The Romance of Biography (Vol 1 of 2)

en to question whether his Laura ever existed, except in the imagination and the poetry of her lover. The first objection could only be mad

inspired many an effusion, full of beauty, fancy, and poetry; but it has not, therefore, been counted less sincere; and Heaven forbid it

licts; to dwell on his exquisite delineations of individual character and peculiar beauty, his simple touches of profound pathos and melancholy tenderness:-and then believe all to be mere invention,-the coinage of the brain,-a t

hakspeare,-his concetti-his fanciful adoration of the laurel, as the emblem of Laura-his playing on the words Laura, L'aura, and Lauro,

t, or the lover. The reproach of monotony, I confess I never could understand. It is rather matter of astonishment, how in a collection of nearly four hundred poems, all, with one or two exceptions, turning upon the same subject and sentiment, the poet has poured forth such an endless and redundant variety both of thought and feeling-how from the wide universe, the changeful face of all beautiful nature, the treasures of antique learning, and, above all, from his own overflowing heart, he has drawn those lovely pictures, allusions, situations, sentiments and reflections, which have, indeed, been stolen, borrowe

onable philosophy of the age. He was deeply religious, and the strain of devotional and moral feeling which mingles with that of passion, or of grief,-his fears lest the excess of his earthly affections should interfere with his eternal salvation,-his continual allusions to his faith, to a future existence, and the nothingness and vanity of the world,-are not so many proofs of his profaneness, but of his sincerity. He was suspicious, irritable, and susceptible; subject to quick transitions of feeling; raised by a word to hope-plunged by a glance into despair; just such a finely-toned instrument as a woman loves to play on;-and all this we have set forth in the contradictions, the self-reproaches, the little daily vicissitudes which are events and revolutions in a life of passion; a life, which when exhibited in the rich and softening tints of poetry, has all the power of strong interest, united to the charm of ha

station, her birth, her lineage? What were her transcendant qualities of person, heart, and mind, that she should have swayed, with such despotic an

dness, pride, o

is good, what

ject-are a proof of the sincerity of her lover; for nothing but truth could ever inspire this lasting and universal interest. But without diving into these dry disputations, let us take Laura's portrait from Pet

ion, though her life was spent i

gue, vita um

ns; one of green, embroidered with violets; the other of crimson, trimmed with feathers. In all the portraits of Laura now extant, she is represented in one of these two dresses, and they are frequently alluded to by Petrarch. He tells us expressly, that when he first met her at matins in the Church of St. Claire, she was habited in a robe of green, spotted with violets.[25] Mention is also made of a coronal of silver, with which she wreathed her hair; of her necklaces and ornaments of pearl. Diamonds are not once alluded to, because the art of cutting them had not then been invented. From all which, it appears that Laura was opulent, and moved in the first

of pale golden hair parted on her brow, and falling in rich curls over her neck.

andar suo c

ngelica

auty of her hand in

che mi distr

eliness of

bocca a

must have been pensive, soft, unob

sembianza um

nsueto, um

st heart, "Il cantar che nell' anima si sente." She had a habit of veiling her eyes with her hand, and her looks were generally bent on the earth, "o per umiltade o per orgoglio." In the portrait of Laura, which I saw at the Laurentian Library at Florence, the eyes have this characteristic downcast look. Her lover complains also of a veil, which she was fo

r him; for it is certain that we owe to Laura's exquisite purity of mind and manners, the polished delicacy of the homage addressed to her. Passing over, of course, the circumstance of her being a married woman, and therefore not a proper object of amorous verse,-there is not in all the poetry she inspired, a line or sentiment which angels might not hear and approve. Petrarch represents her as expressing neither surprise nor admiration at the self-sacrifice of Lucretia, but only wondering that shame and grief had not anticipated the dagger of the Roman matron. He describes h

il loco e 'l

miraron gl

ma, assai r

tanto onor d

...*..

ien l' amor

segui all' So

o quel ch' og

levated sentiment, every desire for impro

un bel

da voi vien p

quasi un ter

e 'l pregio è

zon

t with the purest heart, "In alto intelletto un puro core." He dwells with rapture on her angelic modesty, which excited at onc

ro cor, che

ando, talor

voler, che

s certain that the second part of the Canzonière of Petrarch, written after the death of Laura, is more beautiful than

left us his Canzonière, he would probably have performed some other excelling work of genius, which would have crowned him with equal or superior glory; and that if he had never been the lover of Laura, he would have been no less that master-spirit who

nd I appeal to

ue," and the "Italia mia," the reader had been spared my abortive prose sketch, which will give as just an idea of the original as a hasty penciled outl

has at length been exhausted, and I have abhorred my existence. I have not only forsaken the path of ambition and useful exertion, but even of pleasure and of happiness: I, who was born, if I do not deceive myself, for far higher purposes than to be a mere amorous slave! Through him I have been careless of my duty to Heaven,-negligent of myself:-for the sake of one woman I forgot all else!-me miserable! What have availed me all the high and precious gifts of Heaven, the talents, the genius which raised me abo

r him, I chose from the whole world one lovely woman, so gifted by Heaven with all female excellence, that her likeness is not to be found beneath the moon,-one whose melodious voice and gentle accents had power to banish from his heart every vain, and dark, and vicious thought. These were the wrongs of which he complains: such is my reward for all I have done for him,-ungrateful man! Upon my wings hath he soared upwards, till his name is placed among the greatest of the sons of song, and fair ladies and gentle knights listen with delight to his strains:-had it not been for me, what had he become before now? Perhaps a vain flatterer, seeking preferment in a Court, c

line. Petrarch utters a cry of horror, and exclaims-"Yes,

rity-"Not I-but He-the eterna

on him was not exactly that which he sought,-yet in fame, in greatness, in virtue, and in happiness, she well and ri

TNO

ursuits of

e indeed but an imaginary person, and my passion for her but sport!-Alas! it is rather a madness!-hard would it have been, and painful, to feign so long a time-and what extravagance to play such a f

oted by

nz. xv.

Son. 37

ich all his life drove Petrarch, like a per

have forgotten himself; he