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            <title>Yellow Nineties 2.0</title>
            <title>The Yellow Book: An Illustrated Quarterly, Volume 1 April 1894</title>
            <title type="YBV1_garnett_lovestory"/>
            <editor>Lorraine Janzen Kooistra</editor>
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               <date>2019</date>
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            <publisher>Yellow Nineties 2.0</publisher>
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                  <editor>
                     <persName>Henry Harland &amp; Aubrey Beardsley</persName>
                  </editor>
                  <author>Richard Garnett</author>
                  <title>The Love-Story of Luigi Tansillo</title>
                  <imprint>
                     <publisher>Elkin Mathews &amp; John Lane</publisher>
                     <pubPlace> London </pubPlace>
                     <publisher>Copeland &amp; Day</publisher>
                     <pubPlace>Boston</pubPlace>
                     <date>April 1894</date>
                     <biblScope>Garnett, Richard. "The Love-Story of Luigi Tansillo." <emph
                        rend="italic">The Yellow Book</emph>, vol. 1, April 1894, pp. 235-49. <emph rend="italic">Yellow Book Digital Edition</emph>, edited by Dennis Denisoff and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2010-2014. <emph rend="italic">Yellow Nineties 2.0</emph>,
                        Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019. https://1890s.ca/YBV1_garnett_lovestory </biblScope>
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         <div n="YBV1_32pr" type="prose">
            <pb n="255"/>
            <head rend="case(title)align(left)size(18pt)">
               <title level="a">The Love-Story of Luigi Tansillo</title>
            </head>
            <byline>By <docAuthor>
                  <ref target="#RGAR">Richard Garnett</ref>
               </docAuthor>
            </byline>
            <lg>
               <l>Now that my wings are spread to my desire, </l>
               <l rend="indent">The more vast height withdraws the dwindling land, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Wider to wind these pinions I expand, </l>
               <l>And earth disdain, and higher mount and higher </l>
               <l>Nor of the fate of Icarus inquire, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Or cautious droop, or sway to either hand ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">Dead I shall fall, full well I understand ; </l>
               <l>But who lives gloriously as I expire ? </l>
               <l>Yet hear I my own heart that pleading cries, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Stay, madman ! Whither art thou bound ? Descend ! </l>
               <l rend="indent">Ruin is ready Rashness to chastise. </l>
               <l>But I, Fear not, though this indeed the end ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">Cleave we the clouds, and praise our destinies, </l>
               <l rend="indent">If noble fall on noble flight attend. </l>
            </lg>
            <p>
               <hi rend="dropcaps">T</hi>
               <hi rend="all caps">HE</hi> above sonnet, one of the finest in Italian literature,
               is<lb/> already known to many English readers in another transla- <lb/> tion by the
               late <persName type="nonfictional">Mr. J. Addington Symonds</persName>, which
               originally <lb/> appeared in the <emph rend="italic">Cornhill Magazine</emph>, and is
               prefixed to his trans- <lb/> lation of the sonnets of <persName type="nonfictional"
                  >Michael Angelo</persName> and <persName type="nonfictional">Campanella</persName>
                  (<placeName type="city">London</placeName>, <lb/> 1878), under the title of
                     <q>"<title level="m">The Philosopher's Flight</title>."</q> In his <lb/>
               preface <persName type="nonfictional">Mr. Symonds</persName> says : <q>"The sonnet
                  prefixed as a proem <lb/>
                  <fw type="catchword">to</fw>
                  <pb n="256"/>
                  <fw type="pageNum">236</fw>
                  <fw type="runningHead">The Love-Story of Luigi Tansillo</fw> to the whole book is
                  generally attributed to <persName type="nonfictional">Giordano Bruno</persName>,
                  in<lb/> whose Dialogue in the "<foreign xml:lang="la">Eroici Furori</foreign>" it
                  occurs. There seems, <lb/> however, good reason to suppose that it was really
                  written by <lb/>
                  <persName type="fictional">Tansillo</persName>, who recites it in that dialogue.
                  Whoever may have <lb/> been its author, it expresses in noble and impassioned
                  verse the <lb/> sense of danger, the audacity, and the exultation of those
                  pioneers <lb/> of modern thought, for whom philosophy was a voyage of dis-<lb/>
                  covery into untravelled regions."</q>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Mr. Symonds</persName>'s knowledge of<lb/> Italian
               literature was so extensive that he must have had ground <lb/> for stating that the
               sonnet is generally attributed to <persName type="nonfictional">Giordano <lb/>
                  Bruno</persName>; as it certainly is by <persName type="nonfictional">De
                  Sanctis</persName>, though it is printed as <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>'s in all editions of his works,
               imperfect as these were <lb/> before the appearance of <persName type="nonfictional"
                  >Signor Fiorentino's</persName> in <date>1882</date>. It is, <lb/> nevertheless,
               remarkable that he should add : <q>" <emph rend="italic"> There seems good <lb/>
                     reason to suppose </emph>that it was really written by <persName
                     type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>,"</q> as if there <lb/> could be a
               shadow of doubt on the matter. <q>" Eroici Furori "</q> is <lb/> professedly a series
               of dialogues between <persName type="nonfictional">Luigi Tansillo</persName> the Nea-
               <lb/> politan poet, who had died about twenty years before their com-<lb/> position,
               and <persName type="nonfictional">Cicero</persName>, but is in reality little more
               than a monologue, <lb/> for Tansillo does nearly all the talking, and <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Cicero</persName> receives <lb/> his instructions with
               singular docility. The reason of <persName type="nonfictional"
               >Tansillo</persName>'s<lb/> selection for so great an honour was undoubtedly that,
               although <lb/> born at <placeName type="city">Venosa</placeName>, he belonged by
               descent to <placeName type="city">Nola</placeName>, Bruno's own <lb/> city. In making
               such free use of <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>'s poetry as he has
               <lb/> done throughout these dialogues, <persName type="nonfictional">Bruno</persName>
               was far from the least <lb/> idea of pillaging his distinguished countryman. In
               introducing <lb/> the four sonnets he has borrowed (for there are three besides
               that<lb/> already quoted) he is always careful to make <persName type="nonfictional"
                  >Tansillo</persName> speak of <lb/> them as his own compositions, which he never
               does when <persName type="nonfictional">Bruno</persName>'s<lb/> own verses are put
               into his mouth. If a particle of doubt could <lb/> remain, it would be dispelled by
               the fact that this sonnet, with <lb/>
               <fw type="catchword">other</fw>
               <pb n="257"/>
               <fw type="pageNum">237</fw>
               <fw type="runningHead">By Richard Garnett</fw> other poems by <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>, including the three other sonnets intro-
               <lb/> duced into <persName type="nonfictional">Bruno</persName>'s dialogue, is
               published under his name in the <lb/>
               <q>"<foreign xml:lang="it">Rime di diversi illustri <persName type="nonfictional"
                        >Signori Napoletani</persName>
                  </foreign>,"</q> edited by <persName type="nonfictional">Lodovico <lb/>
                  Dolce</persName> at <placeName type="city">Venice</placeName>, in
                  <date>1555</date>, when <persName type="nonfictional">Bruno</persName> was about
               seven years <lb/> old! </p>
            <p>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Mr. Symonds</persName>'s interpretation of the sonnet
               also is erroneous—<lb/> in so far, at least, as that the meaning assigned by him
               never <lb/> entered into the head of the author. It is certainly fully suscep- <lb/>
               tible of such an exposition. But <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>,
               no philosopher, but<lb/> a cavalier, the active part of whose life was mainly spent
               in naval <lb/> expeditions against the Turks, no more thought with <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Mr. Symonds</persName>
               <lb/> of <q>" the pioneers of modern philosophy,"</q> than he thought with <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Bruno</persName> of <q>" arising and freeing himself
                  from the body and sensual <lb/> cognition."</q> On the contrary, the sonnet is a
               love-sonnet, and <lb/> depicts with extraordinary grandeur the elation of spirit,
               combined <lb/> with a sense of peril, consequent upon the poem having conceived <lb/>
               a passion for a lady greatly his superior in rank. The proof of <lb/> this is to be
               found in the fact that the sonnet is one of a series, <lb/> unequivocally celebrating
               an earthly passion ; and especially in the <lb/> sonnet immediately preceding it in
                  <persName type="nonfictional">Dolce</persName>'s collection, manifestly <lb/>
               written at the same time and referring to the same circumstance, <lb/> in which the
               poet ascribes his Icarian flight, not to the <lb/> influence of Philosophy, but of
               Love : <lb/>
            </p>
            <lg>
               <l>Love fits me forth with wings, which so dilate, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Sped skyward at the call of daring thought, </l>
               <l rend="indent">I high and higher soar, with purpose fraught </l>
               <l>Soon to lay smiting hand on Heaven's gate. </l>
               <l>Yet altitude so vast might well abate </l>
               <l rend="indent">My confidence, if Love not succour brought, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Pledging my fame not jeopardised in aught, </l>
               <l>And promising renown as ruin great. </l>
               <fw type="catchword">If</fw>
               <pb n="258"/>
               <fw type="pageNum">238</fw>
               <fw type="runningHead">The Love-Story of Luigi Tansillo </fw>
               <l>If he whom like audacity inspired, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Falling gave name immortal to the flood, </l>
               <l rend="indent">As sunny flame his waxen pinion fired ; </l>
               <l>Then of thee too it shall be understood, </l>
               <l rend="indent">No meaner prize than Heaven thy soul required, </l>
               <l rend="indent"> And firmer than thy life thy courage stood.</l>
            </lg>
            <p>The meaning of the two sonnets is fully recognised by <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Muratori</persName>, who prints them together in his
               treatise, <title level="m">
                  <q>"<foreign xml:lang="it">Delia per- <lb/> fetta poesia</foreign>,"</q>
               </title>and adds : <q>"<foreign xml:lang="it">
                     <emph rend="italic">volea dire costui che Sera imbarcato in un <lb/> amor
                        troppo alto, e s andava facendo coraggio</emph>
                  </foreign>"</q>
               <lb/> This is surely one of the most remarkable instances possible to <lb/> adduce of
               the infinite significance of true poetry, and its capacity <lb/> for inspiring ideas
               and suggesting interpretations of which the <lb/> poet never dreamed, but which are
               nevertheless fairly deducible <lb/> from his expressions. </p>
            <p>It is now a matter of considerable interest to ascertain the <lb/> identity of this
               lady of rank, who could inspire a passion at once <lb/> so exalted and so perilous.
               The point has been investigated by <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>'s editor, <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Signor F. Fiorentino</persName>, who has done so much <lb/> to
               rescue his unpublished compositions from oblivion, and his <lb/> view must be
               pronounced perfectly satisfactory. She was <persName type="nonfictional">Maria <lb/>
                  d'Aragona, Marchioness del Vasto,</persName> whose husband, the <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Marquis <lb/> del Vasto</persName>, a celebrated general of
               Spanish descent, famous as <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Charles the Fifth</persName>'s right hand in his
               successful expedition against <lb/>
               <placeName type="country">Tunis</placeName>, and at one time governor of the
               Milanese, was as remark <lb/> able for his jealousy as the lady, grand-daughter of a
               King of <lb/>
               <persName type="city">Naples</persName>, was for her pride and haughtiness. <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Fiorentino</persName> proves <lb/> his case by showing how
               well all personal allusions in <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>'s.
               <lb/> poems, so far as they can be traced, agree with the circumstances <lb/> of the
               Marchioness, and in particular that the latter is represented <lb/> as at one time
               residing on the <placeName type="region">island of Ischia</placeName>, where
                  <persName type="nonfictional">del Vasto</persName>
               <lb/>
               <fw type="catchword">was</fw>
               <pb n="259"/>
               <fw type="pageNum">239</fw>
               <fw type="runningHead">By Richard Garnett </fw> was accustomed to deposit his wife
               for security, when absent on <lb/> his campaigns. He is apparently not aware that the
               object of<lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>'s affection had already been
               identified with a member of <lb/> the house of <surname>Aragon</surname> by <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Faria e Sousa</persName>, the Portuguese editor of <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Camoëns</persName>, who, in his commentary on <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Camoëns</persName>'s sixty-ninth <lb/> sonnet, gives an
               interminable catalogue of ladies celebrated by <lb/> enamoured poets, and says,
                  <quote>" <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName> sang <persName
                     type="nonfictional">Donna Isabel de <lb/> Aragon</persName>."</quote> This
               lady, however, the niece of the <persName type="nonfictional">Marchioness <lb/> del
                  Vasto</persName>, was a little girl in <persName type="nonfictional"
                  >Tansillo</persName>'s time, and is only men <lb/> tioned by him as inconsolable
               for the death of a favourite dwarf. </p>
            <p>The sentiment, therefore, of the two sonnets of <persName type="nonfictional"
                  >Tansillo</persName> which <lb/> we have quoted, is sufficiently justified by the
               exalted station of <lb/> the lady who had inspired his passion, and the risk he ran
               from <lb/> the power and jealousy of her husband. It seems certain, how- <lb/> ever,
               that the Marquis had on his part no ground for apprehension. <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Maria d'Aragona</persName> does not seem to have had
               much heart to bestow <lb/> upon anyone, and would, in any case, have disdained to
               bestow <lb/> what heart she had upon a poor gentleman and retainer of <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Don <lb/> Garcia de Toledo</persName>, son of the Viceroy of
                  <placeName type="city">Naples</placeName>. She would <lb/> think that she honoured
               him beyond his deserts by accepting his <lb/> poetical homage. <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>, on his part, says in one of his sonnets
               <lb/> that his devotion is purely platonic ; it might have been more <lb/> ardent, he
               hints, but he is dazzled by the splendour of the light he <lb/> contemplates, and
               intimidated by the richness of the band by which <lb/> he is led. So it may have been
               at first, but as time wore on the <lb/> poet naturally craved some proof that his
               lady was not entirely <lb/> indifferent to him, and did not tolerate him merely for
               the sake of <lb/> his verses. This, in the nature of things, could not be given ;
               <lb/> and the poet's raptures pass into doubt and suspicion, thence into <lb/>
               despairing resignation ; thence into resentment and open hostility, <lb/> terminating
               in a cold reconciliation, leaving him free to marry <lb/>
               <fw type="catchword">a much</fw>
               <pb n="260"/>
               <fw type="pageNum">240</fw>
               <fw type="runningHead">The Love-Story of Luigi Tansillo</fw> a much humbler but
               probably a more affectionate person, to whom <lb/> he addresses no impassioned
               sonnets, but whom he instructs in a <lb/> very elegant poem (<title level="a">
                  <q>"La Balia"</q>
               </title>) how to bring up her infant <lb/> children. These varying affections are
               depicted with extreme <lb/> liveliness in a series of sonnets, of which we propose to
               offer some <lb/> translated specimens. The order will not be that of the editions
               <lb/> of <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>, where the pieces are
               distributed at random, but the <lb/> probable order of composition, as indicated by
               the nature of the <lb/> feeling expressed. It is, of course, impossible to give more
               than a <lb/> few examples, though most deserve to be reproduced. <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>
               <lb/> had the advantage over most Italian poets of his time of being in <lb/> love
               with a real woman ; hence, though possibly inferior in style <lb/> and diction to
               such artists in rhyme as <persName type="nonfictional">Bembo</persName> or <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Molza</persName>, he greatly <lb/> surpasses them in all the
               qualities that discriminate poetry from the <lb/> accomplishment of verse. </p>
            <p>The first sonnet which we shall give is still all fire and rapture : — </p>
            <p>I</p>
            <lg>
               <l>Lady, the heart that entered through your eyes </l>
               <l rend="indent">Returneth not. Well may he make delay, </l>
               <l rend="indent">For if the very windows that display </l>
               <l>Your spirit, sparkle in such wondrous wise, </l>
               <l>Of her enthroned within this Paradise </l>
               <l rend="indent">What shall be deemed ! If heart for ever stay, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Small wonder, dazzled by more radiant day </l>
               <l>Than gazers from without can recognise. </l>
               <l>Glory of sun and moon and silver star </l>
               <l rend="indent">In firmament above, are these not sign </l>
               <l rend="indent">Of things within more excellent by far ? </l>
               <l>Rejoice then in thy kingdom, heart of mine, </l>
               <l rend="indent">While Love and Fortune favourable are, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Nor thou yet exiled for default of thine.</l>
            </lg>
            <fw type="catchword">Although </fw>
            <pb n="261"/>
            <fw type="pageNum">241</fw>
            <fw type="runningHead">By Richard Garnett</fw>
            <p>Although, however, <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>'s heart might
               well remain with its <lb/> lady, <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>'s
               person was necessitated to join the frequent mari- <lb/> time expeditions of the
               great nobleman to whom he was attached, <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Don Garcia de Toledo</persName>, against the Turks. The
               constant free- <lb/> booting of the Turkish and Barbary rovers kept the <placeName
                  type="region">Mediterranean</placeName>
               <lb/> in a state of commotion comparable to that of the Spanish Main <lb/> in the
               succeeding age, and these expeditions, whose picturesque <lb/> history remains to be
               written, were no doubt very interesting ; <lb/> though from a philosophical point of
               view it is impossible not <lb/> to sympathise with the humane and generous poet when
               he <lb/> inquires :— </p>
            <lg>
               <l rend="indent">
                  <foreign xml:lang="it">Che il Turco nasca turco, e'l Moro moro,</foreign>
               </l>
               <l rend="indent">E giusta causa questa, ond altri ed io </l>
               <l rend="indent">Dobbiam incrudelir nel sangue loro ?</l>
            </lg>
            <p>With such feelings it may well be believed that in his enforced <lb/> absence he was
               thinking at least as much of love as of war, and <lb/> that the following sonnet is
               as truthful as it is an animated picture <lb/> of his feelings : — </p>
            <lg>
               <l>No length of banishment did e'er remove </l>
               <l rend="indent">My heart from you, nor if by Fortune sped </l>
               <l rend="indent">I roam the azure waters, or the Red, </l>
               <l>E'er with the body shall the spirit rove : </l>
               <l>If by each drop of every wave we clove, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Or by Sun's light or Moon's encompassed, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Another Venus were engendered, </l>
               <l>And each were pregnant with another Love: </l>
               <fw type="catchword">And</fw>
               <pb n="262"/>
               <fw type="pageNum">242</fw>
               <fw type="runningHead">The Love-Story of Luigi Tansillo </fw>
               <l>And thus new shapes of Love where'er we went </l>
               <l rend="indent">Started to life at every stroke of oar, </l>
               <l rend="indent">And each were cradled in an amorous thought ; </l>
               <l>Not more than now this spirit should adore ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">That none the less doth constantly lament </l>
               <l rend="indent">It cannot worship as it would and ought.</l>
            </lg>
            <p>Before long, however, the pangs of separation overcome this <lb/> elation of spirit,
               while he is not yet afraid of being forgotten :— </p>
            <lg>
               <l>III </l>
               <l>Like lightning shining forth from east to west, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Hurled are the happy hours from morn to night, </l>
               <l rend="indent">And leave the spirit steeped in undelight </l>
               <l>In like proportion as themselves were blest. </l>
               <l>Slow move sad hours, by thousand curbs opprest, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Wherewith the churlish Fates delay their flight ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">Those, impulses of <persName type="fictional">Mercury</persName>
                  incite, </l>
               <l>These lag at the Saturnian star s behest. </l>
               <l>While thou wert near, ere separation's grief </l>
               <l rend="indent">Smote me, like steeds contending in the race, </l>
               <l rend="indent">My days and nights with equal speed did run : </l>
               <l>Now broken either wheel, not swift the pace </l>
               <l rend="indent">Of summer's night though summer's moon be brief; </l>
               <l rend="indent">Or wintry days for brevity of sun. </l>
            </lg>
            <lg>
               <l>IV </l>
               <l>Now that the Sun hath borne with him the day, </l>
               <l rend="indent">And haled dark Night from prison subterrene, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Come forth, fair Moon, and, robed in light serene, </l>
               <l>With thy own loveliness the world array. </l>
               <fw type="catchword">Heaven's</fw>
               <pb n="263"/>
               <fw type="pageNum">243</fw>
               <fw type="runningHead">By Richard Garnett</fw>
               <l>Heaven's spheres, slow wheeled on their majestic way, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Invoke as they revolve thy orb unseen, </l>
               <l rend="indent">And all the pageant of the starry scene, </l>
               <l>Wronged by thy absence, chides at thy delay. </l>
               <l>Shades even as splendours, earth and heaven both </l>
               <l rend="indent">Smile at the apparition of thy face, </l>
               <l rend="indent">And my own gloom no longer seems so loth ; </l>
               <l>Yet, while my eye regards thee, thought doth trace </l>
               <l rend="indent">Another's image ; if in vows be troth, </l>
               <l rend="indent">I am not yet estranged from Love's embrace. </l>
            </lg>
            <p>Continual separation, however, and the absence of any marked<lb/> token that he is
               borne in memory, necessarily prey more and more <lb/> on the sensitive spirit of the
               poet. During the first part, her <lb/> husband's tenure of office as Governor of the
               Milanese, the <lb/> Marchioness, as already mentioned, took up her residence in the <lb/>
               <placeName type="region">island of Ischia</placeName>, where she received her
               adorer's eloquent aspira- <lb/> tions for her welfare—heartfelt, but so worded as to
               convey a <lb/> reproach :</p>
            <lg>
               <l>V </l>
               <l>That this fair isle with all delight abound, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Clad be it ever in sky's smile serene, </l>
               <l rend="indent">No thundering billow boom from deeps marine, </l>
               <l>And calm with <persName type="fictional">Neptune</persName> and his folk be found. </l>
               <l>Fast may all winds by <persName type="fictional">&#x61683;olus</persName> be
                  bound, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Save faintest breath of lispings <persName type="nonfictional"
                     >Zephyrene</persName>; </l>
               <l rend="indent">And be the odorous earth with glowing green </l>
               <l>Of gladsome herbs, bright flowers, quaint foliage crowned. </l>
               <l>All ire, all tempest, all misfortune be </l>
               <l rend="indent">Heaped on my head, lest aught thy pleasure stain, </l>
               <fw type="catchword">Nor</fw>
               <pb n="264"/>
               <fw type="pageNum">244</fw>
               <fw type="runningHead">The Love-Story of Luigi Tansillo</fw>
               <l>Nor this disturbed by any thought of me, </l>
               <l rend="indent">So scourged with ills innumerable train, </l>
               <l>New grief new tear begetteth not, as sea </l>
               <l rend="indent">Chafes not the more for deluge of the rain. </l>
            </lg>
            <p>The <q>"quaint foliage"</q> is in the original <q>"Arab leaves,"</q>
               <foreign rend="italic">arabe <lb/> frondi</foreign>, an interesting proof of the
               cultivation of exotic plants at <lb/> the period. </p>
            <p>The lady rejoins her husband at <placeName type="city">Milan</placeName>, and
                  <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>, landing <lb/> on the <placeName
                  type="region">Campanian coast</placeName>, lately devastated by earthquakes and
               <lb/> eruptions, finds everywhere the image of his own bosom, and <lb/> rejoices at
               the opportunity which yawning rifts and chasms of <lb/> earth afford for an appeal to
               the infernal powers : — </p>
            <lg>
               <l>VI </l>
               <l>Wild precipice and earthquake-riven wall ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">Bare jagged lava naked to the sky ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">Whence densely struggles up and slow floats by </l>
               <l>Heaven's murky shroud of smoke funereal ; </l>
               <l>Horror whereby the silent groves enthral ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">Black weedy pit and rifted cavity ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">Bleak loneliness whose drear sterility </l>
               <l>Doth prowling creatures of the wild appal : </l>
               <l>Like one distraught who doth his woe deplore, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Bereft of sense by thousand miseries, </l>
               <l rend="indent">As passion prompts, companioned or alone ; </l>
               <l>Your desert so I rove ; if as before </l>
               <l rend="indent">Heaven deaf continue, through these crevices, </l>
               <l rend="indent">My cry shall pierce to the Avernian throne. </l>
            </lg>
            <p>The poet's melancholy deepens, and he enters upon the stage of <lb/> dismal and
               hopeless resignation to the inevitable : </p>
            <fw type="catchword">As</fw>
            <pb n="265"/>
            <fw type="pageNum">245</fw>
            <fw type="runningHead">By Richard Garnett</fw>
            <lg>
               <l>VII </l>
               <l>As one who on uneasy couch bewails </l>
               <l rend="indent">Besetting sickness and Time's tardy course, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Proving if drug, or gem, or charm have force </l>
               <l>To conquer the dire evil that assails : </l>
               <l>But when at last no remedy prevails, </l>
               <l rend="indent">And bankrupt Art stands empty of resource, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Beholds Death in the face, and scorns recourse </l>
               <l>To skill whose impotence in nought avails. </l>
               <l>So I, who long have borne in trust unspent </l>
               <l rend="indent">That distance, indignation, reason, strife </l>
               <l>With Fate would heal my malady, repent, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Frustrate all hopes wherewith my soul was rife, </l>
               <l>And yield unto my destiny, content </l>
               <l rend="indent">To languish for the little left of life.</l>
            </lg>
            <p>A lower depth still has to be reached ere the period of salutary <lb/> and defiant
               reaction : — </p>
            <lg>
               <l>VIII </l>
               <l>So mightily abound the hosts of Pain, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Whom sentries of my bosom Love hath made, </l>
               <l rend="indent">No space is left to enter or evade, </l>
               <l>And inwardly expire sighs born in vain, </l>
               <l>If any pleasure mingle with the train, </l>
               <l rend="indent">By the first glimpse of my poor heart dismayed, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Instant he dies, or else, in bondage stayed, </l>
               <l>Pines languishing, or flies that drear domain. </l>
               <l>Pale semblances of terror keep the keys, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Of frowning portals they for none displace </l>
               <l>Save messengers of novel miseries : </l>
               <l rend="indent">All thoughts they scare that wear a gladsome face ; </l>
               <l>And, were they anything but Miseries, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Themselves would hasten from the gloomy place. </l>
            </lg>
            <fw type="catchword">Slighted </fw>
            <pb n="266"/>
            <fw type="pageNum">246</fw>
            <fw type="runningHead">The Love-Story of Luigi Tansillo </fw>
            <p>Slighted love easily passes from rejection into rebellion, and we <lb/> shall see
               that such was the case with <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>. The
               following <lb/> sonnet denotes an intermediate stage, when resignation is almost
               <lb/> renunciation, but has not yet become revolt : </p>
            <lg>
               <l>IX </l>
               <l>Cease thy accustomed strain, my mournful lute ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">New music find, fit for my lot forlorn ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">Henceforth be Wrath and Grief resounded, torn </l>
               <l>The strings that anciently did Love salute, </l>
               <l>Not on my own weak wing irresolute </l>
               <l rend="indent">But on Love's plumes I trusted to be borne, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Chanting him far as that remotest bourne </l>
               <l>Whence strength Herculean reft Hesperian fruit. </l>
               <l>To such ambition was my spirit wrought </l>
               <l rend="indent">By gracious guerdon Love came offering </l>
               <l rend="indent">When free in air my thought was bold to range : </l>
               <l>But otherwhere now dwells another's thought, </l>
               <l rend="indent">And Wrath has plucked Love's feather from my wing, </l>
               <l rend="indent">And hope, style, theme, I all alike must change. </l>
            </lg>
            <p>This, however, is not a point at which continuance is possible, <lb/> the mind must
               go either backward or forward. The lover for a <lb/> time persuades himself that he
               has broken his mistress's yoke, and <lb/> that his infatuation is entirely a thing of
               the past. But the poet,<lb/> like the lady, protests too much : — </p>
            <lg>
               <l>X </l>
               <l>If Love was miser of my liberty, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Lo, Scorn is bounteous and benevolent, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Such scope permitting, that, my fetter rent, </l>
               <l>Not lengthened by my hand, I wander free. </l>
               <fw type="catchword">The</fw>
               <pb n="267"/>
               <fw type="pageNum">247</fw>
               <fw type="runningHead">By Richard Garnett</fw>
               <l>The eyes that yielded tears continually </l>
               <l rend="indent">Have now with <placeName type="fictional">Lethe</placeName>'s drops
                  my fire besprent. </l>
               <l rend="indent">And more behold, Illusion's glamour spent, </l>
               <l>Than fabled <persName type="fictional">Argus</persName> with his century. </l>
               <l>The tyrant of my spirit, left forlorn </l>
               <l rend="indent">As vassal thoughts forsake him, doth remove, </l>
               <l>And back unto her throne is Reason borne, </l>
               <l rend="indent">And I my metamorphosis approve, </l>
               <l>And, old strains tuning to new keys, of Scorn </l>
               <l rend="indent">Will sing as anciently I sang of Love. </l>
            </lg>
            <p>Several solutions of this situation are conceivable. <persName type="nonfictional"
                  >Tansillo</persName>'s <lb/> is that which was perhaps that most likely in the
               case of an <lb/> emotional nature, where the feelings are more powerful than the
               <lb/> will. He simply surrenders at discretion, retracts everything dis- <lb/>
               paraging that he has said of the lady (taking care, however, not to <lb/> burn the
               peccant verses, which are much too good to be lightly <lb/> parted with), and
               professes himself her humble slave upon her own <lb/> terms : — </p>
            <lg>
               <l>XI </l>
               <l>All bitter words I spoke of you while yet </l>
               <l rend="indent">My heart was sore, and every virgin scroll </l>
               <l rend="indent">Blackened with ire, now past from my control, </l>
               <l>These would I now recall ; for tis most fit </l>
               <l>My style should change, now Reason doth reknit, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Ties Passion sundered, and again make whole ; </l>
               <l rend="indent">Be then Oblivion's prey whate'er my soul </l>
               <l>Hath wrongly of thce thought, spoke, sung, or writ. </l>
               <l>Not, Lady, that impeachment of thy fame </l>
               <l rend="indent">With tongue or pen I ever did design ; </l>
               <fw type="catchword">But</fw>
               <pb n="268"/>
               <fw type="pageNum">248</fw>
               <fw type="runningHead">The Love-Story of Luigi Tansillo</fw>
               <l>But that, if unto these shall reach my name, </l>
               <l rend="indent">Ages to come may study in my line </l>
               <l>How year by year more streamed and towered my flame, </l>
               <l rend="indent">And how I living was and dying thine. </l>
            </lg>
            <p>There is no reason to doubt the perfect sincerity of these lines <lb/> at the period
               of their composition ; but <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>'s
               mistress had <lb/> apparently resolved that his attachment should not henceforth have
               <lb/> the diet even of a chameleon ; and it is small wonder to find him <lb/> shortly
               afterwards a tender husband and father, lamenting the <lb/> death of an infant son in
               strains of extreme pathos, and instructing <lb/> his wife on certain details of
               domestic economy in which she <lb/> might have been supposed to be better versed than
               himself. His <lb/> marriage took place in <date>1550</date>, and in one of his
               sonnets he says <lb/> that his unhappy attachment had endured sixteen years, which,
               <lb/> allowing for a decent interval between the <persName type="fictional"
                  >Romeo</persName> and the <persName type="fictional">Bene- <lb/> dict</persName>,
               would date its commencement at <date>1532</date> or <date>1533</date>. </p>
            <p>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Maria d'Aragona</persName> died on <date>November 9,
                  1568</date>, and <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>, <lb/> whose
               services had been rewarded by a judicial appointment in the <lb/> kingdom of
                  <placeName type="city">Naples</placeName>, followed her to the tomb on
                  <date>December 1</date>. If <lb/> her death is really the subject of the two poems
               in terza rima which <lb/> appear to deplore it, he certainly lost no time in
               bewailing her, <lb/> but the interval is so brief, and the poems are so weak, that
               they may <lb/> have been composed on some other occasion. With respect to the <lb/>
               latter consideration, however, it must be remembered that he was <lb/> himself, in
               all probability, suffering from disabling sickness, having <lb/> made his will on
                  <date>November 29</date>. It is also worthy of note that <lb/> the first sonnets
               composed by <persName type="nonfictional">Petrarch</persName> upon the death of
                  <persName type="nonfictional">Laura</persName>
               <lb/> are in general much inferior in depth of tenderness to those written <lb/>
               years after the event. <title level="a">
                  <q>"In Memoriam "</q>
               </title> is another proof that the <lb/> adequate poetical expression of grief,
               unlike that of life, requires <lb/> time and study. <persName type="nonfictional"
                  >Tansillo</persName>, then, may not have been so completely <lb/>
               <fw type="catchword">disillusioned </fw>
               <pb n="269"/>
               <fw type="pageNum">249</fw>
               <fw type="runningHead">By Richard Garnett</fw> disillusioned as his editor thinks. If
               the poems do not relate to <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Maria d'Aragona</persName>, we have no clue to the
               ultimate nature of his <lb/> feelings towards her. </p>
            <p>A generally fair estimate of <persName type="nonfictional">Tansillo</persName>'s rank
               as a poet is given<lb/> in <persName type="nonfictional">Ginguene</persName>'s <title
                  level="m">
                  <q>"History of Italian Literature,"</q> vol. ix.</title>, pp. 340-343. <lb/> It
               can scarcely be admitted that his boldness and fertility of imagi-<lb/> nation
               transported him beyond the limits of lyric poetry— for this <lb/> is hardly possible
               — but it is true that they sometimes transcended <lb/> the limits of good taste, and
               that the germs may be found in him <lb/> of the extravagance which so disfigured
               Italian poetry in the <lb/>
               <date>seventeenth century</date>. On the other hand, he has the inestimable <lb/>
               advantage over most Italian poets of his day of writing of genuine <lb/> passion from
               genuine experience. Hence a truth and vigour <lb/> preferable even to the exquisite
               elegance of his countryman, <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Angelo di Costanzo</persName>, and much more so to the
               mere amatory <lb/> exercises of other contemporaries. After <persName
                  type="nonfictional">Michael Angelo</persName> he <lb/> stands farther aloof than
               any contemporary from <persName type="nonfictional">Petrarch</persName>, a merit
               <lb/> in an age when the study of <persName type="nonfictional">Petrarch</persName>
               had degenerated into slavish <lb/> imitation. His faults as a lyrist are absent from
               his didactic <lb/> poems, which are models of taste and elegance. His one unpar-
               <lb/> donable sin is want of patriotism ; he is the dependant and <lb/> panegyrist of
               the foreign conqueror, and seems equally uncon- <lb/> scious of the past glories, the
               actual degradation, or the prospec- <lb/> tive regeneration of <placeName
                  type="country">Italy</placeName>. Born a Spanish subject, his ideal of <lb/>
               loyalty was entirely misplaced, and he must not be severely <lb/> censured for what
               he could hardly avoid. But <placeName type="country">Italy</placeName> lost a <lb/>
               <persName type="nonfictional">Tyrtaeus</persName> in him. </p>
         </div>
         <fw type="footer">The Yellow Book Vol. I.<emph>P</emph>
         </fw>
      </body>
   </text>
</TEI>
