CABINET CYCLOPÆDIA. (continued 4)

He felt his end approaching, and Petrarch's death loosened his last tie to earth. He made his will, and named the sons of his brother Jacopo his heirs. He left legacies to those to whom he owed return for friendship and services; and he concluded, by leaving his library, in the first instance, to his spiritual director, Martino da Signa, to go, after his death, to the convent of the Spirito Santo, at Florence, for the benefit of the studious.

He survived Petrarch one year only, and died at Certaldo, on the 21st December, 1375, in the 63d year of his age. His death was occasioned by a malady of small moment in itself, but fatal in his debilitated state, and aggravated by his continual application. He was buried at Certaldo, in the church of SS. Jacopo and Filippo. His son presided at his funeral, and erected a tomb, on which was inscribed a Latin epitaph, composed by Boccaccio himself, in which he mentions that honourable love of literature which characterised him through life:—"Patria Certaldum; studium fuit alma poesis." He was lamented throughout Italy; but his loss was chiefly deplored in his native city, as, during his residence there, he had redeemed his early follies by a course of life devoted to the cultivation of literature and religion, and the duties of a citizen. While all read with delight the purer productions of his imaginative genius, the learned of every age must feel grateful to his unwearied labours in the preservation of the ancient manuscripts, many of which, but for him, had been lost for ever to the world.

LORENZO DE' MEDICI

(considered as a poet);

FICINO, PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA, POLITIAN, THE PULCI, etc.

After the deaths of Petrarch and Boccaccio, the cause of learning was, to a certain degree, lost. The study of Greek and the search for manuscripts was discontinued. The first person who brought that language again into notice, was Emanuel Chrysoloras, a noble Greek, who was frequently sent into Italy on embassies by the emperor of Constantinople, and employed his leisure in teaching his native tongue in Florence. His disciples were numerous: among these. Poggio Bracciolini was the most distinguished. He discovered and collected a vast number of the most valuable manuscripts. Besides the philosophic and beautiful poem of Lucretius, we owe to him the complete copies of Quintilian, Plautus, Statius, Silius Italicus, Columella, and many others. Several of these exist only from the copy found by him, and were thus rescued from certain destruction. "I did not find them in libraries," he says, "which their dignity demanded, but in a dark and obscure dungeon at the bottom of a tower, in which they were leading the life of the damned." Filelfo was also an ardent collector. The discussions between the Roman and Greek churches brought several Greek scholars and philosophers into Italy, and through them the Platonic doctrines were known to the Italians. 1438. Gemisthus Pletho, who had been master of Chrysoloras, but who survived him many years, was their chief promulgator. They were in opposition to the Aristotelian philosophy, which had so long been the only one taught in the schools of Italy; but their glowing beauty and imagination were adapted to enchant all who heard them. Cosmo de' Medici became their convert, and resolved to establish an academy at Florence for their study and propagation. He caused Marsiglio Ficino, the son of his favourite physician, to be educated for this purpose by the teachers of Platonic philosophy. 1453. Cosmo was also the founder of the Medicean library. The taking of Constantinople by the Turks aided the advancement of learning; and while Cosmo protected many learned Greeks who took refuge at Florence, they spread refinement and knowledge throughout the peninsula.

1464.

Cosmo died soon after; and as his son Piero did not long survive him, Lorenzo succeeded to his wealth and political influence. Lorenzo had been brought up with solicitous attention. He was fortunate in his mother. Madonna Lucretia, a lady of considerable talents and accomplishments, a lover of learning, and patroness of learned men. He was first the pupil of Gentile d' Urbino, bishop of Arezzo; and afterwards of Christofero Landino; and a warm attachment subsisted between master and pupil. He soon gave manifestations of the magnificence of his disposition; and his love of poetry developed itself at an early age. After the death of Cosmo, and his father Piero, however, his life was no longer one of studious leisure or youthful enjoyment; but visited by many disastrous occurrences. 1478. The conspiracy of the Pazzi was directed against his life and that of his brother. Giuliano was its victim; while he with difficulty escaped from the poniard of the assassin. He was scarcely free from these domestic dangers, when he encountered greater foreign ones, from the implacable enmity of Sixtus VI. This pope leagued almost all Italy against Florence, declaring at the same time that Lorenzo was the object of their attack; and that if he were sacrificed, Florence should obtain peace. Lorenzo maintained the weight of this coalition with firmness and dignity. 1479. With heroic gallantry he took the whole responsibility on his own person, and threw himself into the hands of the king of Naples. 1480. His firmness and talents enabled him to induce this monarch to conclude a treaty beneficial and honourable to Florence, and his authority in the republic was thus confirmed greater than ever. From this time he occupied himself by establishing an enduring peace in Italy; not pursuing his object by pusillanimous concessions, but by an unremitted attention to the course of events, and sound policy in preserving the balance of power among the Italian states.

From the anxieties and cares attendant on his public life, he was glad to find relaxation in the cultivation of poetry and the pursuits of philosophy. He loved literature and the fine arts, and devoted much of his time and fortune to their cultivation. He encouraged Greek learning, and was an enthusiastic Platonist. His chief friends were literary men—Politian, Marsiglio Ficino, and the three brothers of the name of Pulci. He busied himself in raising and giving reputation to the university of Pisa. He instituted a yearly celebration of the anniversary of Plato's birth and death, and was the cause that his refined philosophy became the fashion in Italy. All the learned wrote and spoke Plato; and in Florence in particular, classic learning was an indispensable qualification in a well-educated man.

One of the chief merits of Lorenzo is derived from the revival of his native language. A century had elapsed since the golden age of Petrarch and Boccaccio, but the Italian language, instead of redeeming the promise of its birth, had remained mute and inglorious. The neglect which so speedily darkened the native literature, may be attributed to these very men, and especially to Petrarch, who cast disgrace over what he called the vulgar tongue, and taught that Latin was the only worthy medium by which learned men should communicate their ideas—and such Latin! However, the spirit of improvement, which is the most valuable attribute of human nature, led the students who succeeded him to cultivate and understand the implement he placed in their hands. They applied themselves to a critical examination of Latin; and after all, it is perhaps, to the bald, unformed Latinity of Petrarch, that we owe the knowledge which the scholar of the present day possesses of the construction and delicacies of that language. If he had not taught the world, that the object chiefly worthy of their ambition was to imitate the works of Virgil and Cicero, no one had spent the labour necessary to the entire understanding of the language of the Romans.

Yet, while this advantage was derived from his mistake, imagination and genius were silenced; little prose and no poetry, either in Latin or the vulgar tongue, appeared in Italy. The writers educated by Cosmo, Politian, and Ficino, still adhered to the hereditary error, and wrote in Latin. Lorenzo first broke through these rules, and expressed in his native language the fragile and delicate ideas inspired by a poetic imagination. He ranks high as a poet: he does not possess the sublimity and grace of Dante, nor the elegance, tenderness, and incomparable sweetness of Petrarch; but his merits are original and conspicuous: simplicity and vivacity adorn his verses. His love poems are full of fire, and come from the heart; his descriptions are delightful, from their truth, elegance, and flow of fancy throughout; his diction is that of a genuine poet.

It is singular, that although Lorenzo possessed the germ of real poetry in his mind, he began to work himself up to writing verses in a manner that appears cold to our northern imaginations: he resolved to love, and resolved to write verses on her he loved; yet, being a poet, and a man whose heart easily opened itself to the warmer affections, no doubt a great deal of real feeling accompanied his aspirations. He himself gives the account of all these circumstances in a commentary written on his first sonnets.

His brother Guiliano had been deeply attached to a lovely girl named Simonetta, who died in the bloom of beauty: it is supposed, that he alludes to her when he describes the excitement caused by the public funeral of a beautiful young lady, whose admirers crowded round her open bier, and gazed, for the last time, on the pallid face of the object of their adoration, which was exposed uncovered to their view, accompanying the funeral with their tears. All the eloquence and talent of Florence were exerted to pay honour to her memory in prose and verse. Lorenzo himself composed a few sonnets, and to give them greater effect, he tried to imagine that he also was a lover, mourning over the untimely end of one beloved, and then again he reflected that he might write still more feelingly, if he could discover a living object, to whom to address his homage. He looked round among the beauties of Florence, to discover one whose perfections should satisfy his judgment, as worthy of inspiring a sincere and constant attachment. At last, at a public festival, he beheld a girl so lovely and attractive in her appearance, that, as he gazed on her, he said to himself, "If this person were possessed of the delicacy, the understanding, and accomplishments of her who is lately dead, most certainly she excels her in personal charms." On becoming acquainted with her, he found his fondest dreams realised: she was perfectly beautiful, clever, vivacious, yet full of dignity and sweetness. It is a pity that this account rather chills us as we read his sonnets, and we feel them rather as coming from the head than heart: yet they are tender and graceful; and it is not difficult for a youth of an ardent disposition, and an Italian, to love a beautiful girl, even at the word of command.

One of these sonnets possesses the simplicity and grace which distinguish Lorenzo's poetry: we give Mr. Roscoe's translation of it, and yet are not satisfied. Mr. Roscoe wrote at a time when the common-places of versification, brought in by the imitators of Pope, were still in vogue; but this observation applies chiefly to the beginning of the sonnet; the conclusion is better, yet the whole wants the brightness and spring of the original. Happy are those who can refer to that.[78]

Many sonnets and canzoni were written to celebrate this lady's perfections and his passion, but he never mentions her name. From contemporary poets, Politian and Verini, who addressed her, and Valori, who wrote a life of Lorenzo, we learn, that her name was Lucretia, of the noble family of Donati; an ancestor of whom, Cuzio Donato, had been celebrated for his military enterprises. But it is mutual love that excites our sympathy, and there is no token that Lucretia regarded her lover with more fervour than he deserved; for, however Verini may undertake to prove that he was worthy of a return for his attachment, a different opinion must be formed, when we find that he married a short time after, not the sighed for Lucretia, but Clarice degli Orsini; and although the usual excuse is given, that this marriage was consented to by him to please his relatives, and as he expresses it, "I took for a wife, or rather was given me;" yet as Lucretia must have been the victim of his obedience, it is agreeable to find that she gave slight ear to his empty or deceptive protestations.

His other poems were composed as recreation during a busy life, and many of them are animated by glowing sensibility or light-hearted hilarity. Among them the most celebrated is "La Nencia da Barbarino," where he makes a swain praise his mistress in rustic phrase; this is a dangerous experiment, but Lorenzo perfectly succeeded. His poem is totally devoid of affectation, and is so charming for its earnestness and simplicity, that it was repeated and sung by every one in Florence. Many tried to imitate the style, but vainly; and they complained that, though many peasant girls were celebrated, La Nencia da Barbarino was the only rustic beauty who could gain the popular favour.

His Canzoni Carnaleschi are animated and original; he was the inventor of this style of song. He exerted himself, on all occasions, to vary and refine the public amusements of Florence, and during the carnival, the period of gaiety and pleasure in Catholic countries, introduced processions and dances of a novel and delightful description. It was the custom of the women to form themselves into bands of twelve, and, linked hand with hand, to sing as they danced in a circle. Lorenzo composed several canzoni a ballo, which became favourites for these occasions. One of these,—

is the prettiest and most spirited song for May ever written. His processions and masquerades afforded also subjects for verse. Bands of people paraded the city in character, personating triumphs, or exhibitions of the arts; and Lorenzo wrote songs, which they chanted as they passed along. It is singular, that, free and energetic as the Florentines were, yet the songs composed for them never spoke of liberty, but turned upon love only: love was all their theme—love that was often licentiousness, and yet described with such truth and beauty, as must have tended greatly to enervate, and even to vitiate, the various persons that formed these gay companies. Lorenzo's canzoni are tainted with this defect.

Lorenzo was a faithful and kind, though not a fond husband. His feelings were always held in discipline by him; and if he were too sensitive to the influence of beauty, yet his actions were all regulated by that excellent sense of justice and duty which is his admirable characteristic. There are some elegiac stanzas preserved of his, which prove that he suffered at one time the struggles and errors of passion, and was subdued by it to other thoughts than those which his reason approved. How different is this poem to those addressed to Lucretia Donati. There is no Platonic refinement, no subtlety, no conceit, no imitation of Petrarch; its diction is clear and sweet; truth and strength of feeling animate each expression; it bears the stamp of heartfelt sincerity, and is adorned by all the delicacy which real passion inspires. "Ah!" he exclaims, "had we been joined in marriage! Had you been earlier born, or had I come later into the world!" These stanzas are even left unfinished, and probably were concealed, as revealing a secret which it would have been fatal to have discovered to the world.

Besides the animated and gay songs, and choruses, in which Lorenzo is unrivalled, he wrote several descriptive poems: one long one relates the history of how his favourite country house, named Ambra, was carried away by the overflowing of the Ombrone. He figures the villa to be a nymph, of whom the river god is enamoured, and, like one of Ovid's heroines, she falls a victim to his pursuit. The descriptions in this poem are lively, true, and graceful. The "Caccia di Falcone" gives a spirited detail of the disasters that befall falconers: he bring in several of his friends by name. "Where is Luigi Pulci," he cries, "that we do not hear him? He is gone before in that grove, for some whim has seized him, and he has retreated to meditate a sonnet."

April 8. 1492

Lorenzo died at the early age of forty-four, of a painful and inexplicable disorder, which, attacking his stomach, gave rise to the idea that he was poisoned. He was considerate and affectionate to the last; endeavouring to impress his system of policy on his son's mind, and exerting himself to lighten the grief of those around him. Potents and wonders followed his death, which even Machiavelli, then a very young man, deemed miraculous. He was universally lamented; and the downfall of his family, which occurred soon after, through the misconduct of his eldest son, Piero, renewed the grief of the friends who survived him.

MARSIGLIO FICINO

The literary tastes of Cosmo, the talents and admirable qualities of Lucretia, the mother of Lorenzo, and the example and protection of Lorenzo himself, rendered his a golden era for poets and philosophers. It has been already mentioned, that for the sake of spreading abroad a knowledge of the Platonic doctrines, Cosmo had caused the son of his favourite physician to be educated in the study and cultivation of them. Marsiglio Ficino was born at Florence, on the 18th of October, 1433. His first studies were directed by Luca Quarqualio, with whom he read Cicero, and other Latin authors; applying his attention principally to the mention made of Plato, and already admiring and loving his philosophy. His father, being poor, sent him to study at Bologna, to the discontent of Marsiglio; but fortunately, one day, during a casual visit to Florence, his father led him to Cosmo de' Medici, who, struck with the intelligence exhibited in his countenance, chose him at once, young as he was, to be the future support of his Platonic academy; and, turning to the father, said, "You were sent us by heaven to cure the body, but your son is certainly destined to cure the mind."[79] He adopted him in his house; and Marsiglio never ceased to testify his gratitude, and to declare that he had been to him a second father. He was given up henceforth to Platonism. At the age of twenty-three he wrote his "Platonic Institutions." Plato was his idol; he talked Plato, thought Plato, and became almost mad for Plato, and his deepest and most wonderful mysteries. The celebrated Pico della Mirandola shared his studies and enthusiasm. It was not, however, till after having written his "Institutions," that, at the advice of Cosmo, he learnt Greek, the better to understand his favourite author. He translated, as the first fruits of this study, the "Hymns of Orpheus" into Latin; he translated, also, the "Treatise on the Origin of the World," attributed to Hermes Trismegistus; and, presenting it to Cosimo, he was rewarded by him by the gift of a podere, or small farm, appertaining to his own villa of Caneggi near Florence, and a house in the city, besides some magnificent manuscripts of Plato and Plotinus. 1468. Ætat. 35. After this Ficino occupied himself by translating the whole of Plato's works into Latin, which he completed in five years. He afterwards assumed the clerical profession, and Lorenzo bestowed on him the cure of two churches, and made him canon of the cathedral of Florence, on which he gave up his patrimony to his brothers. 1475. Ætat. 42. He was a disinterested and blameless man: gentle and agreeable in his manners, no violent passions nor desires disturbed the calm of his mind. He loved solitude, and delighted to pass his time in the country, in the society of his philosophic friends. His health was feeble, and he was subject to severe indispositions, which could not induce him to diminish the ardour with which he pursued his studies. Sixtus IV., and Mathew Corvino, king of Hungary, tried to induce him, by magnificent offers, to take up his abode at their several courts, but he would not quit Florence. Many foreigners, particularly from Germany, visited Italy for the express purpose of seeing him, and studying under him. He died on the first of October, 1499, at the age of sixty-six. In the year 1521, a marble statue was erected in Florence to his memory.

GIOVANNI PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA

As the name of Pico della Mirandola has been mentioned, it is impossible not to bestow some attention on a man who was the glory and admiration of Italy. Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Conte della Concordia, was born in the year 1463; his father, Gian Francesco Pico, was lord of Mirandola and Concordia; his mother's name was Julia Boiarda. From his earliest years he manifested an extraordinary understanding and memory: he was naturally disposed to literary and poetic pursuits; but at the age of fourteen, being destined, as a younger son, for the church, he was sent to Bologna to study canon law. After two years spent in this way, he resolved to give himself up to philosophy, and visited the most celebrated schools of France and Italy, in which, studying under and disputing with the professors of highest reputation, he acquired an erudition that made him the wonder and delight of his contemporaries. To Greek and Latin he added a knowledge of Hebrew, Chaldaic, and Arabic. He relates how he was enticed by an impostor to purchase, at a high price, seventy Hebrew manuscripts, which he was told were genuine, and composed by order of Esdras, and contained the most recondite mysteries of religion. These were the books of the Cabala, or of the Traditions, which the Jews believe to have been collected at the command of Esdras. At the age of twenty-three Pico visited Rome, during the reign of Innocent VIII.; and here he published 900 propositions—dialectic, moral, physical, mathematical, theological, &c. &c.—offering to dispute with any one concerning them. These propositions still exist among his works, a sorrowful monument of the pedantry of the age, which could turn aside so admirable an understanding, from loftier and more useful studies, to the subtilties and frivolities of scholastic arguments. But, in those days, they caused Pico to be considered something wonderful, and almost divine. Yet they led him into annoyance, as envy caused other learned men to denounce thirteen among the propositions to be heretical, and he wrote a long apology to clear himself. This rather increased his difficulties; twice he was cited before the papal tribunal, but was each time pronounced innocent. This persecution caused him to reform his life. Handsome, young, rich, and of attractive manners, he had hitherto enjoyed the pleasures usual to his period of life; but henceforth he gave himself up to piety, burning his love verses, and devoting himself to theology and philosophy. He spent the last years of his life at Florence, in the society of Lorenzo and his friends. He was beside Lorenzo at his last moments; and, in a cheerful conversation with him, that amiable man spent his last hours, saying, that he should meet death with more satisfaction after this interview. Pico has been praised by every writer for his beneficence and generosity; he died in the year 1494, in his thirty-second year only.

ANGELO POLIZIANO

Politian formed a third, and was the dearest of Lorenzo's friends. He was born at Monte Pulciano, a small town not far from Florence; he was named Angelo, and his father was called Benedetto di Cini. The son adopted the place of his birth for a surname, changing Pulciano into the more euphonic appellation of Poliziano. He was born on the 24th of July, 1454: his father was poor, which occasioned him in his youth to call himself Angelo Basso. Brought to Florence during his childhood, he studied under the most celebrated scholars of the day, Cristofero Landino, and Giovanni Agyropylo. It is uncertain whether he derived this advantage from his father's care, or from the kindness of Lorenzo de' Medici, as it is not known at what age he first became known to that munificent patron. His own words are, "From boyhood almost I was brought up in that asylum of virtue, the palace of the great Lorenzo de' Medici, prince of his flourishing republic of Florence."[80] These words coincide with the general idea, that at a very early age he attracted the notice of Lorenzo by his poem entitled, "Giostra di Giuliano de' Medici," written to celebrate the first tournament of Giuliano, as Luca Pulci had composed another in honour of that of Lorenzo. This poem consists of 1400 lines, and yet is left unfinished; breaking off at the moment that the tournament is about to begin. It commences by an address to Lorenzo, and then goes on to describe the youthful occupations of Giuliano, his carelessness of female beauty, and the subduing of his heart by the lovely Simonetta. A description of Venus and the island of Cyprus is introduced: it concludes abruptly, as is often the case with youthful attempts. Yet the beauty and variety of the ideas, and smoothness and elegance of the versification, render it doubtful to critics whether it was written at so early an age as fourteen. At least it must cause regret that he afterwards applied himself to compositions in Latin: for though his poetry in that language has a life and vigour which distinguishes it from any other of his age, yet it must always fall short of the genuine flow of thought, in which a poet so easily indulges when he adopts his native tongue.

From the period that he took up his abode in Lorenzo's palace, he received the instructions of the most celebrated men of the age, and his progress showed his aptitude to learn. He enjoyed here also the society of Lorenzo's accomplished mother, Lucretia Tornabuoni, a lover of poetry, and herself a poetess. Lorenzo afterwards appointed him tutor to his children; but he did not agree so well with Mona Clarice. When Lorenzo was engaged in the hazardous war that disturbed the beginning of his political life, he sent his wife and children to Pistoia, with Politian as tutor, who wrote frequent letters to Lorenzo, with accounts of the well-being and occupations of his family. "Piero," he writes, "never leaves my side, nor I his. I should like to be useful to you in greater things; but since this is entrusted to me, I willingly undertake it."—"All your family are well. Piero studies moderately; and we wander through the town to amuse ourselves. We visit the gardens, of which this city is full, and sometimes the library of Maestro Zambino, where I found several good Greek and Latin books. Giovanni[81] rides on his pony have all day long, followed by numbers of people. Mona Clarice is well in health; but takes pleasure in nothing but the good news she receives from you, and seldom quits the house." In another letter he asks, that more power may be given to him over the studies of the boys:—"As for Giovanni, his mother employs him in reading the Psalter, which I by no means commend. Whilst she declined interfering with him, it is wonderful how he got on." Monna Clarice was not better pleased with the tutor than he with her. She writes to her husband—"I wish you would not make me the fable of Francho, as I was of Luigi Pulci; and that Messer Angelo should not say that he remains in my house in spite of me. I told you, that if you wished it, I was satisfied that he should stay, though I have suffered a thousand impertinences from him. If it is your will, I am patient; but I cannot believe that it should be so." Thus situated, Politian lamented the absence of Madonna Lucretia from Pistoia, and complained to her of the solitude he endured there. "I call it solitude," he says, in a letter written at this time to Lucretia, "for Monsignore shuts himself up in his room, with thought for his only companion; and I always find him so sorrowful and anxious, that it increases my melancholy to be with him: and when I remain alone, weary of study, I am agitated by the thoughts of pestilence and war, regret for the past and fear for the future; nor have I any one with whom to share my reveries. I do not find my dear Mona Lucretia in her room, to whom I could pour forth my complaints, and I die of ennui."[82]

At the age of twenty-nine, he was appointed to the professorship of Greek and Latin eloquence in the university of Florence. Happy in the friendship of his patron, his life was disturbed only by literary squabbles, in which he usually conducted himself with forbearance and dignity. He was held in high repute throughout Italy, and received preferment in the church, and on one occasion was sent ambassador to the papal court.

His life for many years was one of singular good fortune and happiness: adversity ensued on the death of Lorenzo. 1492. Ætat. 38. There is a long letter of his to Jacopo Antiquario[83], which describes the last days of his beloved patron in affecting and lively terms. He speaks of the counsels he gave his son, and his interview with his confessor, during which he prepared himself for death with astonishing calmness and fortitude. On one occasion he made some enquiry of the servants, which Politian answered,—"Recognising my voice," he writes, "and looking kindly on me, as he ever did, 'O Angelo,' said he, 'are you there? and stretching out his languid arms, clasped tightly both my hands. I could not repress my sobs and tears, yet, trying to conceal them, I turned my face away; while he, without being at all agitated, still held my hands: but when he found that I could not speak for weeping, by degrees and naturally he set me free, and I hurried into the near cabinet, and gave vent to my grief and tears."

The disasters that befel the Medici family after the death of Lorenzo, are supposed to have broken Politian's heart. The presumption and incapacity of Piero caused him and all who bore his name to be exiled. The French troops at that time invaded Italy under Charles VIII.: they entered Florence, and, in conjunction with the ungrateful citizens, plundered and destroyed the palace of the Medici; and the famous Laurentian library was dispersed and carried off in the tumult. Politian had composed a pathetic Latin monody on Lorenzo.[84]

While singing these verses, after Lorenzo's death, afflicted at the sad loss they commemorated, and by the adverse events which followed, a spasm of grief seized him, his heart suddenly broke from excess of feeling, and he died on the spot. He died on the 24th of September, 1494, having just completed his 40th year, and having survived his illustrious friend little more than two years.

BERNARDO PULCI

More celebrated as an Italian poet than Politian, is Luigi Pulci, author of "Morgante Maggiore." Very little is known of his private history. There were three brothers of this family, which is one of the most ancient in Florence, since it carried back its origin to one of the French families who settled in that city in the time of Charlemagne: their fortunes, however, were decayed. Bernardo, the elder, wrote an elegy on Cosimo de' Medici; and another very sweet and graceful sonnet on the death of Simonetta, whom Giuliano de' Medici loved. He translated the Eclogues of Virgil into Italian, and wrote other pastoral poetry.

LUCA PULCI

Luca Pulci wrote the "Giostra di Lorenzo," before mentioned; various poetic epistles, and two longer poems; one called the "Driadeo d' Amore," a pastoral founded on mythological fables; and the other, the "Ciriffo Calvaneo," a romantic narrative poem, deficient in that interest and poetic excellence necessary to attract readers in the present day.

LUIGI PULCI

Luigi Pulci is the most celebrated of the brothers. It was at the instigation of Lucrezia Tornabuoni, mother of Lorenzo de' Medici, who has been before mentioned for her talents and love of literature, that he wrote the "Morgante Maggiore;" and Bernardo Tasso, father of the great poet, relates that he read the cantos, as they were written, at the table of Lorenzo.[85] Nothing is known of the latter part of Luigi Pulci's life. Alessandro Zilioli, in his inedited "Memoirs of Italian Poets," cited by Apostolo Zeno, narrates that Pulci died in a state of penury at Padua, and that, from the impiety of his writings, he was denied the rites of Christian burial; but he is the only writer who mentions this, and no great faith can be reposed in him.

The poem of "Morgante Maggiore" has excited much discussion, as to whether it is intended to be considered a burlesque or serious poem. There is little of what is absolutely tragic; but much that is romantic and interesting, mingled, as in the tragedies of Shakspeare, with comedy. It is true that Pulci, while he relates wonders, does so in a language so colloquial, as to detract from the dignity of his heroes and the majesty of the adventures recounted; but in this he rather imitates than travesties real life, and especially the life of the chivalrous ages, during which there was so strange a mixture of the grand and the ridiculous. While reading the poem, it seems difficult to understand the foundation of the dispute, of whether it be impious, and whether it be burlesque: it is at once evident that the serious parts are intended to be elevated and tragic. Dr. Panizzi's essay is clear and decisive on this point; and with him we may quote Ugo Foscolo, who says, that "the comic humour of the Italian narrative poems arises from the contrast between the constant endeavours of the writers to adhere to the forms and subjects of the popular story-tellers, and the efforts made, at the same time, by the genius of those writers, to render these materials interesting and sublime." Yet, doubtless. Pulci, as well as other writers of romantic narrative poems, introduces comedy, or, rather, farce, designedly. Tasso alone, in his "Gerusalemme," adhered to classic forms, and preserved the elevation of epic majesty, unmingled with wit and ridicule.

The origin of the romantic tales of Charlemagne and his Paladins, made so popular by Ariosto, and celebrated by Pulci, Boiardo, and other poets, has been much treated of. Earlier than these were "The Adventures of the Knights of the Round Table of King Arthur." French authors have asserted that these also are founded on stories of Charlemagne; but Dr. Panizzi asserts them to be of Welsh origin: he quotes Marie de France, who declares that she translated several fabliaux from British originals; and Chaucer, who, in the "Franklin's Tale," says—

The long narrative romances of Amadis of Gaul and Palmerin of England (which the curate saved out of the general burning of Don Quixote's library) are supposed to be founded on various old lays and tales put together in regular narration. In the same way, the adventures of the French knights may be supposed to be founded on songs and romances composed to celebrate favourite heroes. The authority perpetually quoted by them all is archbishop Turpin. This romance is supposed to have been written during the time of the first crusade: pope Calistus II. quotes it in a bull dated 1122, and pronounces it to be genuine. From this, as from one source, the Italians drew, or pretended to draw, the various adventures of their heroes. In all their poems these are the same, and their peculiar characters are preserved; yet many of these personages are not even mentioned by Turpin: the events of his book are the wars of Charlemagne in Spain against the Saracens, and the defeat of the Paladins at Roncesvalles, through the treachery of Gano.

Milone, a distant relative of Charlemagne, and Bertha, the emperor's sister, were the parents of Orlando. His childhood was spent in obscurity and hardships, owing to the banishment of Milone and his wife when their marriage was discovered. He was clothed by the charity of four young friends, who brought cloth to cover him: two bought white, and two red; whence Orlando adopted his coat of arms, del quartiere. Charlemagne saw him on his road to Rome, Orlando introducing himself to his imperial uncle's notice by stealing a plate of meat for his mother. On this he was recognised; castles and lands were bestowed on him, he became the prop of the throne, and married Alda, or Aldabella, who was also connected with the royal family.

The personage who ranks next to him in celebrity is his cousin Rinaldo of Montalbano. Montalbano, or Montauban, is a city on the banks of the Tarn, near its junction with the Garonne. It is said to have been built in 1144, after the date of archbishop Turpin's book, who makes no mention of it or its lord. It is a stronghold; and, even now, an old fortress, in the most ancient part of it, is called le Chateau de Renaud. Aymon, duke of Dordona, had four sons; the eldest was Rinaldo, who, having, in a transport of rage, killed Charlemagne's nephew Berthelot with a blow of a chess-board, was, with all his family, except his father, banished and outlawed. They betook themselves to the forests and the lives of banditti; and, proceeding to Gasgony, Yon, king of Bordeaux, gave his sister Clarice in marriage to Rinaldo, and permitted him to build the castle of Montauban. After several disasters, he went to the Holy Land, and, on his return, made peace with the emperor. The machinery of these poems is chiefly conducted, in the first place, by the treachery of Gano of Mayence, who is perpetually trusted by Charlemagne, and perpetually betrays him, turning his malice principally against the celebrated warriors of his court, while they are protected by Rinaldo's cousin Malagigi, or Maugis, son of Beuves, or Buovo, of Aygremont. Malagigi was brought up by the fairy Orianda, and became a great enchanter. To vary the serious characters of the drama, Astolfo, the English cousin of Orlando, being equally descended with him from Charles Martel, is introduced. Astolfo is a boaster: he is perpetually undertaking great feats, which he is unable to perform; but he is generous, and brave to foolhardiness, courteous, gay, and singularly handsome.

The family of the heroes of romance has been the more dilated upon, as it serves as an introduction to all the poems. But to return to Pulci, who is immediately before us.

His poem wants the elevation, the elegance, and idealism of Boiardo and Ariosto; but it is not on that account merely burlesque: it has been supposed to be impious, on account of each chapter being addressed to the Divinity, or, more frequently, to the Virgin. But in those days men were on a much more familiar footing than now with the objects of their worship; and, even at present, in purely catholic countries,—in Italy, for example,—the most sacred names are alluded to in a way which sounds like blasphemy to our ears, but which makes an integral part of their religion. There is but one passage in the "Morgante," hereafter to be noticed, which really savours of unbelief. Thus, as seriously, or, at least, with as little feeling of blasphemy, as an alderman says grace before a turtle feast. Pulci begins his poem[86]:—

The scope of the poem is then, in true epic fashion, summed up in a few lines[87]:—

The poet then introduces the immediate object of the poem. On Christmas day Charlemagne held his court, and the emperor was over-glad to see all his noble Paladins around him. His favour shown towards Orlando excited the spleen of Gano, who openly attacked him as too presumptuous and powerful. Orlando overhearing his words, and perceiving Charlemagne's ready credulity, drew his sword in a rage, and would have killed the slanderer, had not Ulivieri interposed. On this Orlando quits Paris, full of grief and rage, and goes forth to wander over the world in search of adventures. His first enterprise is undertaken in behalf of a convent, besieged by three giants, who amused themselves by throwing fragments of rock and trees torn up by the roots, into the courts and garden of the monastery, which kept the poor monks in perpetual alarm. Notwithstanding their dissuasions, Orlando conceives this to be an adventure worthy of him: he goes out against the pagan and monstrous assailants. He kills two in single combat, and then goes to seek the fiercest and mightiest of the three, Morgante. This ferocious giant has retired, meanwhile, to a cavern of his own fashioning, and was dreaming uneasily of a serpent who came to slay him, which was only defeated by his having recourse to the name of the Christian Saviour. This disposed him to submission and conversion, and Orlando, delighted with these good dispositions, embraces and baptizes him. The monks are very grateful for their deliverance, and desirous to keep their preserver; but Orlando, tired of idleness, takes a kind and affectionate leave of the abbot, whom he discovers to be a cousin of his own, and departs with his convert in search of adventures.

Meanwhile, Rinaldo, enraged at his cousin's departure, and the partiality displayed by the emperor for the traitor Gano, leaves the court with Ulivieri and Dudone in search of the wanderer. They meet with a variety of adventures, and join him at last in the court of king Caradoro, whom they aid in his war with king Manfredonio, who demanded, at the sword's point, the beautiful Meridiana, daughter of Caradoro, as his wife. Manfredonio is defeated. The verses that describe his final departure, at the persuasion of Meridiana, and the force of love which caused him to submit to her decree of banishment, forms one of the prettiest episodes of the Morgante. Meridiana falls in love with Ulivieri, who had delivered her: he converts her to Christianity; but this does not prevent him from following the example of the pious Æneas, and deserting her a short time after.

Gano was not content with the dispersion and exile of the Paladins: he sent messengers to Caradoro and Manfredonio, telling who the wanderers were, and inciting these monarchs to destroy them. Besides this, he invited Erminione, a Saracen king of Denmark, to attack France while unprotected by its bravest warriors. The king succeeds so well, that, besieging Paris, he took prisoner all the remaining Paladins; and poor Charlemagne, who cuts a sorry figure throughout the Morgante, sighs for the return of Orlando and Rinaldo. Gano triumphed, and offered one of the enemy's generals to deliver up Montalbano to him by treachery; Lionfante nobly refuses, and feels inclined to put the traitor to death; he is saved by the intercession of the family of Chiaramonte, who feared that if things were pushed to an extremity with him, his followers would revolt, and endanger the empire.

Orlando and his friends hearing in the course of their wanderings of the danger of Charlemagne, returned with a large army to deliver him. Gano wants to persuade the emperor that these allies are enemies in disguise; but the strength and valour of the most renowned Paladins are not to be mistaken. The magic arts of Malagigi the enchanter persuade Lionfante of the truth of the Christian religion: he is converted, and the war comes to an end, to the great discontent of the indefatigable Gano, who instantly begins to stir up another, informing Caradoro of the seduction of Meridiana, who sends a giant ambassador to complain to Charlemagne. The ambassador behaves with extreme impertinence, and is killed by Morgante.

Rinaldo, who is rather quarrelsome, has a dispute with Ulivieri, on which, at the instigation of Gano, he is banished; and he and Astolfo become bandits. Astolfo is taken by treachery, and sentenced to be hanged. Poor fellow! Astolfo, who is always good-humoured and courageous, is a kind of scape-goat, for ever in humiliating and dangerous situations. He is now worse off than ever; but while ascending the gallows, and while the halter is fitting, a tumult is made to save him, and Charlemagne, overpowered, to preserve his life and kingdom, pardons him and Rinaldo, and banishes Gano. But this was only done to gain time. The emperor hates the race of Chiaramonte in his heart; and Ricciardetto, the youngest brother of the house, being taken prisoner while Rinaldo is absent, Charlemagne resolves to hang him. The Paladins were highly indignant, and Orlando left the court; but Ricciardetto was saved by his brother Rinaldo, who drove the emperor from his throne, and forcing him to take refuge in one of Gano's castles, took possession of the sovereignty himself; till, hearing that Orlando was imprisoned and sentenced to die by a pagan king of Persia, he restores the emperor to his throne, causes Gano to be banished, and sets out to deliver his cousin, accompanied by Ulivieri and Ricciardetto. He succeeds in his attempt by means of Antea, the daughter of the king of Babylon, who falls in love with him. It is impossible to follow all the intricacies of the adventures and the wars that ensue, the interest of which is derived from the detail and expression, both lost in a brief abstract. Antea, while she continues to be devotedly attached to Rinaldo, is, on some treacherous suggestion of Gano, induced to enter France, and takes possession of the castle of Montalbano. Rinaldo is sent by her father against the old man of the mountain, whom he takes prisoner and converts to Christianity: and Orlando, who is engaged in fighting and conquering whole armies, hurries to deliver Ricciardetto and Ulivieri, who are going to be hanged by Antea's father.

Morgante had been left behind in France, but sets out to rejoin Orlando, and in his way to Babylon falls in with Margutte. Margutte is a singular invention, a caprice of the poet. Pulci resolved to paint a fellow without conscience, religion, humanity, or care for aught but the grossest indulgences of the senses. Lord Byron has imitated a part of his confession of faith in one of his poems:—

"My name is Margutte," says this strange being; "I was desirous of becoming a giant, but half way I repented, so that I am only ten feet high. I neither believe in black nor blue, but in capon, whether it be boiled or roast, and I have faith sometimes in butter and other good things; but above all, I put my trust in good wine. I believe in tarts and tartlets—the one is the mother, the other is the son;"—and he continues in a style of blasphemy more shocking to our protestant ears than those of the most pious catholics, who, as has been mentioned, are apt to allude in very familiar terms to the mysterious and almighty Beings, whom they do not the less on this account adore, and propitiate with prayer.

Margutte's adventures are conducted with a kind of straightforward wickedness which amuses from its very excess: at an inn, after eating up all that is to be got,—his appetite is enormous,—and robbing the host, he sets fire to the house, and departs with Morgante, rejoicing greatly in his success, and carrying off every thing he could lay his hands upon. They go travelling on, and meet with various adventures. Morgante is infinitely amused by his companion, but preserves a gentleness, a generosity, and kindness of heart, which contrasts agreeably with the other's unmeasured sensuality. At last, one morning, Morgante, to play him a trick, draws off Margutte's boots while he is asleep, and hides them; Margutte looks for them, and at length perceives an ape, who is putting them on and drawing them off; the sight of the animal thus engaged so tickles Margutte's fancy, that he laughs till he bursts. Morgante weeps over him, and buries him in a grotto. The whole episode of Margutte is distinct from the rest of the work. Pulci allows that it is not to be found in any of the old songs. Dr. Panizzi supposes, that under the name of Margutte is concealed some individual well known to Pulci and his friends, but at variance with them; and therefore made an object of sarcasm and ridicule.

We must hurry on to the conclusion of this poem, for the incidents are so multiplied and various, that it would occupy many pages to give an account of them. Poor Morgante dies—the gentle Christian giant, the defender of ladies, and fast friend of Orlando. He is on board a vessel which is wrecked, and he is saved on the back of a whale, but on landing is bitten by a crab on the heel: he ridicules the wound; but it proves fatal, and poor Morgante dies. Gano, a traitor to the end, is sent to Saragossa to treat with Marsiglio, who having been lately defeated, is to pay tribute to Charlemagne. He there schemes the destruction of Orlando, who, is to come slenderly accompanied to Roncesvalles to receive the tribute. The traitor arranges with the king that he shall advance accompanied by 600,000 men; who, divided into three armies, shall successively attack the Paladin and his few troops. One of the best passages of Pulci is the scene in which the treacherous attack of Roncesvalles is determined on between Marsiglio and Gano. After a solemn dinner they walked into the park, and sat down by a fountain in a solitary place. With the hesitation and confusion of traitors they are discussing the mode of destroying the famous Paladin, when heaven gives signs of anger by various and terrifying prodigies. Marsiglio's seat is upset; a laurel near is struck by a thunderbolt; the sun is obscured; a violent storm and earthquake fill them with alarm; then a fire breaks out above their heads, and the waters of the fountain overflowing are turned to burning blood; while the animals of the park attack each other. Gano is struck by the fall of a large fruit from a carob tree, (the tree on which Judas Iscariot is said to have hanged himself); his hair stands on end, and terror possesses his heart; but revenge is too burning within him to be quenched by fear, and the plot is proceeded in notwithstanding these frightful events. Orlando comes to Roncesvalles with a small force, rather a retinue than an army, to rereceive the gifts and submission of Marsiglio. The king is not neglectful of his part; his innumerable armies, one after the other, attack Orlando. The Paladin and his friends perform prodigies of valour; but, like waves of the sea, their enemies come on irresistible from their number. Orlando sees all die around him, and his soul is pierced with grief; yet not till he feels himself dying will he sound the mighty horn which is to give Charlemagne notice of his peril. The emperor hears the faint echo borne on the winds three distinct times, and he and all around him feel certain that treason is at work and Orlando in danger. They turn pale with terror, and hasten to the sad spot, where they find the noble warrior dead. Rinaldo is near him. Rinaldo, at the moment that the slaughter of Roncesvalles was preparing, was far away in Asia. Malagigi his cousin puts a devil named Astoroth into a horse, which is to bring him to his cousin's aid in a few hours. This journey of Rinaldo and the evil spirit forms a curious episode. They converse together on their way concerning things divine and infernal. On coming to this passage, the reader is struck by the lofty tone the poet assumes: there is a mingled disdain, dignity, and regret in the fallen angel, that moves at once compassion and respect: he is thus described[88]:—

It has been supposed that Pulci did not write this portion of the poem. Panizzi does not hesitate to give credit to the assertion of Tasso[89], who declares that it was written by Ficino. But Tasso affirms this merely upon hearsay, which is slender authority. There is nothing to which contemporaries are more prone than to discover that an author does not write his own works. There is nothing in the style of these stanzas unlike Pulci's best and more serious verses. Rinaldo's journey, thus accelerated, was however to no purpose in saving his cousin; he could only assist in his revenge—and the poem concludes with the hanging of Gano and Marsiglio, archbishop Turpin kindly undertaking to perform the last office for the king with his own hand, and ties him up to the famous carob tree.

The great beauty of the Morgante, besides scenes and passages of pathos and beauty, is derived from the simple, magnanimous, and tender character of Orlando. Charlemagne is a doting old man, Gano a traitor, Rinaldo a violent and headstrong warrior or robber, Astolfo vainglorious, but all are selfish and erring, except the singleminded and generous conte di Brava. He is the model of a true knight,—compassionate, sincere, and valiant: his death is courageous and pious: he thinks of the grief of the emperor, and the mourning of his wife Aldabella, and after recommending them to God, he embraces his famous sword Durlindana, and pressing it to his heart, and comforted by an angel from God, he fixes his eyes on heaven and expires.

CIECO DA FERRARA

The "Morgante Maggiore" is the first of a series of romantic narrative poems, which take Charlemagne and his Paladins for the heroes of their tales. The "Mambriano" of Cieco da Ferrara is one of these. The real name of the author was Francesco Bello. It has been said that he was called Cecco or Cieco from his blindness—but Cecco and Cecchino is the common Tuscan diminutive for Francesco. Little is known of this author, except the disaster that has already been mentioned, and that he was poor and lived at Ferrara, and recited the cantos of his poem, as they were written, at the table of the cardinal Ippolito da Este. [Sidenote: 1509.] Tiraboschi quotes from the dedication of Conosciuti, who published the "Mambriano" after the author's death; who therein begs the cardinal to take the poem under his care, and with his accustomed benevolence not to deny that favour to the memory of Francesco, which he so frequently and liberally bestowed during his life. Tiraboschi adds, that such expressions do not seem to him to accord with the idea that the poet lived and died poor. The bounty of a patron is, however, various and capricious, and, unless it takes the form of an annuity, seldom relieves the wants of a dependant; and we may take Francesco's word that he was poor when he says—"The howling of winds and roaring of waves which I hear now abroad upon our sea, has so shattered the planks of my skiff, that I lament that I undertook the voyage. On the other side, penury burthens me with such need, that it seems to me, that I can never acquire any praise if I do not overcome these winds and storms."[90] His poem is little read, and has never been translated. We have never met with it; but from the specimens given by Panizzi, it is evident that he possessed ease of versification, and a considerable spring of poetic imagery and invention.

BURCHIELLO

Very little is also known of this poet, whose real name was Domenico. He is supposed to have been born in Florence: he became free of the company of barbers in that city in 1432, and exercised his trade in the Contrada di Calemala. He died at Rome in 1448. His poems are a strange and capricious mixture of sayings, proverbs, and jokes, most of which are unintelligible to the Italians of the present day. From them and his name is derived the word burlesque, to signify a mock tragic style of expression.

BOJARDO

Matteo Maria Bojardo was of an ancient and noble family. His ancestors had been counts of Rubiera, a castle between Reggio and Modena, till, in 1433, Feltrino Bojardo, then the head of the family, exchanged it for Scandiano, a small castle about seven miles from Reggio, at the foot of the Apennines, and celebrated for its excellent wine. The sovereign house of Este added to the possessions of the family, and Bojardo was count of Scandiano, and lord of Aceto, Casalgrande, Gesso, La Toricella, &c.

It appears that the poet was born in the castle of Scandiano, about the year 1434, or a little before. His father was Giovanni, son of Feltrino; and his mother, Lucia, was sprung of a branch of the famous Strozzi family, original in Florence. Two of his near relatives, on the mother's side, were elegant Latin poets. The general outline merely of Bojardo's life is known there, and such delicate tints as we may catch from his lyrical poetry. He received a liberal education, and was conversant in the Greek and Latin languages. He was a vassal of the Este family, and lived at the court of Borso the first duke of Ferrara, and afterwards of his successor Ercole, to whom, indeed, he attached himself during the life of Borso, when it was very uncertain whether he would succeed to the duchy. The services he performed for this family are nearly the sole events we collect of his life. 1469. Ætat. 35. When the emperor Frederic III. visited Italy, Bojardo was one of the noblemen sent out to meet and welcome him on his way to Ferrara, where he was entertained with extraordinary magnificence. 1471. Ætat. 37. Borso at this time was only marquis of Ferrara (though duke of Modena and Reggio), but the pope, Paul II., soon after created him duke of that city, and Bojardo accompanied him to Rome, when he went thither to receive the investiture.

1472. Ætat. 38.

Soon after, the poet married Taddea, daughter of the count of Novellara, of the noble house of Gonzaga. 1473. Ætat. 39. He continued to enjoy the kindness and friendship of duke Ercole, who selected him with other nobles to escort to Ferrara his bride Eleonora, daughter of the king of Naples. 1478. Ætat. 44. He was named by him also governor of Reggio; which place he enjoyed, except during the short interval when he was governor of Modena, till the period of his death, which occurred at Reggio on the 20th of December 1494, at the age of sixty. He was buried in the church of Scandiano. 1481. Ætat. 47. Some traces remain to mark his character. 1486. Ætat. 52. He was so mild a governor as to excite indignation of a learned civilian, Panciroli, who, speaking of him as a magistrate, reproves him as a man great benignity,—"better fitted to write verses than punish crimes." 1487. Ætat. 53. A contemporary Latin poet says, "that he was not severe to the errors of love, but kindly gave to others what he desired himself. He sat, indeed, on the seat of justice, and gave forth laws with a grave brow; but his countenance was not always severe; day and night he sang the triumphs of love, and while others studied the laws, he applied himself to tender poetry."

His lyrical poetry is extremely beautiful, tender, and spirited, being characterised by that easy flow of thought and style peculiar to him. Since the days of Petrarch, it is the fashion to affix one lady's name as the object of a poet's verses. But, unfortunately, men, whether poets or not, are apt to change. There are traces of Bojardo's being attached to at least two ladies: and he married a third. The most passionate of his verses were written from Rome in 1471, and were addressed to Antonia Caprara, a beautiful girl of eighteen, who, whether married or not, shared his affection. Perhaps this lady died; but we do not appear to have any verses to his wife, whom he married in 1472.

He was a good classical scholar, and translated the "Golden Ass" of Apuleius, the history of Herodotus, Halicarnassus, and the "Golden Ass" of Lucian. He translated, altered, and enlarged the Pomarium of Ricobaldi, to which, in its new form, he gave the name of the "Imperial History." It is a sort of chronicle, full of romantic stories, founded on history and tradition, to which, perhaps, credence was lent at that time. He wrote also a drama called Timon, founded upon Lucian, which was among the first specimens of Italian dramas, but it does not appear to have great merit. He was the author also of Latin eclogues, the language of which is elegant and spirited.

His great work, however, is the "Orlando Innamorato," or "Loves of Orlando," founded on the old romances. His disposition naturally inclined him to revel in romance, so that it is said that he used, at Scandiano, to visit the old villagers, and draw from them their traditionary tales, rewarding them so well for the gratification he received, that it became a sort of proverb or exclamation of good-will at that place—"God send Bojardo to your house!" His "Imperial History," probably gave direction to his invention, which was prolific. He took Orlando as his hero; but deeming him uninteresting unless in love, he called into life the beautiful Angelica, whose coquetry, loveliness, and misfortunes, made sad havoc in Charlemagne's court. Mr. George Rose's prose translation of the "Orlando Innamorato" gives a spirited abstract of the story, which must here be more briefly detailed.

Charlemagne, in the midst of prosperity and glory, held a court at Paris, at which 22,030 guests were assembled. Before these the beautiful Angelica presents herself, with her brother Argalia, and four giants as attendants. Her brother defies the knights to combat. Argalia possessed an enchanted lance, which throws whoever it touches; and Angelica a ring, which, on certain occasions, renders the wearer invisible. Every one fell in love with Angelica, and in particular Orlando and Rinaldo. Angelica becomes frightened in the midst of the disturbances of the combats, and disappearing by means of the ring, flies from the scene of the tournament. She takes refuge in the wood of Ardennes: arriving fatigued and heated, she drinks hastily of an enchanted fountain, which causes her to fall in love with the first man she may chance to see; and then reposing on the flower-enamelled turf, falls asleep. Orlando and Rinaldo pursue her, as does also her brother Argalia; and Ferrau goes after him, being at the moment of his flight engaged in combat with him. Orlando and Rinaldo arrive at Ardennes; but the latter, on entering the forest, and refreshing himself at a fountain, drinks of water enchanted by Merlin, which causes him to hate the first woman he shall behold: he then also lies down, and goes to sleep. Angelica wakes; she rises, wanders from her place of rest, and comes to the spot where Rinaldo is reposing. Her love-blinded eyes behold him, and, transported by sudden and subduing passion, she watches his waking with fondness. He opens his eyes, and holds in abhorrence the beauty who is gazing upon him, and flies from her in disdain. Argalia meanwhile arrives in the wood, pursued by Ferrau; he has lost his enchanted lance; the enemies meet, and continue the combat. Argalia is slain: while breathing his last, he implores his enemy to cast him and his armour into the river, that no trace may remain, of his disgrace. Ferrau agrees, but solicits the loan of his helmet, he himself being without one, till he can get another: Argalia consents, and dies; while Ferrau, who is a Saracen, hearing of the misfortunes of his sovereign Marsiglio, who is attacked by Gradasso, king of Sericana, gives up the pursuit of Angelica, and sets out for Spain. Angelica returns to India, and Orlando departs in quest of her.

Charlemagne goes to the assistance of Marsiglio against Gradasso, who himself is a wonder of martial prowess, and is attended by an innumerable army, and several vast and fierce giants. Rinaldo has returned to court, and accompanies his imperial master: during the battle that ensues, he encounters Gradasso; but their single combat is interrupted by the hurry of the fight, and they agree to meet in duel the next day on foot, in a solitary place by the sea-side. Gradasso's great object is to win Orlando's sword Durindana, and Rinaldo's horse Bajardo: the latter is to be his prize, if he overcomes Rinaldo on the following day.

Angelica meanwhile, burning with love for Rinaldo, revolves many schemes for bringing him to her side. She has in her power his cousin Malagigi (Maugis), who is a great enchanter. She set him at liberty, on condition that he shall bring Rinaldo to her. Malagigi first tries to persuade his cousin; but the chilly waters have wrought too powerfully, and the very name of Angelica is odious to him. Malagigi has recourse to stratagem. When Rinaldo keeps his appointment the next morning with Gradasso, he finds the sea-shore solitary: a little boat, tenantless, is anchored near the beach. Malagigi sends a fiend, in the shape of Gradasso, who, after a mock combat, take refuge in the pinnace, followed by Rinaldo. The boat drifts out to sea, the fiend vanishes, and Rinaldo is hurried away across the ocean, till he arrives near a palace and garden, where the vessel lightly drifts on shore.

Orlando wanders about to find Angelica, and hears that she is at Albracca, a castle of Catay. But he is unable to reach her, detained by a variety of adventures and enchantments, through which he is at last deprived of all memory or knowledge, and brought to a magnificent palace, where he is left. Charlemagne meanwhile is freed from Gradasso by means of Argalia's enchanted lance, which, falling into Astolfo's possession, he works miracles, unhorses the mighty king, and a peace being agreed upon, he sets out in search of Orlando and Rinaldo. Poor Rinaldo is tempted meanwhile to soften towards Angelica, but in vain. The luxuries of an enchanted palace are wasted on him, and he is exposed to the most frightful dangers, from which Angelica delivers him; but still he scorns and leaves her, while she returns disconsolate to Albracca.

Her hand is sought by various princes and nobles; and in particular by Agricane, king of Tartary: she refuses them all; and Agricane, resolved to win her, besieges her in Albracca. She is defended by various of the Paladins, and goes herself with her ring in quest of Orlando, whom she restores to his senses. He gladly hastens to her assistance; he kills Agricane in a single contest, and in reward, as she wishes to get rid of him, Angelica sends him on a distant and perilous expedition.

The poem then enters on a new series of adventures, arising from the revenge which Agramante wishes to take on Orlando for having slain his father, king Trojano, sixteen years before. We are now introduced to several new heroes of romance, destined to play a distinguished part in the poem of Ariosto, as well as in the present one. There is Ruggeri, whose name is adopted from the Norman knight Ruggeri, who had been king of Sicily; and there is Rodomonte, the bravest, fiercest, and wildest of all warriors. Ruggeri's presence is absolutely needed for the success of Agramante's expedition; but he is imprisoned in a castle, whence he can only be delivered by Angelica's magic ring. A thievish dwarf, named Brunello, contrives to steal it from her, and Ruggeri is liberated. The expedition embarks for France, where Rodomonte, impatient of delays, had already arrived, and devastates Provence; while Marsiglio is induced, by the old traitor Gano, to invade France from the Pyrenees.

Orlando, returning from his adventure, finds Angelica besieged by Marfisa, and in great peril. He mentions, that Rinaldo is in France: the name has not lost its influence. She resolves to abandon Albracca; and, having lost her ring, is glad to be protected by Orlando, who conducts her in safety to France; and who, during the long journey, never mentions his passion, nor annoys her with any manifestation of it; though she, by her former coquetry, might well expect importunity: but his generous and fond heart renders him silent, that he may not disturb her lovely, serene countenance;

Poor Angelica feels not less for Rinaldo; but, arriving at Ardennes, she is delivered from her misery, by drinking of the fountain, that turns all her love to hate; while Rinaldo, also arriving, drinks of the love-in-spiring waters, and with great joy seeing the lady, wonders at his past dislike, and congratulates himself now on her passion. He addresses her with tenderness; but is repulsed with scorn, while her champion Orlando is at hand to defend her. He challenges his cousin, and they fight; but Charlemagne, hearing of their arrival in his kingdom, seizes on the lady, and forces the knights to be reconciled, privately promising to both Angelica as a prize, if they will exert themselves during the impending battle with Agramante. The poem now relates the invasion of Agramante, of Mandricardo, son of the slain Agricane, of Gradasso, and Marsiglio. A great battle takes place, in which the Saracens are triumphant, Orlando being absent. Rinaldo goes in pursuit of his horse Bajardo; while his sister Bradamante, a brave heroine, falls in love with Ruggeri, and withdraws from the field. Charlemagne retires to Paris, and is besieged by the whole body of Saracens. The poem ends with the commencement of a sort of episode, in which Fiordespina, mistaking the sex of Bradamante, falls in love with her. In the middle of this, the poet is interrupted. The sound of arms, which betokens the invasion of the French, and the terror and misery of Italy, call him from his task of fiction, to be the witness of real woes. He promises, if the stars will permit, to continue his narration another time. This time never came, for the French invaded Italy in 1494; and it was in about the same year that Bojardo died.

This is but a brief abstract of a poem interspersed with numerous episodes, beautiful descriptions, and interesting reverses. The poet never flags. An untired spirit animates every stanza, every verse: the life, the energy, the variety, the fertility of invention, are truly surprising, and far transcend Ariosto. But minuter criticism is deferred, till an account is given of Berni and his rifacimento.

BERNI

Francesco Berni was born at Lamporecchio, in the Val di Nievole, towards the end of the fifteenth century. The first eighteen years of his life were spent at Florence; whence he transferred himself to Rome, and entered on the service of his relation, the cardinal Bibbiena. On the death of the cardinal, he attached himself to the nephew, Angelo Divizio Bibbiena. He was at one time obliged to leave Rome, on account of some adventure of gallantry[91]; and afterwards entered the service of Giberti, the papal Datario, with whom he remained seven years, accompanying him whenever Giberti's duties as a bishop took him to Verona. But Berni was a poet, and fond of pleasure, and fortune could not obtain from him the industry which might have advanced him with his patrons. His vivacity and his poetry were agreeable in society; he became courted as a literary man; and he was a distinguished member of the academy of the Vignaiuoli, or vine-dressers, composed of the first men in Rome. This learned association was established by a Mantuan gentleman, Oberto Strozzi. The members assumed names adopted from the vineyard; and its feasts became famous all over Italy. Berni was at Rome when it was plundered by the Colonna party in 1526, and was robbed of every thing: at the same time he was struck with horror at the cruelties committed by the invaders. He mentions them with horror in the "Orlando Innamorato." When describing the sacking of a town, he says, that his unhappy eyes saw similar outrages perpetrated in Rome. He quitted the service of the Datario after this, and retired to Florence, where he lived tranquilly, being possessed of a canonicate, which had before been given him in the cathedral of that city, and enjoying the protection of cardinal Ippolito de' Medici, and of the duke Alexander. There is a story of his being solicited by each of these princes to poison the other, which is not supported by dates or facts. Alexander was afterwards murdered by Lorenzino de' Medici. The cardinal Ippolito had died before: Alexander was accused of having poisoned him; but accusations of this sort were so frequent at that time, that, according to historians and the popular voice, no man of any eminence ever died a natural death. Berni is said to have died on the 26th of July, 1536.

Berni possessed, to an extraordinary degree, a liveliness of imagination, and a facetiousness, which caused him to invent a new style of poetry, light, witty, but highly fanciful, which became the delight of his contemporaries. Mr. Stebbing speaks with great disapprobation of him, saying, "that we shall not be guilty of much injustice, if we regard him as one of those ecclesiastical Epicureans of the sixteenth century, whose infidelity and licentiousness branded them with infamy." His minor poems are witty, but indecent: they appear to be written, says Tiraboschi, with ease and rapidity, yet the original manuscripts show that he blotted and corrected them with care. He wrote also Latin elegies; and came nearer to Catullus, the critics tell us, than any other poet of the age.

The work by which he is known to us, is the Rifacimento of Bojardo's "Orlando Innamorato," which was not published till after his death. He occupied himself with this poem at Verona, while in the service of the Datario. He addresses the Po in one of the cantos of the poem, begging of it to restrain its rapid course while he writes beside its banks; and yet at this very time his letters are full of complaints of the occupations that take up all his time.

It is a curious subject to enquire, what the fault was in Bojardo's poem, that rendered it necessary that it should be re-written. Berni was not the first to discover this, as Domenichi had already altered the style of every stanza; yet his rifacimento had not caused it to be popular. Meanwhile Ariosto wrote a continuation to it, which he named the "Orlando Furioso" and that became the delight and glory of Italy. The choice of subject in these poets is admirable. When Milton thought of making king Arthur and his knights the heroes of a poem, he selected a subject which was devoid of any quick interest to his countrymen: wars with France and civil struggles had caused the British name to be forgotten. But the Mahometans were still the terror of Italy. After the taking of Constantinople, they pressed near upon the peninsula; Venice was kept in check, and at one time Ancona was actually taken by them. Every Italian heart felt triumph in the overthrow of a Pagan and Saracen, and warmed with interest when it was related how they were driven from France. Bojardo made choice of the subject, and he added life to it, by the introduction of Angelica. His invention, his poetic fervour, his ceaseless flow of fancy, were admirable; yet he was forgotten. Many of Ariosto's episodes are more tedious, and they are less artificially introduced; but Ariosto was a greater poet: his style is perfectly beautiful, and his higher flights entitle him to a very high rank among the writers of verse. Perhaps, in the whole range of narrative poetry, there is no passage to compete with the progress of Orlando's madness.

Berni evidently appreciated Ariosto's merits, and he saw in Bojardo's a groundwork that emulated them. His faults are doubtless greater than we can judge, since style alone occasioned his want of popularity: he has many Lombardisms; and I heard a learned Tuscan say, that nothing to their refined ear was so intolerable as the pronunciation of the north. Style, however, was his only fault; and Berni, in altering that, brought at once to light the beauty of the poem: he changed no incident, no sentiment, scarcely a thought; stanza by stanza he remodelled the expression, and this was all; yet it would almost seem that he thus communicated a Promethean spark. Nothing can be more false than the accusation, that he added any thing licentious to the poem. Tiraboschi even gives credit to this idea; but, on the contrary, his expressions are always more reserved than those of the original. The comparison may easily be made, by collating, in the two authors, the passages which describe the meeting of Bradamante and Fiordelisa, the welcome given by Angelica to Orlando when he arrives at Albracca, and the journey of these two from Albracca to Provence; and the above assertion will at once be proved; nor is it true that Berni turned a serious poem into a burlesque. He added lightness and gaiety, but seldom any ridicule. It is now easy, since Dr. Panizzi's edition of the original poem, to compare it with the rifacimento: an Italian alone can be a competent judge; but it is easy for any one to see the difference between the earnest language of Bojardo, and the graceful wit of his improver. We will give, as a specimen of the usual style of his alterations, two stanzas, selected by chance in the poem: they describe the death of Agricane. Bojardo writes thus, speaking of Orlando, when his adversary, having received a mortal wound, asks him to baptize him[92]:—

"He had his face covered with tears, and he dismounted on the ground: he took the wounded king in his arms, and placed him on the marble of the fountain: he was never weary of weeping with him, entreating for pardon with a gentle voice. Then he baptized him with water from the fountain, praying God for him with joined hands. He remained but a short time, finding his face and whole person cold, whence he perceived that he was no more. He leaves him on the marble of the fountain, all armed as he was, with his sword in his hand, and his crown, and then he turned towards the horse, and thought that he recognised Bajardo."

Thus alters Berni[93]:—

"Having his face covered with tears, the count dismounts from Brigliadoro: he took the wounded king in his arms, and placed him on the brink of the fountain, entreating, while he kisses and embraces him, that all past injuries might be forgotten. Not able to say yes, the king inclines his head, and Orlando baptized him with water; and, at last, he found his face and whole person cold, whence he judged that he was no more; wherefore he left him on the verge of the fountain, all armed as he was, with sword in hand, and with his crown: then, turning his look upon his horse, it seemed to him that he recognised Bajardo."

This, of course, is a very clumsy mode of showing the difference; and yet it gives the mere English reader an idea of the extent of Berni's alterations.

But, although he did not materially change either event or thought, he added to the poem; and the real merits of Berni became very evident in the introductory stanzas which he appended to each canto. It seems to me that these have never been sufficiently appreciated: they are not jocose nor burlesque; they are beautiful apostrophes, or observations upon the heart and fortunes of human beings, embodied in poetic language and imagery. Many of them are to be preferred to those of Ariosto, whom he imitated in these additions. We have noticed his address to the Po, which is singularly beautiful; another well known interpolation is the introduction of a description of himself: this, it is true, is burlesque; but the style of irony is exquisite, and, surely, may be allowed, as it is directed against his own faults and person. Mr. Rose has translated this passage, and published it in his prose abstract of the "Innamorato." Dr. Panizzi has quoted it also in his work. He gives an account of his life; of his birth at Lamporecchio; of the "piteous plight" in which he sojourned at Florence till the age of nineteen; and his journey to Rome, when he attached himself to his kinsman, the cardinal Bibbiena, who neither did him harm nor good and, on his death, how he passed to the nephew,—

and then "in search of better bread," how he became secretary to the Datario. Yet, he could not please his new patron; although

Then he describes his own disposition and person:—

No one ever detested servitude as he did, though servitude was still his dole. He then whimsically describes himself as inhabiting the palace of a fairy; where, according to Bajardo, people are kept happily and merrily, amusing themselves, and passing their lives in indolence. Berni supposes himself to be one of the company, together with a French cook, Maitre Pierre Buffet, who had been in the service of Giberti; and he describes his beau-ideal of the indolent life he loved. Tired with noise, lights, and music, he finds a lonely room, and causes the servants to bring a bed into it,—a large bed,—in which he might stretch himself at pleasure; and, finding his friend the cook, another bed is brought into the same room for him, and between the two a table was placed: this table was well supplied with the most savoury viands:—

This is a specimen of Berni's humour, which gave the name of Bernesco to poetry of this nature. More serious and more elegant verses abound, as we have already remarked, and prove that Berni deserves a very high place among Italian poets.

ARIOSTO

Ludovico Ariosto was born in the castle of Reggio, a city of Lombardy, on the 8th of September, 1474. Both his parents were of ancient and honourable lineage: the Ariosti had long been distinguished in Bologna, when a daughter of their house, Lippa Ariosta, a lady of great beauty and address, being married to Obizzo III., marquis of Este, brought a number of her relatives to Ferrara: these, by her influence, she so fortunately established in offices of power and emolument, that they flourished for several generations among the grandees of that petty but splendid principality.

The poet's mother. Madonna Daria, belonged to a branch of the Malegucci, one of the wealthiest and noblest families in the north of Italy. Nicolo Ariosto, his father, held various places of trust and authority under the dukes of Ferrara. In youth he had been the companion of Borso, and steward of the household of Hercules, besides being occasionally employed on embassies to the pope and the king of France; in which he is said to have received more substantial recompence than barren dignities, in ample official salaries, and rich presents for special services. At the birth of the poet he was governor of the castle and territory of Reggio, and afterwards advanced to those of Modena; but as emolument came easily, and there were abundant temptations, besides heavy family expenses, to spend it lavishly, wealth never accumulated in his hands: wherefore, having nine younger children born to him, his views with respect to the eldest, Ludovico, were prudently directed towards establishing him in some profession, whereby he might acquire riches and rank for himself by perseverance in honourable labour. At the age of fourteen or fifteen years,—when he had already signalised himself by composing a drama on the story of Pyramus and Thisbe, which was performed by his little brothers and sisters,—no doubt as happily as the same subject in the Midsummer Night's Dream (whenever that happened) was enacted by Bottom the weaver and his comrades, or, rather, as happily as Oberon, Titania, and their train could have done it in fairy-land,—the young poet was sent, grievously against his will, to study civil law at Padua under two eminent practitioners, Angelo Castrinse and Il Maino. With them, like Ovid, Petrarch, Tasso, Marino, or our own Milton and Cowper, he spent five years to little profit, hating his profession, and studying so listlessly, that it became more and more manifest, the longer he drawled at it, that he never would excel in the strife of words and tournaments of tongues, by which the ample fortunes and broad lands of many families, whose founders the gods had fortunately not made poetical, were then, as now, like the prizes at hardier exercises, acquired. Nicolo Ariosto, therefore, at length abandoned the folly of spoiling a good poet to make a bad lawyer, and permitted his son to return to those learned studies and exercises of native talent, which had been either suspended, or indulged in by stealth, after his parent, "with spears and lances," had driven him from them into the toils of pleadings and precedents. Released from these trammels, (strewed as they were to his loathing eye with the mangled remains of causes, like cobwebs with sculls, wings, and fragments of flies,) Ludovico, at the age of twenty, found himself free to expatiate in that fields of classic literature, whose buried treasures, in his age, continued still to be dug up and brought to light from time to. time; or to roam abroad seeking adventures suited to his youthful imagination, in the wilds of French and Spanish romance, then recently thrown open to their countrymen by Pulci and Boiardo.

However enriched his mind in earlier youth might have been with knowledge of the dead languages—and we are required to believe that he had made a very promising Latin oration while he was a mere boy—he found, on returning to them, that he had lost so much as to need the help of a master to construe a fable of Æsop. But what he lost at law, he recovered at leisure, and added so much more to his stock; that he speedily became eminent among his contemporaries (at a time when Latin was more cultivated than Italian) for the critical skill; or, more probably; the quickness of apprehension and delicacy of taste; with which he elecidated obscure passages in Horace and Ovid. These appear to have been his favourite authors; and each of them; in the sequel; he not a little resembled; in their very dissimilar excellences. Under the tuition of Gregorio da Spoleti; a scholar of high repute; whom he has gratefully celebrated in the epistle to Bembo (Satire VI.); he so far perfected himself in the language of ancient Rome; that his verses in it were admired and commended by the greatest adepts in that factitious style of composition. It was the folly of the learned of that age and the preceding, to make Latin the universal language of writers who aimed at the honours of literature; a scheme so preposterous, that none but the learned could ever have stumbled upon it in their ignorance of every thing but what the relics of ancient books could teach them. To men of practical knowledge, it must have occurred, that all the fragments of Roman authors could, at the most, furnish a vocabulary comparatively small, and utterly inadequate to meet the demands of extending science, through new and ever-changing forms of society. Under such a servitude as made the Roman tongue itself pass under the Roman yoke, no phrase unauthorised by classic precedent could be hazarded, nor might a foreign word be engrafted upon the pure stock without appearing a barbarism. Meanwhile the very rhythm, accent, and pronunciation of the original being lost, scholars in every country were obliged to adapt these to the vernacular sounds of vowels and consonants among themselves; so that an Oxonian and a Tuscan, though they might understand each other by the eye on paper, would be nearly unintelligible by the ear and the living voice. It is manifest that nothing better than everlasting patchwork, of the same unchangeable materials, how diversely soever combined (like the patterns produced by the kaleidoscope, ever variable, yet little distinguishable from another), would have constituted the eloquence, poetry, and polite literature of modern Europe. No people would have suffered more than the Italians themselves, by employing a defunct and unimproveable tongue, in which their brightest geniuses must have been but secondary planets, dimly reflecting, through a hazy atmosphere, the borrowed beams of luminaries, themselves obscured by distance, as well as imperfectly seen from partial eclipses. It would then have been the glory of Dante, Petrarch, and Ariosto, to have written what Virgil, Cicero, and Horace would have as little relished in diction as they could have comprehended in substance, where things, persons, customs, and arts, un existent in their time, were the burthen of every original theme. On the other hand, equally simple, obvious, and beautiful, was the only living use that could be made of the dead languages (beyond the profit and delight of studying them in their surviving models); namely, that which time has made of them by transmutation and transfusion into modern tongues of such terms as were congenial to the latter, or could be rendered so by being employed, first, in technical or peculiar, and afterwards in elegant and familiar senses, to obviate the necessity of inventing new and inexpressive words, as the occasion of science and taste required. The Italian, French, Spanish, and English languages have thus been enriched and adorned with classical interpolations, so gradually adopted, that they seemed to grow naturally out of their respective stocks, as the sphere of knowledge increased, and its details became more multiform.