordingly one day while theywere sitting together at the marquis's fireside, "he turned his eyes, "says Manso, "towards a window, and held them a long time so intensely onit, that, when I called him, he did not answer. At last, 'Behold, ' saidhe, 'the friendly spirit which has courteously come to talk with me. Liftup your eyes, and see the truth. ' I turned my eyes thither immediately(continues the marquis); but though I endeavoured to look as keenly as Icould, I beheld nothing but the rays of the sun, which streamed throughthe panes of the window into the chamber. Whilst I still looked around, without beholding any object, Torquato began to hold, with this unknownsomething, a most lofty converse. I heard, indeed, and saw nothing buthimself; nevertheless his words, at one time questioning, at anotherreplying, were such as take place between those who reason strictly onsome important subject. And from what was said by the one, the reply ofthe other might be easily comprehended by the intellect, although it wasnot heard by the ear. The discourses were so lofty and marvellous, both by the sublimity of their topics and a certain unwonted manner oftalking, that, exalted above myself in a kind of ecstasy, I did not dareto interrupt them, nor ask Tasso about the spirit, which he had announcedto me, but which I did not see. In this way, while I listened betweenstupefaction and rapture, a considerable time had elapsed; till at lastthe spirit departed, as I learned from the words of Torquato; who, turning to me, said, 'From this day forward all your doubts will havevanished from your mind. ' 'Nay, ' said I, 'they are rather increased;since, though I have heard many things worthy of marvel, I have seennothing of what you promised to shew me to dispel them. ' He smiled, andsaid, 'You have seen and heard more of him than perhaps --, ' and herehe paused. Fearful of importuning him with new questions, the discourseended; and the only conclusion I can draw is, what I before said, thatit is more likely his visions or frenzies will disorder my own mind thanthat I shall extirpate his true or imaginary opinion. "[30]

Did the "smile" of Tasso at the close of this extraordinary scene, andthe words which he omitted to add, signify that his friend had seen andheard more, perhaps, than the poet _would have liked_ to explain? Did hemean that he himself alone had been seen and heard, and was author of thewhole dialogue? Perhaps he did; for credulity itself can impose;--cantake pleasure in seeing others as credulous as itself. On the otherhand, enough has become known in our days of the phenomena of morbidperception, to render Tasso's actual belief in such visions not atall surprising. It is not uncommon for the sanest people of delicateorganisation to see faces before them while going to sleep, sometimesin fantastical succession. A stronger exercise of this disposition intemperaments more delicate will enlarge the face to figure; and there canbe no question that an imagination so heated as Tasso's, so full of thespeculations of the later Platonists, and accompanied by a state of bodyso "nervous, " and a will so bent on its fancies, might embody whateverhe chose to behold. The dialogue he could as easily read in the vision'slooks, whether he heard it or not with ears. If Nicholay, the Prussianbookseller, who saw crowds of spiritual people go through his rooms, hadbeen a poet, and possessed of as wilful an imagination as Tasso, he mighthave gifted them all with _speaking countenances_ as easily as with coatsand waistcoats. Swedenborg founded a religion on this morbid faculty; andthe Catholics worship a hundred stories of the like sort in the Lives ofthe Saints, many of which are equally true and false; false in reality, though true in supposition. Luther himself wrote and studied till hesaw the Devil; only the great reformer retained enough of his naturallysturdy health and judgment to throw an inkstand at Satan's head, --a thingthat philosophy has been doing ever since. 

Tasso's principal residence while at Naples had been in the beautifulmonastery of Mount Olivet, on which the good monks begged he would writethem a poem; which he did. A cold reception at Rome, and perhaps thedifference of the air, brought back his old lamentations; but here againa monastery gave him refuge, and he set himself down to correct hisformer works and compose new ones. He missed, however, the comforts ofsociety and amusement which he had experienced at Naples. Nevertheless, he did not return thither. He persuaded himself that it was necessary tobe in Rome in order to expedite the receipt of some books and manuscriptsfrom Bergamo and other places; but his restlessness desired novelty. Hethus slipped back from the neighbourhood of Rome to the city itself, andfrom the city back to the monastery, his friends in both places beingprobably tired of his instability. He thought of returning to Mantua; buta present from the Grand Duke of Tuscany, accompanied by an invitation tohis 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 invitation from his ever-kind delivererfrom prison, now the reigning duke; tired again, even of him; returned toRome; then once more to Naples, where the Prince of Conca, Grand Admiralof the kingdom, lodged and treated him like an equal; but he grewsuspicious of the admiral, and went to live with his friend Manso;quitted Manso for Rome again; was treated with reverence on the way, likeAriosto, by a famous leader of banditti; was received at Rome into theVatican itself, in the apartments of his friend Cintio Aldobrandino, nephew of the new pope Clement the Eighth, where his hopes now seemed tobe raised at once to their highest and most reasonable pitch; but fellill, and was obliged to go back to Naples for the benefit of the air. A life so strangely erratic to the last (for mortal illness wasapproaching) is perhaps unique in the history of men of letters, andmight be therefore worth recording even in that of a less man than Tasso;but when we recollect that this poet, in spite of all his weaknesses, andnotwithstanding the enemies they provoked and the friends they cooled, was really almost adored for his genius in his own time, and insteadof refusing jewels one day and soliciting a ducat the next, might havesettled down almost any where in quiet and glory, if he had but possessedthe patience to do so, it becomes an association of weakness with power, and of adversity with the means of prosperity, the absurdity of whichadmiration itself can only drown in pity. 

He now took up his abode in another monastery, that of San Severino, where he was comforted by the visits of his friend Manso, to whom he hadlately inscribed a dialogue on _Friendship_; for he continued writingto the last. He had also the consolation, such as it was, of having thelaw-suit for his mother's dowry settled in his favour, though undercircumstances that rendered it of little importance, and only threemonths before his death. So strangely did Fortune seem to take delight insporting with a man of genius, who had thought both too much of her andtoo little; too much for pomp's sake, and too little in prudence. Amonghis new acquaintances were the young Marino, afterwards the corrupter ofItalian 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 himwith the Duke of Ferrara; and Tasso, who to the last moment of his lifeseems never to have been able to resist the chance of resuming oldquarters, apparently from the double temptation of renouncing them, wrotehis old master a letter full of respects and regrets. But the duke, whohimself died in the course of the year, was not to be moved from hissilence. The poet had given him the last possible offence by recastinghis _Jerusalem_, omitting the glories of the house of Este, anddedicating it to another patron. Alfonso, who had been extravagantlymagnificent, though not to poets, had so weakened his government, thatthe Pope wrested Ferrara from the hands of his successor, and reducedthe Este family to the possession of Modena, which it still holds anddishonours. The duke and the poet were thus fading away at the same time;they never met again in this world; and a new Dante would have dividedthem far enough in the next. [31]

The last glimpse of honour and glory was now opening in a very grandmanner on the poet--the last and the greatest, as if on purpose to givethe climax to his disappointments. Cardinal Cintio requested the Pope togive him the honour of a coronation. It had been desired by the poet, itseems, three years before. He was disappointed of it at that time; andnow that it was granted, he was disappointed of the ceremony. Manso sayshe no longer cared for it; and, as he felt himself dying, this is notimprobable. Nevertheless he went to Rome for the purpose; and though theseverity of the winter there delayed the intention till spring, wealthand honours seemed determined to come in floods upon the poor expiringgreat man, in order to take away the breath which they had refused tosupport. The Pope assigned him a yearly pension of a hundred scudi; andthe withholders of his mother's dowry came to an accommodation by whichhe was to have an annuity of a hundred ducats, and a considerable sumin 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 felthis dissolution approaching. Alfonso's doctors had killed him at last bysuperinducing a habit of medicine-taking, which defeated its purpose. He requested leave to return to the monastery of St. Onofrio--wrote afarewell letter to Constantini--received the distinguished honour of aplenary indulgence from the Pope--said (in terms very like what Miltonmight have used, had he died a Catholic), that "this was the chariot uponwhich 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, 1575, and the fifty-first year of his age, closely embracing thecrucifix, and imperfectly uttering the sentence beginning, "Into thyhands, O Lord!"[32]

Even after death, success mocked him; for the coronation took place onthe senseless dead body. The head was wreathed with laurel; a magnificenttoga delayed for a while the shroud; and a procession took place throughthe city by 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 was thenburied in the church of St. Onofrio; and magnificent monuments talked of, which never appeared. Manso, however, obtained leave to set up a modesttablet; and eight years afterwards a Ferrarese cardinal (Bevilacqua) madewhat amends he could for his countrymen, by erecting the stately memorialwhich is still to be seen. 

Poor, illustrious Tasso! weak enough to warrant pity from hisinferiors--great enough to overshadow in death his once-fanciedsuperiors. He has been a by-word for the misfortunes of genius: butgenius was not his misfortune; it was his only good, and might havebrought him all happiness. It is the want of genius, as far as itgoes, and apart from martyrdoms for conscience' sake, which producesmisfortunes even to genius itself--the want of as much wit and balanceon the common side of things, as genius is supposed to confine to theuncommon. 

Manso has left a minute account of his friend's person and manners. Hewas tall even among the tall; had a pale complexion, sunken cheeks, lightish brown hair, head bald at the top, large blue eyes, squareforehead, big nose inclining towards the mouth, lips pale and thin, whiteteeth, delicate white hands, long arms, broad chest and shoulders, legsrather strong than fleshy, and the body altogether better proportionedthan in good condition; the result, nevertheless, being an aspect ofmanly beauty and expression, particularly in the countenance, the dignityof which marked him for an extraordinary person even to those who did notknow him. His demeanour was grave and deliberate; he laughed seldom;and though his tongue was prompt, his delivery was slow; and he wasaccustomed to repeat his last words. He was expert in all manlyexercises, but not equally graceful; and the same defect attended hisotherwise striking eloquence in public assemblies. His putting to flightthe assassins in Ferrara gave him such a reputation for courage, thatthere 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, particularly such ascombined piquancy with sweetness; and he always dressed in black. Manso'saccount is still more particular, and yet it does not tell all; for Tassohimself informs us that he stammered, and was near-sighted;[33] and aNeapolitan writer who knew him adds to the near-sightedness some visibledefect in the eyes. [34] I should doubt, from what Tasso says in hisletters, whether he was fond of speaking in public, notwithstanding his_début_ in that line with the _Fifty Amorous Conclusions_. Nor does heappear to have been remarkable for his conversation. Manso has left acollection of one hundred of his pithy sayings--a suspicious amount, andunfortunately more than warranting the suspicion; for almost every one ofthem is traceable to some other man. They come from the Greek and Latinphilosophers, and the apothegms of Erasmus. The two following have thegreatest appearance of being genuine:

A Greek, complaining that he had spoken ill of his country, andmaintaining that all the virtues in the world had issued out of it, thepoet assented; with the addition, that they had not left one behind them. 

A foolish young fellow, garnished with a number of golden chains, cominginto a room where he was, and being overheard by him exclaiming, "Is thisthe great man that was mad?" Tasso said, "Yes; but that people had neverput on him more than one chain at a time. "

His character may be gathered, but not perhaps entirely, from what hasbeen written of his life; for some of his earlier letters shew him tohave been not quite so grave and refined in his way of talking as readersof the _Jerusalem_ might suppose. He was probably at that time of lifenot so scrupulous in his morals as he professed to be during the greaterpart of it. His mother is thought to have died of chagrin and impatienceat being separated so long from her husband, and not knowing what to doto save her dowry from her brothers; and I take her son to have combinedhis mother's ultra-sensitive organisation with his father's worldlyimprudence and unequal spirits. The addition of the nervous temperamentof one parent to the aspiring nature of the other gave rise to the poet'strembling eagerness for distinction; and Torquato's very love for themboth hindered him from seeing what should have been corrected in theinfirmities which he inherited. Falling from the highest hopes ofprosperity into the most painful afflictions, he thus wanted solidprinciples of action to support him, and was forced to retreat upon anexcess of self-esteem, which allowed his pride to become a beggar, andhis naturally kind, loving, just, and heroical disposition to condescendto almost every species of inconsistency. The Duke of Ferrara, hecomplains, did not believe a word he said;[35] and the fact is, that, partly from disease, and partly from a want of courage to look hisdefects in the face, he beheld the same things in so many differentlights, and according as it suited him at the moment, that, withoutintending falsehood, his statements are really not to be relied on. Hedegraded even his verses, sometimes with panegyrics for interest's sake, sometimes out of weak wishes to oblige, of which he was afterwardsashamed; and, with the exception of Constantini, we cannot be sure thatany one person praised in them retained his regard in his last days. Hissuspicion made him a kind of Rousseau; but he was more amiable thanthe Genevese, and far from being in the habit of talking against oldacquaintances, 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 ofentire continence ever since he entered the walls of his prison, beingthen in his thirty-fifth year. [36] Was this out of fidelity to somemistress? or the consequence of a previous life the reverse of continent?or was it from some principle of superstition? He had become a devotee, apparently out of a dread of disbelief; and he remained extremelyreligious for the rest of his days. The two unhappiest of Italian poets, Tasso and Dante, were the two most superstitious. 

As for the once formidable question concerning the comparative meritsof this poet and Ariosto, which anticipated the modern quarrels of theclassical and romantic schools, some idea of the treatment which Tassoexperienced may be conceived by supposing all that used to be sarcasticand bitter in the periodical party-criticism among ourselves some thirtyyears back, collected into one huge vial of wrath, and poured upon thenew poet's head. Even the great Galileo, who was a man of wit, bred upin the pure Tuscan school of Berni and Casa, and who was an idolatorof Ariosto, wrote, when he was young, a "review" of the _JerusalemDelivered_, which it is painful to read, it is so unjust andcontemptuous. [37] But now that the only final arbiter, posterity, hasaccepted both the poets, the dispute is surely the easiest thing in theworld to settle; not, indeed, with prejudices of creeds or temperaments, but before any judges thoroughly sympathising with the two claimants. Itssolution is the principle of the greater including the less. For Ariostoerrs only by having an unbounded circle to move in. His sympathies areunlimited; and those who think him inferior to Tasso, only do so inconsequence of their own want of sympathy with the vivacities thatdegrade him in their eyes. Ariosto can be as grave and exalted as Tassowhen he pleases, and he could do a hundred things which Tasso neverattempted. He is as different in this respect as Shakspeare from Milton. He had far more knowledge of mankind than Tasso, and he was superior inpoint of taste. But it is painful to make disadvantageous comparisons ofone great poet with another. Let us be thankful for Tasso's enchantedgardens, without being forced to vindicate the universal world of hispredecessor. Suffice it to bear in mind, that the grave poet himselfagreed with the rest of the Italians in calling the Ferrarese the "divineAriosto;" a title which has never been popularly given to his rival. 

The _Jerusalem Delivered_ is the history of a Crusade, related withpoetic license. The Infidels are assisted by unlawful arts; and thelibertinism that brought scandal on the Christians, is converted intoyouthful susceptibility, led away by enchantment. The author proposedto combine the ancient epic poets with Ariosto, or a simple plot, anduniformly dignified style, with romantic varieties of adventure, andthe luxuriance of fairy-land. He did what he proposed to do, but with ajudgment inferior to Virgil's; nay, in point of the interdependence ofthe adventures, to Ariosto, and with far less general vigour. The mixtureof affectation with his dignity is so frequent, that, whether Boileau'sfamous line about Tasso's tinsel and Virgil's gold did or did not mean toimply that the _Jerusalem_ was nothing but tinsel, and the _Æneid_ allgold, it is certain that the tinsel is so interwoven with the gold, as torender it more of a rule than an exception, and put a provoking distancebetween Tasso's epic pretensions and those of the greatest masters of theart. People who take for granted the conceits because of the "wildness"of Ariosto, and the good taste because of the "regularity" of Tasso, justassume the reverse of the fact. It is a rare thing to find a conceit inAriosto; and, where it does exist, it is most likely defensible on someShakspearian ground of subtle propriety. Open Tasso in almost any part, particularly the love-scenes, and it is marvellous if, before long, youdo not see the conceits vexatiously interfering with the beauties. 

 "Oh maraviglia! Amor, the appena è nato, Già grande vola, e già 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 'l miri fulminar ne l'arme avvolto, Marte lo stimi; Amor, se scopre il volto. " St. 58. 

 Mars you would think him, when his thund'ring race In arms he ran; Love, when he shew'd his face. 

Which is as little true to reason as to taste; for no god of war couldlook like a god of love. The habit of mind would render it impossible. But the poet found the prettiness of the Greek Anthology irresistible. 

Olindo, tied to the stake amidst the flames of martyrdom, can say to hismistress

 "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 anoccasion, miserable. 

In the third canto the fair Amazon Clorinda challenges her love to singlecombat. 

 "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 ourastonishment, makes its appearance in the fourth canto

 "Oh miracol d'amor! che le faville Tragge del pianto, e'i cor' ne l'acqua accende. " St. 76. 

 Oh, miracle of love! that draweth sparks Of fire from tears, and kindlest hearts in water!

This puerile antithesis of _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 ofconsistency and truth of feeling, --lovers making long speeches on theleast fitting occasions, and ladies retaining their rosy cheeks in themidst of fears of death, --is to be met with, more or less, throughoutthe poem. I have no doubt they were the proximate cause of that generalcorruption of taste which was afterwards completed by Marino, theacquaintance and ardent admirer of Tasso when a boy. They have been laidto the charge of Petrarch; but, without entering into the question, howfar 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? Andwhat is to be said for his standing in need of the excuse of bad example?Homer and Milton were in no such want. Virgil would not have copied thetricks of Ovid. There is an effeminacy and self-reflection in Tasso, analogous to his Rinaldo, in the enchanted garden; where the hero worea looking-glass by his side, in which he contemplated his sophisticatedself, and the meretricious beauty of his enchantress. [38] Agreeably tothis tendency to weakness, the style of Tasso, when not supported bygreat occasions (and even the occasion itself sometimes fails him), istoo apt to fall into tameness and common-place, --to want movement andpicture; while, at the same time, with singular defect of enjoyment, itdoes not possess the music which might be expected from a lyrical andvoluptuous poet. Bernardo prophesied of his son, that, however he mightsurpass him in other respects, he would never equal him in sweetness;and he seems to have judged him rightly. I have met with a passage inTorquato's prose writings (but I cannot lay my hands on it), in which heexpresses a singular predilection for verses full of the same vowel. He seems, if I remember rightly, to have regarded it, not merely as apleasing variety, which it is on occasion, but as a reigning principle. Voltaire (I think, in his treatise on _Epic Poetry_) has noticed themultitude of _o_'s in the exordium of the _Jerusalem_. This apparentnegligence seems to have been intentional. 

 "Cantò l'armi pietòse e 'l capitanò Che 'l gran Sepòlerò liberò di Cristò; Mòltò egli òprò còl sennò e còn la manò, Mòltò sòffri nel glòriòsò acquistò; E invan l'infernò a lui s'òppòse; e invanò S'armò d'Asia e di Libia il pòpòl mistò; Che il ciel gli diè favòre, e sòttò ai santi Segni ridusse i suòi còmpagni erranti. "

The reader will not be surprised to find, that he who could thus confoundmonotony with music, and commence his greatest poem with it, is too oftendiscordant in the rest of his versification. It has been thought, thatMilton might have taken from the Italians the grand musical account towhich he turns a list of proper names, as in his enumerations of realmsand deities; but I have been surprised to find how little the mostmusical of languages appears to have suggested to its poets anything ofthe sort. I am not aware of it, indeed, in any poets but our own. Allothers, from Homer, with his catalogue of leaders and ships, down toMetastasio himself, though he wrote for music, appear to have overlookedthis opportunity of playing a voluntary of fine sounds, where they had noother theme on which to modulate. Its inventor, as far as I am aware, isthat great poet, Marlowe. [39]

There are faults of invention as well as style in the _Jerusalem_. TheTalking Bird, or bird that sings with a human voice (canto iv. 13), is apiece of inverisimilitude, which the author, perhaps, thought justifiableby the speaking horses of the ancients. But the latter were movedsupernaturally for the occasion, and for a very fine occasion. Tasso'sbird is a mere born contradiction to nature and for no necessity. Thevulgar idea of the devil with horns and a tail (though the retentionof it argued a genius in Tasso very inferior to that of Milton) isdefensible, I think, on the plea of the German critics, that malignityshould be made a thing low and deformed; but as much cannot be said forthe storehouse in heaven, where St. Michael's spear is kept with whichhe slew the dragon, and the trident which is used for making earthquakes(canto vii. St. 81). The tomb which supernaturally comes out of theground, inscribed with the name and virtues of Sueno (canto viii. St. 39), is worthy only of a pantomime; and the wizard in robes, withbeech-leaves on his head, who walks dry-shod on water, and superfluouslyhelps the knights on their way to Armida's retirement (xiv. 33), isalmost as ludicrous as the burlesque of the river-god in the _Voyage_ ofBachaumont 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 andpower. Rinaldo, in spite of his aberrations with Armida, knew the pathto renown, and so did his poet. Tasso's epic, with all its faults, is anoble production, and justly considered one of the poems of the world. Each of those poems hit some one great point of universal attraction, at least in their respective countries, and among the givers of fame inothers. Homer's poem is that of action; Dante's, of passion; Virgil's, ofjudgment; Milton's, of religion; Spenser's, of poetry itself; Ariosto's, of animal spirits (I do not mean as respects gaiety only, but in strengthand readiness of accord with the whole play of nature); Tasso lookedround with an ultra-sensitive temperament, and an ambition which requiredencouragement, and his poem is that of tenderness. Every thing inclinesto this point in his circle, with the tremulousness of the needle. Loveis its all in all, even to the design of the religious war which isto rescue the sepulchre of the God of Charity from the hands of theunloving. His heroes are all in love, at least those on the right side;his leader, Godfrey, notwithstanding his prudence, narrowly escapes thepassion, and is full of a loving consideration; his amazon, Clorinda, inspires the truest passion, and dies taking her lover's hand; hisErminia is all love for an enemy; his enchantress Armida falls frompretended love into real, and forsakes her religion for its sake. An oldfather (canto ix. ) loses his five sons in battle, and dies on theirdead bodies of a wound which he has provoked on purpose. Tancred cannotachieve the enterprise of the Enchanted Forest, because his dead mistressseems to come out of one of the trees. Olindo thinks it happiness to bemartyred at the same stake with Sophronia. The reconciliation of Rinaldowith his enchantress takes place within a few stanzas of the close ofthe poem, as if contesting its interest with religion. The _JerusalemDelivered_, in short, is the favourite epic of the young: all the loversin Europe have loved it. The French have forgiven the author his conceitsfor the sake of his gallantry: he is the poet of the gondoliers; andSpenser, the most luxurious of his brethren, plundered his bowers ofbliss. Read Tasso's poem by this gentle light of his genius, and you pityhim twentyfold, and know not what excuse to find for his jailer. 

The stories translated in the present volume, though including war andmagic, are all love-stories. They were not selected on that account. Theysuggested themselves for selection, as containing most of the finestthings in the poem. They are conducted with great art, and the charactersand affections happily varied. The first (_Olindo and Sophronia_) isperhaps unique for the hopelessness of its commencement (I mean withregard to the lovers), and the perfect, and at the same time quiteprobable, felicity of the conclusion. There is no reason to believe thatthe staid and devout Sophronia would have loved her adorer at all, butfor 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 forus to separate from very repulsive and unfeminine images; yet, under thecircumstances of the story, we call to mind in her behalf the possibilityof a Joan of Arc's having loved and been beloved; and her death is asurprising and most affecting variation upon that of Agrican in Boiardo. Tasso's enchantress Armida is a variation of the Angelica of the samepoet, combined with Ariosto's Alcina; but her passionate voluptuousnessmakes her quite a new character in regard to the one; and she is asdifferent from the painted hag of the _Orlando_ as youth, beauty, andpatriotic intention can make her. She is not very sentimental; but allthe passion in the world has sympathised with her; and it was manly andhonest in the poet not to let her Paganism and vehemence hinder him fromdoing justice to her claims as a human being and a deserted woman. Herfate is left in so pleasing a state of doubt, that we gladly availourselves of it to suppose her married to Rinaldo, and becoming themother of a line of Christian princes. I wish they had treated her poethalf so well as she would infallibly have treated him herself. 

But the singer of the Crusades can be strong as well as gentle. Youdiscern in his battles and single combats the poet ambitious of renown, and the accomplished swordsman. The duel of Tancred and Argantes, inwhich the latter is slain, is as earnest and fiery writing throughout astruth and passion could desire; that of Tancred and Clorinda is alsovery powerful as well as affecting; and the whole siege of Jerusalem isadmirable for the strength of its interest. Every body knows the grandverse (not, however, quite original) that summons the devils to council, "Chiama gli abitator, " &c. ; and the still grander, though less originalone, describing the desolations of time, "Giace l'alta Cartago. "[40] Theforest filled with supernatural terrors by a magician, in order that theChristians may not cut wood from it to make their engines of war, is oneof the happiest pieces of invention in romance. It is founded in as truehuman feeling as those of Ariosto, and is made an admirable instrumentfor the aggrandizement of the character of Rinaldo. Godfrey's attestationof all time, and of the host of heaven, when he addresses his army in thefirst canto, is in the highest spirit of epic magnificence. So is theappearance of the celestial armies, together with that of the souls ofthe slain Christian warriors, in the last canto, where they issue forthin the air to assist the entrance into the conquered city. The classicalpoets are turned to great and frequent account throughout the poem;and yet the work has a strong air of originality, partly owing to thesubject, partly to the abundance of love-scenes, and to a certaincompactness in the treatment of the main story, notwithstanding theluxuriance of the episodes. The _Jerusalem Delivered_ is stately, well-ordered, full of action and character, sometimes sublime, alwayselegant, and very interesting-more so, I think, as a whole, and ina popular sense, than any other story in verse, not excepting the_Odyssey_. For the exquisite domestic attractiveness of the secondHomeric poem is injured, like the hero himself, by too many diversionsfrom the main point. There is an interest, it is true, in that verydelay; but we become too much used to the disappointment. In the epicof Tasso the reader constantly desires to learn how the success of theenterprise is to be brought about; and he scarcely loses sight of any ofthe 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, orgoing to fight. When you are introduced to Armida 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 toolyrical was, that notwithstanding its deficiency in sweetness, he was oneof the profusest lyrical writers of his nation, and always having hisfeelings turned in upon himself. I am not sufficiently acquainted withhis odes and sonnets to speak of them in the gross; but I may be allowedto 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 troubleshe went through; but the experience was the reason. The constantsuccession of hopes, fears, wants, gratitudes, loves, and the necessityof employing his imagination, accounts for all. Some of his sonnets, suchas those on the Countess of Scandiano's lip ("Quel labbro, " &c. ); the oneto Stigliano, concluding with the affecting mention of himself and hislost harp; that beginning

 "Io veggio in cielo scintillar le stelle, "

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 themore famous odes of Petrarch, and one or two of Filicaia's and Guidi's, Iknow of none in Italian like several of Tasso's, including his fragment"O del grand' Apennino, " and the exquisite chorus on the _Golden Age_, which struck a note in the hearts of the world. 

His _Aminta_, the chief pastoral poem of Italy, though, with theexception of that ode, not equal in passages to the _FaithfulShepherdess_ (which is a Pan to it compared with a beardless shepherd), is elegant, interesting, and as superior to Guarini's more sophisticateyet still beautiful _Pastor Fido_ as a first thought may be supposed tobe to its emulator. The objection of its being too elegant for shepherdshe anticipated and nullified by making Love himself account for it in acharming prologue, of which the god is the speaker:

 "Queste selve oggi ragionar d'Amore S'udranno in nuova guisa; e ben parassi, Che la mia Deità sia quì presente In se medesma, e non ne' suoi ministri. Spirerò nobil sensi à rozzi petti; Raddolcirò nelle lor lingue il suono: Perchè, ovunque i' mi sia, io sono Amore Ne' pastori non men che negli eroi; E la disagguaglianza de' soggetti, Come a me piace, agguaglio: e questa è pure Suprema gloria, e gran miracol mio, Render simili alle più 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 Ihave read little of either; though, as they are not popular with hiscountrymen, a foreigner may be pardoned for thinking his classicaltragedy, _Torrismondo_, not attractive--his _Sette Giornate_ (SevenDays of the Creation) still less so--and his platonical and criticaldiscourses better filled with authorities than reasons. Tasso was alesser kind of Milton, enchanted by the Sirens. We discern the weak partsof his character, more or less, in all his writings; but we see also theirrepressible elegance and superiority of the mind, which, in spite ofall weakness, was felt to tower above its age, and to draw to it thehomage as well as the resentment of princes. 

[Footnote 1: 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, 1332). I have been indebted to nothing in Black which Ihave not ascertained by reference to the Italian biographer, and quotednothing stated by Tasso himself but from the works. Black's Life, whichis a free version of Serassi's, modified by the translator's own opinionsand criticism, is elegant, industrious, and interesting. Serassi's wasthe first copious biography of the poet founded on original documents;and it deserved to be translated by Mr. Black, though servile tothe house of Este, and, as might be expected, far from being alwaysingenuous. Among other instances of this writer's want of candour is thefact of his having been the discoverer and suppresser of the manuscriptreview of Tasso by Galileo. The best summary account of the poet's lifeand writings which I have met with is Ginguéné's, in the fifth volumeof his _Histoire Littéraire_, &c. It is written with his usual grace, vivacity, and acuteness, and contains a good notice of the Tassocontroversy. As to the Pisan edition of the works, it is the completest, I believe, in point of contents ever published, comprises all thecontroversial criticism, and is, of course, very useful; but it containsno life except Manso's (now known to be very inconclusive), has got aheap of feeble variorum comments on the _Jerusalem_, no notes worthspeaking of to the rest of the works, and, notwithstanding the claimin the title-page to the merit of a "better order, " has left thecorrespondence in a deplorable state of irregularity, as well as totallywithout elucidation. The learned Professor is an agreeable writer, and, Ibelieve, a very pleasant man, but he certainly is a provoking editor. ]

[Footnote 2: In the beautiful fragment beginning, _O del grand'Apennino:_

 "Me dal sen della madre empia fortuna Pargoletto divelse. Ah! di que' baci, Ch'ella bagnò di lagrime dolenti, Con sospir mi rimembra, e degli ardenti Preghi, che sen portár l'aure fugaci, Ch'io giunger non dovea più volto a volto Fra quelle braccia accolto Con nodi così stretti e sì 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:

 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. ]

[Footnote 3: Rosini, _Saggio sugli Amori di Torquato Tasso_, &c. , in theProfessor's edition of his works, vol. Xxxiii. ]

[Footnote 4: _Lettere Inedite_, p. 33, in the _Opere_, vol. Xvii. ]

[Footnote 5: _Entretiens_, 1663, p. 169 quoted by Scrassi, pp. 175, 182. ]

[Footnote 6: Suggested by Ariosto's furniture in the Moon. ]

[Footnote 7: This was a trick which he afterwards thought he had reasonto complain of in a style very different from pleasantry. ]

[Footnote 8: Alfonso. The word for "leader" in the original, _duce_, madethe allusion more obvious. The epithet "royal, " in the next sentence, conveyed a welcome intimation to the ducal car, the house of Este beingvery proud of its connexion with the sovereigns of Europe, and verydesirous of becoming royal itself. ]

[Footnote 9: Serassi, vol i. P. 210. ]

(Footnote 10: "Alla lor magnanimità è convenevole il mostrar, ch'amordelle virtù, non odio verso altri, gli abbia già mossi ad invitarmi coninvito così largo. " _Opere_, vol. Xv. P. 94. ]

[Footnote 11: The application is the conjecture of Black, vol. I. P. 317. Serassi suppressed the whole passage. The indecent word would have beenknown but for the delicacy or courtliness of Muratori, who substituted an_et-cetera_ in its place, observing, that he had "covered" with it "anindecent word not fit to be printed" ("sotto quell'_et-cetera_ ho iocoperta un'indecente parola, che non era lecito di lasciar correre allestampe. " _Opere del Tasso, _ vol. Xvi. P. 114). By "covered" he seems tohave meant blotted out; for in the latest edition of Tasso the _et-ceterais_ retained. ]

[Footnote 12: Black's version (vol. Ii. P. 58) is not strong enough. Thewords in Serassi are "una ciurma di poltroni, ingrati, e ribaldi. " ii. P. 33. ]

[Footnote 13: _Opere_, vol xiv. Pp. 158, 174, &c. ]

[Footnote 14: "Prego V. Signoria the si contenti, se piace al SerenissimoSignor Duca, Clementissimo ed Invitissimo, the io stia in prigione, difarmi dar le poche robicciole mie, the S. A. Invitissima, Clementissima, Serenissima m' ha promesse tante volte, " &c. _Opere_, vol. Xiv. P. 6. ]

[Footnote 15: "Altera Torquatum cepit Leonora poetam, " &c. ]

[Footnote 16: _Vie du Tasse, _ 1695, p. 51. ]

[Footnote 17: In the Apology _for Raimond de Sebonde_; Essays, vol. Ii. Ch. 12. ]

[Footnote 18: In his _Letter to Zeno, --Opere del

Tasso_, xvi. P. 118. ]

[Footnote 19: _Storia della Poesia Italiana_ (Mathias's edition), vol. Iii. Part i. P 236. ]

[Footnote 20: Serassi is very peremptory, and even abusive. He chargesevery body who has said any thing to the contrary with imposture. "Eglinon v' ha dubbio, che le troppe imprudenti e temerarie parole, che ilTasso si lasciò uscir di bocca in questo incontro, furone la sola cagionedella sua prigionia, e ch' è mera favola ed _impostura_ tutto ciò, chediversamente è stato affermato e scritto da altri in tale proposito. "Vol. Ii. P. 33. But we have seen that the good Abbè could practise alittle imposition himself. ]

[Footnote 21: Black, ii. 88. ]

[Footnote 22: _Hist. Litt. D'Italie_, v. 243, &c. ]

[Footnote 23: Vol. Ii. P. 89. ]

[Footnote 24: Such at least is my impression; but I cannot call theevidence to mind. ]

[Footnote 25: _Literature of the South of Europe_ (Roscoe's translation), vol. Ii. P. 165. To shew the loose way in which the conclusions of aman'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 isnot a tittle of evidence to shew for it. ]

[Footnote 26: _Saggio sugli Amori_, &c. Ut sup p. 84, and passim. Asspecimens of the learned professor's reasoning, it may be observed thatwhenever the words _humble, daring, high, noble_, and _royal_, occur inthe poet's love-verses, he thinks they _must_ allude to the PrincessLeonora; and he argues, that Alfonso never could have been so angry withany "versi lascivi, " if they had not had the same direction. ]

[Footnote 27: _Opere_, vol. Xvii. P. 32. ]

[Footnote 28:

 "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 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. ]

[Footnote 29:

 " Non posso viver in città, ove tutti i nobili, o non miconcedano i primi luoghi, o almeno non si contentino the la cosa inquel the appartiene a queste esteriori dimostrazioni, vada del pari. " _Opere, _, vol. Xiii. P. 153. ]

[Footnote 30: Black, vol. Ii. P. 240. ]

[Footnote 31: The world in general have taken no notice of Tasso'sreconstruction of his _Jerusalem_, which he called the _GerusalemmeConquistata_. It never "obtained, " as the phrase is. It was the meretribute of his declining years to bigotry and new acquaintances; andtherefore I say no more of it. ]

[Footnote 32: _In manus tuas, Domine_. One likes to know the actualwords; at least so it appears to me. ]

[Footnote 33: Serassi, ii. 276. ]

[Footnote 34: "Quem _cernis_, quisquis es, procera statura virum, _luscis_ oculis, &c. Hic Torquatus est. "--Cappacio, _Illustrium LiterisVirorum Elogia et Judici_, quoted by Serassi, ut sup. The Latin word_luscus_, as well as the Italian _losco_, 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 implying a foregoneconclusion, it shews that the defect was obvious to the spectator. ]

[Footnote 35: "Il Signor Duca non crede ad alcuna mia parola. " _Opere_, xiv. 161. ]

[Footnote 36: "Fui da bocca di lui medesimo rassicurato, che dal tempodel suo ritegno in sant'Anna, ch'avenne negli anni trentacinque della suavita e sedici avanti la morte, egli intieramente fu casto: degli anniprimi non mi favellò mai di modo ch' io possa alcuna cosa di certo quiraccontare. " _Opere_, xxxiii. 235. ]

[Footnote 37: It is to be found in the collected works, _ut supra_; bothof the philosopher and the poet. ]

[Footnote 38: It is an extraordinary instance of a man's violating, inolder life, the better critical principles of his youth, --that Tasso, inhis _Discourses on Poetry_, should have objected to a passage in Ariostoabout sighs and tears, as being a "conceit too lyrical, " (though it waswarranted by the subtleties of madness, see present volume, p. 219), andyet afterwards not in the same conceits when wholly without warrant. ]

[Footnote 39: [Greek:

 Dardanion aut aerchen, eus pais Agchisao, Aineias ton hup Agchisae teke di Aphroditae Idaes en knaemoisi, thea brotps eunaetheisa Ouk oios hama toge duo Antaenoros uie, Archilochos t, Akamas te machaes en eidute pasaes. 

 _Iliad_, ii. 819. ]

It is curious that these five lines should abound as much in _a_'sTasso's first stanza does in o's. Similar monotonies are strikinglyobservable in the nomenclatures of Virgil. See his most perfect poem, the _Georgics_:

 "Omnià secum `Armentàrius `Afer àgit, tectumque, Làremque, `Armaque, `Amyclæumque cànem, Cressàmque pharetràm. " Lib. Iii. 343. 

It is clear that Dante never thought of this point. See his Mangiadore, Sanvittore, Natan, Raban, &c. At the end of the twelfth canto of the_Paradiso_. Yet in his time poetry was _recitatived_ to music. So it wasin Petrarch's, who was a lutenist, and who "tried" his verses, to seehow they would go to the instrument. Yet Petrarch could allow himself to write such a quatrain as the following list of rivers

 "Non Tesin, Pò, Varo, Arno, Adige e Tebro, Eufrate, Tigre, Nilo, Ermo, Indo c Gange, Tana, Istro, Alfeo, Garrona, è 'l mar the frange, Rodano, Ibero, Ren, Senna, _Albia, Era, Ebro!_"

In Tasso's _Sette Giornate_, to which Black thinks Milton indebted forhis grand use of proper names, the following is the way in which the poetwrites

 "Di Silvàni Di Pàni, e d' Egipàni, e d' àltri errànti, Ch'empier lè solitariè incultè selvè D'antichè maravigliè; e quell'accòltò Esercitò di Baccò in òriente Ond'egli vinse, e trionfò degl'Indi, Tornandò glòriòsò ai Greci lidi, Siccòm'e favòlòsò anticò gridò. "

The most diversified passage of this kind (as far as I an, aware) isAriosto's list of his friends at the close of the _Orlando_; and yet suchwriting as follows would seem to shew that it was an accident:

 "Iò veggiò il Fracastòrò, il Bevazzanò, Trifòn Gabriel, e il Tassò più lòntanò; Veggo Niccòlò Tiepoli, e con esso Niccòlò Amaniò in me affissar le ciglia; Autòn Fulgòsò, ch'a vedermi appressò Al litò, mòstra gaudiò e maraviglia. Il miò Valeriò e quel che là s'è messò Fuòr de le dònne, " &c. 

 Even Metastasio, who wrote expressly for singers, and often withexquisite modulation, especially in his songs, forgets himself when hecomes to the names of his dramatis persome, --"`Artaserse, `Artàbàno, `Arbàce, Màndàne, Semirà, Megàbise, "--all in one play. 

 "Gran cose io temo. Il mio germàno `Arbàce Pàrte prià de l'aurorà. Il pàdre armàto Incontro, e non mi pàrlà. `Accusà il cielo `Agitàto `Artàserse, e m'àbbàndonà. "

 Atto i. Se. 6. 

I am far from intending to say that these reiterations are not sometimesallowable, nay, often beautiful and desirable. Alliteration itself may berendered an exquisite instrument of music. I am only speaking of monotonyor discord in the enumeration of proper names. ]

[Footnote 40: See them both in the present volume, pp. 420 and 445. ]

OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 

Argument. 

The Mahomedan king of Jerusalem, at the instigation of Ismeno, amagician, deprives a Christian church of its image of the Virgin, andsets it up in a mosque, under a spell of enchantment, as a palladiumagainst the Crusaders. The image is stolen in the night; and the king, unable to discover who has taken it, orders a massacre of the Christianportion of his subjects, which is prevented by Sophronia's accusingherself of the offence. Her lover, Olindo, finding her sentenced to thestake in consequence, disputes with her the right of martyrdom. He iscondemned to suffer with her. The Amazon Clorinda, who has come to fighton the side of Aladin, obtains their pardon in acknowledgment of herservices; and Sophronia, who had not loved Olindo before, now returns hispassion, and goes with him from the stake to the marriage-altar. 

OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA. 

Godfrey of Boulogne, the leader of the Crusaders, was now in full marchfor Jerusalem with the Christian army; and Aladin, the old infidel king, became agitated with wrath and terror. He had heard nothing but accountsof the enemy's irresistible advance. There were many Christians withinhis walls whose insurrection he dreaded; and though he had appeared togrow milder with age, he now, in spite of the frost in his veins, felt ashot for cruelty, as the snake excited by the fire of summer. He longedto stifle his fears of insurrection by a massacre, but dreaded theconsequence in the event of the city's being taken. He thereforecontented himself, for the present, with laying waste the country roundabout it, destroying every possible receptacle of the invaders, poisoning the wells, and doubly fortifying the only weak point in hisfortifications. 

At this juncture the renegade Ismeno stood before him--a bad old man whohad studied unlawful arts. He could bind and loose evil spirits, and drawthe dead out of their tombs, restoring to them breath and perception. This man told the king, that in the church belonging to his Christiansubjects there was an altar underground, on which stood a veiled image ofthe woman whom they worshipped--the mother, as they called her, of theirdead and buried God. A dazzling light burnt for ever before it; and thewalls were hung with the offerings of her credulous devotees. If thisimage, he said, were taken away by the king's own hand, and set up in amosque, such a spell of enchantment could be thrown about it as shouldrender the city impregnable so long as the idol was kept safe. 

Aladin proceeded instantly to the Christian temple, and, treating thepriests with violence, tore the image from its shrine and conveyed it tohis own place of worship. The necromancer then muttered before it hisblasphemous enchantment. But the light of morning no sooner appeared inthe mosque, than the official to whose charge the palladium had beencommitted missed it from its place, and in vain searched every other tofind it. In truth it never was found again; nor is it known to thisday how it went. Some think the Christians took it; others that Heaveninterfered in order to save it from profanation. And well (says thepoet) does it become a pious humility so to think of a disappearance sowonderful. 

The king, who fell into a paroxysm of rage, not doubting that someChristian was the offender, issued a proclamation setting a price onthe head of any one who concealed it. But no discovery was made. Thenecromancer resorted to his art with as little effect. The king thenordered a general Christian massacre. His savage wrath hugged itself onthe reflection, that the criminal would be sure to perish, perish elsewho might. 

The Christians heard the order with an astonishment that took away alltheir powers of resistance. The suddenness of the presence of deathstupified them. They did not resort even to an entreaty. They waited, like sheep, to be butchered. Little did they think what kind of saviourwas at hand. 

There was a maiden among them of ripe years, grave and beautiful; one whotook no heed of her beauty, but was altogether absorbed in high and holythoughts. If she thought of her beauty ever, it was only to subject it tothe dignity of virtue. The greater her worth, the more she concealed itfrom the world, living a close life at home, and veiling herself from alleyes. 

But the rays of such a jewel could not but break through their casket. Love would not consent to have it so locked up. Love turned her veryretirement into attraction. There was a youth who had become enamouredof this hidden treasure. His name was Olindo; Sophronia was that of themaiden. Olindo, like herself, was a Christian; and the humbleness of hispassion was equal to the worth of her that inspired it. He desired much, hoped little, asked nothing. [1] He either knew not how to disclose hislove, or did not dare it. And she either despised it, or did not, orwould not, see it. The poor youth, up to this day, had got nothing by hisdevotion, not even a look. 

The maiden, who was nevertheless as generous as she was virtuous, fellinto deep thought how she might save her Christian brethren. She sooncame to her resolve. She delayed the execution of it a little, only outof a sense of virgin decorum, which, in its turn, made her still moreresolute. She issued forth by herself, in the sight of all, not mufflingup her beauty, nor yet exposing it. She withdrew her eyes beneath a veil, and, attired neither with ostentation nor carelessness, passed throughthe streets with unaffected simplicity, admired by all save herself. Shewent straight before the king. His angry aspect did not repel her. Shedrew aside the veil, and looked him steadily in the face. 

"I am come, " she said, "to beg that you will suspend your wrath, andwithhold the orders given to your people. I know and will give up theauthor of the deed which has offended you, on that condition. "

At the noble confidence thus displayed, at the sudden apparition of somuch lofty and virtuous beauty, the king's countenance was confused, andits angry expression abated. Had his spirit been less stern, or the lookshe gave him less firm in its purpose, he would have loved her. Buthaughty beauty and haughty beholder are seldom drawn together. Glancesof pleasure are the baits of love. And yet, if the ungentle king was notenamoured, he was impressed. He was bent on gazing at her; he felt anemotion of delight. 

"Say on, " he replied; "I accept the condition. "

"Behold then, " said she, "the offender. The deed was the work of thishand. 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 tothe executioner. 

Oh, noble falsehood! when was truth to be compared with thee?[2]

The king was struck dumb. He did not fall into his accustomed transportsof rage. When he recovered from his astonishment, he said, "Who advisedyou to do this? Who was your accomplice?"

"Not a soul, " replied the maiden. "I would not have allowed anotherperson to share a particle of my glory. I alone knew of the deed; I alonecounselled 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?"

"I did not hide it, " she replied, "I burnt it. I thought it fit andrighteous to do so. I knew of no other way to save it from the hands ofthe unbelieving. Ask not for what will never again be found. Be contentwith the vengeance you have before you. "

Oh, chaste heart! oh, exalted soul! oh, creature full of nobleness! thinknot to find a forgiving moment return. Beauty itself is thy shield nolonger. 

The glorious maiden is taken and bound. The cruel king has condemned herto 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. Shesaid nothing; she was not terrified; but yet she was not unmoved. Herbosom heaved in spite of its courage. Her lovely colour was lost in apure 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 sheindeed, and not only condemned, but already at the stake, he madeway through the crowd with violence, crying out, "This is not theperson, --this poor simpleton! She never thought of such a thing; she hadnot the courage to do it; she had not the strength. How was she to carrythe sacred image away? Let her abide by her story if she dare. I did it. "

Such was the love of the poor youth for her that loved him not. 

When he came up to the stake, he gave a formal account of what hepretended to have done. "I climbed in, " he said, "at the window of yourmosque at night, and found a narrow passage round to the image, wherenobody could expect to meet me. I shall not suffer the penalty to beusurped by another. I did the deed, and I will have the honour of doingit, now that it comes to this. Let our places be changed. "

Sophronia had looked up when she heard the youth call out, and she gazedon him with eyes of pity. "What madness is this!" exclaimed she. "Whatcan induce an innocent person to bring destruction on himself fornothing? Can I not bear the thing by myself? Is the anger of one man sotremendous, that one person cannot sustain it? Trust me, friend, you aremistaken. I stand in no need of your company. "

Thus spoke Sophronia to her lover; but not a whit was he disposed toalter his mind. Oh, great and beautiful spectacle! Love and virtue atstrife;--death the prize they contend for;--ruin itself the salvation ofthe conqueror! But the contest irritated the king. He felt himself set atnought; felt death itself despised, as if in despite of the inflictor. "Let them be taken at their words, " cried be; "let both have the prizethey long for. "

The youth is seized on the instant, and bound like the maiden. Both aretied to the stake, and set back to back. They behold not the face of oneanother. The wood is heaped round about them; the fire is kindled. 

The youth broke out into lamentations, but only loud enough to be heardby his fellow-sufferer. "Is this, then, " said he, "the bond which I hopedmight join us? Is this the fire which I thought might possibly warm twolovers' hearts?[3] Too long (is it not so?) have we been divided, and nowtoo 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 thydeath. It is thy fate, not mine, that afflicts me. Oh! too happy were itto me, too sweet and fortunate, if I could obtain grace enough to beset with thee heart to heart, and so breathe out my soul into thy lips!Perhaps thou wouldst do the like with mine, and so give me thy lastsigh. "

Thus spoke the youth in tears; but the maiden gently reproved him. 

She said: "Other thoughts, my friend, and other lamentations befit a timelike this. Why thinkest thou not of thy sins, and of the rewards whichGod has promised to the righteous? Meet thy sufferings in his name; soshall their bitterness be made sweet, and thy soul be carried into therealms above. Cast thine eyes upwards, and behold them. See how beautifulis the sky; how the sun seems to invite thee towards it with itssplendour. "

At words so noble and piteous as these, the Pagans themselves, who stoodwithin hearing, began to weep. The Christians wept too, but in voicesmore lowly. Even the king felt an emotion of pity; but disdaining to giveway to it, he turned aside and withdrew. The maiden alone partook not ofthe 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 ofanother country. The tiger, which formed the crest of his helmet, drewall eyes to it, for it was a cognizance well known. The people began tothink that it was a heroine instead of a hero which they saw, even thefamous Clorinda. Nor did they err in the supposition. 

A despiser of feminine habits had Clorinda been from her childhood. Shedisdained to put her hand to the needle and the distaff. She renouncedevery soft indulgence, every timid retirement, thinking that virtue couldbe safe wherever it went in its own courageous heart; and so she armedher countenance with pride, and pleased herself with making it stern, butnot to the effect she looked for, for the sternness itself pleased. Whileyet a child her little right hand would control the bit of the charger, and she wielded the sword and spear, and hardened her limbs withwrestling, and made them supple for the race; and then as she grew up, she tracked the footsteps of the bear and lion, and followed the trumpetto the wars; and in those and in the depths of the forest she seemed awild creature to mankind, and a man to the wildest creature. She had nowcome out of Persia to wreak her displeasure on the Christians, who hadalready felt the sharpness of her sword; and as she arrived near thisassembled multitude, death was the first thing that met her eyes, but ina shape so perplexing, that she looked narrowly to discern what it was, and then spurred her horse towards the scene of action. The crowd gaveway as she approached, and she halted as she entered the circle round thestake, and sat gazing on the youth and maiden. She wondered to see themale victim lamenting, while the female was mute. But indeed she saw thathe was weeping not out of grief but pity; or at least, not out of grieffor himself; and as to the maiden, she observed her to be so wrapt upin the contemplation of the heavens at which she was gazing, that sheappeared 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 saidnothing. She turned to a white-headed man beside her, and said, "What isthis? Who are these two persons, whom crime, or their ill fortune, hasbrought hither?"

The man answered her briefly, but to the purpose; and she discerned atonce that both must be innocent. She therefore determined to save them. She dismounted, and set the example of putting a stop to the flames, andthen said to the officers, "Let nobody continue this work till I havespoken to the king. Rest assured he will hold you guiltless of thedelay. " The officers obeyed, being struck with her air of confidence andauthority; and she went straight towards the king, who had heard of herarrival, and who was coming to bid her welcome. 

"I am Clorinda, " she said. "Thou knowest me? Then thou knowest, sir, onewho is desirous to defend the good faith and the king of Jerusalem. I amready for any duty that may be assigned me. I fear not the greatest, nordo I disdain the least. Open field or walled city, no post will comeamiss to the king's servant. "

"Illustrious maiden, " answered the king, "who knoweth not Clorinda? Whatregion is there so distant from Asia, or so far away out of the paths ofthe sun, to which the sound of thy achievements has not arrived? Joinedby thee and by thy sword I fear nothing. Godfrey, methinks, is too slowto attack me. Dost thou ask to which post thou shalt be appointed? To thegreatest. None else becomes thee. Thou art lady and mistress 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 haveearned it; but confidence like this reassures me. Grant me, for what Ipropose to do in the good cause, the lives of these two persons. I wavethe uncertainty of their offence; I wave the presumption of innocenceafforded by their own behaviour. I ask their liberation as a favour. Andyet it becomes me, at the same time, to confess, that I do not believethe Christians to have taken the image out of the mosque. It was animpious thing of the magician to put it there. An idol has no business ina Mussulman temple, much less the idols of unbelievers; and my opinionis, that the miracle was the work of Mahomet himself, out of scorn andhatred of the contamination. Let Ismeno prefer his craft, if he will, tothe weapons of a man; but let him not take upon himself the defence of anation of warriors. "

The warlike damsel was silent; and the king, though he could withdifficulty conquer his anger, yet did so, to please his guest. "They arefree, " said he; "I can deny nothing to such a petitioner. Whether it bejustice or not to absolve them, absolved they are. If they are innocent, I pronounce them so; if guilty, I concede their pardon. "

At these words the youth and the maiden were set free. And blissfulindeed was the fortune of Olindo; for love, so proved as his, awoke lovein the noble bosom of Sophronia; and so he passed from the stake tothe marriage-altar, a husband, instead of a wretch condemned--a loverbeloved, instead of a hopeless adorer. 

[Footnote 1: "Brama assai, poco spera, e nulla chiede. " Canto ii. St. 16. A line justly famous. ]

[Footnote 2:

 "Magnanima menzogna! or quando è il vero Sì bello, che si possa a te preporre?"]

[Footnote 3: This conceit is more dwelt upon in the original, coupledwith the one noticed at p. 362. ]

TANCRED AND CLORINDA. 

Argument. 

The Mussulman Amazon Clorinda, who is beloved by the Christian chiefTancred, goes forth in disguise at night to burn the battering tower ofthe Christian army. She effects her purpose; but, in retreating from itsdiscoverers, is accidentally shut out of the gate through which she hadleft the city. She makes her way into the open country, trusting to getin at one of the other gates; but, having been watched by Tancred, whodoes not know her in the armour in which she is disguised, a combatensues between them, in which she is slain. She requests baptism in herlast moments, and receives it from the hands of her despairing lover. 

TANCRED AND CLORINDA

The Christians, in their siege of Jerusalem, had brought a huge rollingtower against the walls, from which they battered and commanded the citywith such deadly effect, that the generous Amazon Clorinda resolved to goforth in disguise and burn it. She disclosed her design to the chieftainArgantes, for the purpose of recommending to him the care of her damsels, in case any misfortune should happen to her; but the warrior, jealous ofthe glory of such an enterprise, insisted on partaking it. The old king, weeping for gratitude, joyfully gave them leave; and the Soldan of Egypt, with a generous emulation, would fain have joined them. Argantes wasabout to give him a disdainful refusal, when the king interposed, andpersuaded the Soldan to remain behind, lest the city should miss too manyof its best defenders at one time; adding, that the risk of sallyingforth should be his, in case the burners of the tower were pursued ontheir return. Argantes and the Amazon then retired to prepare for theexploit, and the magician Ismeno compounded two balls of sulphur for thework of destruction. 

Clorinda took off her beautiful helmet, and her surcoat of cloth ofsilver, and laid aside all her haughty arms, and dressed herself (haplessomen!) in black armour without polish, the better to conceal herself fromthe enemy. Her faithful servant, the good old eunuch Arsetes, who hadattended her from infancy, and was now following her about as well as hecould with his accustomed zeal, anxiously noticed what she was doing, and guessing it was for some desperate enterprise, entreated her, by hiswhite hairs and all the love he had shewn her, to give it up. Finding hisprayers to no purpose, he requested with great emotion that she wouldgive ear to certain matters in her family history, which he at lengthfelt it his duty to disclose. "It would then, " he said, "be for herselfto 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 stillreigning, a king named Senapus, who in common with his people professedthe Christian religion. They are a black though a handsome people, andthe king and his queen were of the salve colour. The king loved herdearly, but was unfortunately so jealous, that he concealed her fromthe sight of mankind. Had it been in his power, I think he would havehindered the very eyes of heaven from beholding her. The sweet lady, however, was wise and humble, and did every thing she could to pleasehim. 

"I was not a Christian myself. I was a Pagan slave, employed among thewomen about the queen, and making one of her special attendants. 

"It happened, that the royal bed-chamber was painted with the story of aholy knight saving a maiden from a dragon;[1] and the maiden had a facebeautifully fair, with blooming cheeks. The queen often prayed andwept before this picture; and it made so great an impression on her, particularly the maiden's face, that when she bore a child, she saw withconsternation that the infant's skin was of the same fair colour. Thischild was thyself. [2]

"Terrified with the thoughts of what her husband would feel at such asight, what a convincing proof he would hold it of a faith on her partthe reverse of spotless, [3] she procured a babe of her own colour bymeans of a confidant; and before thou wert baptised (which is a ceremonythat takes place in Ethiopia later than elsewhere) committed thee to mycare to be brought up at a distance. Who shall relate the tears whichthy mother poured forth, and the sighs and sobs with which they wereinterrupted? How many times, when she thought she had given thee thelast 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 heartsof mortals, and knowest in this matter the spotlessness of mine, darkthough 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. Vouchsafe that she resemble her hapless parent in nothing but a chastelife. And thou, celestial warrior, that didst deliver the maiden out ofthe serpent's mouth, if I have ever lit humble taper on thine altar, andset before thee offerings of gold and incense, be, I implore thee, heradvocate. Be her advocate to such purpose, that in every turn of fortuneshe may be enabled to count on thy good help. ' Here she ceased, torn toher very heart-strings, with a face painted of the colour of death; andI, weeping myself, received thee, and bore thee away, hidden in a sweetcovering of flowers and leaves. 

"I journeyed with thee along a forest, where a tiger came upon us withfury in its eyes. I betook me, alas, to a tree, and left thee lying onthe ground, such terror was in me; and the horrible beast looked downupon thee. But it fell to licking thee with its dreadful tongue, and thoudidst smile to it, and put thy little hand to its jaws; and, lo, it gavethee suck, being a mother itself; and then, wonderful to relate, itreturned into the woods, leaving me to venture down from the tree, andbear thee onward to my place of refuge. There, in a little obscurecottage, I had thee nursed for more than a year; till, feeling that Igrew old, I resolved to avail myself of the riches the queen had givenme, and go into my own country, which was Egypt. I set out for itaccordingly, and had to cross a torrent where thieves threatened me onone side, and the fierce water on the other. I plunged in, holding theeabove the torrent with one hand, till I came to an eddy that tore theefrom me. I thought thee lost. What was my delight and astonishment, onreaching the bank, to find that the water itself had tossed thee upon itin safety!

"But I had a dream at night, which seemed to shew me the cause ofthy good fortune. A warrior appeared before me with a threateningcountenance, holding a sword in my face, and saying in an imperiousvoice, 'Obey the commands of the child's mother and of me, and baptiseit. She is favoured of Heaven, and her lot is in my keeping. It was Ithat put tenderness in the heart of the wild beast, and even a will tosave her in the water. Woe to thee, if thou believest not this vision. Itis a message from the skies. '

"The spirit vanished, and I awoke and pursued my journey; but thinking myown creed the true one, and therefore concluding the dream to be false, Ibaptised thee not; I bred thee what I was myself, a Pagan; and thou didstgrow up, and become great and wonderful in arms, surpassing the deedsof men, and didst acquire riches and lands; and what thy life has beensince, then knowest as well as I; ay, and thou knowest mine own ways too, how I have followed and cautiously waited on thee ever, being to theeboth as a servant and father. 

"Now yesterday morning, as I lay heavily asleep, in consequence of mytroubled mind, the same figure of the warrior made its appearance, butwith a countenance still more threatening, and speaking in a loudervoice. 'Wretch, ' it exclaimed, 'the hour is approaching when Clorindashall end both her life and her belief. She is mine in despite of thee. Misery be thine. ' With these words it darted away as though it flew. 

"Consider then, delight of my soul, what these dreams may portend. Theythreaten 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 asidethese 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. Atlength, however, cheerfully looking up, she said, "I must follow thefaith I was bred in; the faith which thou thyself bred'st me in, although thy words would now make me doubt it. Neither can I give up theenterprise that calls me forth. Such a withdrawal is not to be expectedof an honourable soul. Death may put on the worst face it pleases. Ishall not retreat. "

The intrepid maiden, however, did her best to console her good friend;but the time having arrived for the adventure, she finally bade him be ofgood heart, and so left him. 

Silently, and in the middle of the night, Argantes and Clorinda tooktheir way down the hills of Jerusalem, and, quitting the gates, wentstealthily towards the site of the tower. But its ever-watchful guardswere alarmed. They demanded the watch-word; and, not receiving it, criedout, "To arms! to arms!" The dauntless adventurers plunged forwards withtheir swords; they dashed aside every assailant, pitched the balls ofsulphur into the machine, and in a short time, in the midst of a daringconflict, had the pleasure of seeing the smoke and the flame arise, andthe whole tower blazing to its destruction. A terrible sight it was tothe Christians. Waked up, they came crowding to the place; and the twocompanions, notwithstanding their skill and audacity, were compelled tomake a retreat. The besieged, with the king at their head, now arrivedalso, crowding on the walls; and the gate was opened to let theadventurers in. The Soldan issued forth at the same moment to cover theretreat. Argantes was forced through the gate by Clorinda in spite ofhimself; 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 manhis death; and, in the confusion of the moment, the warders, believingher 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 offoes; and surely at that moment she thought that her life was drawing toits end. Finding, however, that her dark armour befriended her inthe tumult, she mingled with the enemy as though she had been one ofthemselves, and so, by degrees, picked her way through the confusioncaused by the fire. As the wolf, with its bloody mouth, seeks covertin the woods, even so Clorinda got clear out of the multitude into thedarkness 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 inthe midst of strife, and whose passion for her she knew. But now she knewnot that he had seen her; nor did he, poor valiant wretch, know thatthe knight in black armour whom he pursued, was a woman, and Clorinda. Tancred had seen the warrior strike down the assailant at the gate; hehad watched him as he picked his way to escape; and Clorinda now heardthe unknown Tancred coming swiftly on horseback behind her as she wasspeeding round towards another gate in hopes of being let in. 

The heroine at length turned, and said, "How now, friend?--what is thybusiness?"

"Death!" answered the pursuer. 

"Thou shalt have it, " replied the maiden. 

The knight, as his enemy was on foot, dismounted, in order to renderthe combat equal; and their swords are drawn in fury, and the fightbegins. [4]

Worthy of the brightest day-time was that fight--worthy of a theatre fullof valiant be-holders. Be not displeased, O. Night! that I draw it out ofthy bosom, and set it in the serene light of renown: the splendour willbut the more exhibit the great shade of thy darkness. 

No trial was this of skill--no contest of warding and traversing andtaking heed--no artful interchange of blows now pretended, now given inearnest, now glancing. Night-time and rage flung aside all consideration. The swords horribly clashed and hammered on one another. Not a cutdescended in vain--not a thrust was without substance. Shame and furyaggravated one another. Every blow became fiercer than the last. Theyclosed--they could use their blades no longer; they dashed the pummels oftheir swords at one another's faces; they butted and shouldered with helmand buckler. Three times the man threw his arms round the woman withother embraces than those of love--three times they returned to theirswords, and cut and slashed one another's bleeding bodies; till at lengththey were obliged to hold back for the purpose of taking breath. 

Tancred and Clorinda stood fronting one another in the darkness, leaningon their swords for want of strength. The last star in the heavens wasfading in the tinge of dawn; and Tancred saw that his enemy had lost moreblood than himself, and it made him proud and joyful. Oh, foolish mind ofus humans, elated at every fancy of success! Poor wretch! for what dostthou rejoice? How sad will be thy victory! What a misery to look backupon, thy delight! Every drop of that blood will be paid for with worldsof tears!

Dimly thus looking at one another stood the combatants, bleeding a whilein peace. At length Tancred, who wished to know his antagonist, said, "Ithath been no good fortune of ours to be compelled thus to fight wherenobody can behold us; but we have at least become acquainted with thegood swords of one another. Let me request, therefore (if to request anything at such a time be not unbecoming), that I may be no stranger to thyname. Permit me to learn, whatever be the result, who it is that shallhonour my death or my victory. "

"I am not accustomed, " answered the fierce maiden, "to disclose who I am;nor shall I disclose it now. Suffice to hear, that thou seest before theeone 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. " Intothe combat again they dash, feeble as they were. Ferocious indeed is thestrife in which skill is not thought of, and strength itself is dead; inwhich valour rages instead of contends, and feebleness becomes hate andfury. 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 scornwithheld it. 

As in the Ægean Sea, when the south and north winds have lost theviolence of their strength, the billows do not subside nevertheless, butretain the noise and magnitude of their first motion; so the continuedimpulse of the combatants carried them still against one another, hurling them into mutual injury, though they had scarcely life in theirbodies. [5]

And now the fatal hour has come when Clorinda must die. The sword ofTancred is in her bosom to the very hilt. The stomacher under the cuirasswhich enclosed it is filled with a hot flood. 

Her legs give way beneath her. She falls--she feels that she isdeparting. The conqueror, with a still threatening countenance, preparesto follow up his victory, and treads on her as she lies. 

But a new spirit had come upon her--the spirit which called the belovedof Heaven to itself; and, speaking in a sorrowing voice, she thus utteredher last words:

"My friend, thou hast conquered--I forgive thee. Forgive thou me, not formy 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 forcedthemselves into his eyes. Not far off there was a little stream, and theconqueror went to it and filled his helmet; and returning, prepared forthe pious office by unlacing his adversary's helmet. His hands trembledwhen he first beheld the forehead, though he did not yet know it; butwhen the vizor was all down, and the face disclosed, he remained withoutspeech and motion. 

Oh, the sight! oh, the recognition!

He did not die. He summoned up all the powers within him to support hisheart for that moment. He resolved to hold up his duty above 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, andrepeated the words of the sacred office; and while he was repeating them, the sufferer changed countenance for joy, and smiled, and seemed to say, in the cheerfulness of her departure, "The heavens are opening--I go inpeace. " A paleness and a shade together then came over her countenance, as if lilies had been mixed with violets. She looked up at heaven, andheaven itself might be thought for very tenderness to be looking at her;and then she raised a little her hand towards that of the knight (for shecould not speak), and so gave it him in sign of goodwill; and with hispressure of it her soul passed away, and she seemed asleep. 

But Tancred no sooner beheld her dead, than all the strength of mindwhich he had summoned up to support him fell flat on the instant. Hewould have given way to the most frantic outcries; but life and speechseemed to be shut up in one point in his heart; despair seized him likedeath, and he fell senseless beside her. And surely he would have diedindeed, had not a party of his countrymen happened to come up. They werelooking for water, and had found it, and they discovered the bodies atthe same time. The leader knew Tancred by his arms. The beautiful body ofClorinda, though he deemed her a Pagan, he would not leave exposed tothe wolves; so he directed them both to be carried to the pavilion ofTancred, and there placed in separate chambers. 

Dreadful was the waking of Tancred--not for the solemn whispering aroundhim--not for his aching wounds, terrible as they were, --but for the agonyof the recollection that rushed upon him. He would have gone staggeringout of the pavilion to seek the remains of his Clorinda, and save themfrom the wolves; but his friends told him they were at hand, under thecurtain of his own tent. A gleam of pleasure shot across his face, and bestaggered into the chamber; but when he beheld the body gored with hisown hand, and the face, calm indeed, but calm like a pale night withoutstars, he trembled so, that he would have sunk to the ground but for hissupporters. 

"O sweet face!" he exclaimed; "thou mayst be calm now; but what is tocalm me? O hand that was held up to me in sign of peace and forgiveness!to what have I brought thee? Wretch that I am, I do not even weep. Mineeyes are as cruel as my hands. My blood shall be shed instead. "

And with these words he began tearing off the bandages which the surgeonshad put upon him; and he thrust his fingers into his wounds, and wouldhave 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 meantime with the venerable hermit Peter; and when the sufferer awoke, theyaddressed him in kind words, which even his impatience respected; but itwas 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 thedoom of a sinner. The tears then crept into his eyes, and he tried to bepatient, and in some degree was so--only breaking out ever and anon, nowinto exclamations of horror, and now into fond lamentations, talking asif with the shade of his beloved. 

Thus lay Tancred for days together, ever woful; till, falling asleep onenight 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 stoopand wipe the tears from his eyes; and then said, "Behold how happy I am. Behold me, O beloved friend, and see how happy, and bright, and beautifulI am; and consider that it is all owing to thyself. 'Twas thou thattook'st me out of the false path, and made me worthy of admission amongsaints and angels. There, in heaven, I love and rejoice; and there I lookto see thee in thine appointed time; after which we shall both love thegreat God and one another for ever and ever. Be faithful, and commandthyself, and look to the end; for, lo, as far as it is permitted to ablessed 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, anddisappeared. 

Tancred slept a quiet sleep; and when he awoke, he gave himself patientlyup to the will of the physician; and the remains of Clorinda weregathered into a noble tomb. [6]

[Footnote 1: St. George. ]

[Footnote 2: This fiction of a white Ethiop child is taken from the Greekromance of Heliodorus, book the fourth. The imaginative principle onwhich it is founded is true to physiology, and Tasso had a right to useit; but the particular and excessive instance does not appear happy inthe eyes of a modern reader acquainted with the history of _albinos. _]

[Footnote 3: 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. ]

[Footnote 4: 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. ]

[Footnote 5:

 "Qual l'alto Egeo, perchè Aquilone o Noto Cessi, che tutto prima il volse e scosse, Non s'accheta però, ma 'l suono e 'l moto Ritien de l'onde anco agitate e grosse; Tal, se ben manca in lor col sangue voto Quel vigor che le braccia ai colpi mosse, Serbano ancor l'impeto primo, e vanno Da quel sospinti a giunger danno a danno. " Canto xii. St. 63. ]

[Footnote 6: 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 donot occasionally give instances of these conceits, my translations willbelie my criticism. ]

RINALDO AND ARMIDA:

WITH THE

ADVENTURES OF THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 

Argument. 

PART I. --Satan assembles the fiends in council to consider the best meansof opposing the Christians. Armida, the niece of the wizard king ofDamascus, is incited to go to their camp under false pretences, andendeavour to weaken it; which she does by seducing away many of theknights, 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 theirway by Rinaldo. Armida pursues him in wrath, but falls in love with him. 

PART III. --The magician Ismeno succeeds in frightening the Christians intheir 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 ina bower of bliss. He is fetched away by two knights, and leaves her indespair. 

PART V. --Rinaldo disenchants the forest, and has the chief hand in thetaking of Jerusalem. He meets and reconciles Armida. RINALDO AND ARMIDA, ETC. 

Part the First

ARMIDA IN THE CHRISTIAN CAMP. 

The Christians had now commenced their attack on Jerusalem, and brought agreat rolling tower against the walls, built from the wood of a forest inthe neigbbourhood; when the Malignant Spirit, who has never ceased hiswar with Heaven, cast in his mind how he might best defeat their purpose. It was necessary to divide their forces; to destroy their tower; tohinder them from building another; and to make one final triumphanteffort against the whole progress of their arms. 

Forgetting how the right arm of God could launch its thunderbolts, theFiend accordingly seated himself on his throne, and ordered his powers tobe brought together. The Tartarean trumpet, with its hoarse voice, calledup the dwellers in everlasting darkness. The huge black caverns trembledto their depths, and the blind air rebellowed with the thunder. The boltdoes not break forth so horribly when it comes bursting after the flashout of the heavens; nor had the world before ever trembled with such anearthquake. [1]

The gods of the abyss came thronging up on all sides through thegates;--terrible-looking beings with unaccountable aspects, dispensers ofdeath and horror with their eyes;--some stamping with hoofs, some rollingon enormous spires, --their faces human, their hair serpents. There werethousands of shameless Harpies, of pallid Gorgons, of barking Scyllas, of Chimeras that vomited ashes, and of monsters never before heard orthought of, with perverse aspects all mixed up in one. 

The Power of Evil sat looking down upon them, huger than a rock in thesea, or an alp with forked summits. A certain horrible majesty augmentedthe terrors of his aspect. His eyes reddened; his poisonous look hung inthe air like a comet; the mouth, as it opened in the midst of clouds ofbeard, seemed an abyss of darkness and blood; and out of it, as from avolcano, 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 bebrought into Asia; their worshippers were to perish; souls were to berescued from their devices, and Satan's kingdom on earth put an end to. He exhorted them therefore to issue forth once for all and prevent thisfatal consummation by the destruction of the Christian forces. Some ofthe leaders he bade them do their best to disperse, others to slay, others to draw into effeminate pleasures, into rebellion, into the ruinof the whole camp, so that not a vestige might remain of its existence. 

The assembly broke up with the noise of hurricanes. They issued forthto look once more upon the stars, and to sow seeds every where ofdestruction to the Christians. Satan himself followed them, and enteredthe heart of Hydraotes, king of Damascus. 

Hydraotes was a wizard as well as a king, and held the Christians inabhorrence. But he was wise enough to respect their valour; and withSatan's help he discerned the likeliest way to counteract it. He had aniece, 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 wouldprove irresistible. He therefore disclosed to her his object. He told herthat every artifice was lawful, when the intention was to serve one'scountry and one's faith; and he conjured her to do her utmost to separateGodfrey himself from his army, or in the event of that not beingpossible, 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 unusualarts that she had acquired, took her way the same evening, alone, and bythe most sequestered paths, --a female in gown and tresses issuing forthto conquer an army. [2]

She had not travelled many days ere she came in sight of the Christiancamp, the outskirts of which she entered immediately. The Frenchmen allflocked to see her, wondering who she was, and who could have sent themso lovely a messenger. Armida passed onwards, not with a misgiving air, not with an unalluring, and yet not with an immodest one. Her goldentresses she suffered at one moment to escape from under her veil, andat another she gathered them again within it. Her rosy mouth breathedsimplicity as well as voluptuousness. Her bosom was so artfully draped, as to let itself be discerned without seeming to intend it. And thus shepassed along, surprising and transporting every body. Coming at lengthamong the tents of the officers, she requested to be shewn that of theleader; and Eustace eagerly stepped forward to conduct her. 

Eustace was the younger brother of Godfrey. He had all the ardour of histime of life, and the gallantry, in every respect, of a Frenchman. Afterpaying her a profusion of compliments, and learning that she was afugitive in distress, he promised her every thing which his brother'sauthority and his own sword could do for her; and so led her intoGodfrey's presence. 

The pretended fugitive made a lowly obeisance, and then stood mute andblushing, till the general re-assured her. She then told him, that shewas the rightful queen of Damascus, whose throne was usurped by an uncle;that her uncle sought her death, from which she had been saved by the manwho 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 Godfreywould take pity on her condition, and permit some of his captains to aidthe secret wishes of her people, and seat her on the throne. Ten selectedchiefs would overcome, she said, all opposition; and she promised inreturn to become his grateful and faithful vassal. 

The leader of the Christian army sat a while in deliberation. His heartwas inclined to befriend the lady, but his prudence was afraid of a Paganartifice. He thought also that it did not become his piety to turn asidefrom the enterprise which God had favoured. He therefore gave her agentle refusal; but added, that should success attend him, and Jerusalembe taken, he would instantly do what she required. 

Armida looked down, and wept. A mixture of indignation and despairappeared to seize her; and exclaiming that she had no longer a wish tolive, she accused, she said, not a heart so renowned for generosity ashis, but Heaven itself which had steeled it against her. What was she todo? She could not remain in his camp. Virgin modesty forbade that. Shewas not safe out of its bounds. Her enemies tracked her steps. It was fitthat she should die by her own hand. 

An indignant pity took possession of the French officers. They wonderedhow Godfrey could resist the prayers of a creature so beautiful; andEustace openly, though respectfully, remonstrated. He said, that if tenof the best of his captains could not be spared, ten others might;that it especially became the Christians to redress the wrongs of theinnocent; that the death of a tyrant, instead of being a deviation fromthe service of God, was one of the directest means of performing it; andthat France would never endure to hear, that a lady had applied to herknights for assistance, and found her suit refused. 

A murmur of approbation followed the words of Eustace. His companionspressed nearer to the general, and warmly urged his request. 

Godfrey assented to a wish expressed by so many, but not with perfectgoodwill. He bade them remember, that the measure was the result of theirown opinion, not his; and concluded by requesting them at all events, forhis sake, to moderate the excess of their confidence. The transportedwarriors had scarcely any answer to make but that of congratulations tothe lady. She, on her side, while mischief was rejoicing in her heart, first expressed her gratitude to all in words intermixed with smiles andtears, and then carried herself towards every one in particular in themanner which she thought most fitted to ensnare. She behaved to thisperson with cordiality, to that with comparative reserve; to one withphrases only, to another with looks besides, and intimations of secretpreference. The ardour of some she repressed, but still in a manner torekindle it. To others she was all gaiety and attraction; and when othersagain had their eyes upon her, she would fall into fits of absence, andshed tears, as if in secret, and then look up suddenly and laugh, and puton a cheerful patience. And thus she drew them all into her net. 

Yet none of all these men confessed that passion impelled them; everybody laid his enthusiasm to the account of honour--Eustace particularly, because he was most in love. He was also very jealous, especially of theheroical Rinaldo, Prince of Este; and as the squadron of horse to whichthey both belonged--the greatest in the army--had lately been deprived ofits chief, Eustace cast in his mind how he might keep Rinaldo from goingwith Armida, and at the same time secure his own attendance on her, byadvancing him to the vacant post. He offered his services to Rinaldo forthe 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 smilinglyassented, agreeing at the same time to assist the wishes of the lover. The emissaries of Satan, however, were at work in all quarters. IfEustace was jealous of Rinaldo as a rival in love, Gernando, Prince ofNorway, another of the squadron that had lost its chief, was no lessso of his gallantry in war, and of his qualifications for being hiscommander. Gernando was a haughty barbarian, who thought that every sortof pre-eminence was confined to princes of blood royal. He heard ofthe proposal of Eustace with a disgust that broke into the unworthiestexpressions. 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 tothe hero's ears, and breaking down the tranquillity of his contempt, the latter darted towards him, sword in hand, and defied him to singlecombat. Gernando beheld death before him, but made a show of valour, andstood on his defence. A thousand swords leaped forth to back him, mixedwith as many voices; and half the camp of Godfrey tried to withhold theimpetuous youth who was for deciding his quarrel without the general'sleave. But the hero's transport was not to be stopped; he dashed throughthem all, forced the Norwegian to encounter him, and after a storm ofblows that dazzled the man's eyes and took away his senses, ran his swordthrice through the prince's body. He then sent the blade into its sheathreeking as it was, and, taking his way back to his tent, reposed in thecalmness of his triumph. 

The victor had scarcely gone, when the general arrived on the ground. Hebeheld the slain Prince of Norway with acute feelings of regret. What wasto become of his army, if the leaders thus quarrelled among themselves, and his authority was set at nought? The friends of the slain manincreased his anger against Rinaldo, by charging him with all the blameof the catastrophe. The hero's friend, Tancred, assuaged it somewhat bydisclosing the truth, and then ventured to ask pardon for the outbreak. But the wise commander skewed so many reasons why such an offence couldnot be overlooked, and his countenance expressed such a determination toresent it, that the gallant youth hastened secretly to his friend, andurged him to quit the camp till his services should be needed. Rinaldo atfirst called for his arms, and was bent on resisting every body who cameto seize him, had it been even Godfrey himself; but Tancred shewinghim how unjust that would be, and how fatal to the Christian cause, heconsented with an ill grace to depart. He would take nobody with him buttwo squires; and he went away raging with a sense of ill requital forhis achievements, but resolving to prove their value by destroying everyinfidel 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 thecamp 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 jealousof the rest, that at night-time, after the others had been long onthe road, they set out to overtake them, each by himself, and all inviolation of their soldierly words. The ten opposed them as they came up, but to no purpose. Armida reconciled them all in appearance, by feigningto be devoted to each in secret; and thus she rode on with them many amile, till she came to a castle on the Dead Sea, where she was accustomedto practise her unfriendliest arts. 

Meanwhile news came to Godfrey that his Egyptian enemies were at handwith a great fleet, and that his caravan of provisions had been taken bythe robbers of the desert. His army was thus threatened with ruin fromdesertion, starvation, and the sword. He maintained a calm and even acheerful countenance; but in his thoughts he had great anxiety. 

Part the Second. 

ARMIDA'S HATE AND LOVE. 

The castle to which Armida took her prisoners occupied an island close tothe shore in the loathsome Dead Sea. They entered it by means of a narrowbridge; but if their pity had been great at seeing her forced to takerefuge in a spot so desolate and repulsive, how pleasingly was it changedinto as great a surprise at finding a totally different region within thewalls! The gardens were extensive and lovely; the rivulets and fountainsas sweet as the flowery thickets they watered; the breezes refreshing, the skies of a sapphire blue, and the birds were singing round about themin the trees. Her riches astonished them no less. The side of the castlethat looked on the gardens was all marble and gold; a banquet awaitedthem beside a water on a shady lawn, consisting of the exquisitest viandson the costliest plate; and a hundred beautiful maidens attended themwhile they feasted. The enchantress was all smiles and delight; and suchwas her art, that although she bestowed no favour on any body beyond hisbanquet and his hopes, every body thought himself the favoured lover. 

But no sooner was the feast over, than the greatest and worst of theirastonishments ensued. The lady quitted them, saying she should returnpresently. She did so with a troubled and unfriendly countenance, havinga book in one hand, and a little wand in the other. She read in the bookin a low voice, and while she was reading shook the little wand; and theguests, altering in every part of their being, and shrinking into minutebodies, felt an inclination, which they obeyed, to plunge into the waterbeside them. They were fish. In a little while they were again men, looking her in the face with dread and amazement. She had restored themto their humanity. She regarded them with a severe countenance, and said"You have tasted my power; I can exercise it far more terribly--can putyou in dungeons for ever--can turn you to roots in the ground--to flintswithin the rock. Beware of my wrath, and please me; quit your faiths formine, and fight against the blasphemer Godfrey. "

Every Christian but one rejected her alternative with abhorrence. Him shemade one of her champions; the rest were tied and bound, and after beingkept a while in a dungeon were sent off as a present to the King ofEgypt, with an escort that came from Damascus to fetch them. 

Exulting was left the fair and bigoted magician; but she little guessedwhat a new fortune awaited them on the road. The discord with which thepowers of evil had seconded her endeavours to weaken the Christian camp, had turned in this instance against herself. It had made Rinaldo awanderer; it had brought his wanderings into this very path; and he nowmet the prisoners, and bade defiance to the escort. A battle ensued, inwhich the hero won his accustomed victory. The Christians, receiving thearmour of their foes, joyfully took their way back to the camp; and oneof the escort, who escaped the slaughter, returned to Armida with news ofthe deliverance of her captives. 

The mortified enchantress took horse and went in pursuit of Rinaldo, withwrath 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 alittle island which divided the stream in two. [3]

Rinaldo came up with his squires; he beheld on the bank a pillar of whitemarble, and beside it on the water a little boat. The pillar presentedan inscription, inviting travellers to cross to the island and behold awonder of the world. The hero accepted the invitation; but as the boatwas too small to hold more than one person, and the circumstance probablyan appeal to his courage, he bade his squires wait for him, and proceededby himself. 

On reaching the island and casting his eyes eagerly round about, theadventurer could discern nothing but trees and grottos, flowers andgrass, and water. He thought himself trifled with; but as the spot wasbeautiful and refreshing, he took off his helmet, resolving to stay alittle and repose. He crossed to the farther side of the island, and laydown on the river-side. On a sudden he observed the water bubble andgurgle in a manner that was very strange; and presently the top of a headarose 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 soluxurious and so lulling, that the little wind there was seemed tofall in order to listen; and the young warrior was so drowsed with thesweetness, that languor crept through all his senses, and he slept. Armida came from out a thicket and looked on him. She had resolved thathe should perish. But when she saw how placidly he breathed, and what anintimation of beautiful eyes there was in his very eyelids, she hung overhim, still looking. 

In a little while she sat down by his side, always looking. She hung overhim as Narcissus did over the water, and indignation melted out of herheart. She cooled his face with her veil; she made a fan of it; she gaveherself up to the worship of those hidden eyes. Of an enemy she became alover. [4]

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 hissleeping limbs; and then she called her nymphs, and they put him into herear, and she went away with him through the air far off, even to one ofthe Fortunate Islands in the great ocean, where her jealousy, assisted byher art, would be in dread of no visitors, no discovery. She bore him tothe top of a mountain, and cast a spell about the mountain, to make thetop lovely and the sides inaccessible. She put shapes of wild beastsand monsters in the woods of the lowest region, and heaps of ice in thesecond, and alluring and betraying shapes and enchantments towards thesummit; and round the summit she put walls and labyrinths of inextricableerror; and in the heart of these was a palace by a lake, and theloveliest of gardens. 

Mere Rinaldo was awaked by love and beauty; and here for the present heis left. 

Part the Third. 

THE TERRORS OF THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 

Meantime the siege of the Holy City had gone on, with various success oneither side, but chiefly to the loss of the Christians. The machinationsof Satan were prevailing. Rinaldo, in his absence, was thought to havebeen slain by the contrivance of Godfrey, which nearly produced a revoltof the forces. Godfrey was himself wounded in battle by Clorinda: and nowthe great wooden tower was burnt, and Clorinda slain in consequence (asyou have heard in another place), which oppressed the courage of Tancredwith melancholy. 

On the other hand, the Powers of Evil were far from being as prosperousas they wished. They had lost the soul of Clorinda. They had seen Godfreyhealed by a secret messenger from Heaven, who dropt celestial balsaminto his wound. They had seen the return of Armida's prisoners, who hadarrived just in time to change the fortune of a battle, and drive thePagans back within their walls. And worse than all, they had again feltthe arm of St. Michael, who had threatened them with worse consequencesif they reappeared in the contest. 

The fiends, however, had colleagues on earth, who plotted for themmeanwhile. The Christians had set about making another tower; but inthis proceeding they were thwarted by the enchanter Ismeno, who cast hisspells to better purpose this time than he had done in the affair of thestolen image. The forest in which the Christians obtained wood for theseengines 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 impurespirits. No shepherd ever took his flock there; no Pagan would cut abough 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 hiscompanions. 

The necessity of the Christians compelled them to defy this evil reputeof the forest; and Ismeno hastened to oppose them. He drew his line, anduttered his incantations, and called on the spirits whom St. Michael hadrebuked, bidding them come and take charge of the forest--every one ofhis tree, as a soul of its body. The spirits delayed at first, not onlyfor dread of the great angel, but because they resented the biddings ofmortality, even in their own cause. The magician, however, persisted; andhis spells becoming too powerful to be withstood, presently they camepouring in by myriads, occupying the whole place, and rendering the veryapproach to it a task of fear and labour. The first party of men thatcame to cut wood were unable to advance when they beheld the trees, butturned like children, and became the mockery of the camp. Godfrey sentthem back, with a chosen squadron to animate them to the work; but thesquadron themselves, however boldly they affected to proceed, lead nosooner approached the spot, than they found reason to forgive the fearsof the woodcutters. The earth shook; a great wind began rising, with asound of waters; and presently, every dreadful noise ever heard by manseemed mingled into one, and advancing to meet them--roarings of lions, hissings of serpents, pealings and rolls of thunder. The squadron wentback to Godfrey, and plainly confessed that it had not courage enough toenter such a place. 

A leader, of the name of Alcasto, shook his head at this candour with acontemptuous smile. He was a man of the stupider sort of courage, withoutmind enough to conceive danger. "Pretty soldiers, " exclaimed he, "to beafraid of noises and sights! Give the duty to me. Nothing shall stopAlcasto, though the place be the mouth of hell. "

Alcasto went; and he went farther than the rest, and the tremblingwoodcutters once more prepared their axes; but, on a sudden, there sprangup between them and the trees a wall of fire which girded the wholeforest. It had glowing battlements and towers; and on these thereappeared armed spirits, with the strangest and most bewildering aspects. Alcasto retired--slowly indeed, but with shame and terror; nor had he thecourage to re-appear before his commander. Godfrey had him brought, butcould hardly get a word from his lips. The man talked like one in adream. 

At last Tancred went. He would have, gone before; but he had neitherthought the task so difficult, nor did he care for any thing that wasgoing forward. His mind was occupied with the dead Clorinda. He had nowwork that aroused him; and he set out in good earnest for the forest, notunmoved in his imagination, but resolved to defy all appearances. 

Arrived at the wall of fire, Tancred halted a moment, and looked up atthe visages on its battlements, not without alarm. Many reflectionspassed swiftly through his mind, some urging him forward, otherswithholding; but he concluded with stepping right through the fire. Itdid not resist him: he did not feel it. 

The fire vanished; and, in its stead, there poured down a storm of hailand rain, black as midnight. This vanished also. 

Tancred stood amazed for an instant, and then passed on. He was soon inthe thick of the wood, and for some time made his way with difficulty. Ona 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 middle. The cypress was marked with hieroglyphical characters, mixed with somewords in the Syrian tongue which he could read; and these words requestedthe stranger to spare the fated place, nor trouble the departed souls whowere there shut up in the trees. Meantime the wind was constantly moaningaround 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; butrecollecting 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. Tancred's hair stood on end. He smote, however, again, with doubleviolence, resolving to see the end of the marvel; and then he heard awoful voice issuing as from a tomb. 

"Hast thou not hurt me, " it said, "Tancred, enough already? Hast thouslain the human body which I once joyfully inhabited; and now must thoucut and rend me, even in this wretched enclosure? My name was Clorinda. Every tree which thou beholdest is the habitation of some Christian orPagan soul; for all come hither that are slain beneath the walls of thecity, compelled by I know not what power, or for what reason. Every boughin the forest is alive; and when thou cuttest down a tree, thou slayest asoul. "

As a sick man in a dream thinks, and yet thinks not, that he sees somedreadful monster, and, notwithstanding his doubt, wishes to fly from thehorrible perplexity; so the trembling lover, though suspecting what hebeheld, had so frightful an image before his thoughts of Clorinda weepingand wailing after death, and bleeding in her very soul, that he hadnot the heart to do more, or to remain in the place. He returned inbewildered sorrow to Godfrey, and told him all. "It is not in my power, "he said, "to touch another bough of that forest. "[5]

The astonished leader of the Christians now made up his mind to gohimself; and so, with prayer and valour united, bring this appallingadventure to some conclusion. But the hermit Peter dissuaded him. Theholy man, in an ecstacy of foreknowledge, beheld the coming of the onlychampion fated to conclude it; and Godfrey himself the same night had avision from heaven, bidding him grant the petition of those who shouldsue him next day for the recall of Rinaldo from exile--Rinaldo, the righthand 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. 

Part the Fourth

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 whichmiraculously awaited them, sailed along the shores of the Mediterraneanfor the retreat of Armida. They saw the Egyptian army assembled at Gaza, but hoped to return with Rinaldo before it could effect anything atJerusalem. They passed the mouths of the Nile, and Alexandria, andCyrene, and Ptolemais, and the cities of the Moors, and the dangers ofthe Greater and Lesser Whirlpools, and their pilot showed them the spotwhere Carthage stood, --Carthage, now a dead city, whose grave is scarcelydiscernible. For cities die; kingdoms die;--a little sand and grasscovers all that was once lofty in them and glorious. And yet man, forsooth, disdains that he is mortal! Oh, mind of ours, inordinate andproud![6]

After looking towards the site of Carthage, they passed Algiers, andOran, and Tingitana, and beheld the opposite coast of Spain, andthen they cleared the narrow sea of Gibraltar, and came out into theimmeasurable ocean, leaving all sight of land behind them; and sospeeding ever onward in the billows, they beheld at last a cluster ofmountainous and beautiful islands; the larger ones inhabited by a simplepeople, the smaller quite wild and desolate. So at least they appeared. But in one of these smaller islands was the mountain, on the top ofwhich, in the indulgence of every lawless pleasure, lay the champion ofthe Christian faith. This the pilot shewed to the two knights, and thensteered the pinnace into its bay; and here, after a voyage of four daysand nights, it dropped its sails without need of anchor, so mild andsheltered was the port, with natural moles curving towards the entrance, and evergreen woods overhead. 

It was evening, with a beautiful sunset. The knights took leave of thepilot, and setting out instantly on their journey, well furnished withall 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 beamsof the sun they arose and ascended. They had not climbed far, when aserpent rushed out upon the path, entirely stopping it, but fled at thesound of a slender rod, which Ubaldo whisked as he advanced. A lion, forall his cavernous jaws, did the same; nor was greater resistance made bya whole herd of monsters. They now mounted with great labour the regionof ice and snow; but, at the top of it, emerged from winter-time intosummer. The air was full of sweet odours, yet fresh; they sauntered (forthey could not walk fast) over a velvet sward, under trees, by the sideof a shady river; and a bewitching pleasure began to invite their senses. But they knew the river, and bore in mind their duty. It was called theRiver of Laughter. [7] A little way on, increasing in beauty as it went, it formed a lucid pool in a dell; and by the side of this pool was atable spread with every delicacy, and in the midst of it two bathingdamsels, talking and laughing. Sometimes they sprinkled one another, thendived, then partly came up without spewing their faces, then played ahundred tricks, pretending all the while not to see the travellers. Thenthey became quiet, and sunk gently; and, as they reappeared, one of themrose half into sight, sweetly as the morning star when it issues from thewater, dewy and dropping, or as Venus herself arose out of the froth ofthe sea. Such looked this damsel, and so did the crystal moisturego dropping from her tresses. Then she turned her eyes towards thetravellers, and feigning to behold them for the first time, shrunk withinherself. She hastened to undo the knot in which her tresses were tied up, and shook them round about her, and down they fell to the water thick andlong, enclosing that beautiful sight; and yet the enclosure itself wasnot less beautiful. So, hid in the pool below, and in her tresses above, she glanced at the knights through her hair, with a blushing gladness. She blushed and she laughed at the same time; and the blushing was morebeautiful for the laughter, and the laughter for the blushing; and thenshe said, in a voice which would alone have conquered any other hearers, "You are very happy to be allowed to come to this place. Nothing butdelight is here. Our queen must have chosen you from a great number. Butbe pleased first to rid you of the dust of your journey, and to refreshyourselves at this table. "

So spake the one; and the other accompanied her speech with accordantlooks and gestures, as the dance accompanies the music. 

Nor was the allurement unfelt. 

But the companions passed on, taking no notice; and the bathers wentsullenly under the water. [8]

The knights passed through the gates of the park of Armida, and entered alabyrinth made with contrivance the most intricate. Here their path wouldhave been lost, but for a map traced by one who knew the secret. Bythe help of this they threaded it in safety, and issued upon a gardenbeautiful beyond conception. Every thing that could be desired ingardens was presented to their eyes in one landscape, and yet withoutcontradiction or confusion, --flowers, fruits, water, sunny hills, descending woods, retreats into corners and grottos: and what put thelast loveliness upon the scene was, that the art which did it all was nowhere discernible. [9] You might have supposed (so exquisitely was thewild and the cultivated united) that all had somehow happened, not beencontrived. It seemed to be the art of Nature herself; as though, in a fitof playfulness, she had imitated her imitator. But the temperature of theplace, if nothing else, was plainly the work of magic, for blossoms andfruit abounded at the same time. The ripe and the budding fig grew on thesame bough; green apples were clustered upon those with red cheeks; thevines in one place had small leaves and hard little grapes, and in thenext they laid forth their richest tapestry in the sun, heavy withbunches 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 heardbut the whispering of winds and the fall of waters. It seemed as if everything in the place contributed to the harmony and the sweetness. Thenotes of the turtle-dove were deeper here than any where else; the hardoak, and the chaste laurel, and the whole exuberant family of trees, the earth, the water, every element of creation, seemed to have beencompounded but for one object, and to breathe forth the fulness of itsbliss. [10]

The two messengers, hardening their souls with all their might againstthe enchanting impression, 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 heroand his Armida reclining on the grass. [11] Her dress was careless, her hair loose in the summer-wind. His head lay in her bosom; a smiletrembled on her lips and in her eyes, like a sunbeam in water; and as shethus looked on him with passionate love, he looked up at her, face toface, and returned it with all his soul. 

Now she kissed his lips, now his eyes; and then they looked again at oneanother with their ever-hungry looks; and then she kissed him again, andhe gave a sigh so deep you would have thought his soul had gone out ofhim, and passed into hers. The two warriors from their covert gazed onthe loving scene. 

At the lover's side there hung a strange accoutrement for a warrior, namely, a crystal mirror. He rose a little on his elbow, and gave it intoArmida's hands: and in two different objects each beheld but one emotion, she hers in the glass, and he his own in her eyes. But he would notsuffer her to look long at any thing but himself; and then they spakeloving and adoring words; and after a while Armida bound up her hair, andput some flowers into it, as jewels might be put upon gold, and added arose or two to the lilies of her bosom, and adjusted her veil. And neverdid peacock look so proudly beautiful when he displays the pomp of hiseyed plumes; nor was ever the rainbow so sweetly coloured when it curvesforth its dewy bosom against the light. [12] But lovely above all was theeffect of a magic girdle which the enchantress had made with her wholeart, and which she never laid aside day or night. Spirit in it had takensubstance; the subtlest emotions of the soul a shape and palpability. Tender disdains were in it, and repulses that attracted, and levitiesthat endeared, and contentments full of joy, and smiles, and littlewords, and drops of delicious tears, and short-coming sighs, and softkisses. All these she had mingled together, and made one delight outof many, and wound it about her heart, and wore it for a charmirresistible. [13]

And now she kissed him once more, and begged leave of a little absence(for love is courteous ever), and so went as usual to her books and hermagic arts. Rinaldo remained where he was, for he had no power to wishhimself out of the sweet spot; only he would stray a while among thetrees, and amuse himself with the birds and squirrels, and so be a lovinghermit till she returned. And at night they retired under one roof, stillin the midst of the garden. 

But no sooner had Armida gone, than the two warriors issued from theirhiding-place, and stood before the lover, glittering in their noble arms. 

As a war-horse, that has been taken from the wars, and become theluxurious husband of the stud, wanders among the drove in the meadows invile enjoyment; should by chance a trumpet be heard in the place, or adazzling battle-axe become visible, he turns towards it on the instant, and neighs, and longs to be in the lists, and vehemently desires therider on his back who is to dash and be dashed at in the encounter;--evenso 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 ofpleasure, with all his great qualities awaked and eager. 

Ubaldo saw the movement in his heart, and held right in his face theshield of adamant, which had been brought for the purpose. It was amirror that shewed to the eyes of every one who looked into it the veryman as he was. 

But when Rinaldo beheld himself indeed, --when he read his transformation, not in the flattering glass of the enchantress, but by the light ofthis true, and simple, and severe reflector, --his hair tricked out withflowers and unguents, his soft mantle of exquisitest dye, and his verysword rendered undistinguishable for what it was by a garland, --shame andremorse fell upon him. He felt indeed like a dreamer come to himself. Helooked down. He could not speak. He wished to hide himself in the bottomof the sea. 

Ubaldo raised his voice and spoke. "All Europe and Asia, " said he, "arein arms. Whoever desires fame, or is a worshipper of his Saviour, is afighter in the land of Syria. Thou only, O son of Bertoldo, remainestout 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. Whatdream, what lethargy can have drowned a valour like thine? What vilenesshave had attraction for thee? Up, up, and with us. The camp, thecommander himself calls for thee; fortune and victory await thee. Come, fated warrior, and finish thy work; see the false creed which thou hastshaken, laid low beneath thy inevitable sword. "

On hearing these words the noble youth remained for a time withoutspeaking, without moving. At length shame gave way to a passionate senseof his duty. With a new fire in his cheeks, he tore away the effeminateornaments of his servitude, and quitted the spot without a word. In a fewmoments he had threaded the labyrinth: he was outside the gate. Ere longhe was descending the mountain. 

But meantime Armida had received news of the two visitors; and coming tolook for them, and casting her eyes down the steep, she beheld--with hisface, alas, turned no longer towards her own--the hasty steps of her herobetween his companions. She wished to cry aloud, but was unable. Shemight have resorted to some of her magic devices, but her heart forbadeher. She ran, however--for what cared she for dignity?--she ran downthe mountain, hoping still by her beauty and her tears to arrest thefugitive; but his feet were too strong, even for love: she did not reachhim till he had arrived on the sea-shore. Where was her pride now? wherethe scorn she had exhibited to so many suitors? where her coquetry andher self-sufficiency--her love of being loved, with the power to hate thelover? The enchantress was now taught what the passion was, in all itsdespair as well as delight. She cried aloud. She cared not for thepresence of the messengers. "Oh, go not, Rinaldo, " she cried; "go not, ortake me with thee. My heart is torn to pieces. Take me, or turn and killme. Stop, at least, and be cruel to me here. If thou hast the heart tofly 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. Ubaldotold the fugitive that it would be heroical in him to wait and hear whatthe lady had to say, with gentleness and firmness. 

His conquest over himself would then be complete. 

Rinaldo stopped, and Armida came up breathless and in tears--lovelierthan ever. She looked earnestly at him at first, without a word. He gaveher but a glance, and looked aside. 

As a fine singer, before he lets loose his tongue in the lofty utteranceof his emotion, prepares the minds of his hearers with some sweetprelude, exquisitely modulating in a lower tone, --so the enchantress, whose anguish had not deprived her of all sense of her art, breathed afew sighs to dispose the soul of her idol to listen, and then said: "Ido not beg thee to hear me as one that loves me. We both loved once; butthat 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 hastdiscovered a pleasure in hating me. Do so. I come not to deprive thee ofit. If it seem just to thee, just let it be. I too once hated. I hatedthe Christians--hated even thyself. I thought it right to do so: I wasbred 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 mefor it--I loved thee. I loved thee, for the first time that I loved anyone; nay, I made thee love me in turn; and, alas, I gave myself intothine arms. It was wrong. I was foolish; I was wicked. I grant that Ihave deserved thou shouldst think ill of me, that thou shouldst punishme, and quit me, and hate to have any remembrance of this place which Ihad filled with delights. Go; pass over the seas; make war against myfriends and my country; destroy us all, and the religion we believe in. Alas! _'we'_ do I say? The religion is mine no longer--O thou, the cruelidol 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 bemocked; let her be pointed at; only let her be with thee. I will cut offthese tresses, which no longer please thee: I will clothe myself in otherattire, and go with thee into the battle. I have courage and strengthenough to bear thy lance, to lead thy spare-horse, to be, above all, thy shield-bearer--thy shield. Nothing shall touch thee but throughme--through this bosom, Rinaldo. Perhaps mischance may spare thee forits sake. Not a word? not a little word? Do I dare to boast of what thouhadst once a kind word for, though now thou wilt neither look upon me norspeak to me?"

She could say no more: her words were suffocated 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 lookedsorrowful, but composed; and at length he said: "Armida, would I could doas thou wishest; but I cannot. I would relieve thee instantly of all thistumult of emotion. No hate is there in him that must quit thee; no suchdisdain as thou fanciest; nothing but the melancholy and impetuous senseof 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 foundfor thyself? Dear and honoured ever wilt thou be with Rinaldo, whether injoy or sorrow. Count me, if it please thee, thy champion still, as far asmy country and my faith permit; but here, in this spot, must be buriedall else--buried, not for my sake only, but for that of thy beauty, thyworthiness, thy royal blood. Consent to disparage thyself no longer. Peace be with thee. I go where I have no permission to take thee with me. Be happy; be wise. " While Rinaldo was speaking in this manner, Armidachanged colour; her bosom heaved; her eyes took a new kind of fire; scornrose upon her lip. When he finished, she looked at him with a bitternessthat rejected every word he had said; and then she exclaimed: "Thou hastno such blood in thine own veins as thou canst fear to degrade. Thyboasted descent is a fiction: base, and brutish, and insensible was thystock. What being of gentle blood could quit a love like mine withouteven a tear--a sigh? What but the mockery of a man could call me his, andyet leave me? vouchsafe me his pardon, as if I had offended him? excusemy guilt and my tenderness; he, the sage of virtue, and me, the wretch! OGod! 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 thouleavest in this bosom. Begone; take thine injustice from my sight forever. 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 thebattle. Thou wilt lie expiring among the dead and bleeding, and wilt callon 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; and Rinaldo stood over her, weeping at last. Open thine eyes, poor wretch, and see him. Alas, theheavens deny thee the consolation! What will he do? Will he leave theelying there betwixt dead and alive? Or will he go--pitying thee, butstill going? He goes; he is gone; he is in the bark, and the wind is inthe sail; and he looks back--ever back; but still goes: the shore beginsto 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 hervassals, going against the Christians at Jerusalem. 

Part the Fifth. 

THE DISENCHANTMENT OF THE FOREST, AND THE TAKING OF JERUSALEM, &c. 

Rinaldo arrived without loss of time in the Christian camp beforeJerusalem. Every body rejoiced to see the right hand of the army. Godfreygladly pardoned him; the hermit Peter blessed him; he himself retired tobeg the forgiveness and favour of Heaven; and then he went straight tothe Enchanted Forest. 

It was a beautiful morning, and the forest, instead of presenting itsusual terrors, appeared to him singularly tranquil and pleasing. Onentering it he heard, not dreadful thunder-claps, but harmonies madeup 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 theriver higher up suddenly swelled and rushed like a torrent, sweepingthe bridge away. The harmony meanwhile had become silent. Admiring, butnothing daunted, the hero went on. 

Every thing as he advanced appeared to start into fresh beauty. His stepsproduced lilies and roses; here leaped up a fountain, and there camefalling a cascade; the wood itself seemed to grow young as with suddenspring; and he again heard the music and the human voices, though hecould 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 mostbeautiful ever seen: it was taller than a cypress or palm, and seemed thequeen of the forest. Looking around him, he observed to his astonishmentan oak suddenly cleave itself open, and out of it there came a nymph. Ahundred other trees did the same, giving birth to as many nymphs. Theywere all habited as we see them in theatres; only, instead of bows andarrows, each held a lute or guitar. Coming towards the hero with joyfuleyes, they formed a circle about him, and danced; and in their dancingthey sang, and bade him welcome to the haunt of their mistress, theirloving mistress, of whom he was the only hope and joy. Looking as theyspoke towards the myrtle, Rinaldo looked also, and beheld, issuing out ofit--Armida. 

Armida came sweetly towards him, with a countenance at once grieving andrejoicing, but expressing above all infinite affection. "And do I indeedsee thee again?" she said; "and wilt thou not fly me a second time? amI visited to be consoled, or to be treated again as an enemy? is poorArmida so formidable, that thou must needs close up thine helmet whenthou beholdest her? Thou mightest surely have vouchsafed her once more asight of thine eyes. Let us be friends, at least, if we may be nothingmore. Wilt thou not take her hand?"

Rinaldo's answer was, to turn away as from a cheat, to look towards themyrtle-tree, to draw his sword, and proceed with manifest intentions ofassailing 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 slaywhat is bound up with the life of Armida? Thy sword must pass firstthrough her bosom. "

Armida writhed and wailed; Rinaldo nevertheless raised his sword, and itwas 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 swords, and speaking in a voice of thunder. Everyone of the nymphs at the same instant became a Cyclops; tempest andearthquake ensued, and the air was full of ghastly spectres. 

Rinaldo again raised his arm with a more vehement will; he struck, andat the same instant every horror disappeared. The sky was cloudless; theforest was neither terrible nor beautiful, but heavy and sombre as ofold--a natural gloomy wood, but no prodigy. 

Rinaldo returned to the camp, his aspect that of a conqueror; the silverwings of his crest, the white eagle, glittering in the sun. The hermitPeter came forward to greet him; a shout was sent up by the whole camp;Godfrey gave him high reception; nobody envied him. Workmen, no longertrembling, were sent to the forest to cut wood for the machines of war;and the tower was rebuilt, together with battering-rams and balistas, andcatapults, most of them an addition to what they had before. The toweralso was now clothed with bulls-hides, as a security against being set onfire; and a bridge was added to the tower, from which the besiegers couldat once step on the city-walls. 

With these long-desired invigorations of his strength, the commander ofthe army lost no time in making a general assault on Jerusalem; fora dove, supernaturally pursued by a falcon, had brought him lettersintended for the besieged, informing them, that if they could only holdout four days longer, their Egyptian allies would be at hand. The Pagansbeheld with dismay the resuscitated tower, and all the new engines comingagainst them. They fought valiantly; but Rinaldo and Godfrey prevailed. The former was the first to scale the walls, the latter to plant hisstandard from the bridge. The city was entered on all sides, and theenemy driven, first into Solomon's Temple, and then into the Citadel, orTower of David. Before the assault, Godfrey had been vouchsafed a sightof armies of angels in the air, accompanied by the souls of those who hadfallen before Jerusalem; the latter still fighting, the former rejoicing;so that there was no longer doubt of triumph; only it still pleasedHeaven that human 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 theEgyptian army came up to give battle with the Christians, and to restoreJerusalem, if possible, to its late owners, now cramped up in one cornerof it--the citadel. The besiegers in their narrow hold raised a shout ofjoy at the sight; and Godfrey, leaving them to be detained in it by anexperienced captain, went forth to meet his new opponents. Crowns ofAfrica and of Persia were there, and the king of the Indies; and in themidst of all, in a chariot surrounded by her knights and suitors, wasArmida. 

The battle joined, and great was the bravery and the slaughter on bothsides. It seemed at first all glitter and gaiety--its streamers flying, its arms flashing, drums and trumpets rejoicing, and horses rushing withtheir horsemen as to the tournament. Horror looked beautiful in thespectacle. Out of the midst of the dread itself there issued a delight. But soon it was a bloody, and a turbulent, and a raging, and a groaningthing:--pennons down, horses and men rolling over, foes heaped upon oneanother, bright armour exchanged for blood and dirt, flesh trampled, andspirit fatigued. Brave were the Pagans; but how could they stand againstHeaven? Godfrey ordered every thing calmly, like a divine mind; Rinaldoswept down the fiercest multitudes, like an arm of God. The besieged inthe citadel broke forth, only to let the conquerors in. Jerusalem was wonbefore the battle was over. King after king fell, and yet the vanquisheddid not fly. Rinaldo went every where to hasten the rout; and still hadto fight and slay on. Armida beheld him coming where she sat in the midstof her knights; he saw her, and blushed a little: she turned as cold asice, then as hot as fire. Her anger was doubled by the slaughter of herfriends; 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 arrowfell 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 kinddeserted her. Resolving to die by herself in some lonely spot, she gotdown from her chariot to horse, and fled out of the field. Rinaldo sawthe flight; and though one of the knights that remained to her struck himsuch a blow as made him reel in his saddle, he despatched the man withanother like a thunderbolt, and then galloped after the fugitive. 

Armida was in the act of putting a shaft to her bosom, in order to dieupon 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 ruinof her and hers. She closed her disdainful eyes and fainted away. Rinaldosupported her; he loosened her girdle; he bathed her bosom and hereyelids with his tears. Coming at length to herself, still she wouldnot look at him. She would fain not have been supported by him. Sheendeavoured with her weak fingers to undo the strong ones that claspedher; she wept bitterly, and at length spoke, but still without meetinghis eyes. 

"And may I not, " she said, "even die? must I be followed and tormentedeven in my last moments? What mockery of a wish to save me is this! Iwill not be watched; I believe not a syllable of such pity; and I willnot 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 suchhands; they would render even that felicity hateful. Leave me. I couldnot be hindered long from putting an end to my miseries, whateverbarbarous restraint might be put upon me. There are a thousand ways ofdying; and I will be neither hindered, nor deceived, nor flattered--oh, never more!"

Weeping she spoke--weeping always, and sobbing, 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 tenderness, "be calm, and knowme for what I am--no enemy, no conqueror, nothing that intends thee shameor dishonour; but thy champion, thy restorer--he that will preserve thykingdom for thee, and seat thee in house and home. Look at me--look inthese eyes, and see if they speak false. And oh, would to Heaven thouwouldst indeed be as I am in faith. There isn't a queen in all the Eastshould equal thee in glory. "

His tears fell on her eyelids as he spoke--scalding tears; and she lookedat him, and her heart re-opened to its lord, all love and worship; andArmida said, "Behold thy handmaid; dispose of her even as thou wilt. "

And that same day Godfrey of Boulogne was lord of Jerusalem, and paid hisvows on the sepulchre of his Master. 

[Footnote 1:

 "Chiama gli abitator' de l'ombre eterne Il rauco suon de la tartarea tromba. Treman le spaziose atre caverne, E l'aer cieco a quel romor rimbomba. Nè sì stridendo mai da le superne Regioni del cielo il folgor piomba: Nè sì scossa già mai trema la terra, Quando 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 afine one in Politian, the passage in which about the Nile I ought to havecalled to mind at page 168. 

 "Con tal romor, qualor l'aer discorda, Di Giove il foco d'alta nube piomba: Con tal tumulto, onde la gente assorda, Da l'alte cataratte il Nil rimbomba: Con tal orror del Latin sangue ingorda Sonò 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. ]

[Footnote 2:

 "La bella Armida, di sua forma altiera, E de' doni del sesso e de l'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 invitti e schiere armate. " Canto iv. St. 27. ]

[Footnote 3:

 "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. ]

[Footnote 4: I omit a point about "fires" of love, and "ices" of theheart; and I will here observe, once for all, that I omit many such inthese versions of Tasso, for the reason given in the Preface. ]

[Footnote 5: In the original, an impetuous gust of wind carries away thesword of Tancred; a circumstance which I mention because Collins admiredit (see his Ode on the Superstitions of the Highlands). I confess Icannot do so. It seems to me quite superfluous; and when the readerfinds the sword conveniently lying for the hero outside the wood, as hereturns, the effect is childish and pantomimic. If the magician wishedhim not to fight any more, why should he give him the sword back? And ifit was meant as a present to him from Clorinda, what gave her thepower to make the present? Tasso retained both the particulars in the_Gerusalemme Conquistata_. ]

[Footnote 6:

 "Giace l'alta Cartago: appena i segni De l'alte sue ruine il lido serba. 

 Muoiono le città: muoiono i regni: Copre i fasti e le pompe arena ed erba: E l'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!

Very fine is this stanza of Tasso; and yet, like some of the finestwriting of Gray, it is scarcely more than a cento. The commentators callit a "beautiful imitation" of a passage in Sannazzaro; and it is; but thepassage in Sannazzaro is also beautiful. It contains not only the "GiaceCartago, " and the "appena i segni, " &c. , but the contrast of the pridewith the mortality of man, and, above all, the "dying" of the cities, which is the finest thing in the stanza of its imitator. 

 "Qua devictae Carthaginis arces Procubuere, jacentque infausto in littore turres Eversae; quantum ille metus, quantum illa laborum Urbs dedit insultans Latio et Laurentibus arvis! Nunc passim vix reliquias, vix nomina servans, Obruitur propriis non agnoscenda ruinis. Et querimur genus infelix, humana labare Membra aevo, cum regna palam moriantur et urbes. "

 _De Partu Virginis_, lib. Ii. 

The commentators trace the conclusion of this passage to Dante, where hesays that it is no wonder families perish, when cities themselves "havetheir terminations" (termin hanuo): but though there is a like germ ofthought in Dante, the mournful flower of it, the word "death, " is notthere. It was evidently suggested by a passage (also pointed out by thecommentators) in the consolatory letter of Sulpicius to Cicero, on thedeath of his daughter Tullia;--"Heu nos homunculi indignamur, si quisnostrum interiit, aut occisus est, quorum vita brevior esse debet, cumuno loco tot oppidorum cadavera projecta jaceant. " (Alas! we poor humancreatures are indignant if any one of us dies or is slain, frail as arethe materials of which we are constituted; and yet we can see, lyingtogether 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 delTempo, v. 112

 _" Passan le signorie, passano i regni;"

and the fine concluding verse, "Oh nostra mente, " to another perhapsin his _Trionfo della Divinità, v. 61_, not without a recollection ofLucretius, lib. Ii. V. 14:

 "O miseras hominum menteis! o pectora caeca!"]

[Footnote 7: A fountain which caused laughter that killed people is inPomponius Mela's account of the Fortunate Islands; and was the origin ofthat of Boiardo; as I ought to have noticed in the place. ]

[Footnote 8: All this description of the females bathing is in thehighest taste of the voluptuous; particularly the latter part:

 "Qual mattutina stella esce de l'onde Rugiadosa e stillante: o come fuore Spuntò nascendo già da le feconde Spume de l'ocean la Dea d'Amore: Tale apparve costei: tal le sue bionde Chiome stillavan cristallino umore. Poi girò gli occhi, e pur allor s'infinse Que' duo vedere, e in se tutta si strinse:

 E 'l crin the 'n cima al capo avea raccolto In un sol nodo, immantinente sciolse; Che lunghissimo in giù cadendo, e folto, D'un aureo manto i molli avori involse. Oh che vago spettacolo è lor tolto! Ma mon men vago fu chi loro il tolse. Così da l'acque e da capelli ascosa, A lor si volse, lieta e vergognosa. 

 Rideva insieme, e insieme ella arrossia; Ed era nel rossor più bello il riso, E nel riso il rossor, the le copria Insino al mento il delicato viso. " Canto xv. St. 60. 

Spenser, among the other obligations which it delighted him to owe tothis 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. So hid in locks and waves from looker's theft, Nought but her lovely face she for his looking left. 

 Withal she laughèd, 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 withouta 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 smilèd, and she blush'd withal; Her blush her smiling, smiles her blushing graced. "]

[Footnote 9:

 "E quel che 'l bello e 'l caro accresce a l'opre, L'arte, the tutto fa, nulla si scopre. 

 Stimi (si misto il culto è col negletto) Sol naturali e gli ornamenti e i siti. Di natura arte par, the per diletto L'imitatrice sua scherzando imiti. "

The idea of Nature imitating Art, and playfully imitating her, is inOvid; but that of a mixture of cultivation and wildness is, as far as Iam aware, Tasso's own. It gives him the honour of having been the firstto suggest the picturesque principle of modern gardening; as I oughtto have remembered, when assigning it to Spenser in a late publication(_Imagination and Fancy, p. 109_). I should have noticed also, in thesame work, the obligations of Spenser to the Italian poet for the passagebefore quoted about the nymph in the water. ]

[Footnote 10:

 "Par che la dura quercia e 'l casto alloro, E tutta la frondosa ampia famiglia, Par the la terra e l'acqua e formi e spiri Dolcissimi d'amor sensi e sospiri. " St. 16. 

Fairfax in this passage is very graceful and happy (in the first part ofhis stanza he is speaking of a bird that sings with a human voice--whichI 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 breath'd out fancy sweet, and sigh'd out love. "]

[Footnote 11:

 "Ecco tra fronde e fronde il guardo avante Penetra, e vede, o pargli di vedere, Vede per certo, " &c. St. 17. ]

[Footnote 12: The line about the peacock, "Spiega la pompa de l'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 tomind. ]

[Footnote 13:

 "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 ofenchanting Jupiter

Greek: N kai apo staethesphin elusato keston himanta Poikilon' entha de ohi thelktaeria panta tetukto' Enth' heni men philotaes, en d' himeras, en d' oaristus, Parphasis, hae t' eklepse noon puka per phroneonton. ]

 Iliad, lib. Xiv. 214. 

 She said; and from her balmy bosom loosed The girdle that contained all temptinguess-- Love, and desire, and sweet and secret talk Lavish, which robs the wisest of their wits. ]

APPENDIX

 * * * * *

No. I. 

THE DEATH OF AGRICAN. 

BOIARDO. 

 Orlando ed Agricane un' altra fiata Ripreso insieme avean crudel battaglia, La più terribil mai non fu mirata, L'arme l'un l'altro a pezzo a pezzo taglia. Vede Agrican sua gente sbarattata, Nè le può dar aiuto, che le vaglia. Però che Orlando tanto stretto il tiene, Che star con seco a fronte gli conviene. 

 Nel suo segreto fè questo pensiero, Trar fuor di schiera quel Conte gagliardo; E poi Che ucciso l'abbia in su 'l sentiero, Tornare a la battaglia senza tardo; Però che a lui par facile e leggiero Cacciar soletto quel popol codardo; Chè tutti insieme, e 'l suo Re Galafrone, Non li stimava quanto un vil bottone. 

 Con tal proposto si pone a fuggire, Forte correndo sopra la pianura; Il Conte nulla pensa a quel fallire, Anzi crede che 'l faccia per paura. Senz' altro dubbio se 'l pone a seguire, E già son giunti ad una selva scura Appunto in mezzo a quella selva piana, Era un bel prato intorno a una fontana. 

 Fermossi ivi Agricane a quella fonte, E smontò de l'arcion per riposare, Ma non si tolse l'elmo da la fronte, Nè piastra, o scudo si volse levare; E poco dimorò, che giunse 'l Conte, E come il vide a la fonte aspettare, Dissegli: Cavalier, tu sei fuggito, E sì forte mostravi e tanto ardito!

 Come tanta vergogna puoi soffrire, A dar le spalle ad un sol cavaliero! Forse credesti la morte fuggire, Or vedi che fallito hai il pensiero; Chi morir può 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 rimontò in arcione, Poi con voce soave rispondia Tu sei per certo il più franco Barone, Ch'io mai trovassi ne la vita mia, E però del tuo scampo fia cagione La tua prodezza e quella cortesia, Che oggi sì grande al campo usato m'hai, Quando soccorso a mia gente donai. 

 Però ti voglio la vita lasciare, Ma non tornasti più per darmi inciampo. Questo la fuga mi fè simulare, Nè v'ebbi altro partito a darti scampo. Se pur ti piace meco battagliare, Morto ne rimarrai su questo campo; Ma siami testimonio il cielo e 'l sole, Che darti morte mi dispiace e duole. 

 Il Conte gli rispose molto umano, Perchè avea preso già di lui pietate; Quanto sei, disse, più franco e soprano, Più di te mi rincresce in veritate, Che sarai morto, e non sei Cristiano, Ed anderai tra l'anime dannate; Ma se vuoi il corpo e l'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, Perchè potresti predicar invano; Difenda it suo ciascun co 'l brando in mano. 

 Nè più 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 è di prodezza una lumiera, E sterno insieme, com'il libro conta, Da mezzo giorno insino a notte scura, Sempre più franchi a la battaglia dura. 

 Ma poi che 'l sol avea passato il monte E cominciossi a far il ciel stellato, Prima verso del Re parlava it Conte; Che farem, disse, the 'l giorno n'è andato? Disse Agricane, con parole pronte: Ambi ci poseremo in questo prato, E domattina, come il giorno appare, Ritorneremo insieme a battagliare. 

 Così d'accordo il partito si prese; Lega il destrier ciascun come gli piace, Poi sopra a l'erba verde si distese: Come fosse tra loro antica pace, L'uno a l'altro vicino era e palese. Orlando presso al fonte isteso giace, Ed Agricane al bosco più vicino Stassi colcato, a l'ombra d'un gran pino. 

 E ragionando insieme tutta via Di cose degne e condecenti a loro, Guardava il Conte il ciel, poscia dicia: Questo the ora veggiamo, è un bel lavoro, Che fece la divina Monarchia, La luna d'argento e le stelle d'oro, E la luce del giorno e 'l sol lucente, Dio tutto ha fatto per l'umana gente. 

 Disse Agricane: Io comprendo per certo, Che to vuoi de la fede ragionare; Io di nulla scienza son esperto, Nè mai sendo fanciul, volsi imparare; E ruppi il capo al maestro mio per merto; Poi non si potè un altro ritrovare, Che mi mostrasse libro, nè scrittura, Tanto ciascun avea di me paura. 

 E così spesi la mia fanciullezza, In caccie, in giochi d'arme e in cavalcare; Nè mi par che convenga a gentilezza, Star tutto il giorno ne' libri a pensare; Ma la forza del corpo e la destrezza Conviensi al cavaliero esercitare; Dottrina al prete, ed al dottor sta bene; Io tanto saccio quanto mi conviene. 

 Rispose Orlando: Io tiro teco a un seguo, Che l'armi son del'uomo il primo onore; Ma non già che 'l saper faccia un men degno, Anzi l'adorna com' un prato il fiore; Ed è simile a un bove, a un sasso, a un legno, Che non pensa a l'eterno Creatore; Nè ben si puo pensar, senza dottrina, La somma maestade, alta e divina. 

 Disse Agricane: Egli è gran scortesia A voler contrastar con avvantaggio. Io t' ho scoperto la natura mia, E to conosco, the sei dotto e saggio; Se più parlassi, io non risponderia; Piacendoti dormir, dormiti ad aggio; E se meco parlar hai pur diletto, D'arme o d' amor a ragionar t' aspetto. 

 Ora ti prego, che a quel ch' io domando Risponda il vero, a fè d' uomo pregiato; Se in se' veramente quell' Orlando, Che vien tanto nel mondo nominato; E perchè qui sei giunto, e come, e quando; E se mai fosti ancora innamorato; Perche ogni cavalier, ch'è senza amore, Se in vista è vivo, vivo senza core. 

 Rispose il Conte: Quell' Orlando sono, Che uccise Almonte e'l suo fratel Troiano; Amor m' ha posto tutto in abbandono, E venir fammi in questo luogo strano. E perchè teco piu largo ragiono, Voglio the sappi che 'l mio cor è in mano De la figliuola del Re Galafrone, Che ad Albracca dimora nel girone. 

 Tu fai co 'l padre guerra a gran furore, Per prender suo paese e sua castella; Ed io quà son condotto per amore, E per piacer a quella damisella; 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 è Orlando, ed Angelica amava, Fuor di misura si turbò nel volto, Ma per la notte non lo dimostrava; Piangeva sospirando come un stolto, L'anima e 'l petto e 'l spirto gli avvampava, E tanto gelosia gli batte il core, Che non è vivo, e di doglia non more. 

 Poi disse a Orlando: Tu debbi pensare, Che come il giorno sarà dimostrato, Debbiamo insieme la battaglia fare, E l'uno o l'altro rimarrà su 'l prato. Or d'una cosa ti voglio pregare, Che, prima che vegnamo e cotal piato, Quella donzella, che 'l tuo cor disia, Tu l'abbandoni e lascila per mia. 

 Io non potria patire, essendo vivo, Che altri con meco amasse il viso adorno: O l'uno o l'altro al tutto sarà privo Del spirto e de la dama al novo giorno; Altri mai non saprà, che questo rivo E questo bosco, ch'è quivi d'intorno, Che l'abbi rifiutata in cotal loco E in cotal tempo, che sarà sì 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; Così poria spiccar mie membra istesse E levarmi di fronte gli occhi miei, E viver senza spirto e senza core, Come lasciar d' Angelica l'amore. 

 Il Re Agrican, che ardeva oltre misura, Non puote tal risposta comportare; Benchè sia 'l mezzo de la notte scura, Prese Bajardo e su v' ebbe a montare, Ed orgoglioso, con vista sicura, Isgrida al Conte, ed ebbel a sfidare, Dicendo: Cavalier, la dama gaglia Lasciar convienti, o far meco battaglia. 

 Era già il Conte in su l' arcion salito, Perchè, come si mosse il Re possente, Temendo dal Pagan esser tradito, Saltò sopra 'l 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, Cominciarno l' assalto i cavalieri 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 difor forte ed ardito Ma più non dico; il Canto è quì finito. 

ARIOSTO. 

 Seguon gli Scotti ove la guida loro Per l'alta selva alto disdegno mena, Poi che lasciato ha l'uno e l'altro Moro, L'un morto in tutto, e l'altro vivo a pena. Giacque gran pezzo il giovine Medoro, Spicciando il sangue da sì larga vena, Che di sua vita al fin saria venuto, Se non sopravenia chi gli diè 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 è ch'io non ne dissi più novella, Ch'a pena riconoscer la dovreste; Questa, se non sapete, Angelica era, Del gran Can del Catai la figlia altiera. 

 Poi che 'l suo annello Angelica riebbe, Di the Brunel l'avea tenuta priva, In tanto fasto, in tanto orgoglio crebbe, Ch'esser parea di tutto 'l mondo schiva: Se ne va sola, e non si degnerebbe Compagno aver qual più famoso viva; Si sdegna a rimembrar the già suo amante Abbia Orlando nomato, o Sacripante. 

 E, sopra ogn'altro error, via più pentita Era del ben che già a Rinaldo volse. Troppo parendole essersi avvilita, Ch'a riguardar sì basso gli occhi volse. Tant'arroganzia avendo Amor sentita, Più lungamente comportar non volse. Dove giacea Medor, si pose al varco, E l'aspettò, posto lo strale all'arco. 

 Quando Angelica vide il giovinetto Languir ferito, assai vicino a morte, Che del suo Re che giacea senza tetto, Più che del proprio mal, si dolea forte, Insolita pietade in mezo al petto Si sentì entrar per disusate porte, Che le fe' il duro cor tenero e molle; E più quando il suo caso egli narrolle. 

 E rivocando alla memoria l'arte Ch'in India imparò già chirurgia, (Chè par che questo studio in quella parte Nobile e degno e di gran laude sia; E, senza molto rivoltar di carte, Che 'l patre a i figli ereditario il dia) Si dispose operar con succo d'erbe, Ch'a più 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 piena, Che stagna il sangue, e de la piaga rea Leva ogni spasmo e perigliosa pena, La trovò non lontana, e, quella côlta, Dove lasciato avea Medor, diè volta. 

 Nel ritornar s'incontra in un pastore, Ch'a cavallo pel bosco ne veniva Cercando una iuvenca, che gli fuore Duo dì di mandra e senza guardia giva. Seco lo trasse ove perdea il vigore Medor col sangue che del petto usciva; E già n'avea di tanto il terren tinto, Ch'era omai presso a rimanere estinto. 

 Del palafreno Angelica giù scese, E scendere il pastor seco fece anche. Pestò con sassi l'erba, indi la presse, E succo ne cavò fra le man bianche: Ne la piaga n'infuse, e ne distese E pel petto e pel ventre e fin a l'anche; E fu di tal virtù questo liquore, Che stagnò il sangue e gli tornò il vigore:

 E gli diè forza, che poté salire Sopra il cavallo the 'l pastor condusse. Non però 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 pietà ne l'umil case Del cortese pastor seco rimase. 

 Nè, fin che nol tornasse in sanitade, Volea partir: così di lui fe' stima: Tanto sè intenerì de la pietade Che n'ebbe, come in terra il vide prima. Poi, vistone i costumi e la beltade, Roder si sentì il cor d'ascosa lima; Roder si sentì 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 sanità ritratta; Ma in minor tempo si sentì maggiore Piaga di questa avere ella nel core. 

 Assai più larga piaga e più profonda Nel cor senti da non veduto strale, Che da' begli occhi e da la testa bionda Di Medoro avventè l'arcier c'ha l'ale. Arder si sente, e sempre il fuoco abonda, E più cura l'altrui che 'l proprio male. Di sè non cura; e non è ad altro intenta, Ch'a risanar chi lei fere e tormenta. 

 La sua piaga più s'apre e più incrudisce, Quanto piu l' altra si restringe e salda. Il giovine si sana: ella languisce Di nuova febbre, or agghiacciata or calda. Di giorno in giorno in lui beltà fiorisce: La mísera 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 sè stessa aïti: E ben le par che, di quel ch' essa agogna, Non sia tempo aspettar ch' altri la 'nviti. Dunque, rotto ogni freno di vergogna, La lingua ebbe non men che gli occhi arditi; E di quel colpo domandò mercede, Che, forse non sapendo, esso le diede. 

 O Conte Orlando, o Re di Circassia, Vestra inclita virtù, 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 già per lei sofferto. 

 Oh, se potessi ritornar mai vivo, Quanto ti parria duro, o Re Agricane! Che già mostrò costei sì averti a schivo Con repulse crudeli et inumane. O Ferraù, 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 rôsa Coglier lasciò, non ancor tocca inante; Nè persona fu mai si avventurosa, Ch'in quel giardin potesse por le piante. Per adombrar, per onestar la cosa, Si celebrò con cerimonie sante Il matrimonio, ch'auspice ebbe Amore, E pronuba la moglie del pastore. 

 Fêrsi le nozze sotto all'umil tetto Le più solenni che vi potean farsi; E più d'un mese poi stero a diletto I duo tranquilli amanti a ricrearsi. Più lunge non vedea del giovinetto La donna, nè di lui potea saziarsi: Nè, per mai sempre pendegli dal cello, Il suo disir sentìa di lui satollo. 

 Se stava all'ombra, o se del tetto usciva, Avea dì 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 l'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; Così, se v'era alcun sasso men duro. Et era fuori in mille luoghi scritto, E così 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 più ch'a bastanza, fe' disegno Di fare in India del Catai ritorno, E Medor coronar del suo bel regno. Portava al braccio un cerchio d'oro, adorno Di ricche gemme, in testimonio e segno Del ben che 'l Conte Orlando le volea; E portato gran tempo ve l'avea. 

 Quel dono già Morgana a Ziliante, Nel tempo the nel lago ascoso il tenne; Et esso, poi ch'al padre Monodante Per opra e per virtù d'Orlando venne, Lo diede a Orlando: Orlando ch'era amante, Di porsi al braccio it cerchio d'or sostenne, Avendo disegnato di donarlo Alla Regina sua di ch'io vi parlo. 

 Non per amor del Paladino, quanto Perch'era ricco e d'artificio egregio, Caro avuto l'avea la donna tanto Che più non si può aver cosa di pregio. Sè lo serbò ne l'Isola del pianto, Non so già dirvi con the privilegio, Là dove esposta al marin mostro nuda Fu da la gente inospitale e cruda. 

 Quivi non si trovando altra mercede, Ch'al buon pastore et alla moglie dessi, Che serviti gli avea con sì gran fede Dal dì che nel suo albergo si fur messi; Levò dal braccio il cerchio, e gli lo diede, E volse per suo amor che lo tenessi; 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 giù de i montani dorsi; E, costeggiando a man sinistra il lito, A Barcellona andâr pel camin trito. 

 Ma non vi giunser prima ch'un uom pazzo Giacer trovaro in su l'estreme arene, Che, come porco, di loto e di guazzo Tutto era brutto, e volto e petto e schene. Costui si scagliò lor, come cagnazzo Ch' assalir forestier subito viene; E diè for 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. '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), 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. 

 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? 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 all 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 without 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; Nor did the happy pair think fit to go, But spent the month and more within the wood. 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 Æneas 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]

[Footnote 1: This version of the present episode has appeared in printbefore. So has a portion of the _Monks and the Giants_, in the firstvolume. ]

 * * * * *

No. III. 

THE JEALOUSY OF ORLANDO. 

THE SAME. 

 Feron camin diverso i cavallieri, Di quà Zerbino, e di là il Conte Orlando. Prima che pigli il Conte altri sentieri, All'arbor tolse, e a sè ripose il brando; E, dove meglio col Pagan pensosse Di potersi incontrare, il destrier mosse. 

 Lo strano corso the tenne il cavallo Del Saracin pel bosco senza via, Fece ch'Orlando andò duo giorni in fallo, Nè lo trovò, nè potè averne 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. 

 Il merigge facea grato l'orezo Al duro armento et al pastore ignudo; Si che nè Orlando sentia alcun ribrezo, Che la corazza avea, l'elmo e lo scudo. Quivi egli entrò, per riposarsi, in mezo; E v'ebbe travaglioso albergo e crudo, E, più che dir si possa, empio soggiorno, Quell'infelice e sfortunato giorno. 

 Volgendosi ivi intorno, vidi scritti Molti arbuscelli in su l'ombrosa riva. Tosto the fermi v'ebbe gli occhi e fitti, Fu certo esser di man de la sua Diva. Questo era un di quei lochi già 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 chiodi 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'he 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 sè medesmo, stette Ne la speranza il mal contento Orlando, Che si seppe a sè stesso ir procacciando. 

 Ma sempre più raccende e più rinuova, Quanto spenger più cerca, il rio sospetto; Come l'incauto augel che si ritrova In ragna o in visco aver dato di petto, Quanto più batte l'ale e più si prova Di disbrigar, più vi si lega stretto. Orlando viene ove s'incurva il monte A guisa d'arco in su la chiara fonte. 

 Aveano in su l'entrata il luogo adorno Coi piedi storti edere e viti erranti. Quivi soleano al più cocente giorno Stare abbracciati i duo felici amanti. V'aveano i nomi lor dentro e d'intorno Più che in altro de i luoghi circonstanti, Scritti, qual con carbone e qual con gesso, E qual con punte di coltelli impresso. 

 Il mesto Conte a piè quivi discese; E vide in su l'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 commodità che qui m'è 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 paësana o viandante, Che quì sua volontà 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 'l Conte Intendea così ben, come Latino. Fra molte lingue e molte ch'avea pronte Prontissima avea quella il Paladino E gli schivò più volte e danni et onte, Che si trovò tra il popul Saracino. Ma non si vanti, se già n'ebbe frutto; Ch'un danno or n'ha, che può scontargli il tutto. 

 Tre volte, e quattro, e sei, lesse lo scritto Quello infelice, e pur cercando in vano Che non vi fosse quel che v'era scritto; E sempre lo vedea più 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; Sì tutto in preda del dolor si lassa. Credete a chi n'ha fatto esperimento, Che questo è 'l duol che tutti gli altri passa. Caduto gli era sopra il petto il mento, La fronte priva di baldanza, e bassa; Nè potè aver (che 'l duol l'occupò tanto) Alle querele voce, o umore al pianto. 

 L'impetuosa doglia entro rimase, Che volea tutta uscir con troppa fretta. Così veggian restar l'acqua nel vase, Che largo il ventre e la bocca abbia stretta; Chè, nel voltar che si fa in su la base, L'umor, che vorria uscir, tanto s'affretta, E ne l'angusta via tanto s'intrica, Ch'a goccia a goccia fuore esce a fatica. 

 Poi ritorna in sè alquanto, e pensa come Possa esser che non sia la cosa vera: Che voglia alcun così infamare il nome De la sua donna e crede e brama e spera, O gravar lui d'insopportabil some Tanto di gelosia, che sè ne pera; Et abbia quel, sia chi si voglia stato, Molto la man di lei bene imitato. 

 In così poca, in così debol speme Sveglia gli spirti, e gli rifranca un poco; Indi al suo Brigliadoro il dosso preme, Dando già il sole alla sorella loco. Non molto va, che da le vie supreme De i tetti uscir vede il vapor del fuoco, Sente cani abbaiar, muggiare armento; Viene alla villa, e piglia alloggiamento. 

 Languido smonta, e lascia Brigliadoro A un discreto garzon che n'abbia cura. Altri il disarma, altri gli sproni d'oro Gli leva, altri a forbir va l'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 più cerca ritrovar quiete, Tanto ritrova più travaglio e pene; Che de l'odiato scritto ogni parete, Ogni uscio, ogni finestra vede piena. Chieder ne vuol: poi tien le labra chete; Chè teme non si far troppo serena, Troppo chiara la cosa, che di nebbia Cerca offuscar, perchè men nuocer debbia. 

 Poco gli giova usar fraude a sè stesso; Chè senza domandarne è chi ne parla. Il pastor, che lo vede così oppresso Da sua tristrizia, e che vorria levarla, L'istoria nota a sè the dicea spesso Di quei duo amanti a chi volea ascoltarla, Ch'a molti dilettevole fu a udire, Gl'incominciò senza rispetto a dire:

 Come esso a prieghi d'Angelica bella, Portato avea Medoro alla sua villa; Ch'era ferito gravemente, e ch'ella Curò la piaga, e in pochi dì guarilla; Ma che nel cor d'una maggior di quella Lei ferì amor: e di poca scintilla L'accese tanto e sì 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 l'istoria si ridusse, Che 'l pastor fe' portar la gemma inante, Ch'alla sua dipartenza, per mercede Del buono albergo, Angelica gli diede. 

 Questa conclusion fu la secure Che 'l capo a un colpo gli levò 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), Giù 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 là tutto cercando il letto; E più duro ch'un sasso, e più pungente Che se fosse d'urtica, sè lo sente. 

 In tanto aspro travaglio gli soccorre, Che nel medesmo letto in che giaceva L'ingrata donna venutasi a porre Col suo drudo più volte esser doveva. Non altrimenti or quella piuma abborre Nè con minor prestezza sè ne leva, Che de l'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 l'albore Che va dinanzi al nuovo giorno, nasca, Piglia l'arme e il destriero, et esce fuore Per mezo il bosco alla più oscura frasca; E quando poi gli è avviso d'esser solo, Con gridi et urli apre le porte al duolo. 

 Di pianger mai, mai di gridar non resta; Nè la notte nè 'l dì si dà mai pace; Fugge cittadi e borghi, e alla foresta Su 'l terren duro al discoperto giace. Di sè si maraviglia ch'abbia in testa Una fontana d'acqua sì vivace, E come sospirar possa mai tanto; E spesso dice a sè così nel pianto:

 Queste non son più lacrime, che fuore Stillo da gli occhi con sì larga vena. Non suppliron le lacrime al dolore; Finîr, 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 è quel che si versa, e trarrà insieme E 'l dolore e la vita all'ore estreme. 

 Questi, ch'indizio fan del mio tormento, Sospir non sono; nè i sospir son tali. Quelli han triegua talora; io mai non sento Che 'l petto mio men la sua pena esali. Amor, che m'arde il cor, fa questo vento, Mentre dibatte intorno al fuoco l'ali. Amor, con che miracolo lo fai, Che 'n fuoco il tenghi, e nol consumi mai?

 Non son, non sono io quel che paio in viso; Quel, ch'era Orlando, è morto, et è sotterra; La sua donna ingratissima l'ha ucciso; Si, mancando di fe, gli ha fatto guerra. Io son lo spirito suo da lui diviso, Ch'in questo inferno tormentandosi erra, Acciò con l'ombra sia, che sola avanza, Esempio a chi in amor pone speranza. 

 Pel bosco errò tutta la notte il Conte; E allo spuntar della diurna fiamma Lo tornò il suo destin sopra la fonte, Dove Medoro insculse l'epigramma. Veder l'ingiuria sua scritta nel monte L'accese sì, ch'in lui non restò dramma Che non fosse odio, rabbia, ira e furore; Né più indugiò, che trasse il brando fuore. 

 Tagliò lo scritto e 'l 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! Così restâr quel dì, ch'ombra nè gielo A pastor mai non daran più, nè a gregge: E quella fonte già si chiara e pura, Da cotanta ira fu poco sicura:

 Che rami, e ceppi, e tronchi, e sassi, e zolle Non cessò di gittar ne le bell'onde, Fin che da sommo ad imo si turbolle Che non furo mai più chiare nè monde; E stanco al fin, e, al fin di sudor molle, Poi che la lena vinta non risponde Allo sdegno, al grave odio, all'ardente ira, Cade sul prato, e verso il ciel sospira. 

 Afflitto e stanco al fin cade ne l'erba, E ficca gli occhi al cielo, e non fa motto; Senza cibo e dormir così si serba, Che 'l sole esce tre volte, e torna sotto. Di crescer non cessò la pena acerba, Che fuor del senno al fin l'ebbe condotto. Il quarto dì, da gran furor commosso, E maglic e piastre si straccio di dosso. 

 Quì riman l'elmo, e là riman lo scudo; Lontan gli arnesi, e più lontan l'usbergo L'arme sue tutte, in somma vi concludo, Avean pel bosco differente albergo. E poi si squarciò i panni, e mostrò ignudo L'ispido ventre, e tutto 'l petto e 'l tergo; E cominciò la gran follia, sì orrenda, Che de la più non sarà mai 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 nè quella nè scure nè bipenne Era bisogno al suo vigore immenso. Quivi fe' ben de le sue prove eccelse; Ch'un alto pine al primo crollo svelse;

 E svelse dopo il primo altri parecchi, Come tosser finocchi, ebuli o aneti; E fe' il simil di querce e d'olmi vecchi, Di faggi e d' orni e d' illici a d' abeti; Quel ch'un uccellator, the s'apparecchi Il campo mondo, fa, per por le reti, De i giunchi e de le stoppie e de l'urtiche, Facchi de cerri e d' altre piante antiche. 

 I pastor, che sentito hanno il fracasso, Lasciando il gregge sparso alla foresta, Chi di quà, chi di là, tutti a gran passo Vi vengono a veder che cosa è questa. 

 * * * * *

The poet breaks off here, and enters afterwards at large into theconsequences of the madness of Orlando; omitted in this work, for thereasons mentioned at page 224. 

 * * * * *

No. IV. 

THE DEATH OF CLORINDA. 

 TASSO. 

 Ma, ecco omai l'ora fatale è giunta Che 'l viver di Clorinda al suo fin deve. Spinge egli il ferro nel bel sen di punta, Che vi s'immerge, e 'l sangue avido beve; E la veste che d'or vago trapunta Le mammelle stringea tenera e leve L'empie d'un caldo fiume. Ella già sente Morirsi, e 'l piè le manea egro e languente. 

 Quel segue la vittoria, e la trafitta Vergine minacciando incalza e preme: Ella, mentre cadea, la voce afitta Movendo, disse le parole estreme: Parole ch'a lei novo on spirto ditta, Spirto di fè, di carità, di speme: Virtù ch'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, All'alma sì: 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. 

 Poco quindi lontan nel sen del monte Scaturía mormorando an picciol rio: Egli v'accorse, e l'elmo empiè nel fonte, E tornò mesto al grande ufficio e pio. Tremar sentì la man, mentre la fronte, Non conosciuta ancor, sciolse e scoprio. La vide, e la conobbe; e restò senza E voce, e moto. Ahi vista! ahi cognoscenza!

 Non morì già; 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 coll'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 'l sole; E la man nuda e fredda alzando verso Il cavaliero, in vece di parole, Gli dà pegno di pace. In questa forma Passa la bella donna, e par che dorma. 

 Come l'alma gentile uscita ei vede, Rallenta quel vigor ch'avea raccolto, E l'imperio di sè libero cede Al duol già fatto impetuoso e stolto, Ch' al cor si stringe, e chiusa in breve sede La vita, empie di morte i sensi e 'l volto. Già 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, La bell'anima sciolta alfin seguiva, Che poco innanzi a lei spiegava l'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 sè mal vivo, e morto in lei ch'è morta. 

 * * * * *

No V. 

TANCRED IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 

THE SAME. 

 Era in prence Tancredi intanto sorto A seppellir la sua diletta amica; E, benchè in volto sia languido e smorto, E mal atto a portar elmo e lorica, Nulladimen, poi che 'l bisogno ha scorto, Ei non ricusa il rischio o la fatica; Che 'l cor vivace il suo vigor trasfonde Al corpo sì, che par ch'esso n'abbonde. 

 Vassene il valoroso in sè ristretto, E tacito e guardingo al rischio ignoto E sostien della selva il fero aspetto, E 'l 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 città del foco. 

 Allor s' arretra, e dubbio alquanto resta, Fra sè dicendo: Or qui che vaglion l'armi? Nelle fauci de' mostri, e 'n gola a questa Divoratrice fiamma andrò a gettarmi? Non mai la vita, ove cagione onesta Del comun pro la chieda, altri risparmi; Ma nè prodigo sia d' anima grande Uom denso; e tale è ben chi qui la spande. 

 Pur l'oste che dirà, s'indarno io riedo? Qual altra selva ha di troncar speranza? Nè intentato lasciar vorrà Goffredo Mai questo varco. Or, s'oltre alcun s'avanza, Forse l'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!

 Nè sotto l'arme già sentir gli parve Caldo o fervor come di foco intenso; Ma pur, se fosser vere fiamme o larve, Mal potè giudicar sì tosto il senso: Perchè repente, appena tocco, sparve Quel simulacro, e giunse un nuvol denso, Che portò notte e verno; e 'l verno ancora E l'ombra dileguossi in picciol'ora. 

 Stupido sì, ma intrepido rimane Tancredi; e poichè vede il tutto cheto, Mette securo il piè nelle profane Soglie, e spia della selva ogni secreto. Nè più apparenze inusitate e strane, Nè trova alcun per via scontro o divieto, Se non quanto per sè ritarda il bosco La vista e i passi, inviluppato e fosco. 

 Alfine un largo spazio in forma scorge D'anfiteatro, e non è pianta in esso, Salvo che nel suo mezzo altero sorge, Quasi eccelsa piramide, un cipresso. Colà si drizza, e nel mirar s' accorge Ch' era di varj segni il tronco impresso, Simil a quei, chè in vece usò di scritto L'antico già 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. 

 Così dicea quel motto. Egli era intento Delle brevi parole ai segni occulti. Fremere intanto udia continuo il vento Tra le frondi del bosco e tra i virgulti; E trarne un suon che flebile concento Par d'umani sospiri e di singulti; E un non so che confuso instilla al core Di pietà, di spavento e di dolore. 

 Pur tragge alfin la spada, e con gran forza Percote l'alta pianta. Oh maraviglia! Manda fuor sangue la recisa scorza, E fa la terra intorno a sè vermiglia. Tutto si raccapriccia; e pur rinforza Il colpo, e 'l 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. Perchè il misero tronco, a cui m'affisse Il mio duro destino, ancor mi guasti? Dopo la morte gli avversarj tuoi, Crudel, ne' lor sepolcri offender vuoi?

 Clorinda fui: nè sol qui spirto umano Albergo in questa pianta rozza e dura; Ma ciascun altro ancor, Franco o Pagano, Che lassi i membri a piè dell'alte mura, Astretto è 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 è in modo tal conquiso Da varj affetti, che s' agghiaccia e trema; E nel moto potente ed improvviso Gli cade il ferro: e 'l manco e in lui la tema. Va fuor di sè. Presente aver gli è avviso L' offesa donna sua, che plori e gema: Nè può soffrir di rimirar quel sangue, Nè quei gemiti udir d'egro che langue. 

 Così quel contra morte audace core Nulla forma turbò d' alto spavento; Ma lui, che solo è fievole in amore, Falsa imago deluse e van lamento. Il suo caduto ferro instanto fuore Portò del bosco impetuoso vento, Sicchè vinto partissi; e in sulla strada Ritrovò poscia, e ripigliò la spada. 

 Pur non tornò, né ritentando ardio Spiar di novo le cagioni ascose; E poi che, giunto al sommo Duce, unio Gli spirti alquanto, e l'animo compose, Incominciò: Signor, nunzio son io Di non credute e non credibil cose. Ciò che dicean dello spettacol fero, E del suon paventoso, è tutto vero. 

 Maraviglioso foco indi m'apparse, Senza materia in un istante appreso; Che sorse, e, dilatando un muro farse Parve, e d' armati mostri esser difeso. Pur vi passai; che ne l'incendio m' arse, Nè dal ferro mi fu l'andar conteso: Vernò in quel punto, ed annottò: fe' il giorno E la serenità poscia ritorno. 

 Di più dirò; ch'agli alberi dà 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 carne abbian persona. No, no, più non potrei (vinto mi chiamo) Nè corteccia scorzar, nè sveller ramo.