"
And as she spake, she bent her head before him, as already yielding it to
the executioner.
And as she spake, she bent her head before him, as already yielding it to
the executioner.
Stories from the Italian Poets
114).
By "covered" he seems to
have meant blotted out; for in the latest edition of Tasso the _et-cetera
is_ retained. ]
[Footnote 12: Black's version (vol. ii. p. 58) is not strong enough. The
words in Serassi are "una ciurma di poltroni, ingrati, e ribaldi. " ii. p.
33. ]
[Footnote 13: _Opere_, vol xiv. pp. 158, 174, &c. ]
[Footnote 14: "Prego V. Signoria the si contenti, se piace al Serenissimo
Signor Duca, Clementissimo ed Invitissimo, the io stia in prigione, di
farmi dar le poche robicciole mie, the S. A. Invitissima, Clementissima,
Serenissima m' ha promesse tante volte," &c. _Opere_, vol. xiv. p. 6. ]
[Footnote 15: "Altera Torquatum cepit Leonora poetam," &c. ]
[Footnote 16: _Vie du Tasse,_ 1695, p. 51. ]
[Footnote 17: In the Apology _for Raimond de Sebonde_; Essays,
vol. ii. ch. 12. ]
[Footnote 18: In his _Letter to Zeno,--Opere del
Tasso_, xvi. p. 118. ]
[Footnote 19: _Storia della Poesia Italiana_ (Mathias's edition), vol.
iii. part i. p 236. ]
[Footnote 20: Serassi is very peremptory, and even abusive. He charges
every body who has said any thing to the contrary with imposture. "Egli
non v' ha dubbio, che le troppe imprudenti e temerarie parole, che il
Tasso si lasciò uscir di bocca in questo incontro, furone la sola cagione
della sua prigionia, e ch' è mera favola ed _impostura_ tutto ciò, che
diversamente è stato affermato e scritto da altri in tale proposito. "
Vol. ii. p. 33. But we have seen that the good Abbè could practise a
little imposition himself. ]
[Footnote 21: Black, ii. 88. ]
[Footnote 22: _Hist. Litt. d'Italie_, v. 243, &c. ]
[Footnote 23: Vol. ii. p. 89. ]
[Footnote 24: Such at least is my impression; but I cannot call the
evidence to mind. ]
[Footnote 25: _Literature of the South of Europe_ (Roscoe's translation),
vol. ii. p. 165. To shew the loose way in which the conclusions of a
man's own mind are presented as facts admitted by others, Sismondi says,
that Tasso's "passion" was the cause of his return to Ferrara. There is
not a tittle of evidence to shew for it. ]
[Footnote 26: _Saggio sugli Amori_, &c. ut sup p. 84, and passim. As
specimens of the learned professor's reasoning, it may be observed that
whenever the words _humble, daring, high, noble_, and _royal_, occur in
the poet's love-verses, he thinks they _must_ allude to the Princess
Leonora; and he argues, that Alfonso never could have been so angry with
any "versi lascivi," if they had not had the same direction. ]
[Footnote 27: _Opere_, vol. xvii. p. 32. ]
[Footnote 28:
"Padre, o buon padre, che dal ciel rimiri,
Egro e morto ti piansi, e ben tu il sai;
E gemendo scaldai
La tomba e il letto. Or che negli altri giri
Tu godi, a te si deve onor, non lutto:
A me versato il mio dolor sia tutto. "
O father, my good father, looking now
On thy poor son from heaven, well knowest thou
What scalding tears I shed
Upon thy grave, upon thy dying bed;
But since thou dwellest in the happy skies,
'Tis fit I raise to thee no sorrowing eyes
Be all my grief on my own head. ]
[Footnote 29:
" Non posso viver in città, ove tutti i nobili, o non mi
concedano i primi luoghi, o almeno non si contentino the la cosa in
quel the appartiene a queste esteriori dimostrazioni, vada del pari. "
_Opere,_, vol. xiii. p. 153. ]
[Footnote 30: Black, vol. ii. p. 240. ]
[Footnote 31: The world in general have taken no notice of Tasso's
reconstruction of his _Jerusalem_, which he called the _Gerusalemme
Conquistata_. It never "obtained," as the phrase is. It was the mere
tribute of his declining years to bigotry and new acquaintances; and
therefore I say no more of it. ]
[Footnote 32: _In manus tuas, Domine_. One likes to know the actual
words; at least so it appears to me. ]
[Footnote 33: Serassi, ii. 276. ]
[Footnote 34: "Quem _cernis_, quisquis es, procera statura virum,
_luscis_ oculis, &c. hic Torquatus est. "--Cappacio, _Illustrium Literis
Virorum Elogia et Judici_, quoted by Serassi, ut sup. The Latin word
_luscus_, as well as the Italian _losco_, means, I believe, near-sighted;
but it certainly means also a great deal more; and unless the word
_cernis_ (thou beholdest) is a mere form of speech implying a foregone
conclusion, it shews that the defect was obvious to the spectator. ]
[Footnote 35: "Il Signor Duca non crede ad alcuna mia parola. "
_Opere_, xiv. 161. ]
[Footnote 36: "Fui da bocca di lui medesimo rassicurato, che dal tempo
del suo ritegno in sant'Anna, ch'avenne negli anni trentacinque della sua
vita e sedici avanti la morte, egli intieramente fu casto: degli anni
primi non mi favellò mai di modo ch' io possa alcuna cosa di certo qui
raccontare. "
_Opere_, xxxiii. 235. ]
[Footnote 37: It is to be found in the collected works, _ut supra_; both
of the philosopher and the poet. ]
[Footnote 38: It is an extraordinary instance of a man's violating, in
older life, the better critical principles of his youth,--that Tasso, in
his _Discourses on Poetry_, should have objected to a passage in Ariosto
about sighs and tears, as being a "conceit too lyrical," (though it was
warranted by the subtleties of madness, see present volume, p. 219), and
yet afterwards not in the same conceits when wholly without warrant. ]
[Footnote 39: [Greek:
Dardanion aut aerchen, eus pais Agchisao,
Aineias ton hup Agchisae teke di Aphroditae
Idaes en knaemoisi, thea brotps eunaetheisa
Ouk oios hama toge duo Antaenoros uie,
Archilochos t, Akamas te machaes en eidute pasaes.
_Iliad_, ii. 819. ]
It is curious that these five lines should abound as much in _a_'s
Tasso's first stanza does in o's. Similar monotonies are strikingly
observable in the nomenclatures of Virgil. See his most perfect poem, the
_Georgics_:
"Omnià secum
`Armentàrius `Afer àgit, tectumque, Làremque,
`Armaque, `Amyclæumque cànem, Cressàmque pharetràm. "
Lib. iii. 343.
It is clear that Dante never thought of this point. See his Mangiadore,
Sanvittore, Natan, Raban, &c. at the end of the twelfth canto of the
_Paradiso_. Yet in his time poetry was _recitatived_ to music. So it was
in Petrarch's, who was a lutenist, and who "tried" his verses, to see
how they would go to the instrument. Yet Petrarch could allow himself to
write such a quatrain as the following list of rivers
"Non Tesin, Pò, Varo, Arno, Adige e Tebro,
Eufrate, Tigre, Nilo, Ermo, Indo c Gange,
Tana, Istro, Alfeo, Garrona, è 'l mar the frange,
Rodano, Ibero, Ren, Senna, _Albia, Era, Ebro! _"
In Tasso's _Sette Giornate_, to which Black thinks Milton indebted for
his grand use of proper names, the following is the way in which the poet
writes
"Di Silvàni
Di Pàni, e d' Egipàni, e d' àltri errànti,
Ch'empier lè solitariè incultè selvè
D'antichè maravigliè; e quell'accòltò
Esercitò di Baccò in òriente
Ond'egli vinse, e trionfò degl'Indi,
Tornandò glòriòsò ai Greci lidi,
Siccòm'e favòlòsò anticò gridò. "
The most diversified passage of this kind (as far as I an, aware) is
Ariosto's list of his friends at the close of the _Orlando_; and yet such
writing as follows would seem to shew that it was an accident:
"Iò veggiò il Fracastòrò, il Bevazzanò,
Trifòn Gabriel, e il Tassò più lòntanò;
Veggo Niccòlò Tiepoli, e con esso
Niccòlò Amaniò in me affissar le ciglia;
Autòn Fulgòsò, ch'a vedermi appressò
Al litò, mòstra gaudiò e maraviglia.
Il miò Valeriò e quel che là s'è messò
Fuòr de le dònne," &c.
Even Metastasio, who wrote expressly for singers, and often with
exquisite modulation, especially in his songs, forgets himself when he
comes to the names of his dramatis persome,--"`Artaserse, `Artàbàno,
`Arbàce, Màndàne, Semirà, Megàbise,"--all in one play.
"Gran cose io temo. Il mio germàno `Arbàce
Pàrte prià de l'aurorà. Il pàdre armàto
Incontro, e non mi pàrlà. `Accusà il cielo
`Agitàto `Artàserse, e m'àbbàndonà. "
Atto i. se. 6.
I am far from intending to say that these reiterations are not sometimes
allowable, nay, often beautiful and desirable. Alliteration itself may be
rendered an exquisite instrument of music. I am only speaking of monotony
or discord in the enumeration of proper names. ]
[Footnote 40: See them both in the present volume, pp. 420 and 445. ]
OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA.
Argument.
The Mahomedan king of Jerusalem, at the instigation of Ismeno, a
magician, deprives a Christian church of its image of the Virgin, and
sets it up in a mosque, under a spell of enchantment, as a palladium
against the Crusaders. The image is stolen in the night; and the king,
unable to discover who has taken it, orders a massacre of the Christian
portion of his subjects, which is prevented by Sophronia's accusing
herself of the offence. Her lover, Olindo, finding her sentenced to the
stake in consequence, disputes with her the right of martyrdom. He is
condemned to suffer with her. The Amazon Clorinda, who has come to fight
on the side of Aladin, obtains their pardon in acknowledgment of her
services; and Sophronia, who had not loved Olindo before, now returns his
passion, and goes with him from the stake to the marriage-altar.
OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA.
Godfrey of Boulogne, the leader of the Crusaders, was now in full march
for Jerusalem with the Christian army; and Aladin, the old infidel king,
became agitated with wrath and terror. He had heard nothing but accounts
of the enemy's irresistible advance. There were many Christians within
his walls whose insurrection he dreaded; and though he had appeared to
grow milder with age, he now, in spite of the frost in his veins, felt as
hot for cruelty, as the snake excited by the fire of summer. He longed
to stifle his fears of insurrection by a massacre, but dreaded the
consequence in the event of the city's being taken. He therefore
contented himself, for the present, with laying waste the country round
about it, destroying every possible receptacle of the invaders,
poisoning the wells, and doubly fortifying the only weak point in his
fortifications.
At this juncture the renegade Ismeno stood before him--a bad old man who
had studied unlawful arts. He could bind and loose evil spirits, and draw
the dead out of their tombs, restoring to them breath and perception.
This man told the king, that in the church belonging to his Christian
subjects there was an altar underground, on which stood a veiled image of
the woman whom they worshipped--the mother, as they called her, of their
dead and buried God. A dazzling light burnt for ever before it; and the
walls were hung with the offerings of her credulous devotees. If this
image, he said, were taken away by the king's own hand, and set up in a
mosque, such a spell of enchantment could be thrown about it as should
render the city impregnable so long as the idol was kept safe.
Aladin proceeded instantly to the Christian temple, and, treating the
priests with violence, tore the image from its shrine and conveyed it to
his own place of worship. The necromancer then muttered before it his
blasphemous enchantment. But the light of morning no sooner appeared in
the mosque, than the official to whose charge the palladium had been
committed missed it from its place, and in vain searched every other to
find it. In truth it never was found again; nor is it known to this
day how it went. Some think the Christians took it; others that Heaven
interfered in order to save it from profanation. And well (says the
poet) does it become a pious humility so to think of a disappearance so
wonderful.
The king, who fell into a paroxysm of rage, not doubting that some
Christian was the offender, issued a proclamation setting a price on
the head of any one who concealed it. But no discovery was made. The
necromancer resorted to his art with as little effect. The king then
ordered a general Christian massacre. His savage wrath hugged itself on
the reflection, that the criminal would be sure to perish, perish else
who might.
The Christians heard the order with an astonishment that took away all
their powers of resistance. The suddenness of the presence of death
stupified them. They did not resort even to an entreaty. They waited,
like sheep, to be butchered. Little did they think what kind of saviour
was at hand.
There was a maiden among them of ripe years, grave and beautiful; one who
took no heed of her beauty, but was altogether absorbed in high and holy
thoughts. If she thought of her beauty ever, it was only to subject it to
the dignity of virtue. The greater her worth, the more she concealed it
from the world, living a close life at home, and veiling herself from all
eyes.
But the rays of such a jewel could not but break through their casket.
Love would not consent to have it so locked up. Love turned her very
retirement into attraction. There was a youth who had become enamoured
of this hidden treasure. His name was Olindo; Sophronia was that of the
maiden. Olindo, like herself, was a Christian; and the humbleness of his
passion was equal to the worth of her that inspired it. He desired much,
hoped little, asked nothing. [1] He either knew not how to disclose his
love, or did not dare it. And she either despised it, or did not, or
would not, see it. The poor youth, up to this day, had got nothing by his
devotion, not even a look.
The maiden, who was nevertheless as generous as she was virtuous, fell
into deep thought how she might save her Christian brethren. She soon
came to her resolve. She delayed the execution of it a little, only out
of a sense of virgin decorum, which, in its turn, made her still more
resolute. She issued forth by herself, in the sight of all, not muffling
up her beauty, nor yet exposing it. She withdrew her eyes beneath a veil,
and, attired neither with ostentation nor carelessness, passed through
the streets with unaffected simplicity, admired by all save herself. She
went straight before the king. His angry aspect did not repel her. She
drew aside the veil, and looked him steadily in the face.
"I am come," she said, "to beg that you will suspend your wrath, and
withhold the orders given to your people. I know and will give up the
author of the deed which has offended you, on that condition. "
At the noble confidence thus displayed, at the sudden apparition of so
much lofty and virtuous beauty, the king's countenance was confused, and
its angry expression abated. Had his spirit been less stern, or the look
she gave him less firm in its purpose, he would have loved her. But
haughty beauty and haughty beholder are seldom drawn together. Glances
of pleasure are the baits of love. And yet, if the ungentle king was not
enamoured, he was impressed. He was bent on gazing at her; he felt an
emotion of delight.
"Say on," he replied; "I accept the condition. "
"Behold then," said she, "the offender. The deed was the work of this
hand. It was I that conveyed away the image. I am she whom you look for.
I am the criminal to be punished.
"
And as she spake, she bent her head before him, as already yielding it to
the executioner.
Oh, noble falsehood! when was truth to be compared with thee? [2]
The king was struck dumb. He did not fall into his accustomed transports
of rage. When he recovered from his astonishment, he said, "Who advised
you to do this? Who was your accomplice? "
"Not a soul," replied the maiden. "I would not have allowed another
person to share a particle of my glory. I alone knew of the deed; I alone
counselled it; I alone did it. "
"Then be the consequence," cried he, "on your own head! "
"'Tis but just," returned Sophronia. "Mine was the sole honour; mine,
therefore, should be the only punishment. "
The tyrant at this began to feel the accession of his old wrath. "Where,"
he said, "have You hidden the image? "
"I did not hide it," she replied, "I burnt it. I thought it fit and
righteous to do so. I knew of no other way to save it from the hands of
the unbelieving. Ask not for what will never again be found. Be content
with the vengeance you have before you. "
Oh, chaste heart! oh, exalted soul! oh, creature full of nobleness! think
not to find a forgiving moment return. Beauty itself is thy shield no
longer.
The glorious maiden is taken and bound. The cruel king has condemned her
to the stake. Her veil, and the mantle that concealed her chaste bosom,
are torn away, and her soft arms tied with a hard knot behind her. She
said nothing; she was not terrified; but yet she was not unmoved. Her
bosom heaved in spite of its courage. Her lovely colour was lost in a
pure white.
The news spread in an instant, and the city crowded to the sight,
Christians and all, Olindo among them. He had thought within himself,
"What if it should be Sophronia! " But when he beheld that it was she
indeed, and not only condemned, but already at the stake, he made
way through the crowd with violence, crying out, "This is not the
person,--this poor simpleton! She never thought of such a thing; she had
not the courage to do it; she had not the strength. How was she to carry
the sacred image away? Let her abide by her story if she dare. I did it. "
Such was the love of the poor youth for her that loved him not.
When he came up to the stake, he gave a formal account of what he
pretended to have done. "I climbed in," he said, "at the window of your
mosque at night, and found a narrow passage round to the image, where
nobody could expect to meet me. I shall not suffer the penalty to be
usurped by another. I did the deed, and I will have the honour of doing
it, now that it comes to this. Let our places be changed. "
Sophronia had looked up when she heard the youth call out, and she gazed
on him with eyes of pity. "What madness is this! " exclaimed she. "What
can induce an innocent person to bring destruction on himself for
nothing? Can I not bear the thing by myself? Is the anger of one man so
tremendous, that one person cannot sustain it? Trust me, friend, you are
mistaken. I stand in no need of your company. "
Thus spoke Sophronia to her lover; but not a whit was he disposed to
alter his mind. Oh, great and beautiful spectacle! Love and virtue at
strife;--death the prize they contend for;--ruin itself the salvation of
the conqueror! But the contest irritated the king. He felt himself set at
nought; felt death itself despised, as if in despite of the inflictor.
"Let them be taken at their words," cried be; "let both have the prize
they long for. "
The youth is seized on the instant, and bound like the maiden. Both are
tied to the stake, and set back to back. They behold not the face of one
another. The wood is heaped round about them; the fire is kindled.
The youth broke out into lamentations, but only loud enough to be heard
by his fellow-sufferer. "Is this, then," said he, "the bond which I hoped
might join us? Is this the fire which I thought might possibly warm two
lovers' hearts? [3] Too long (is it not so? ) have we been divided, and now
too cruelly are we united: too cruelly, I say, but not as regards me;
for since I am not to be partner of thy existence, gladly do I share thy
death. It is thy fate, not mine, that afflicts me. Oh! too happy were it
to me, too sweet and fortunate, if I could obtain grace enough to be
set with thee heart to heart, and so breathe out my soul into thy lips!
Perhaps thou wouldst do the like with mine, and so give me thy last
sigh. "
Thus spoke the youth in tears; but the maiden gently reproved him.
She said: "Other thoughts, my friend, and other lamentations befit a time
like this. Why thinkest thou not of thy sins, and of the rewards which
God has promised to the righteous? Meet thy sufferings in his name; so
shall their bitterness be made sweet, and thy soul be carried into the
realms above. Cast thine eyes upwards, and behold them. See how beautiful
is the sky; how the sun seems to invite thee towards it with its
splendour. "
At words so noble and piteous as these, the Pagans themselves, who stood
within hearing, began to weep. The Christians wept too, but in voices
more lowly. Even the king felt an emotion of pity; but disdaining to give
way to it, he turned aside and withdrew. The maiden alone partook not of
the common grief. She for whom every body wept, wept not for herself.
The flames were now beginning to approach the stake, when there appeared,
coming through the crowd, a warrior of noble mien, habited in the arms of
another country. The tiger, which formed the crest of his helmet, drew
all eyes to it, for it was a cognizance well known. The people began to
think that it was a heroine instead of a hero which they saw, even the
famous Clorinda. Nor did they err in the supposition.
A despiser of feminine habits had Clorinda been from her childhood. She
disdained to put her hand to the needle and the distaff. She renounced
every soft indulgence, every timid retirement, thinking that virtue could
be safe wherever it went in its own courageous heart; and so she armed
her countenance with pride, and pleased herself with making it stern, but
not to the effect she looked for, for the sternness itself pleased. While
yet a child her little right hand would control the bit of the charger,
and she wielded the sword and spear, and hardened her limbs with
wrestling, and made them supple for the race; and then as she grew up,
she tracked the footsteps of the bear and lion, and followed the trumpet
to the wars; and in those and in the depths of the forest she seemed a
wild creature to mankind, and a man to the wildest creature. She had now
come out of Persia to wreak her displeasure on the Christians, who had
already felt the sharpness of her sword; and as she arrived near this
assembled multitude, death was the first thing that met her eyes, but in
a shape so perplexing, that she looked narrowly to discern what it was,
and then spurred her horse towards the scene of action. The crowd gave
way as she approached, and she halted as she entered the circle round the
stake, and sat gazing on the youth and maiden. She wondered to see the
male victim lamenting, while the female was mute. But indeed she saw that
he was weeping not out of grief but pity; or at least, not out of grief
for himself; and as to the maiden, she observed her to be so wrapt up
in the contemplation of the heavens at which she was gazing, that she
appeared to have already taken leave of earth.
Pity touched the heart of the Amazon, and the tears came into her eyes.
She felt sorry for both the victims, but chiefly for the one that said
nothing. She turned to a white-headed man beside her, and said, "What is
this? Who are these two persons, whom crime, or their ill fortune, has
brought hither? "
The man answered her briefly, but to the purpose; and she discerned at
once that both must be innocent. She therefore determined to save them.
She dismounted, and set the example of putting a stop to the flames, and
then said to the officers, "Let nobody continue this work till I have
spoken to the king. Rest assured he will hold you guiltless of the
delay. " The officers obeyed, being struck with her air of confidence and
authority; and she went straight towards the king, who had heard of her
arrival, and who was coming to bid her welcome.
"I am Clorinda," she said. "Thou knowest me? Then thou knowest, sir, one
who is desirous to defend the good faith and the king of Jerusalem. I am
ready for any duty that may be assigned me. I fear not the greatest, nor
do I disdain the least. Open field or walled city, no post will come
amiss to the king's servant. "
"Illustrious maiden," answered the king, "who knoweth not Clorinda? What
region is there so distant from Asia, or so far away out of the paths of
the sun, to which the sound of thy achievements has not arrived? Joined
by thee and by thy sword I fear nothing. Godfrey, methinks, is too slow
to attack me. Dost thou ask to which post thou shalt be appointed? To the
greatest. None else becomes thee. Thou art lady and mistress of the war. "
Clorinda gave the king thanks for his courtesy, and then resumed.
"Strange is it, in truth," she said, "to ask my reward before I have
earned it; but confidence like this reassures me. Grant me, for what I
propose to do in the good cause, the lives of these two persons. I wave
the uncertainty of their offence; I wave the presumption of innocence
afforded by their own behaviour. I ask their liberation as a favour. And
yet it becomes me, at the same time, to confess, that I do not believe
the Christians to have taken the image out of the mosque. It was an
impious thing of the magician to put it there. An idol has no business in
a Mussulman temple, much less the idols of unbelievers; and my opinion
is, that the miracle was the work of Mahomet himself, out of scorn and
hatred of the contamination. Let Ismeno prefer his craft, if he will, to
the weapons of a man; but let him not take upon himself the defence of a
nation of warriors. "
The warlike damsel was silent; and the king, though he could with
difficulty conquer his anger, yet did so, to please his guest. "They are
free," said he; "I can deny nothing to such a petitioner. Whether it be
justice or not to absolve them, absolved they are. If they are innocent,
I pronounce them so; if guilty, I concede their pardon. "
At these words the youth and the maiden were set free. And blissful
indeed was the fortune of Olindo; for love, so proved as his, awoke love
in the noble bosom of Sophronia; and so he passed from the stake to
the marriage-altar, a husband, instead of a wretch condemned--a lover
beloved, instead of a hopeless adorer.
[Footnote 1: "Brama assai, poco spera, e nulla chiede. " Canto ii. st. 16.
A line justly famous. ]
[Footnote 2:
"Magnanima menzogna! or quando è il vero
Sì bello, che si possa a te preporre? "]
[Footnote 3: This conceit is more dwelt upon in the original, coupled
with the one noticed at p. 362. ]
TANCRED AND CLORINDA.
Argument.
The Mussulman Amazon Clorinda, who is beloved by the Christian chief
Tancred, goes forth in disguise at night to burn the battering tower of
the Christian army. She effects her purpose; but, in retreating from its
discoverers, is accidentally shut out of the gate through which she had
left the city. She makes her way into the open country, trusting to get
in at one of the other gates; but, having been watched by Tancred, who
does not know her in the armour in which she is disguised, a combat
ensues between them, in which she is slain. She requests baptism in her
last moments, and receives it from the hands of her despairing lover.
TANCRED AND CLORINDA
The Christians, in their siege of Jerusalem, had brought a huge rolling
tower against the walls, from which they battered and commanded the city
with such deadly effect, that the generous Amazon Clorinda resolved to go
forth in disguise and burn it. She disclosed her design to the chieftain
Argantes, for the purpose of recommending to him the care of her damsels,
in case any misfortune should happen to her; but the warrior, jealous of
the glory of such an enterprise, insisted on partaking it. The old king,
weeping for gratitude, joyfully gave them leave; and the Soldan of Egypt,
with a generous emulation, would fain have joined them. Argantes was
about to give him a disdainful refusal, when the king interposed, and
persuaded the Soldan to remain behind, lest the city should miss too many
of its best defenders at one time; adding, that the risk of sallying
forth should be his, in case the burners of the tower were pursued on
their return. Argantes and the Amazon then retired to prepare for the
exploit, and the magician Ismeno compounded two balls of sulphur for the
work of destruction.
Clorinda took off her beautiful helmet, and her surcoat of cloth of
silver, and laid aside all her haughty arms, and dressed herself (hapless
omen! ) in black armour without polish, the better to conceal herself from
the enemy. Her faithful servant, the good old eunuch Arsetes, who had
attended her from infancy, and was now following her about as well as he
could with his accustomed zeal, anxiously noticed what she was doing,
and guessing it was for some desperate enterprise, entreated her, by his
white hairs and all the love he had shewn her, to give it up. Finding his
prayers to no purpose, he requested with great emotion that she would
give ear to certain matters in her family history, which he at length
felt it his duty to disclose. "It would then," he said, "be for herself
to judge, whether she would persist in the enterprise or renounce it. "
Clorinda, at this, looked at the good man, and listened with attention.
"Not long ago," said he, "there reigned in Ethiopia, and perhaps is still
reigning, a king named Senapus, who in common with his people professed
the Christian religion. They are a black though a handsome people, and
the king and his queen were of the salve colour. The king loved her
dearly, but was unfortunately so jealous, that he concealed her from
the sight of mankind. Had it been in his power, I think he would have
hindered the very eyes of heaven from beholding her. The sweet lady,
however, was wise and humble, and did every thing she could to please
him.
"I was not a Christian myself. I was a Pagan slave, employed among the
women about the queen, and making one of her special attendants.
"It happened, that the royal bed-chamber was painted with the story of a
holy knight saving a maiden from a dragon;[1] and the maiden had a face
beautifully fair, with blooming cheeks. The queen often prayed and
wept before this picture; and it made so great an impression on her,
particularly the maiden's face, that when she bore a child, she saw with
consternation that the infant's skin was of the same fair colour. This
child was thyself. [2]
"Terrified with the thoughts of what her husband would feel at such a
sight, what a convincing proof he would hold it of a faith on her part
the reverse of spotless,[3] she procured a babe of her own colour by
means of a confidant; and before thou wert baptised (which is a ceremony
that takes place in Ethiopia later than elsewhere) committed thee to my
care to be brought up at a distance. Who shall relate the tears which
thy mother poured forth, and the sighs and sobs with which they were
interrupted? How many times, when she thought she had given thee the
last embrace, did she not gather thee to her bosom once more! At length,
raising her eyes to heaven, she said, 'O Thou that seest into the hearts
of mortals, and knowest in this matter the spotlessness of mine, dark
though it be otherwise with frailty and with sin, save, I pray thee,
this innocent creature who is denied the milk of its mother's breast.
Vouchsafe that she resemble her hapless parent in nothing but a chaste
life. And thou, celestial warrior, that didst deliver the maiden out of
the serpent's mouth, if I have ever lit humble taper on thine altar, and
set before thee offerings of gold and incense, be, I implore thee, her
advocate. Be her advocate to such purpose, that in every turn of fortune
she may be enabled to count on thy good help. ' Here she ceased, torn to
her very heart-strings, with a face painted of the colour of death; and
I, weeping myself, received thee, and bore thee away, hidden in a sweet
covering of flowers and leaves.
"I journeyed with thee along a forest, where a tiger came upon us with
fury in its eyes. I betook me, alas, to a tree, and left thee lying on
the ground, such terror was in me; and the horrible beast looked down
upon thee. But it fell to licking thee with its dreadful tongue, and thou
didst smile to it, and put thy little hand to its jaws; and, lo, it gave
thee suck, being a mother itself; and then, wonderful to relate, it
returned into the woods, leaving me to venture down from the tree, and
bear thee onward to my place of refuge. There, in a little obscure
cottage, I had thee nursed for more than a year; till, feeling that I
grew old, I resolved to avail myself of the riches the queen had given
me, and go into my own country, which was Egypt. I set out for it
accordingly, and had to cross a torrent where thieves threatened me on
one side, and the fierce water on the other. I plunged in, holding thee
above the torrent with one hand, till I came to an eddy that tore thee
from me. I thought thee lost. What was my delight and astonishment, on
reaching the bank, to find that the water itself had tossed thee upon it
in safety!
"But I had a dream at night, which seemed to shew me the cause of
thy good fortune. A warrior appeared before me with a threatening
countenance, holding a sword in my face, and saying in an imperious
voice, 'Obey the commands of the child's mother and of me, and baptise
it. She is favoured of Heaven, and her lot is in my keeping. It was I
that put tenderness in the heart of the wild beast, and even a will to
save her in the water. Woe to thee, if thou believest not this vision. It
is a message from the skies. '
"The spirit vanished, and I awoke and pursued my journey; but thinking my
own creed the true one, and therefore concluding the dream to be false, I
baptised thee not; I bred thee what I was myself, a Pagan; and thou didst
grow up, and become great and wonderful in arms, surpassing the deeds
of men, and didst acquire riches and lands; and what thy life has been
since, then knowest as well as I; ay, and thou knowest mine own ways too,
how I have followed and cautiously waited on thee ever, being to thee
both as a servant and father.
"Now yesterday morning, as I lay heavily asleep, in consequence of my
troubled mind, the same figure of the warrior made its appearance, but
with a countenance still more threatening, and speaking in a louder
voice. 'Wretch,' it exclaimed, 'the hour is approaching when Clorinda
shall end both her life and her belief. She is mine in despite of thee.
Misery be thine. ' With these words it darted away as though it flew.
"Consider then, delight of my soul, what these dreams may portend. They
threaten thee terrible things; for what reason I know not. Can it be,
that mine own faith is the wrong one, and that of thy parents the right?
Ah! take thought at least, and repress this daring courage.
have meant blotted out; for in the latest edition of Tasso the _et-cetera
is_ retained. ]
[Footnote 12: Black's version (vol. ii. p. 58) is not strong enough. The
words in Serassi are "una ciurma di poltroni, ingrati, e ribaldi. " ii. p.
33. ]
[Footnote 13: _Opere_, vol xiv. pp. 158, 174, &c. ]
[Footnote 14: "Prego V. Signoria the si contenti, se piace al Serenissimo
Signor Duca, Clementissimo ed Invitissimo, the io stia in prigione, di
farmi dar le poche robicciole mie, the S. A. Invitissima, Clementissima,
Serenissima m' ha promesse tante volte," &c. _Opere_, vol. xiv. p. 6. ]
[Footnote 15: "Altera Torquatum cepit Leonora poetam," &c. ]
[Footnote 16: _Vie du Tasse,_ 1695, p. 51. ]
[Footnote 17: In the Apology _for Raimond de Sebonde_; Essays,
vol. ii. ch. 12. ]
[Footnote 18: In his _Letter to Zeno,--Opere del
Tasso_, xvi. p. 118. ]
[Footnote 19: _Storia della Poesia Italiana_ (Mathias's edition), vol.
iii. part i. p 236. ]
[Footnote 20: Serassi is very peremptory, and even abusive. He charges
every body who has said any thing to the contrary with imposture. "Egli
non v' ha dubbio, che le troppe imprudenti e temerarie parole, che il
Tasso si lasciò uscir di bocca in questo incontro, furone la sola cagione
della sua prigionia, e ch' è mera favola ed _impostura_ tutto ciò, che
diversamente è stato affermato e scritto da altri in tale proposito. "
Vol. ii. p. 33. But we have seen that the good Abbè could practise a
little imposition himself. ]
[Footnote 21: Black, ii. 88. ]
[Footnote 22: _Hist. Litt. d'Italie_, v. 243, &c. ]
[Footnote 23: Vol. ii. p. 89. ]
[Footnote 24: Such at least is my impression; but I cannot call the
evidence to mind. ]
[Footnote 25: _Literature of the South of Europe_ (Roscoe's translation),
vol. ii. p. 165. To shew the loose way in which the conclusions of a
man's own mind are presented as facts admitted by others, Sismondi says,
that Tasso's "passion" was the cause of his return to Ferrara. There is
not a tittle of evidence to shew for it. ]
[Footnote 26: _Saggio sugli Amori_, &c. ut sup p. 84, and passim. As
specimens of the learned professor's reasoning, it may be observed that
whenever the words _humble, daring, high, noble_, and _royal_, occur in
the poet's love-verses, he thinks they _must_ allude to the Princess
Leonora; and he argues, that Alfonso never could have been so angry with
any "versi lascivi," if they had not had the same direction. ]
[Footnote 27: _Opere_, vol. xvii. p. 32. ]
[Footnote 28:
"Padre, o buon padre, che dal ciel rimiri,
Egro e morto ti piansi, e ben tu il sai;
E gemendo scaldai
La tomba e il letto. Or che negli altri giri
Tu godi, a te si deve onor, non lutto:
A me versato il mio dolor sia tutto. "
O father, my good father, looking now
On thy poor son from heaven, well knowest thou
What scalding tears I shed
Upon thy grave, upon thy dying bed;
But since thou dwellest in the happy skies,
'Tis fit I raise to thee no sorrowing eyes
Be all my grief on my own head. ]
[Footnote 29:
" Non posso viver in città, ove tutti i nobili, o non mi
concedano i primi luoghi, o almeno non si contentino the la cosa in
quel the appartiene a queste esteriori dimostrazioni, vada del pari. "
_Opere,_, vol. xiii. p. 153. ]
[Footnote 30: Black, vol. ii. p. 240. ]
[Footnote 31: The world in general have taken no notice of Tasso's
reconstruction of his _Jerusalem_, which he called the _Gerusalemme
Conquistata_. It never "obtained," as the phrase is. It was the mere
tribute of his declining years to bigotry and new acquaintances; and
therefore I say no more of it. ]
[Footnote 32: _In manus tuas, Domine_. One likes to know the actual
words; at least so it appears to me. ]
[Footnote 33: Serassi, ii. 276. ]
[Footnote 34: "Quem _cernis_, quisquis es, procera statura virum,
_luscis_ oculis, &c. hic Torquatus est. "--Cappacio, _Illustrium Literis
Virorum Elogia et Judici_, quoted by Serassi, ut sup. The Latin word
_luscus_, as well as the Italian _losco_, means, I believe, near-sighted;
but it certainly means also a great deal more; and unless the word
_cernis_ (thou beholdest) is a mere form of speech implying a foregone
conclusion, it shews that the defect was obvious to the spectator. ]
[Footnote 35: "Il Signor Duca non crede ad alcuna mia parola. "
_Opere_, xiv. 161. ]
[Footnote 36: "Fui da bocca di lui medesimo rassicurato, che dal tempo
del suo ritegno in sant'Anna, ch'avenne negli anni trentacinque della sua
vita e sedici avanti la morte, egli intieramente fu casto: degli anni
primi non mi favellò mai di modo ch' io possa alcuna cosa di certo qui
raccontare. "
_Opere_, xxxiii. 235. ]
[Footnote 37: It is to be found in the collected works, _ut supra_; both
of the philosopher and the poet. ]
[Footnote 38: It is an extraordinary instance of a man's violating, in
older life, the better critical principles of his youth,--that Tasso, in
his _Discourses on Poetry_, should have objected to a passage in Ariosto
about sighs and tears, as being a "conceit too lyrical," (though it was
warranted by the subtleties of madness, see present volume, p. 219), and
yet afterwards not in the same conceits when wholly without warrant. ]
[Footnote 39: [Greek:
Dardanion aut aerchen, eus pais Agchisao,
Aineias ton hup Agchisae teke di Aphroditae
Idaes en knaemoisi, thea brotps eunaetheisa
Ouk oios hama toge duo Antaenoros uie,
Archilochos t, Akamas te machaes en eidute pasaes.
_Iliad_, ii. 819. ]
It is curious that these five lines should abound as much in _a_'s
Tasso's first stanza does in o's. Similar monotonies are strikingly
observable in the nomenclatures of Virgil. See his most perfect poem, the
_Georgics_:
"Omnià secum
`Armentàrius `Afer àgit, tectumque, Làremque,
`Armaque, `Amyclæumque cànem, Cressàmque pharetràm. "
Lib. iii. 343.
It is clear that Dante never thought of this point. See his Mangiadore,
Sanvittore, Natan, Raban, &c. at the end of the twelfth canto of the
_Paradiso_. Yet in his time poetry was _recitatived_ to music. So it was
in Petrarch's, who was a lutenist, and who "tried" his verses, to see
how they would go to the instrument. Yet Petrarch could allow himself to
write such a quatrain as the following list of rivers
"Non Tesin, Pò, Varo, Arno, Adige e Tebro,
Eufrate, Tigre, Nilo, Ermo, Indo c Gange,
Tana, Istro, Alfeo, Garrona, è 'l mar the frange,
Rodano, Ibero, Ren, Senna, _Albia, Era, Ebro! _"
In Tasso's _Sette Giornate_, to which Black thinks Milton indebted for
his grand use of proper names, the following is the way in which the poet
writes
"Di Silvàni
Di Pàni, e d' Egipàni, e d' àltri errànti,
Ch'empier lè solitariè incultè selvè
D'antichè maravigliè; e quell'accòltò
Esercitò di Baccò in òriente
Ond'egli vinse, e trionfò degl'Indi,
Tornandò glòriòsò ai Greci lidi,
Siccòm'e favòlòsò anticò gridò. "
The most diversified passage of this kind (as far as I an, aware) is
Ariosto's list of his friends at the close of the _Orlando_; and yet such
writing as follows would seem to shew that it was an accident:
"Iò veggiò il Fracastòrò, il Bevazzanò,
Trifòn Gabriel, e il Tassò più lòntanò;
Veggo Niccòlò Tiepoli, e con esso
Niccòlò Amaniò in me affissar le ciglia;
Autòn Fulgòsò, ch'a vedermi appressò
Al litò, mòstra gaudiò e maraviglia.
Il miò Valeriò e quel che là s'è messò
Fuòr de le dònne," &c.
Even Metastasio, who wrote expressly for singers, and often with
exquisite modulation, especially in his songs, forgets himself when he
comes to the names of his dramatis persome,--"`Artaserse, `Artàbàno,
`Arbàce, Màndàne, Semirà, Megàbise,"--all in one play.
"Gran cose io temo. Il mio germàno `Arbàce
Pàrte prià de l'aurorà. Il pàdre armàto
Incontro, e non mi pàrlà. `Accusà il cielo
`Agitàto `Artàserse, e m'àbbàndonà. "
Atto i. se. 6.
I am far from intending to say that these reiterations are not sometimes
allowable, nay, often beautiful and desirable. Alliteration itself may be
rendered an exquisite instrument of music. I am only speaking of monotony
or discord in the enumeration of proper names. ]
[Footnote 40: See them both in the present volume, pp. 420 and 445. ]
OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA.
Argument.
The Mahomedan king of Jerusalem, at the instigation of Ismeno, a
magician, deprives a Christian church of its image of the Virgin, and
sets it up in a mosque, under a spell of enchantment, as a palladium
against the Crusaders. The image is stolen in the night; and the king,
unable to discover who has taken it, orders a massacre of the Christian
portion of his subjects, which is prevented by Sophronia's accusing
herself of the offence. Her lover, Olindo, finding her sentenced to the
stake in consequence, disputes with her the right of martyrdom. He is
condemned to suffer with her. The Amazon Clorinda, who has come to fight
on the side of Aladin, obtains their pardon in acknowledgment of her
services; and Sophronia, who had not loved Olindo before, now returns his
passion, and goes with him from the stake to the marriage-altar.
OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA.
Godfrey of Boulogne, the leader of the Crusaders, was now in full march
for Jerusalem with the Christian army; and Aladin, the old infidel king,
became agitated with wrath and terror. He had heard nothing but accounts
of the enemy's irresistible advance. There were many Christians within
his walls whose insurrection he dreaded; and though he had appeared to
grow milder with age, he now, in spite of the frost in his veins, felt as
hot for cruelty, as the snake excited by the fire of summer. He longed
to stifle his fears of insurrection by a massacre, but dreaded the
consequence in the event of the city's being taken. He therefore
contented himself, for the present, with laying waste the country round
about it, destroying every possible receptacle of the invaders,
poisoning the wells, and doubly fortifying the only weak point in his
fortifications.
At this juncture the renegade Ismeno stood before him--a bad old man who
had studied unlawful arts. He could bind and loose evil spirits, and draw
the dead out of their tombs, restoring to them breath and perception.
This man told the king, that in the church belonging to his Christian
subjects there was an altar underground, on which stood a veiled image of
the woman whom they worshipped--the mother, as they called her, of their
dead and buried God. A dazzling light burnt for ever before it; and the
walls were hung with the offerings of her credulous devotees. If this
image, he said, were taken away by the king's own hand, and set up in a
mosque, such a spell of enchantment could be thrown about it as should
render the city impregnable so long as the idol was kept safe.
Aladin proceeded instantly to the Christian temple, and, treating the
priests with violence, tore the image from its shrine and conveyed it to
his own place of worship. The necromancer then muttered before it his
blasphemous enchantment. But the light of morning no sooner appeared in
the mosque, than the official to whose charge the palladium had been
committed missed it from its place, and in vain searched every other to
find it. In truth it never was found again; nor is it known to this
day how it went. Some think the Christians took it; others that Heaven
interfered in order to save it from profanation. And well (says the
poet) does it become a pious humility so to think of a disappearance so
wonderful.
The king, who fell into a paroxysm of rage, not doubting that some
Christian was the offender, issued a proclamation setting a price on
the head of any one who concealed it. But no discovery was made. The
necromancer resorted to his art with as little effect. The king then
ordered a general Christian massacre. His savage wrath hugged itself on
the reflection, that the criminal would be sure to perish, perish else
who might.
The Christians heard the order with an astonishment that took away all
their powers of resistance. The suddenness of the presence of death
stupified them. They did not resort even to an entreaty. They waited,
like sheep, to be butchered. Little did they think what kind of saviour
was at hand.
There was a maiden among them of ripe years, grave and beautiful; one who
took no heed of her beauty, but was altogether absorbed in high and holy
thoughts. If she thought of her beauty ever, it was only to subject it to
the dignity of virtue. The greater her worth, the more she concealed it
from the world, living a close life at home, and veiling herself from all
eyes.
But the rays of such a jewel could not but break through their casket.
Love would not consent to have it so locked up. Love turned her very
retirement into attraction. There was a youth who had become enamoured
of this hidden treasure. His name was Olindo; Sophronia was that of the
maiden. Olindo, like herself, was a Christian; and the humbleness of his
passion was equal to the worth of her that inspired it. He desired much,
hoped little, asked nothing. [1] He either knew not how to disclose his
love, or did not dare it. And she either despised it, or did not, or
would not, see it. The poor youth, up to this day, had got nothing by his
devotion, not even a look.
The maiden, who was nevertheless as generous as she was virtuous, fell
into deep thought how she might save her Christian brethren. She soon
came to her resolve. She delayed the execution of it a little, only out
of a sense of virgin decorum, which, in its turn, made her still more
resolute. She issued forth by herself, in the sight of all, not muffling
up her beauty, nor yet exposing it. She withdrew her eyes beneath a veil,
and, attired neither with ostentation nor carelessness, passed through
the streets with unaffected simplicity, admired by all save herself. She
went straight before the king. His angry aspect did not repel her. She
drew aside the veil, and looked him steadily in the face.
"I am come," she said, "to beg that you will suspend your wrath, and
withhold the orders given to your people. I know and will give up the
author of the deed which has offended you, on that condition. "
At the noble confidence thus displayed, at the sudden apparition of so
much lofty and virtuous beauty, the king's countenance was confused, and
its angry expression abated. Had his spirit been less stern, or the look
she gave him less firm in its purpose, he would have loved her. But
haughty beauty and haughty beholder are seldom drawn together. Glances
of pleasure are the baits of love. And yet, if the ungentle king was not
enamoured, he was impressed. He was bent on gazing at her; he felt an
emotion of delight.
"Say on," he replied; "I accept the condition. "
"Behold then," said she, "the offender. The deed was the work of this
hand. It was I that conveyed away the image. I am she whom you look for.
I am the criminal to be punished.
"
And as she spake, she bent her head before him, as already yielding it to
the executioner.
Oh, noble falsehood! when was truth to be compared with thee? [2]
The king was struck dumb. He did not fall into his accustomed transports
of rage. When he recovered from his astonishment, he said, "Who advised
you to do this? Who was your accomplice? "
"Not a soul," replied the maiden. "I would not have allowed another
person to share a particle of my glory. I alone knew of the deed; I alone
counselled it; I alone did it. "
"Then be the consequence," cried he, "on your own head! "
"'Tis but just," returned Sophronia. "Mine was the sole honour; mine,
therefore, should be the only punishment. "
The tyrant at this began to feel the accession of his old wrath. "Where,"
he said, "have You hidden the image? "
"I did not hide it," she replied, "I burnt it. I thought it fit and
righteous to do so. I knew of no other way to save it from the hands of
the unbelieving. Ask not for what will never again be found. Be content
with the vengeance you have before you. "
Oh, chaste heart! oh, exalted soul! oh, creature full of nobleness! think
not to find a forgiving moment return. Beauty itself is thy shield no
longer.
The glorious maiden is taken and bound. The cruel king has condemned her
to the stake. Her veil, and the mantle that concealed her chaste bosom,
are torn away, and her soft arms tied with a hard knot behind her. She
said nothing; she was not terrified; but yet she was not unmoved. Her
bosom heaved in spite of its courage. Her lovely colour was lost in a
pure white.
The news spread in an instant, and the city crowded to the sight,
Christians and all, Olindo among them. He had thought within himself,
"What if it should be Sophronia! " But when he beheld that it was she
indeed, and not only condemned, but already at the stake, he made
way through the crowd with violence, crying out, "This is not the
person,--this poor simpleton! She never thought of such a thing; she had
not the courage to do it; she had not the strength. How was she to carry
the sacred image away? Let her abide by her story if she dare. I did it. "
Such was the love of the poor youth for her that loved him not.
When he came up to the stake, he gave a formal account of what he
pretended to have done. "I climbed in," he said, "at the window of your
mosque at night, and found a narrow passage round to the image, where
nobody could expect to meet me. I shall not suffer the penalty to be
usurped by another. I did the deed, and I will have the honour of doing
it, now that it comes to this. Let our places be changed. "
Sophronia had looked up when she heard the youth call out, and she gazed
on him with eyes of pity. "What madness is this! " exclaimed she. "What
can induce an innocent person to bring destruction on himself for
nothing? Can I not bear the thing by myself? Is the anger of one man so
tremendous, that one person cannot sustain it? Trust me, friend, you are
mistaken. I stand in no need of your company. "
Thus spoke Sophronia to her lover; but not a whit was he disposed to
alter his mind. Oh, great and beautiful spectacle! Love and virtue at
strife;--death the prize they contend for;--ruin itself the salvation of
the conqueror! But the contest irritated the king. He felt himself set at
nought; felt death itself despised, as if in despite of the inflictor.
"Let them be taken at their words," cried be; "let both have the prize
they long for. "
The youth is seized on the instant, and bound like the maiden. Both are
tied to the stake, and set back to back. They behold not the face of one
another. The wood is heaped round about them; the fire is kindled.
The youth broke out into lamentations, but only loud enough to be heard
by his fellow-sufferer. "Is this, then," said he, "the bond which I hoped
might join us? Is this the fire which I thought might possibly warm two
lovers' hearts? [3] Too long (is it not so? ) have we been divided, and now
too cruelly are we united: too cruelly, I say, but not as regards me;
for since I am not to be partner of thy existence, gladly do I share thy
death. It is thy fate, not mine, that afflicts me. Oh! too happy were it
to me, too sweet and fortunate, if I could obtain grace enough to be
set with thee heart to heart, and so breathe out my soul into thy lips!
Perhaps thou wouldst do the like with mine, and so give me thy last
sigh. "
Thus spoke the youth in tears; but the maiden gently reproved him.
She said: "Other thoughts, my friend, and other lamentations befit a time
like this. Why thinkest thou not of thy sins, and of the rewards which
God has promised to the righteous? Meet thy sufferings in his name; so
shall their bitterness be made sweet, and thy soul be carried into the
realms above. Cast thine eyes upwards, and behold them. See how beautiful
is the sky; how the sun seems to invite thee towards it with its
splendour. "
At words so noble and piteous as these, the Pagans themselves, who stood
within hearing, began to weep. The Christians wept too, but in voices
more lowly. Even the king felt an emotion of pity; but disdaining to give
way to it, he turned aside and withdrew. The maiden alone partook not of
the common grief. She for whom every body wept, wept not for herself.
The flames were now beginning to approach the stake, when there appeared,
coming through the crowd, a warrior of noble mien, habited in the arms of
another country. The tiger, which formed the crest of his helmet, drew
all eyes to it, for it was a cognizance well known. The people began to
think that it was a heroine instead of a hero which they saw, even the
famous Clorinda. Nor did they err in the supposition.
A despiser of feminine habits had Clorinda been from her childhood. She
disdained to put her hand to the needle and the distaff. She renounced
every soft indulgence, every timid retirement, thinking that virtue could
be safe wherever it went in its own courageous heart; and so she armed
her countenance with pride, and pleased herself with making it stern, but
not to the effect she looked for, for the sternness itself pleased. While
yet a child her little right hand would control the bit of the charger,
and she wielded the sword and spear, and hardened her limbs with
wrestling, and made them supple for the race; and then as she grew up,
she tracked the footsteps of the bear and lion, and followed the trumpet
to the wars; and in those and in the depths of the forest she seemed a
wild creature to mankind, and a man to the wildest creature. She had now
come out of Persia to wreak her displeasure on the Christians, who had
already felt the sharpness of her sword; and as she arrived near this
assembled multitude, death was the first thing that met her eyes, but in
a shape so perplexing, that she looked narrowly to discern what it was,
and then spurred her horse towards the scene of action. The crowd gave
way as she approached, and she halted as she entered the circle round the
stake, and sat gazing on the youth and maiden. She wondered to see the
male victim lamenting, while the female was mute. But indeed she saw that
he was weeping not out of grief but pity; or at least, not out of grief
for himself; and as to the maiden, she observed her to be so wrapt up
in the contemplation of the heavens at which she was gazing, that she
appeared to have already taken leave of earth.
Pity touched the heart of the Amazon, and the tears came into her eyes.
She felt sorry for both the victims, but chiefly for the one that said
nothing. She turned to a white-headed man beside her, and said, "What is
this? Who are these two persons, whom crime, or their ill fortune, has
brought hither? "
The man answered her briefly, but to the purpose; and she discerned at
once that both must be innocent. She therefore determined to save them.
She dismounted, and set the example of putting a stop to the flames, and
then said to the officers, "Let nobody continue this work till I have
spoken to the king. Rest assured he will hold you guiltless of the
delay. " The officers obeyed, being struck with her air of confidence and
authority; and she went straight towards the king, who had heard of her
arrival, and who was coming to bid her welcome.
"I am Clorinda," she said. "Thou knowest me? Then thou knowest, sir, one
who is desirous to defend the good faith and the king of Jerusalem. I am
ready for any duty that may be assigned me. I fear not the greatest, nor
do I disdain the least. Open field or walled city, no post will come
amiss to the king's servant. "
"Illustrious maiden," answered the king, "who knoweth not Clorinda? What
region is there so distant from Asia, or so far away out of the paths of
the sun, to which the sound of thy achievements has not arrived? Joined
by thee and by thy sword I fear nothing. Godfrey, methinks, is too slow
to attack me. Dost thou ask to which post thou shalt be appointed? To the
greatest. None else becomes thee. Thou art lady and mistress of the war. "
Clorinda gave the king thanks for his courtesy, and then resumed.
"Strange is it, in truth," she said, "to ask my reward before I have
earned it; but confidence like this reassures me. Grant me, for what I
propose to do in the good cause, the lives of these two persons. I wave
the uncertainty of their offence; I wave the presumption of innocence
afforded by their own behaviour. I ask their liberation as a favour. And
yet it becomes me, at the same time, to confess, that I do not believe
the Christians to have taken the image out of the mosque. It was an
impious thing of the magician to put it there. An idol has no business in
a Mussulman temple, much less the idols of unbelievers; and my opinion
is, that the miracle was the work of Mahomet himself, out of scorn and
hatred of the contamination. Let Ismeno prefer his craft, if he will, to
the weapons of a man; but let him not take upon himself the defence of a
nation of warriors. "
The warlike damsel was silent; and the king, though he could with
difficulty conquer his anger, yet did so, to please his guest. "They are
free," said he; "I can deny nothing to such a petitioner. Whether it be
justice or not to absolve them, absolved they are. If they are innocent,
I pronounce them so; if guilty, I concede their pardon. "
At these words the youth and the maiden were set free. And blissful
indeed was the fortune of Olindo; for love, so proved as his, awoke love
in the noble bosom of Sophronia; and so he passed from the stake to
the marriage-altar, a husband, instead of a wretch condemned--a lover
beloved, instead of a hopeless adorer.
[Footnote 1: "Brama assai, poco spera, e nulla chiede. " Canto ii. st. 16.
A line justly famous. ]
[Footnote 2:
"Magnanima menzogna! or quando è il vero
Sì bello, che si possa a te preporre? "]
[Footnote 3: This conceit is more dwelt upon in the original, coupled
with the one noticed at p. 362. ]
TANCRED AND CLORINDA.
Argument.
The Mussulman Amazon Clorinda, who is beloved by the Christian chief
Tancred, goes forth in disguise at night to burn the battering tower of
the Christian army. She effects her purpose; but, in retreating from its
discoverers, is accidentally shut out of the gate through which she had
left the city. She makes her way into the open country, trusting to get
in at one of the other gates; but, having been watched by Tancred, who
does not know her in the armour in which she is disguised, a combat
ensues between them, in which she is slain. She requests baptism in her
last moments, and receives it from the hands of her despairing lover.
TANCRED AND CLORINDA
The Christians, in their siege of Jerusalem, had brought a huge rolling
tower against the walls, from which they battered and commanded the city
with such deadly effect, that the generous Amazon Clorinda resolved to go
forth in disguise and burn it. She disclosed her design to the chieftain
Argantes, for the purpose of recommending to him the care of her damsels,
in case any misfortune should happen to her; but the warrior, jealous of
the glory of such an enterprise, insisted on partaking it. The old king,
weeping for gratitude, joyfully gave them leave; and the Soldan of Egypt,
with a generous emulation, would fain have joined them. Argantes was
about to give him a disdainful refusal, when the king interposed, and
persuaded the Soldan to remain behind, lest the city should miss too many
of its best defenders at one time; adding, that the risk of sallying
forth should be his, in case the burners of the tower were pursued on
their return. Argantes and the Amazon then retired to prepare for the
exploit, and the magician Ismeno compounded two balls of sulphur for the
work of destruction.
Clorinda took off her beautiful helmet, and her surcoat of cloth of
silver, and laid aside all her haughty arms, and dressed herself (hapless
omen! ) in black armour without polish, the better to conceal herself from
the enemy. Her faithful servant, the good old eunuch Arsetes, who had
attended her from infancy, and was now following her about as well as he
could with his accustomed zeal, anxiously noticed what she was doing,
and guessing it was for some desperate enterprise, entreated her, by his
white hairs and all the love he had shewn her, to give it up. Finding his
prayers to no purpose, he requested with great emotion that she would
give ear to certain matters in her family history, which he at length
felt it his duty to disclose. "It would then," he said, "be for herself
to judge, whether she would persist in the enterprise or renounce it. "
Clorinda, at this, looked at the good man, and listened with attention.
"Not long ago," said he, "there reigned in Ethiopia, and perhaps is still
reigning, a king named Senapus, who in common with his people professed
the Christian religion. They are a black though a handsome people, and
the king and his queen were of the salve colour. The king loved her
dearly, but was unfortunately so jealous, that he concealed her from
the sight of mankind. Had it been in his power, I think he would have
hindered the very eyes of heaven from beholding her. The sweet lady,
however, was wise and humble, and did every thing she could to please
him.
"I was not a Christian myself. I was a Pagan slave, employed among the
women about the queen, and making one of her special attendants.
"It happened, that the royal bed-chamber was painted with the story of a
holy knight saving a maiden from a dragon;[1] and the maiden had a face
beautifully fair, with blooming cheeks. The queen often prayed and
wept before this picture; and it made so great an impression on her,
particularly the maiden's face, that when she bore a child, she saw with
consternation that the infant's skin was of the same fair colour. This
child was thyself. [2]
"Terrified with the thoughts of what her husband would feel at such a
sight, what a convincing proof he would hold it of a faith on her part
the reverse of spotless,[3] she procured a babe of her own colour by
means of a confidant; and before thou wert baptised (which is a ceremony
that takes place in Ethiopia later than elsewhere) committed thee to my
care to be brought up at a distance. Who shall relate the tears which
thy mother poured forth, and the sighs and sobs with which they were
interrupted? How many times, when she thought she had given thee the
last embrace, did she not gather thee to her bosom once more! At length,
raising her eyes to heaven, she said, 'O Thou that seest into the hearts
of mortals, and knowest in this matter the spotlessness of mine, dark
though it be otherwise with frailty and with sin, save, I pray thee,
this innocent creature who is denied the milk of its mother's breast.
Vouchsafe that she resemble her hapless parent in nothing but a chaste
life. And thou, celestial warrior, that didst deliver the maiden out of
the serpent's mouth, if I have ever lit humble taper on thine altar, and
set before thee offerings of gold and incense, be, I implore thee, her
advocate. Be her advocate to such purpose, that in every turn of fortune
she may be enabled to count on thy good help. ' Here she ceased, torn to
her very heart-strings, with a face painted of the colour of death; and
I, weeping myself, received thee, and bore thee away, hidden in a sweet
covering of flowers and leaves.
"I journeyed with thee along a forest, where a tiger came upon us with
fury in its eyes. I betook me, alas, to a tree, and left thee lying on
the ground, such terror was in me; and the horrible beast looked down
upon thee. But it fell to licking thee with its dreadful tongue, and thou
didst smile to it, and put thy little hand to its jaws; and, lo, it gave
thee suck, being a mother itself; and then, wonderful to relate, it
returned into the woods, leaving me to venture down from the tree, and
bear thee onward to my place of refuge. There, in a little obscure
cottage, I had thee nursed for more than a year; till, feeling that I
grew old, I resolved to avail myself of the riches the queen had given
me, and go into my own country, which was Egypt. I set out for it
accordingly, and had to cross a torrent where thieves threatened me on
one side, and the fierce water on the other. I plunged in, holding thee
above the torrent with one hand, till I came to an eddy that tore thee
from me. I thought thee lost. What was my delight and astonishment, on
reaching the bank, to find that the water itself had tossed thee upon it
in safety!
"But I had a dream at night, which seemed to shew me the cause of
thy good fortune. A warrior appeared before me with a threatening
countenance, holding a sword in my face, and saying in an imperious
voice, 'Obey the commands of the child's mother and of me, and baptise
it. She is favoured of Heaven, and her lot is in my keeping. It was I
that put tenderness in the heart of the wild beast, and even a will to
save her in the water. Woe to thee, if thou believest not this vision. It
is a message from the skies. '
"The spirit vanished, and I awoke and pursued my journey; but thinking my
own creed the true one, and therefore concluding the dream to be false, I
baptised thee not; I bred thee what I was myself, a Pagan; and thou didst
grow up, and become great and wonderful in arms, surpassing the deeds
of men, and didst acquire riches and lands; and what thy life has been
since, then knowest as well as I; ay, and thou knowest mine own ways too,
how I have followed and cautiously waited on thee ever, being to thee
both as a servant and father.
"Now yesterday morning, as I lay heavily asleep, in consequence of my
troubled mind, the same figure of the warrior made its appearance, but
with a countenance still more threatening, and speaking in a louder
voice. 'Wretch,' it exclaimed, 'the hour is approaching when Clorinda
shall end both her life and her belief. She is mine in despite of thee.
Misery be thine. ' With these words it darted away as though it flew.
"Consider then, delight of my soul, what these dreams may portend. They
threaten thee terrible things; for what reason I know not. Can it be,
that mine own faith is the wrong one, and that of thy parents the right?
Ah! take thought at least, and repress this daring courage.
