The Romance of Biography Volume I Part 10

G.o.d better knows than my pen can report, Wisdom, largesse,[58] estate,[59] and cunning[60] sure: In every point so guided her measure, In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance, That nature could no more her child advance.

The account of his own feelings as she disappears from his charmed gaze,--his lingering at the window of his tower, till Phoebus

Had bid farewell to every leaf and flower,--

then resting his head pensively on the cold stone, and the vision which steals upon his half-waking, half-dreaming fancy, and shadows forth the happy issue of his love,--are all conceived in the most lively manner.

It is judged from internal evidence, that this poem must have been finished after his marriage, since he intimates that he is blessed in the possession of her he loved, and that the fair vision of his solitary dungeon is realised.

When the King of Scots was released, he wooed and won openly, and as a monarch, the woman he had adored in secret. The marriage was solemnized in 1423, and he carried Lady Jane to Scotland where she was crowned soon after his bride and queen.

How well she merited, and how deeply she repaid the love of her devoted and all-accomplished husband, is told in history. When James was surprised and murdered by some of his factious barons, his queen threw herself between him and the daggers of the a.s.sa.s.sins, received many of the wounds aimed at his heart, nor could they complete their purpose till they had dragged her by force from his arms. She deserved to be a poet's queen and love! These are the souls, the deeds which inspire poetry,--or rather which are themselves poetry, its principle and its essence. It was on this occasion that Catherine Douglas, one of the queen's attendants, thrust her arm into the stanchion of the door to serve the purpose of a bolt, and held it there till the savage a.s.sailants forced their way by shattering the frail defence. What times were those!--alas! the love of women, and the barbarity of men!

FOOTNOTES:

[45] Edward III. and the Black Prince.

[46] She was popularly distinguished as the "_good_ Queen Anne," and as dear to her husband as to her people. Richard, who with many and fatal faults, really possessed sensibility and strong domestic affections with which Shakspeare has so finely pourtrayed him, was pa.s.sionately devoted to his amiable wife. She died young, at the Palace of Sheen; and when Richard afterwards visited the scene of his loss, he solemnly cursed it in his anguish, and commanded it to be razed to the ground, which was done. One of our kings afterwards rebuilt it. I think Henry the VIIth.

[47] Court of Love, v. 369-412.

[48] Court of Love, v. 36-42.

[49] _i. e._ the tapestry, like my dream, was a representation, not a reality.

[50] Chaucer's Dreame, v. 2185. "Here also is showed Chaucer's match with a certain gentlewoman, who was so well liked and loved of the Lady Blanche and her Lord (as Chaucer himself also was), that gladly they concluded a marriage between them."--_Arguments to Chaucer's Works.

Edit._ 1597.

[51] To me there is nothing dear or hateful, every thing is indifferent.

[52] _Mazed_,--distracted.

[53] G.o.dwin's Life of Chaucer, v. iii. p. 5.

[54] In right of his mother, Elizabeth Plantagenet, eldest sister of Edward IV.

[55] These were Henry of Lancaster, afterwards Henry IV. Philippa, Queen of Portugal, and Elizabeth, d.u.c.h.ess of Exeter.

[56] Catherine, d.u.c.h.ess of Lancaster, had three sons: the second was the famous Cardinal Beaufort; the eldest (created Earl of Somerset,) was grandfather to Henry the Seventh, and consequently ancestor to the whole race of Tudor: thus from the sister of Chaucer's wife are descended all the English sovereigns, from the fifteenth century; and likewise the present family of Somerset, Dukes of Beaufort.

[57] "The King's Quhair," (i.e. _cahier_ or book.)

[58] Liberality.

[59] Dignity.

[60] Knowledge and discretion.

CHAPTER XI.

LORENZO DE' MEDICI AND LUCRETIA DONATI.

To Lorenzo de' Medici,--or rather to the preminence his personal qualities, his family possessions, and his unequalled talents, gave him over his countrymen,--some late travellers and politicians have attributed the downfall of the liberties of Florence, and attacked his memory as the precursor of tyrants and the preparer of slaves. It may be so:--yet was it the fault of Lorenzo, if his collateral posterity afterwards became the oppressors of that State of which he was the father and the saviour? And since in this world some must command and some obey, what power is so legitimate as that derived from the influence of superior virtue and talent? from the employ of riches obtained by honourable industry, and expended with princely munificence, and subscribed to by the will and the affections of the people?

But I forget:--these are questions foreign to our subject. Politics I never could understand in my life, and history I have forgotten,--or would wish to forget,--perplexed by its conflicting evidence, and shocked by its interminable tissue of horrors. Let others then scale the height while we gather flowers at the foot; let others explore the mazes of the forest; ours be rather

The gay parterre, the chequered shade, The morning bower, the evening colonnade, Those soft recesses of uneasy minds,

whence the din of doleful war, the rumour of cruelty and suffering, and all the "fitful stir unprofitable" of the world are shut out, and only the beautiful and good, or the graceful and the gay, are admitted. There have been pens enough, Heaven knows, to chronicle the wrongs, the crimes, the sorrows of our s.e.x: why should I add an echo to that voice, which from the beginning has cried aloud in the wilderness of this world, upon women betrayed, and betraying in self-defence? A n.o.bler and more grateful task be mine, to show them how much of what is most fair, most excellent, most sublime among the productions of human genius, has been owing to their influence, direct or indirect; and call up the spirits of the dead,--those who from their silent urns still rule the pulses of our hearts--to bear witness to this truth.

It is not, then, Lorenzo the MAGNIFICENT, the statesman, and the chief of a great republic, who finds a place in these pages,--but Lorenzo the lover and the poet, round whose memory hover a thousand bright recollections connected with the revival of arts and literature, and the golden age of Italy. Let politicians say what they will, there is a spell of harmony, there is music in his very name! how softly the vowelled syllables drop from the lips--LORENZO DE' MEDICI!--it even looks elegant when written. Yes, there is something in the mere sound of a name. I remember once taking up a book, and a very celebrated book, in which, after turning over some of the pages with pleasure, I came to _Peter_ and _Laurence Medecis_,--I shut it hastily, as I would have covered my ears to protect them from a sudden discord in music.

Between Petrarch and Lorenzo de' Medici, there occurs not a single great name in Italian poetry. The century seemed to lie fallow, as if preparing for the great birth of various genius which distinguished the succeeding age. The sciences and the cla.s.sics were chiefly studied, and philosophy and Greek seemed to have banished love and poetry.

In such a state of things, it is rather surprising to find in Lorenzo de' Medici the common case reversed; for by his own confession, it appears that it was not love which made him a poet, but poetry which made him a lover.

Giuliano, the brother of Lorenzo,--he who was afterwards a.s.sa.s.sinated by the Pazzi, and was so beloved at Florence for his amiable character and personal accomplishments, had been seized with a pa.s.sion for a lady named Simonetta, who was esteemed the most beautiful woman in Florence, and is scarcely ever mentioned but with the epithet, "La bella Simonetta."--She died in the bloom of early youth, and all the wit and eloquence of her native city were called forth in condolences addressed to Giuliano, or elegies to her memory, in prose and verse, Latin, Greek, and Italian. Among the rest, Lorenzo, who had already made several attempts in Italian poetry, pressed forward to celebrate the love and the loss of his amiable brother:--in his zeal to do justice to so dear a subject, he worked himself up into a fit of amorous and poetical enthusiasm which soon found a real and living beauty for its object. But to give this romantic tale its proper effect, it must be related in Lorenzo's own words. He has left us a most circ.u.mstantial and elegant as well as interesting and fanciful account of the birth and progress of his poetic pa.s.sion, and I extract it at length from Mr. Roscoe's translation.

"A young lady of great personal attractions happened to die at Florence; and as she had been very generally admired and beloved, so her death was as generally lamented. Nor was this to be much wondered at; for, independent of her beauty, her manners were so engaging, that almost every person who had any acquaintance with her flattered himself that he had obtained the chief place in her affections." (In other words, this beautiful Simonetta was an exquisite coquette.)

"This fatal event excited the extreme regret of her admirers; and as she was carried to the place of burial, with her face uncovered, those who had known her when living, pressed for a last look at the object of their adoration, and accompanied her funeral with their tears.

"On this occasion, all the eloquence, and all the wit of Florence were exerted in paying due honours to her memory, both in prose and verse.

Amongst the rest, I also composed a few sonnets; and in order to give them greater effect, I endeavoured to convince myself, that I too had been deprived of the object of my love, and to excite in my own mind all those pa.s.sions that might enable me to move the affections of others.--Under the influence of this delusion, I began to think how severe was the fate of those by whom she had been beloved; and from thence was led to consider, whether there was any other lady in this city deserving of such honour and praise, and to imagine the happiness that must be experienced by any one, whose good fortune could procure him such a subject for his pen. I accordingly sought for some time without having the satisfaction of finding any one, who in my judgment was deserving of a sincere and constant attachment. But when I had nearly resigned all expectations of success, chance threw in my way that which had been denied to my most diligent inquiry; as if the G.o.d of Love had selected this hopeless period, to give me a more decisive proof of his power.--A public festival was held in Florence, to which all that was n.o.ble and beautiful in the city resorted. To this I was brought by some of my companions (I suppose as my destiny led) against my will, for I had for some time past avoided such exhibitions; or if at times I attended them, it proceeded rather from a compliance with custom, than from any pleasure I experienced in them. Among the ladies there a.s.sembled, I saw one of such sweet and attractive manners, that while I regarded her, I could not help saying, 'If this person were possessed of the delicacy, the understanding, the accomplishments of her who is lately dead--most certainly she excels her in the charms of her person.--"

"Resigning myself to my pa.s.sion, I endeavoured to discover, if possible, how far her manners and her conversation agreed with her appearance; and here I found such an a.s.semblage of extraordinary endowments, that it was difficult to say whether she excelled more in person or in mind. Her beauty was, as I have before mentioned, astonishing. She was of a just and proper height. Her complexion extremely fair, but not pale,--blooming but not ruddy. Her countenance was serious, without being severe,--mild and pleasant without levity or vulgarity. Her eyes were lively, without any indication of pride or conceit. Her whole shape was so finely proportioned, that amongst other women she appeared with superior dignity, yet free from the least degree of formality or affectation. In walking, in dancing, or in other exercises which display the person, every motion was elegant and appropriate. Her sentiments were always just and striking, and have furnished materials for some of my sonnets; she always spoke at the proper time, and always to the purpose, so that nothing could be added, nothing taken away. Though her remarks were often keen and pointed, yet they were so tempered as not to give offence. Her understanding was superior to her s.e.x, but without the appearance of arrogance or presumption; and she avoided an error too common among women, who, when they think themselves sensible, become for the most part insupportable.[61] To recount all her excellencies would far exceed my present limits, and I shall therefore conclude with affirming, that there was nothing which could be desired in a beautiful and an accomplished woman, which was not in her most abundantly found.

By these qualities I was so captivated, that not a power or faculty of my body or mind remained any longer at liberty, and I could not help considering the lady who had died, as the star of Venus, which at the approach of the sun is totally overpowered and extinguished."

The real name of this beautiful and accomplished creature, Lorenzo was too discreet to reveal; but from contemporary authors, we learn that she was Lucretia Donati--a n.o.ble lady, distinguished at Florence for her virtue and beauty, and of the same ill.u.s.trious family which had given a wife to Dante.

When Lorenzo undertook to fall in love thus poetically, he was only twenty: the experiment was perilous; and it is not wonderful that this imaginary pa.s.sion had at first in his ardent and susceptible mind all the effects of a real one: he neglected society--abandoned himself to musing and solitude--affected the rural shades, and gave up his time, and devoted all his powers, to celebrate, in the richest colouring of poetry, her whom he had selected to be the mistress of his heart, or rather the presiding G.o.ddess of his fancy.

The result is exactly what may be imagined, and a proof of the theory on which I insist, that "nothing but what arises from the heart goes to the heart, and that the verse which never quickened a pulse in the bosom of the poet, never awakened a throb in that of his reader." If I were required to express in one word the distinguishing character of Lorenzo's amatory poems, I should say _grace_: they are full of refined sentiment, elegant simplicity, the most exquisite little touches of description, and ill.u.s.trations, drawn either from external nature, or from the refined mysteries of platonism; but there is a want of pa.s.sion, of power, and of pathos; there is no genuine emotion; no overflow of the heart, bursting with its own intense feeling; no voice that cries aloud for our sympathy, and echoes to our inmost bosom. What true lover ever thought of apologising for having given his time to celebrate the object of his love?

"Persecuted as I have been from my youth," says Lorenzo, "some indulgence may perhaps be allowed me for having sought consolation in these pursuits."--And again, in allusion to his political situation,--"It is not to be wondered at if I endeavoured to alleviate my anxiety by turning to more agreeable subjects of meditation; and in celebrating the charms of my mistress, sought a temporary refuge from my cares."--Thus Lorenzo tells us that it was not in obedience to the dictates of his own overflowing heart, nor yet to celebrate the charms of his mistress, and win her favour, that he wrote in her praise, but to amuse himself and distract his mind from those cares and anxieties into which he was so early plunged. It has followed as a natural consequence, that elegant as are the amatory effusions of Lorenzo, they are less celebrated, less popular, than his descriptive and moral poems. His Ambra, La Nencia, and his songs for the carnival, have all in their respective style a higher stamp of excellence and originality than his love poetry. His forte seems to have been lively description, philosophical ill.u.s.tration, and brilliant and sportive fancy, combined with a cla.s.sic taste and polished versification. Some of those sonnets, which, though addressed to Madonna Lucretia, turn chiefly on some beautiful thought or description, are finished like gems; as that on Solitude--

Cerchi chi vuol le pompe e gli alti onori;

and that well known and charming one, "Sopra Violetti,"

Non di verdi giardin, ornati e colti, &c.