The Romance of Biography Volume I Part 11

both of which have been happily translated by Roscoe; and to these may be added the address to Cytherea--

Lascia l' isola tua tanta diletta!

Lascia il tuo regno delicato e bello Ciprigna Dea! &c.

There is another, not so well known, distinguished by its peculiar fancy and elegance--

Spesso mi torna a mente, anzi gi mai, &c.

In this he recalls to mind the time and the place, and even the vesture in which his gentle lady first appeared to him--

Quanto vaga, gentil, leggiadra, e pia Non si pu dir, ne imaginar a.s.sai;

and he beautifully adds,

Quale sopra i nevosi, ed alti monti Apollo spande il s...o...b..l lume adorno, Tal' i crin suoi sopra la bianca gonna!

Il tempo e 'l luogo non convien ch' io conti, Che dov' si bel sole sempre giorno; E Paradiso, ov' si bella Donna!

"As over the snowy summits of the high mountains Apollo sheds his golden beams, so flowed her golden tresses over her white vest.--But for the _time_ and the _place_, is it necessary that I should note them? Where s.h.i.+nes so fair a sun, can it be other than day? Where dwells so excellent a beauty, can it be other than Paradise?"

It happened in the midst of Lorenzo's visions of love and poetry, that he was called upon to give his hand to a wife chosen by his father for political reasons. His inclinations were not consulted, as is plain from the blunt amusing manner in which he has noted it down in his memoranda. "I, Lorenzo, took to wife Donna Clarice Orsini,--or rather she was given to me, (ovvero mi fu data) on such a day." Yet a union thus inauspiciously contracted, was rendered, by the affectionate disposition of Lorenzo, and the amiable qualities of his wife, rather happy than otherwise; it is true, we have no poetical compliments addressed by Lorenzo to Donna Clarice, but there is extant a little billet written to her a few months after their marriage, from the tone of which it is fair to suppose, that Lorenzo had exchanged his poetic flame for a real attachment to an amiable woman.[62]

There is a very beautiful and elegant pa.s.sage in the beginning of Lorenzo's commentary on his own poems, in which he enlarges on the theory of love. "The conditions (he says) which appear necessarily to belong to a true, exalted, and worthy love, are two. First,--_to love but one_: secondly,--_to love that one always_. Not many lovers have hearts so generous as to be capable of fulfilling these two conditions; and exceedingly few women display sufficient attractions to withhold men from the violation of them; yet without these there is no true love."

And afterwards, enumerating those charms of person and mind which inspire affection, he adds, "and yet these estimable qualities are not enough, unless the lover possess sensibility of heart to discern them, and elevation and generosity of soul to appreciate them."

This in the original is very elegantly expressed, and the sentiment is as true as it is exalted and graceful; but that Lorenzo was not always thus philosophically refined, that he could descend from these Platonics to be impa.s.sioned and in earnest, and that when touched to the heart, he could pour forth the language of the heart, we have a single instance, which it is impossible to allude to without feeling some emotion of curiosity, which can never now be gratified.

We find among Lorenzo's poems, written later in life than those addressed to Lucretia Donati, one ent.i.tled simply "An Elegy;" the style is different from that of his earlier poetry, and has more of the terseness and energy of Dante than the sweetness and flow of Petrarch.

It begins

"Vinto dagli amorosi, empi martiri."

"Subdued by the fierce pangs of my love, a thousand times have I taken up the pen, to tell thee, O gentle lady mine, all the sighs of my sick heart. Then fearing thy displeasure, I have, on a second thought, flung it from me. * * * Yet must I speak, for if words were wanting, my pallid cheek would betray my suffering."

He then tells her that he does not seek her dishonour, but only her kind thoughts, and that he may find a place within her gentle heart.

Perch non cerco alcun tuo disonore, Ma sol la grazia tua, e che piaci Che'l mio albergo sia dentro al tuo core!

He wishes that he might be once permitted to twine his fingers in her fair hair; to gaze into her eyes;--but he complains that she will not even meet his look,--that she resolutely turns her eyes another way at his approach.--"But do with me what thou wilt: while I live upon this earth, still I must love thee, since it so pleaseth Heaven--I swear it!

and my hand writes it!

"Come then! oh come, while yet thy gracious looks may avail me, for delay is death to one who loves likes me! Would I could send with this scroll all the torture of heart, the tears and sighs, the gesture and the look, that should accompany it!"

Ma s' egli avvien, che soletti ambo insieme, Posso il braccio tenerti al collo avvolto, Vedrai come d'amore alto arde e geme, Vedrai cader dal mio pallido volto, Nel tuo candido sen lagrime tante.

(I leave these lines untranslated for the benefit of the Italian reader). After a few more stanzas, we have this very unequivocal pa.s.sage:

"O would to Heaven, lady, that marriage had made us one! ah, why didst thou not come into this world a little sooner?--or I a little later? Yet why these vain thoughts? since I am doomed to see thee the bride of another, and am myself fettered in these marriage bonds!

"Thou knowest, Madonna, that these sighs, these burning words, are not feigned; for even as Love dictates does my hand write.

"My life and death are with thee;--grant me but a few words, and I am content to live;--if not, let me die! and let my poor remains be laid in some forlorn and sequestered spot. Let none whisper the cause of my death, lest it should grieve thee! enough if some kind hand engrave upon my tomb,--'_He perished through too much love and too much cruelty._'"

I have given, literally, the leading sentiments of this little poem, but have left untranslated many of the stanzas. There are one or two concetti; but as Ginguen truly observes on a different occasion, "Dans les potes Italiens, souvent la pa.s.sion est vraie, mme quand l'expression ne l'est pas."

The style is so natural, the transitions so abrupt, the expressions so energetic, and there are so few of those descriptive ornaments which are plentifully scattered through Lorenzo's other poems, that I should p.r.o.nounce it the real effusion of a heart, touched,--and deeply touched.

It is to be regretted that we know nothing of the name or real character of an object who, deserving or not, could call forth such strong lines as these; and in the plenitude of his power and fame, and in the midst of his great and serious avocations, deeply, though secretly, tyrannise over the peace of Lorenzo.

He is accused,--I regret that I must allude to it,--of considerable licence of manners with regard to women;--a reproach from which Roscoe has fairly vindicated him. United, at the age of twenty-one, to a woman he had never seen; residing in a dissipated capital, surrounded by temptation, and from disposition peculiarly sensible to the influence of women, it is not matter of astonishment if Lorenzo's conjugal faith was not preserved immaculate,--if he occasionally became the thrall of beauty, and--(since he was not likely to be caught by vulgar charms,)--if he sighed, _par hazard_, for one who was not to be tempted by power or gold: such a one as his Elegy indicates. Two points are certain,--that his uniform respect and kindness to his wife Clarice, left her no reason to complain; while his discretion was such, that though historians have hazarded a general accusation against him in this one particular, there exists not in any contemporary writer one scandalous anecdote of his private life, nor the name of any woman to whom he was attached, except that of his poetical love, Lucretia Donati.

Lorenzo de' Medici was not handsome in face, nor graceful in form; but he was captivating in his manners, and excelled in all manly exercises.

The engraving prefixed to Roscoe's life of him, does not do justice to his countenance. I remember the original picture in the gallery of Florence, on which I have looked day after day for many minutes together, with an interest that can only be felt on the very spot where the memory of Lorenzo is "wherever we look, wherever we move." In spite of the stoop in the shoulders, the unbecoming dress, and the harsh features, I was struck by the grand simplicity of the head, and the mingled expression of acuteness, benevolence, and earnest thought in the countenance; the imagination filled with the splendid character of the man, might possibly have perceived more than the eye,--but such was my impression.

Lorenzo died in his forty-fourth year, in 1492. He is not interred in that celebrated chapel of his family, rich with the sublimest productions of Michael Angelo's chisel: he lies at the opposite side of the church, in a magnificent sarcophagus of bronze, which contains also the ashes of his murdered brother, Giuliano.--Among the recollections, sweet and bitter, which I brought from Florence, is the remembrance of a day when retiring, from the glare of an Italian noontide, I stood in the church of San Lorenzo, sketching the tomb of Lorenzo and Giuliano de'

Medici. The spot whence I viewed it was so obscure, that I could scarce see the lines traced by my pencil; but immediately behind the sarcophagus, there flowed from above a stream of strong light, relieving with added effect the dark outline of the sculptured ornaments. Through the grating which formed the background, I could see the figures of shaven monks and stoled priests gliding to and fro, like apparitions; and while I thought more,--O much more,--of the still and cold repose which wrapped the dead, than of their high deeds and far-spread fame, the plaintive music of a distant choir, chanting the _Via crucis_, floated through the pillared aisles, receding or approaching as the singers changed their station; swelling, sinking, and at length dying away on the ear.

FOOTNOTES:

[61] Lorenzo tells us in the original, that the ladies who rendered themselves thus insupportable, were called (_vulgarly_) _Saccenti_:--query--_vulgarly, Blue-stockings_?

[62] Lorenzo de' Medici to his wife Clarice:--

"I arrived here in safety, and am in good health: this, I believe, will please thee better than any thing else, except my return, at least so I judge from my own desire to be once more with thee. a.s.sociate as much as possible with my father and sisters. I shall make all possible speed to return to thee, for it appears a thousand years till I see thee again.

Pray to G.o.d for me--if thou want any thing from this place write in time. From Milan, 22d July, 1469. THY LORENZO."

CHAPTER XII.

THE FAIR GERALDINE.

In the reign of the second Grand Duke of Tuscany, of Lorenzo's family, (Cosmo I.) Florence, it is said, beheld a novel and extraordinary spectacle: a young traveller, from a court and a country which the Italians of that day seemed to regard much as we now do the Esquimaux,[63] combining the learning of the scholar and the amiable bearing of the courtier, with all the rash bravery of youthful romance, astonished the inhabitants of that queenly city, first, by rivalling her polished n.o.bles in the splendour of his state, and gallantry of his manners, and next, by boldly proclaiming that his "lady love" was superior to all that Italy could vaunt of beauty, that she was "oltre le belle, bella," fair beyond the fairest,--and maintaining his boast in a solemn tourney held in her honour, to the overthrow of all his opponents.

This was our English Surrey; one of the earliest and most elegant of our amatory poets, and the lover of the Fair Geraldine.

It must be admitted that the fame of the Earl of Surrey does not rest merely on t.i.tle, and that if the fair Geraldine had never existed, he would still have lived in history as an accomplished scholar, soldier, courtier, and been lamented as the n.o.ble victim of a suspicious tyrant.

But if some fair object of romantic gallantry had not given the impulse to his genius, and excited him to try his powers in a style of which no models yet existed in his native language,[64]--it may be doubted whether his name would have descended to us with all those poetical and chivalrous a.s.sociations which give a charm and an interest to his memory, far beyond that of a mere historical character. As for the fair-haired, blue-eyed Geraldine, the mistress of his fancy and affections, and the subject of his verse, her ident.i.ty long lay _entombed_, as it were, in a poetical name; but Surrey had loved her, had maintained her beauty at the point of his lance--had made her "famous by his pen, and glorious by his sword." This was more than enough to excite the interest and the inquiries of posterity, and lo!

antiquaries and commentators fell to work, archives were searched, genealogies were traced, and at length the substance of this beautiful poetical shadow was detected: she was proved to have been the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald, afterwards the wife of a certain Earl of Lincoln, of whom little is known--but that he married the woman Surrey had loved.

Surrey has ingeniously contrived to compress, within the compa.s.s of a sonnet, some of the most interesting particulars of the personal and family history of his mistress. The Fitzgeralds derive their origin from the Geraldi of Tuscany,--hence

From Tuscan came my ladye's worthy race, Fair Florence was sometime their ancient seat.