Imaginary Conversations and Poems Part 36

_Ta.s.so._ O Jerusalem! I have not then sung in vain the Holy Sepulchre.

_Cornelia._ After such devotion of your genius, you have undergone too many misfortunes.

_Ta.s.so._ Congratulate the man who has had many, and may have more. I have had, I have, I can have, one only.

_Cornelia._ Life runs not smoothly at all seasons, even with the happiest; but after a long course, the rocks subside, the views widen, and it flows on more equably at the end.

_Ta.s.so._ Have the stars smooth surfaces? No, no; but how they shine!

_Cornelia._ Capable of thoughts so exalted, so far above the earth we dwell on, why suffer any to depress and anguish you?

_Ta.s.so._ Cornelia, Cornelia! the mind has within its temples and porticoes and palaces and towers: the mind has under it, ready for the course, steeds brighter than the sun and stronger than the storm; and beside them stand winged chariots, more in number than the Psalmist hath attributed to the Almighty. The mind, I tell thee again, hath its hundred gates, compared whereto the Theban are but willow wickets; and all those hundred gates can genius throw open. But there are some that groan heavily on their hinges, and the hand of G.o.d alone can close them.

_Cornelia._ Torquato has thrown open those of His holy temple; Torquato hath stood, another angel, at His tomb; and am I the sister of Torquato? Kiss me, my brother, and let my tears run only from my pride and joy! Princes have bestowed knighthood on the worthy and unworthy; thou hast called forth those princes from their ranks, pushing back the arrogant and presumptuous of them like intrusive varlets, and conferring on the bettermost crowns and robes, imperishable and unfading.

_Ta.s.so._ I seem to live back into those days. I feel the helmet on my head; I wave the standard over it: brave men smile upon me; beautiful maidens pull them gently back by the scarf, and will not let them break my slumber, nor undraw the curtain. Corneliolina!...

_Cornelia._ Well, my dear brother! why do you stop so suddenly in the midst of them? They are the pleasantest and best company, and they make you look quite happy and joyous.

_Ta.s.so._ Corneliolina, dost thou remember Bergamo? What city was ever so celebrated for honest and valiant men, in all cla.s.ses, or for beautiful girls! There is but one cla.s.s of those: Beauty is above all ranks; the true Madonna, the patroness and bestower of felicity, the queen of heaven.

_Cornelia._ Hush, Torquato, hush! talk not so.

_Ta.s.so._ What rivers, how sunshiny and revelling, are the Brembo and the Serio! What a country the Valtellina! I went back to our father's house, thinking to find thee again, my little sister; thinking to kick away thy ball of yellow silk as thou wast stooping for it, to make thee run after me and beat me. I woke early in the morning; thou wert grown up and gone. Away to Sorrento: I knew the road: a few strides brought me back: here I am. To-morrow, my Cornelia, we will walk together, as we used to do, into the cool and quiet caves on the sh.o.r.e; and we will catch the little breezes as they come in and go out again on the backs of the jocund waves.

_Cornelia._ We will indeed to-morrow; but before we set out we must take a few hours' rest, that we may enjoy our ramble the better.

_Ta.s.so._ Our Sorrentines, I see, are grown rich and avaricious. They have uprooted the old pomegranate hedges, and have built high walls to prohibit the wayfarer from their vineyards.

_Cornelia._ I have a basket of grapes for you in the book-room that overlooks our garden.

_Ta.s.so._ Does the old twisted sage-tree grow still against the window?

_Cornelia._ It harboured too many insects at last, and there was always a nest of scorpions in the crevice.

_Ta.s.so._ Oh! what a prince of a sage-tree! And the well, too, with its bucket of shining metal, large enough for the largest cocomero to cool in it for dinner.

_Cornelia._ The well, I a.s.sure you, is as cool as ever.

_Ta.s.so._ Delicious! delicious! And the stone-work round it, bearing no other marks of waste than my pruning-hook and dagger left behind?

_Cornelia._ None whatever.

_Ta.s.so._ White in that place no longer; there has been time enough for it to become all of one colour: grey, mossy, half-decayed.

_Cornelia._ No, no; not even the rope has wanted repair.

_Ta.s.so._ Who sings yonder?

_Cornelia._ Enchanter! No sooner did you say the word cocomero than here comes a boy carrying one upon his head.

_Ta.s.so._ Listen! listen! I have read in some book or other those verses long ago. They are not unlike my _Aminta_. The very words!

_Cornelia._ Purifier of love, and humanizer of ferocity, how many, my Torquato, will your gentle thoughts make happy!

_Ta.s.so._ At this moment I almost think I am one among them.[10]

_Cornelia._ Be quite persuaded of it. Come, brother, come with me. You shall bathe your heated brow and weary limbs in the chamber of your childhood. It is there we are always the most certain of repose. The boy shall sing to you those sweet verses; and we will reward him with a slice of his own fruit.

_Ta.s.so._ He deserves it; cut it thick.

_Cornelia._ Come then, my truant! Come along, my sweet smiling Torquato!

_Ta.s.so._ The pa.s.sage is darker than ever. Is this the way to the little court? Surely those are not the steps that lead down toward the bath? Oh yes! we are right; I smell the lemon-blossoms. Beware of the old wilding that bears them; it may catch your veil; it may scratch your fingers! Pray, take care: it has many thorns about it. And now, Leonora! you shall hear my last verses! Lean your ear a little toward me; for I must repeat them softly under this low archway, else others may hear them too. Ah! you press my hand once more. Drop it, drop it!

or the verses will sink into my breast again, and lie there silent!

Good girl!

Many, well I know, there are Ready in your joys to share, And (I never blame it) you Are almost as ready too.

But when comes the darker day, And those friends have dropt away, Which is there among them all You should, if you could, recall?

One who wisely loves and well Hears and shares the griefs you tell; Him you ever call apart When the springs o'erflow the heart; For you know that he alone Wishes they were _but_ his own.

Give, while these he may divide, Smiles to all the world beside.

_Cornelia._ We are now in the full light of the chamber; cannot you remember it, having looked so intently all around?

_Ta.s.so._ O sister! I could have slept another hour. You thought I wanted rest: why did you waken me so early? I could have slept another hour or longer. What a dream! But I am calm and happy.

_Cornelia._ May you never more be otherwise! Indeed, he cannot be whose last verses are such as those.

_Ta.s.so._ Have you written any since that morning?

_Cornelia._ What morning?

_Ta.s.so._ When you caught the swallow in my curtains, and trod upon my knees in catching it, luckily with naked feet. The little girl of thirteen laughed at the outcry of her brother Torquatino, and sang without a blush her earliest lay.

_Cornelia._ I do not recollect it.

_Ta.s.so._ I do.

Rondinello! rondinello!

Tu sei nero, ma sei bello.

Cosa fa se tu sei nero?

Rondinello! sei il primiero De' volanti, palpitanti, (E vi sono quanti quanti!) Mai tenuto a questo petto, E perci sei il mio diletto.[11]

_Cornelia._ Here is the cocomero; it cannot be more insipid. Try it.

_Ta.s.so._ Where is the boy who brought it? where is the boy who sang my _Aminta_? Serve him first; give him largely. Cut deeper; the knife is too short: deeper; mia brava Corneliolina! quite through all the red, and into the middle of the seeds. Well done!

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