THE liquid vocables of the Italian language flow in melody with a facility perilous to genius, fatal to mediocrity: its stream is equally apt to dilute Castalian inspiration, or to quench poetic fire. Hence the poets of Italy are far outnumbered by its versifiers; and hence among the laureates of Urbino we find but few historic names. But, in absence of native bards, the dukes of the second dynasty attracted to their court several of those most conspicuous on the Ausonian Parnassus, under whose influence a great change came over the manner and spirit of national poetry. Hitherto their predecessors had before them two models, whose excellence is still universally admitted. Dante, in founding an epic literature, chose the grandest and most difficult theme ever dared by man, and his success, by immeasurably distancing his few competitors, has deterred competition. Petrarch addressed himself to passions and sympathies essentially earthly, and constructed a lyrical versification demanding no sustained exertion; whose trammels sufficed, in his melodious and pliant idiom, to stimulate ingenuity without imposing labour; whose perfection depended rather upon elaborate polish than upon originality or vigour. Thus, while Dante continued a model, Petrarch became a snare; and hence, a "multitude of imitators, satisfied with copying the latter in his defects; who could easily follow him in the choice of his subject, but not in the beauty of his style, the variety of his knowledge, and the elegance of his imagery." Sonnets are indeed the most peculiarly Italian form of poetry, but they are avowedly ill-suited to the naÏve expression of pure and artless feelings. Their laboured strain and studied melody are adapted to an artificial cast of sentiment; they encourage exaggeration and tend to mannerism and commonplace. Singly they are charming, but "when taken collectively we become indifferent to their unity, felicity, and grace, and accuse them of what under other circumstances we might possibly commend, their recurring metaphors, their uniform structure, and the unfailing sweetness of their versification."[154] Yet in their complex form, a prolonged repetition of the same rhyme tends, like the return to a simple air amid difficult variations, touchingly to renew the feeling originally and pleasingly evoked; and thus is it that sonnets often possess a charm of which, in their ambitious attempts, their authors were probably quite unconscious.[155]

It is not now our object to analyze the varied metrical arrangements to which the fertile language of Italy willingly lent itself, and which its minstrels,

"A mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease,"

delighted to mingle and multiply. Enough, in addition to the polished sonnet, to name noble canzoni, sublime odes, and tender elegies. But the absence of ballad poetry, with its wide-circling echoes of long antecedent events and feelings, is remarkable, and has been imputed to an early addiction of the nation to prosaic habits of trade. This solution is, however, little satisfactory in itself, and is equally at variance with the genius and the language of the people. Perhaps it would be more just to assign a diametrically opposite cause, and to seek in their vivid imaginations, and in the exuberant facility of their melodious tongue, that universality of versification which tended to depreciate its quality, or, at all events, to diminish the estimation bestowed even on their most popular compositions. It is accordingly in nations among whom poetry is a rare gift, and whose idiom can embody it in terse and simple diction, that we find those lyrics which, possessing a traditional popularity, are at once the germ and index of national sentiment.[*156] We seek in vain for such among the recognised literature of Italy; and though the dulcet chants of the Venetian gondolier, and the monotonous lazzaroni ditties of Naples, may be deemed of that class, their infinite and ever-changing variety appears to divest them of the historic charm that attaches to the chivalric redondillas of Spain, and to the pensive minstrelsy of our fatherland.

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In poetry alone did the age of the della Rovere excel that of the Montefeltri, and among the great names whom it was their pride to shelter were Ariosto and Tasso, the only ones worthy to rival those of the bards of Hell and of Love.

Ludovico Ariosto[*157] was born of noble parentage at Reggio, in 1474, and, after a precocious struggle against the uncongenial legal career for which he was intended, was left by his father to follow the bent of his genius in favour of general literature.[*158] From an early age he had composed dramas on Thisbe and similar themes, and had secretly drilled his brothers and sisters to perform them; but when about seventeen, his youthful inclination was gratified by accompanying Duke Ercole I. to Pavia and Milan, for diversion, and to enact certain comedies. These boyish efforts have not been preserved, but the Cassaria and Suppositi, composed in 1494, engraft upon classic models the licentious speech of his age. Though well-born, he had the double misfortune to require a patron, and to find an ungrateful one in Cardinal Ippolito d'Este, whose ferocious character and lax morals exceeded even the ordinary licence then permitted to members of the Sacred College, and whose taste for literature, or perhaps emulation of a prevailing fashion, led him to favour men of genius. The services of Ariosto were invoked, as a soldier and diplomatist, when Ferrara was exposed to imminent danger in the wars following the League of Cambray. As ambassador to Julius II. in 1512, he braved perils greater perhaps than those of the field; but his fine temper and knowledge of the world ensured his safety, and bespoke the regard even of that domineering Pontiff, whose threats mellowed into favours before his conciliatory bearing.

The time at which he first visited Urbino is uncertain; but in 1515, when the designs of Leo X. upon that duchy and Ferrara, the only Romagnese principalities which still withstood the grasping policy of the papacy, had given rise to anxieties in the families of d'Este and della Rovere, the Cardinal repaired to Francesco Maria I., in order to concert measures for their common safety. Ariosto accompanied him on this journey, and, having been detained at the Furlo pass by an attack of fever, which in his eighth Capitulo he mentions as dangerous, he repaired to recruit his health at Urbino, whilst Ippolito proceeded to Rome. The greeting which met our poet at that lettered court partook of the discriminating hospitality which genius could ever there command; and though his own poetical reputation was as yet but dawning, his intimacy with Guido Posthumo of Pesaro was probably a claim in his behalf to special distinction, which the publication of his Orlando Furioso, before the end of that year, firmly established. On proceeding to Rome, the favour bestowed upon him at the Vatican was not such as either to satisfy his just anticipations, or to do credit to the Pontiff's discernment. In his third and seventh Satires, Ariosto comments upon the long and intimate friendship of their former years, when the Cardinal de' Medici had proffered him a fraternal partiality, and vows that never again will he rely on other men's promises, postponed from ides to calends, and from calends to ides. The reception he at first met with might well give confidence to his hopes; for on his presentation Leo stooped forward to press his hand, saluting him on both cheeks. But, as the Venetian envoy caustically observed, his Holiness promised largely, but performed not. All that followed this flattering accolade was a privilege of copyright, not even gratuitously issued; and as those substantial benefits, which his merits deserved and his position required, were vainly expected, the poet quitted Rome "with humbled crest," a disappointed man. Yet he was of too kind a nature to harbour malice, as well as of a temper too easy for courtly struggles. He returned to the quiet of his native state, content to seek some respectable employment, and avowing his indifference to scenes of wider or more varied ambition.

"Let him who golden spur or scarlet hat affects Serve king, or duke, or cardinal, or pope; This suits not me, who care for neither gaud."[159]

Whether his patron's proverbially slighting reception of a dedication of the first fruits of his epic muse proceeded from obtuseness, or, as Tiraboschi suggests, was a poor jest, it could not but be mortifying to a man of delicacy and conscious genius. Ere long a breach occurred between them, on Ludovico declining to attend the Cardinal in a distant and fatiguing embassy to Hungary.[*160] This occurred in 1517; but he was soon after admitted into the Duke of Ferrara's service with a monthly salary of seven crowns, and allowances for three servants and two horses. His first employment in this new sphere was a mission, in 1519, to condole with Lorenzo de' Medici, the usurping Duke of Urbino, on the loss of his consort Madeleine of France; but ere he reached Florence, Lorenzo's own death had supervened. It was on this occasion he composed his first Capitulo, where, and in his Stanze, he speaks of that prince in the usual fulsome style of courtly bards, alluding to his uncles Leo and Giuliano as

"Twin suckers from that long descended laurel stem, Which in its verdure decked a golden age."

How little the duty thus imposed upon him consisted with his own tastes may, however, be gathered from an incident characteristic of the age. The venal conduct of Duke Francesco Maria's Spanish followers having brought to a sudden close his attempt to regain his patrimonial states, in the manner detailed in our thirty-sixth chapter, one of their number resented an imputation to that effect, cast upon his comrades by some gentlemen of Ferrara. A challenge was the result, each party selecting a bravo to maintain their cause. This duel by deputy took place on the Neapolitan territory, and, of the combatants, who fought naked with swords, the Spaniard was left dead on the field. The victor returned to be fÊted in the capital of the d'Este; and Ariosto composed his thirty-fifth sonnet upon "Ferrara's true paladin, of truth, genius, worth, and valour, who has cleared up the Spaniard's slippery trick upon the good Duke of Urbino, and testified to Italian bravery." We may well suppose the satisfaction with which the minstrel saw this "good Duke" restored to his station in 1521, and may conjecture that he paid him homage in his mountain capital. A room in the ducal palace there, decorated with his portrait, went by his name, and he was enrolled among the Assorditi academicians.[161] In 1532, a few months previous to his death, Prince Guidobaldo wrote to ask of him an unacted comedy, for representation at Pesaro, to which he replied, regretting his inability to comply with the request, as he had long ceased to write such things.

Ariosto's life presents few remarkable incidents, considering the space which his name justly occupies in the literary annals of Italy. Though honoured and complimented by the Dukes of Urbino and Ferrara, and by Leo X., he seems to have incurred few solid obligations from these Maecenases of his age. The only promotion awarded to him was the administration of Garfagna, a mountain-holding under the d'Este family, chiefly peopled by banditti, which he obtained in 1522, but resigned after three years' sad experience of the turbulent charge. His coronation by Charles V. is apocryphal, although he is understood to have received from that Emperor a diploma as his poet laureate. He died on the 6th of June, 1533, in his home at Ferrara, and was buried in the old church of S. Benedetto. In 1573 his body was transported to the new church, and in 1801 to the Public Library of Ferrara.

It would be foreign to the object proposed in these pages to enter fully into the merits of works so universally known, and so little connected with our immediate subject, as the heroic poems of Ariosto. But we have ample evidence of the popularity enjoyed by his Orlando Furioso, during the first half-century after its publication, in the testimony of one not likely to be partial to a successful rival: "And if the aim which a good poet ought to keep in view be that of imparting pleasure and enjoyment, it is obvious that this was accomplished by Ariosto; for there is neither artisan, nor man of learning, nor boy, nor girl, nor old person, who is satisfied with a second perusal of him. Are not his stanzas a solace to the jaded pilgrim, who sings them to alleviate the irksomeness of his hot and weary way? Do you not hear them chanted all day long in the highways and the fields? I believe that there have not been printed as many copies of Homer or Virgil as of the Furioso, during the time that has elapsed since that most accomplished gentleman published his poem; and if so, as cannot be doubted, is not this a clear proof of its beauty and excellence?"[162] We set aside the minor faults which have been found in the execution, and most gladly escape from all critical discussion of the vexed question, as to its due observance of unity and sustained action. The absence of perfections so questionable is by many accounted a charm. Nowhere has imagination been more freely indulged, nowhere the poetic vein left to play such fantastic tricks; but in its sallies, effort and restraint are alike unknown. As the figures in a magic-lantern, or the endless changes of the kaleidoscope, its phantasmagoria appear and pass by, without our being aware of the machinery which called them up; yet, from time to time, there occur images of life so veracious, traits of nature so touching, that we are again summoned to the realities of existence and the sympathies of humanity, with a startling effect scarcely less marvellous than the wild creations which precede and follow these charming episodes. Even extravagance thus ceases to be a blemish, whilst facility and freshness are ever multiplying new beauties. Episodes and incidents, serious or grotesque, capriciously introduced into the poem, give it a motley and heterogeneous aspect; variety of matter and diversity of style are its familiar characteristics; and its unequal execution is, perhaps, less pardonable than the desultory character of its plan. Nor is it only by its novelty that this freedom of action sustains the interest of the work. The introduction of real personages and recent events relieves the tedium of long continued allegory, and stamps nature and individuality on adventures in themselves extravagant and apocryphal.

In estimating the rank of this poet, critical judgment has too often been diverted from the quality of his verses to the fittingness of his style; and in comparing him with Tasso, the argument resolves itself into a contrast between romantic and classic poetry. Upon such a discussion we purpose not to enter. Ariosto found his countrymen under the charm of old legendary histories, perpetuated by tradition from the days of Charlemagne and his paladins, and more recently popularised in Pulci's burlesque epic of the Morgante Maggiore, and by Boiardo's unfettered fancy in the Orlando Innamorato. He was content to sail with the stream, spreading his canvas to the prevailing breeze, rather than to strike out another course, and steer in search of newer attractions. This decision necessarily limited the scope of a highly original genius to varying the details and episodes of inventions already familiarised to his readers by other less inspired pens; and it were difficult to account for his thus contentedly following their track, except from the conviction that none else was so certain a guide to success. Domenichi and Berni, aware that Boiardo had unworthily handled his theme, were content to employ themselves in recasting it into more attractive shape, and Le Sage's French translation is a mere paraphrase. But Ariosto chose the higher aim of taking up the story where Boiardo had left it incomplete, and working it out in forms less exaggerated and fanciful, but far more nobly conceived, and executed with infinitely greater polish and poetic beauty.

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Pietro Aretino[*163] has been designated by Ariosto[164] "the scourge of princes," a description somewhat more just than the epithet of "divine," which is added possibly in irony; for few men, it is hoped, have been so destitute of those high aspirations which form the link between human and divine nature. He has been aptly compared to an ill-conditioned cur, ever ready to yelp and snap at all who do not feed or fondle him, but to such as do, the most fawning of his species. He was born at Arezzo in 1492, and was natural son of one Luigi Bacci. After serving his apprenticeship to a bookbinder at Perugia, he went to push his fortunes in Rome, where his first remarkable productions were verses illustrating a set of engravings by Marcantonio, after designs by Giulio Romano,—a work so scandalously offensive to decency that scarcely any copies have escaped destruction.[*165] After the death of Giovanni de' Medici delle bande nere, his earliest patron, he went to Venice, and subsequently visited most of the Italian courts. His foul scurrilities and loathsome adulation were dealt out with equal readiness, as best served his insatiable avarice and undisguised selfishness. These base qualities, tempered by tact and great readiness, gained for him a success equally unaccountable and undeserved; he became rich, caressed, applauded, dreaded, and is said to have earned not less than 70,000 scudi during his career. The popularity which his writings enjoyed among all ranks seems an infatuation,[*166] considering their very moderate merit, and must be viewed as symptomatic of a generally depraved taste, though no doubt his own ineffable conceit and insolence contributed to the delusion. "There truly never was a man who combined such haughty presumption with equal ignorance of literature, meanness of spirit, and debauchery of morals. His style possesses no elegance or grace; indeed he seems to me one of the first to introduce those ludicrous hyperboles and extravagant metaphors that came so generally into use during the next century. Never assuredly have I met with books so empty and useless as those of this impostor, whose baseness equalled his profound ignorance, and the sole object of whose writings was self-interest and lucre. As to his manners, they are amply testified by his works, wherein, besides a prodigal sprinkling of obscenity, there are mentioned the women with whom he intrigued, and the children these bore him; they in fact prove him destitute of moral or religious principle; and if ever he makes a show of compunction or amendment, it is but to relapse speedily into his wonted profanity. Truly such a fellow, who ought hardly to have ventured to show himself in public, stands unequalled in presumptuous arrogance. But the most surprising thing is to see a majority of European princes, and not a few learned Italians, humbling themselves before him without a blush, and rendering him a degrading tribute of gifts and eulogies. Chains of gold, considerable sums of money, pensions, and handsome presents of every sort, came in so constantly from various quarters, that he confesses to receiving from different princes 25,000 scudi within eighteen years. The most amusing part of it is that these rich donations were made because he assumed the proud epithet of scourge of princes, on the plan, as it would seem, of threatening them with his indignation, and with attacks upon their actions in his writings; yet never was there a more sordid adulator of the great, and no work of his contains a single word against any sovereign." It would be difficult to select words more graphic or more just than this description by Tiraboschi, which we have preferred adopting, to the task of reviewing so filthy a character.[*167] We shall elsewhere allude to him in connection with Michael Angelo and Titian, and other notices might be selected of his intercourse with Duke Guidobaldo II. The self-assumed privilege of his position did not however always protect him from the merited consequences of his meanness and malevolence. Boccalini (an author scarcely less mordent than himself, who is said to have expiated his satiric vein by being beaten to death) calls him "a magnet of fisty-cuffs and cudgels, whose enemies' hands, rivalling the promptitude of his own pen, had scarred him all over with as many lines as a navigator's chart." Among those who met him with his own weapons was Antonio Francesco Doni, a literary adventurer of Florence, whose arrival about 1552 at the court of Guidobaldo II. inspired Aretino with jealousy which exploded in an impertinent letter. The intruder, however, maintained his ground till 1558, the year after his opponent's characteristic death, and retaliated in a volume published in 1556, entitled Doni's Earthquake, overthrowing the great beastly colossal Antichrist of our Age; a Work composed in Honour of God and the Holy Church, and in Defence of good Christians, and dedicated "to the infamous and rascally source and fountain of all malice, Pietro Aretino, the putrid limb of public imposture, and true Antichrist of our time."

Still more pungent was the epigrammatic epitaph proposed for him by Francesconi:

"Arezzo's hoary libeller here is laid, Whose bitter slanders all save Christ essayed: He for such slip this reason good can show,— 'How could I mock one whom I do not know?'"

Aretino, returning a Roland for his Oliver, rejoined:

"Francescon, wretched rhymer, here is laid, Who of all things save asses evil said: His plea in favour of the long-eared race, A cousinship that none could fail to trace."[168]

But enough of such ribaldry. The writings of Aretino and his biography are in one respect useful to the historian of his time. The degrading views of human nature afforded by both form a contrast to the bright luminaries which yet lingered above the horizon, whilst by their shadows they complete the verity of the picture. Favoured by fortune far beyond his deserts during life, his memory is equally indebted to art. The encomium of Ariosto has already been quoted, and the pencil of his friend Titian has preserved his person in several portraits; one of them, which, though unfinished, is perhaps the noblest commemorated on Vecellio's canvass, adorns the Pitti Gallery, and almost persuades us that Aretino was a gentleman.

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From an age too prolific in parasitical literature and in shameless morals, there has descended to us a name radiant with genius, and unsullied in reputation. The historian of Urbino may contribute a leaf to the garland which fame has hung upon the brows of Vittoria Colonna,[*169] for her mother was a princess of Montefeltro, and to her maternal ancestry she seems indebted for her heritage of talent. She was daughter of Fabrizio Colonna, by Agnesina daughter of Duke Federigo of Urbino, and was born in 1490. When but four years old she was betrothed, in conformity with the usage of her times, to a mere infant. Yet her marriage may be deemed fortunate, for her husband, Ferdinando Francesco Marquis of Pescara, was not only a cadet of the very ancient house of Avalos, which had accompanied Alfonzo of Aragon from Spain to Naples, and had married the heiress of Aquino and Pescara in the Abruzzi, but, among the warriors of an era still fertile in heroes, none was more early distinguished or promoted. He died prematurely at thirty-three, while in command of the imperial troops. His consort, imitating her grandmother Battista Sforza, had learned to console the childless solitude of his prolonged absences by habits of study, and in them found resource amid the bereavements of a widowhood which no offer of marriage could tempt her to infringe. But though she sought not the world or its incense, her high rank, wealth, and personal graces, gained many an admirer, whilst the elevated beauty of her poetry, the charms of her conversation and correspondence, attracted to her the respectful adoration of the learned. She cherished her husband's memory with rare constancy, modifying grief by spiritual solace. In her piety there was neither blind superstition nor cold formality. Devotional exercises and religious intercourse shared her hours with poetry and literature tinged by their influence, and among her most welcome visitors were some of those Italian divines who favoured the Reformation. On this account she has been claimed as a convert to protestantism, but upon insufficient grounds. She adhered apparently to the faith of her fathers, and was spared by a timely death, in 1547, from witnessing the persecutions undergone by her friends of the new creed.[*170] Among those to whom the sympathies of genius and piety united her was Michael Angelo, who testified his respect by a visit to her death-bed, and his regret by a touching sonnet to her memory.[*171] Not less gratifying was the tribute to her worth which Ariosto has embalmed in seven stanzas of the Furioso, canto xxxvii.:—

"One will choose, and such will choose, that she All envy shall so well have overthrown, No other woman can offended be, If, passing others, her I praise alone; No joys this one but immortality, Through her sweet style, and better know I none."

Of her writings few remain, and these but fugitive pieces.[*172] We are happy in being able to make our readers acquainted with them through the graceful translations of the late Mr. Glassford, selecting three sonnets in which she tenderly alludes to the blight of her widowhood, mildly inculcates the cloisters' quiet, and clothes in glowing language orisons of holiest fervour.

I.

"Methinks the sun his wonted beam denies, Nor lends such radiance to his sister's car; Methinks each planet mild, and lovely star, Has left its sweet course in the spangled skies. Fallen is the heart of noble enterprise, True glory perished and the pride of war; All grace and every virtue perished are, The leaf is withered and the floweret dies. Unmoved I am, though heaven and earth invite, Warmed by no ray nor fanned if zephyr blow; All offices of nature are deranged: Since the bright sun that cheered me vanished so, The courses of the world have quite been changed; Ah no! but sorrow veils them from my sight."

II.

"If those delights which from the living well Above are dropped into the heart contrite Were also visible, and others might Know what great peace with love divine can dwell, Perhaps it would be then less hard to tell Why fame and fortune have been counted light, And how the wisest men transported quite Would take their cross and seek the mountain cell, Finding that death-sweet life; and not alone In prospect, but now also while the blind And erring world from the shadows will not cease. When the awakened soul to God has flown With humble will to what He wills inclined, Then outward war to such is inward peace."

III.

"Thanks to thy sovereign grace, O God! if I Am graff'd in that true vine a living shoot, Whose arms embrace the world, and in whose root, Planted by faith, our life must hidden lie, But thou beholdest how I fade and dry, Choked with a waste of leaf, and void of fruit, Unless thy spring perennial shall recruit My sapless branch, still wanting fresh supply. O cleanse me then, and make me to abide Wholly in thee, to drink thy heavenly dew, And watered daily with my tears to grow. Thou art the truth, thy promise is my guide; Prepare me when thou comest, Lord, to show Fruits answering to the stock on which I grew."

In Italy the Muses have ever had numerous priestesses, welcomed with an enthusiasm measured rather by the gallantry of their admirers than by their real deserts. Among these was Laura Battiferri, born at Urbino in 1522-3, whose genius has inspired the pens of Caro, Varchi, Mazzuchelli, and others; and whom by a questionable, and, as regarded her morals, a most unmerited compliment, Pietro Vettori compared to Sappho. Following a very different model, she, like Vittoria Colonna, composed many devotional pieces, often versifying the sadder portions of sacred writ, two volumes of which were published at Florence. Rarer perhaps, and more creditable than her poetic celebrity, was the reputation for moral worth transmitted to us in connection with her name, which she happily exchanged by her union with Bartolomeo Ammanati, notwithstanding frowns from a high quarter. The Duchess Vittoria, proud of her talents, laid upon her an injunction not to marry out of her native state. This restriction had the usual result; her husband was a Florentine sculptor, and it required all the influence of Cardinal Alessandro Farnese with his sister to obtain pardon for such flagrant disobedience.

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"In 1558, there were at the court of Urbino—of old the resort of talented persons—many great and famous poets, such as Messer Bernardo Capello, Messer Bernardo Tasso, Messer Girolamo Muzio, and Messer Antonio Gallo, whose whole occupation it was, like white gentle swans, emulously to sing, and celebrate in verse, the eminent beauty, and far more eminent virtues, of the illustrious Duchess." With these names might be coupled Dionigi Atanagi, the writer of this euphuism, and also Annibale Caro, Antonio Allegretti, Marco Montano, and Cornelio Lanci. Of Tasso and Muzio we elsewhere speak. Caro and Capello were connected with the ducal family only by one or two complimentary effusions, in return for occasional hospitality. Allegretti indited an epithalamium on the marriage of Duchess Vittoria, in which, alluding to the heraldic bearings then united, he celebrated the prudent hand of the wise shepherd (Paul III.), who transplanted that virgin Lily into good soil under the shadow of the mighty Oak; in conclusion, he summoned the attendants to scatter acorns and fleurs-de-lis before the bridal pair. Lanci's comedies no longer "fret and strut their hour upon the stage," but they are said to deserve the praise of comparative purity in an age when decency was no necessary ingredient of scenic merit. Three names remain for consideration, who, as natives of the duchy, may claim a brief notice.

Dionigi Atanagi was born at Cagli, and, after twenty-five years spent at the Roman court, returned, in 1557, to recruit his constitution in his native air. He was invited to Pesaro by his sovereign, at the suggestion of Bernardo Tasso, who wished him to revise the Amadigi; but there he found his health still further impaired by mental fatigue. Several of his sonnets are addressed to members of the ducal family and court; one of them, inscribed to Guidobaldo II., lauds him as "a prince and captain of invincible valour, of wisdom superhuman, of bounty and benignity past belief, of ineffable eloquence, of incomparable liberality and magnificence, a paragon of religion, the lofty stay of Italian honour and renown. Being the natural sovereign as well as special patron and singular benefactor of the author, whose every hope rests in him next to God, it is his desire, in the full knowledge how much is due to his Excellency's infinite merits, to fill with heroic praises of him whatever work he may undertake; but overwhelmed by the grandeur of the theme, his silence is broken only by excuses for his deficiency." This fulsome trash is no unfair specimen of such compositions. The following invitation to Urbino, as an asylum of the Muses, is in a somewhat happier vein, which we have endeavoured to render:—

"Anime belle, e di virtute amiche, Cui fero sdegno di fortuna offende, SÌ che ven gite povere e mendiche, Come e lei piace, che pietÀ contende; Se di por fine alle miserie antiche Caldo desio l'afflitto cor v'incende, Ratte correte alia gran QUERCIA d'oro, Ond'avrete alimento ombra e ristoro. "Qui regna un Signor placido e benigno, Ch'altro ch'altrui giovar unqua non pensa, Cortese, e d'ogni real laude degno; Che ciascun pasce a sua ricca mensa, E 'n buon revolge ogni destin maligno, Mentre le grazie sue largo dispensa Guidobaldo, di principi fenici, Che puÒ col guardo sol far l'uom felice. "Qui le buone arti ed i nobili costumi, Senno, fede e valor, fido albergo hanno; Qui fioriscon gl'ingegni, e chiari lumi Via piÙ ch'il sol spargendo intorno vanno: Qui mel le piante, qui dan latte i fiumi; Qui pace È queta senza alcuno affanno; Qui 'l vizio È morto, e virtÙ bella È viva Beato chi ci nasce e chi ci arriva."

1.

Ah! beauteous souls, to virtue ever prone, Whom evil Fortune's cruel grudge offends, Bereft of every stay, and left to groan By her caprice, while heavy grief impends; If in your aching hearts that grief evoke A wish such lengthened miseries to close, Speed 'neath the umbrage of the golden OAK To share its genial shelter and repose.

2.

A gentle and benignant Prince there reigns, On other's weal exclusively intent, Courteous, and worth all praise in royal strains, From whose well plenished table none are sent. Each evil destiny by him disarmed, His gracious boons are scattered widely round; E'en by his winning glance is each one charmed, Phoenix of princes, Guidobaldo crowned.

3.

Ennobling arts and noble manners here, With wit, and faith, and courage have their home, While genius' meteor gleams more bright appear Than Phoebus flickering in the skiey dome. Here honey-laden meads and milky streams To painless peace attract, and gentle rest; Here vice is dead, while worth resplendent seems: Happy such duchy's native, or its guest!

Among the men of letters whom it was the pride of Guidobaldo II. to attract round him, was Antonio Galli, of Urbino. His uncle, the Cavalier Angelo, had preceded him, both in the cultivation of the muses, and in the good graces of the Dukes, having been employed on various political missions by Guidantonio, Oddantonio, and Federigo; during his leisure hours he had composed sonnets and canzonets in imitation of Petrarch, then the popular model for minor poets. For Antonio has been claimed the questionable honour of introducing pastoral dramas, which long exercised a debilitating influence on the literature of Italy, and spread from there the vitiating style to other lands. He, too, held diplomatic appointments at the courts of Rome and Spain, and to the republic of Venice; and having acquired the reputation of a man, not less of business than of letters, the Duke entrusted him with the superintendence of Prince Francesco Maria, until his death in 1551. His contemporary and friend Marco Montano enjoyed his sovereign's favour without sharing any public employments. In youth he had been secretary of Cardinal Carlo Borromeo, and afterwards addicted himself to Latin and Italian verse, with a success sufficient to gain him applause from Baldi, and from Tasso the compliment of being ranked next to Guarini among the living bards of Italy. The suffrage of these partial friends has not been confirmed by posterity; for Montano's poetry lies forgotten, and his name is cherished only in connection with the literary history of his native state.

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Among the names which shed a lustre upon Urbino, in return for hospitalities received at that court, was that of Bernardo Tasso,[*173] whose splendour would have been more conspicuous in the galaxy of Italian poets, had he not given birth to a son of yet brighter genius. The house of Tasso was of ancient descent in the Bergamasque territory; but Bernardo drew his first breath at Venice, the home of his mother, a lady of the Cornari. Of his youth we know nothing, except that he enjoyed the advantage of a liberal education, and that his morals were no exception to the lax habits of the age. An avowed lover of the matronly Ginevra Malatesta, he sang her beauty in strains complaining of her continence; and at Rome he dangled in poverty after Tullia d'Aragona, one of those splendid examples of wasted powers and successful vice over which the philosopher puzzles while the historian sighs, whose talents were given to the Muses, whose graces were devoted to Venus.

Finding himself past thirty without either an independence or a career, he commenced the life of a literary courtier, for which the social condition of Italy under her many principalities held out considerable inducements. His first essay was as private secretary to Count Guido Rangone, a warrior chief of some distinction; and during the Lombard campaign in 1526 Bernardo was sent by him on missions of importance to the Doge of Genoa and to the Pope.[*174] He remained with the latter on Bourbon's approach, and was commissioned by his Holiness to seek out Lannoy at Siena, and urge him to repair to Rome, take command of the imperial troops, and put an end to their outrages. In this journey the speed of his Turkish charger enabled him to escape from an assault which proved fatal to one of his attendants. Though unsuccessful in the negotiation, his dexterity recommended him as papal envoy to the court of France, in order to arrange the advance of Lautrec, whom he accompanied into Italy. After the destruction of the French army before Naples, we find him for a time secretary to Laura Duchess of Ferrara, and he accompanied the Marquis of Vasto on the Turkish campaign in Hungary.

It was in 1531 that he entered the service of Ferdinando or Ferrante Sanseverino, Prince of Salerno, whom he attended to Africa in the expedition of Charles V. against Tunis. His patron was a prince of ample means, and of corresponding generosity to persons of literary merit; and Tasso, having distinguished himself by several published collections of verses, as well as by the able performance of his more immediate duties, was rewarded by offices and pensions yielding him about 1000 scudi a year. Finding himself thus independent at forty-six, he married Porzia de' Rossi, the beautiful, accomplished, and well-dowried daughter of a noble family in Pistoia, and settled himself at Sorrento, where he spent the best and happiest years of his life, and, with occasional interruptions of business and calls to the camp, pursued his poetical studies.[*175]

On that plain which matures a tropical luxuriance of vegetation, and where nature lavishes the brightest of her varying tints, his inspiration was developed, and the more brilliant genius of his son imbibed its earliest impressions. The casino in which Torquato first saw the light[176] commanded a view of unparalleled beauty;—the bright bay and its far-off islands of picturesque outline,—Naples, with its endless line of white suburbs glittering along the shore,—Vesuvius, the marvellous workshop of volcanic wonders,—golden sunsets of unclouded glow, and mellowed combinations of mountain and marine scenery awaiting the pencil of Salvator Rosa. Nor were these the only charms which the poet found in this spot. He has celebrated in his correspondence its balmy and healthful climate, and the courteous hospitality of its inhabitants. These qualities still attract strangers to the Piano di Sorrento, and the villa which sheltered Torquato on his escape from Ferrara is now a comfortable hotel, inviting them to gaze from its beetling cliff on the scenes of his youthful inspiration.

The Amadigi was commenced in that genial spot, and the Prince of Salerno complacently anticipated the extended reputation which it promised to his protÉgÉ. But the storm, meanwhile, gathered, which was to sweep patron and poet from their palmy state. The Prince, by entanglements which we need not trace, found himself compromised with the Viceroy, Don Pedro Toledo, and, from mingled alarm and pique, sacrificed his vast hereditary stake, by passing over to the French service. This happened in 1552,[*177] and Tasso followed his fortunes without being involved in his treason. After accompanying him to France, he came, in 1554, to Rome, where he took up his abode, in the hope of soon being joined by his wife and family, and of establishing himself there. But she was detained at Naples, for the purpose of recovering part of her husband's property, or at all events her own fortune, which had been escheated on his flight. Her difficulties were increased by the selfish conduct of her own relations, and at length, in the spring of 1556, she died suddenly, not without suspicion of poison. "I have lost," writes her husband, "a woman whose virtues and estimable qualities rendered her beloved and endeared to me as life itself, who was worthy of general admiration, and in whose bosom I had hoped peacefully to pass the closing years of my old age!" But other cares were falling thickly around him. Though joined by his son Torquato, he could never rescue his only other child Cornelia from her maternal relations, and suffered intense anxiety for her welfare. Still nominally in the Prince of Salerno's service, and actually employed as his confidential agent, he found himself estranged from his regard, his correspondence interrupted, and his salary irregularly paid. Bitterly experiencing the not unfrequent guerdon of fidelity to fallen dignitaries, he thus addressed his patron in February, 1556:—

"Your Excellency has now to learn the influence of unstable and malignant fortune upon this your unhappy servant. You know how often you have quoted me as an instance of happiness, saying that I had a beautiful and virtuous wife, by whom I was beloved, and on whom I doated; that I had the finest children, ample means, an excellent house well decorated, as well as comfortably furnished; and that I enjoyed the respect and good opinion of the world, as well as that most important advantage of all, your favour. Now you may see in how brief an interval I have fallen from that height of happiness into the depths of misery. I have lost my means, earned, as all know, most honourably, and with no small fatigue and peril. I have lost my independence; and, in a word, my every comfort. I have been deprived of my dearest wife, and with her have occasioned to my unhappy children the sacrifice of their mother's dowry, and of all my remaining prospect of maintaining them, and conducting them to that position which every respectable and affectionate parent would desire. But, worst of all, I perceive from obvious symptoms, that I have forfeited your favour without having given you the slightest cause. The reason of my sinking into these misfortunes, being obvious to the whole world, should not be concealed from you. I am so situated, that any one refusing to compassionate me must be devoid of pity and all good feeling; and if you still retain the smallest share of that magnanimity, generosity, or gratitude which you were wont so honourably to manifest to your servants, you will yet have pity on me, and will endeavour to raise me from that abyss of wretchedness into which I have fallen in your service."

This sad appeal meeting with no response, he retired from the Prince's service with a nominal pension of 300 scudi, which seems never to have been paid him. Writing to a friend, he says, "I have thrown out into this sea of troubles many anchors of reason, to save my tempest-tost mind from shipwreck. But I fear that, in the long run, if not conducted into port by a favouring breeze from some benignant prince, I may be swamped, from the cable of my constancy parting; for it is hard from prosperity and happiness to fall into misery, and struggle with famine." Scared away from Rome by the din of coming war, in the renewed strife between France and Spain for the domination of the Peninsula, and

"Eating the bitter bread of banishment,"

he had reached Ravenna, when an invitation arrived from Guidobaldo II., Duke of Urbino, a cousin of his late patron, whose court offered to genius just such a haven as he had hoped for. In October, 1556, he reached Pesaro, where the Duke assigned as a residence for the poet his casino called the Barchetto, a house which still stands within the walls of Pesaro, surrounded by a smiling garden. Its very limited accommodation, now used by the gardener, cannot have afforded a commodious dwelling, but such as it was, it appears to have satisfied Bernardo, who after a few weeks was encouraged by the Duke's courtesy to send for his son, with a view to establishing himself in that capital. His residence there somewhat exceeded two years, during which we gather from his correspondence few incidents beyond his literary occupations. Though avowing himself in the service of Guidobaldo, he does not seem to have had from him either employment or a fixed maintenance, but was probably supported by his hospitality. He now put the finishing touches to his Amadigi, begun fourteen years before, and repaid the favours bestowed upon him with the usual homage of a courtly poet. Anxiously clinging to the hope of making his peace with Spain, in order to recover his own and his wife's property which had been confiscated at Naples, he obtained the mediation of several courts in his favour, and even had recourse to the good offices of Cardinal Pole with Philip II., then husband of the English Queen Mary. In this object Guidobaldo particularly interested himself, and it was at his suggestion that Bernardo dedicated his poem to that monarch, whose praises, with those of his consort, had been already sung in its eleventh canto. But his pearls were lavished unavailingly on one incapable of appreciating either the gift or the donor, and a long apologetic letter from Girolamo Ruscelli, which accompanied the peace-offering, remained unacknowledged.

In these times literary advertisements were unknown, but the reputation of a forthcoming work was heralded by a scarcely less effectual expedient. Passages of it were handed about in manuscript among literary circles, and criticisms were requested from the author's more intimate friends. Thus was it with the Amadigi; and Bernardo has not shrunk from giving to the world the letters by which he sought for or replied to such suggestions. Dionigi Atanagi was summoned from Cagli by the Duke, for the purpose of making those verbal corrections which were rendered irksome to the poet by weak sight. Sperone Speroni writes to the author that, in two revisions, he had removed the vulgarisms, roughnesses, and redundancies, cancelling above two hundred stanzas, and that, in a third reading, he would probably delete as many more. The first conception was that of a regular epic; but the cold reception which it met with from his friends induced Bernardo to adopt a manner more conformable to the romantic and less fettered taste of the age. In the summer of 1557 he read a canto each night, at Urbino, to the Duchess Vittoria and a select audience. Having thus raised public anticipation, the poet was anxious to reap the fruits of his labours in honour and emolument; but he found a double difficulty in obtaining the 500 scudi required for the expense of an edition, and in procuring the papal licence without having the work submitted regularly to the censure. At length, in 1560, it issued, by the aid of Guidobaldo, from the press of Giolito, at Venice, in which town Tasso had chiefly resided for eighteen months, and where he, for a short time, acted as secretary to a literary academy, established in 1558, before which he read his Essay on Poetry. His remaining years produced few incidents. After an ineffectual overture to take service at the court of Savoy, he became chief secretary to the Duke of Mantua, who made him governor of Ostiglia. There he died on the 4th of September, 1569; and the epitaph penned by his son, but never placed over his ashes, runs thus:—

Erected by his son Torquato to
Bernardo Tasso,
Distinguished for the fertility and eminence
of his genius, in the relaxation of poetry
and in the affairs of princes, in both of which
he has left memorials of his industry, as
well as for the fickleness and inconstancy of
his fortunes.
He lived LXXVI. years, and died IV Sept. MDLXIX.

His bereavement was thus intimated by Torquato to the Duke of Urbino: "On the 4th of September it pleased the Lord God to call to himself the blessed soul of my father, whose death, although in all respects mature, is nevertheless felt by me as most untimely, and, I am persuaded, will be very unacceptable to your Excellency, who by so many proofs of regard considered him among your most esteemed servants, and towards whom I know his especial reverence. Of this respect, and of the infinite obligations under which he lay to your Excellency, I am most willingly the representative; and if that favour which your Excellency ever extended for his protection, and that of his interests, be devolved upon me, I shall deem it an ample patrimony that he has left me. And herewith praying a happy issue to all your honoured desires, I humbly kiss your hands. From Ferrara, the 28th September, 1569."

An amiable disposition and agreeable manners procured for Bernardo Tasso, in all the fluctuations of his career, troops of friends, including the brightest names of his age. In the many situations of trust which he filled, his prudence and address, his fidelity and sincerity, acquired for him general estimation. Although his literary reputation now hangs, in a great degree, upon that of his son, his contemporaries, who knew not what the latter had in store for them, regarded him as the first epic poet of his age, comparing him even with Ariosto, whom he freely and avowedly imitated. To draw out some fifty-seven thousand verses on a borrowed and almost barren theme, in a style anticipated by several preceding minstrels, was an effort repugnant to fine genius, and susceptible of no marked success. Its necessary failing is diffuseness, varying from inflation to languor; its redeeming merit an acknowledged facility, sustained at times by fertile images, and by delicately beautiful descriptions. It is generally flowing, though, at times, feeble; yet is considered by Panizzi "unquestionably the best romantic narrative from amongst those not founded on the traditions respecting Charlemagne." Indeed, his poetry, while sharing with coeval productions the blemishes of exuberant ornament and quaint conceits, is seldom surpassed in pathos, and his dulcet numbers reconcile us to his faults of manner. What, to its author, was probably its most important quality, is now, perhaps, its greatest defect,—the profuse flattery of which it was made the medium. "To eat the bread of others" was the often hard, usually degrading, tenure self-imposed on court poets; and to such, a subject admitting of endless episodes, and the frequent introduction of existing personages, in their real characters or under transparent allegories, was a harvest of princely favour and of wealth. This, however, was an error of the age, which ought not to be charged on any single poet, least of all on one who had given his best and worthiest efforts to a barren soil. The fugitive poetry of Tasso partakes largely of this adulatory colouring. But, for him is claimed such praise as the invention of the Ode deserves; and this was deemed creditable service to a literature which has often invested trifles with undue importance.

Bernardo was a secretary ere he became a poet, and his reputation rests more surely upon his correspondence than on his verses. That rhetoric which Bembo inculcated by precept and practice had become a fashion among men of literary pretension; their letters were composed as models of style, and manuscript or printed collections of them were in very general circulation. Such compositions, when thus written for the public, wanted the freshness and simplicity which constitute their best charm; but they gained attractions of another sort, and came to be read more for their manner than their matter. To this class belong the letters of the elder Tasso: nitid in style, but cold in feeling, they exhibit the niceties of Italian idiom, rather than the familiarities of Italian life. A very favourable specimen, but too long for insertion here, is that in which he proposes to his wife the principles which ought to guide her in bringing up their children, and in the formation of their manners and character. Though sometimes smoothed down to commonplace, it breathes a fine spirit of paternal affection, and combines religious observance with a becoming knowledge of the world.

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