His first work, under this new direction, was one of great labour and erudition for those times, and was entered upon at the suggestion of Ugo IV., king of Cyprus and Jerusalem. It treats of the genealogy of the gods, and relates the connection between the various deities of the beautiful Greek mythology. For many years it continued to be a standard book, whence the Italians drew all their knowledge of the subject; and it was doubtless a useful production. In pursuance of his plan of being the schoolmaster of his age, and introducing his countrymen to the knowledge of forgotten lore, he afterwards composed a dictionary of ancient rivers, mountains, and forests. His active mind was always finding new subjects for his pen. He discovered that the female sex possessed no historian, and he dedicated himself to their service by writing the lives of illustrious women. In this he describes the ideal of a virtuous matron, and goes to the extreme usual to a reformed libertine. Her conduct must not only be strictly correct, but she must not even look about her; she must speak little, eat little, and avoid singing and dancing. Given up to domestic cares, she must be simple in her dress, and even love her husband moderately. He wrote after this a work entitled, "De Casibus Virorum et Fæminarum Illustrium," in which he records the disasters and adversity which history relates to have befallen royal or noble personages. Thus his time was entirely spent among his books, and he acquired a reputation for learning and purity of life, which raised him high in the opinion of his fellow citizens.

He was, in consequence, appointed, on two occasions, ambassador to pope Urban V. 1365.
Ætat.
52. In fulfilment of the first mission, he went to Avignon, where he was honourably received, especially by Philip de Cabassoles, the intimate and beloved friend of Petrarch. On his return, he was very desirous of passing from Genoa to Pavia, to see the laureate; but the duties of his embassy forbade. To indemnify himself, he projected a visit to him at Venice. There is a Latin letter of his extant, which gives an interesting account of this latter journey: it is addressed to Petrarch, whom he missed, as he was again gone to Pavia. Boccaccio did not hear of this circumstance till he reached Bologna; and it almost made him give up his journey. "On my road," he writes, "I encountered Francesco (the son-in-law of Petrarch), to my great delight. After a glad and friendly meeting, I began to observe the person of this man. His placid countenance, measured language, and mild manners pleased me: I praised your choice, as I praise all you do." On his arrival at Venice, "I received," he says, "many invitations, and accepted that of Francesco Allegri. I would not avail myself of your kind offer, and take up my abode under your daughter's roof, during the absence of her husband. I should have preferred going to an inn to being the cause of the scandal that might have arisen, despite my grey hairs and fat unwieldy figure."

"I went, however, to see Francesca; who, when she heard of my arrival, came to meet me with gladness, as if you yourself had returned: yet, when she saw me, she was abashed, blushed, and cast down her eyes; and then, after a timid welcome, she embraced me with filial and modest affection. After conversing together some little time, we went into your garden, and found several of your friends assembled. Here, in explicit and kind terms, she offered me your house, your books, and every thing belonging to you, in a matronly and becoming manner. While we were conversing, your beloved little granddaughter came up: she looked smilingly at me, and I took her with delight in my arms. At first, methought I saw my own child[76]: her face resembles hers—the same smile, the same laughing eyes; the gestures, gait, and carriage of her person, though a little taller—for mine was only five years and a half old when I last saw her—were all similar: if their dialect had been the same, their expressions would have resembled in their simplicity. I saw no difference, except that yours has golden hair, and that of mine was black. Alas! while caressing and charmed by her talk, the recollection of my loss drew tears from my eyes; so that I turned my face away, to conceal my emotion."

"I cannot tell you all that Francesco said and did upon his return; his frequent visits when he found that I would not remove to his house; and how hospitably he entertained me. One incident will suffice: knowing that I was poor, which I never denied, on my departure from Venice, at a late hour, he withdrew with me into another part of his house; and, after taking leave, he stretched out his long arms, and, putting a purse into my hands, made his escape, before I could expostulate with or thank him."

After having been gratified by these tokens of real friendship, Boccaccio suffered one of those mortifying disappointments which too often occur to those who are ready to trust to the good-will and offers of assistance of men who call themselves their friends. Niccolo di Montefalcone, abbot of the celebrated Carthusian monastery of San Stefano in Calabria, invited him to take up his abode with him, describing the agreeable situation of his house, its select library, and the leisure to be enjoyed there. 1370.
Ætat.
57. Boccaccio accepted the invitation, and made the journey. He arrived late at night before the gates of the secluded monastery; but, instead of the welcome he expected, he found that the abbot had left the convent hastily, in the middle of the night, on purpose to avoid him. Boccaccio, justly indignant, wrote an angry letter, and, leaving the inhospitable retreat, repaired to Naples, where he was again cordially received by his friend Mainardo de' Cavalcanti.

During his visit to Naples, Boccaccio received many offers of hospitality and patronage: among others, queen Jane of Naples, and Giacomo king of Majorca, endeavoured to persuade him to enter into their service; but Boccaccio was naturally proud and independent: he had been duped by an appearance of friendship, but recoiled from a state of servitude: he preferred his quiet home at Certaldo to the favours of the great; nor could the renewed solicitations of Petrarch induce him to change his mind; and he returned to Tuscany. 1372.
Ætat.
59. 1373.
Ætat.
60. When he visited Naples again, it was merely for the sake of seeing his friends, without any ulterior view, and he quickly returned to the quiet of Certaldo, where he busied himself in the publication of his work of the "Genealogy of the Gods."

Age and infirmity advanced on him before their time: he was attacked by a painful and disagreeable disease, which rendered life a burthen to him. He lost his strength, and the powers of his understanding; his limbs became heavy, and the light of heaven intolerable; his memory was impaired, and his books no longer afforded him any pleasure. His thoughts were fixed upon the tomb, towards which he believed himself to be rapidly approaching. After having continued in this state for several months, he was one day seized with a violent fever, which increased towards night. His disturbed thoughts turned towards the past: his life appeared to him to have been wasted, and fruitful only of remorse. No friend was near him: his sole attendant was an old nurse, who, unable to penetrate the cause of his disquietude, annoyed him by her meaningless and vulgar consolations. His fever increased; he believed himself to be dying, and he feared to die. His courage, which had until now sustained, all at once deserted him. Hitherto he had avoided physicians, having no faith in the art: he was now driven to send for one, whose remedies afforded him relief, and restored him to some portion of health.[77]

The energy of his mind returned with his bodily strength. He had laboured long to induce the Florentine government to bestow some honourable testimonial on the memory of the illustrious Dante. At length, a decree was promulgated, instituting a professorship for the public explanation of the "Divina Commedia," so to promote, as it was expressed, the advancement of learning and virtue among the living and their posterity. The professorship was bestowed upon Boccaccio: he received a salary of one hundred florins a year, and delivered his lectures in the church of San Stefano. The result was his commentary on the first seventeen cantos of the "Inferno," written in a clear, simple, and elegant style, full of excellent criticism and valuable illustrations.

Thus the remnants of his failing strength were spent upon doing honour to the memory of the celebrated poet, whose genius he so warmly and generously admired, and a depreciation of whom is the sole blot on the otherwise faultless character of Petrarch: but, while he roused his intellects to understand and comment upon the delicate and sublime beauties of Dante, his physical strength decayed, and his sensibility received a severe shock from the death of his beloved friend Petrarch. 1374.
Ætat.
61. He heard it first by public report; and it was afterwards confirmed to him in a letter from Francesco Brossano, the laureate's son-in-law, who transmitted to him the legacy of fifty florins, for the purchase of a fur dress for his winter studies. Boccaccio wrote, in return, a letter full of grief and admiration. "He did not mourn," he said, "for the dead, who was receiving the reward of his virtues, but for those who survived him, and were abandoned to the tempestuous sea of life without a pilot." He would have visited his tomb had his health permitted; and he besought Brossano to take care of his posthumous reputation, and to publish his poem of "Africa," which was only known to the world in fragments. In compliance with his request, Brossano had the poem copied, and sent it to him; but he did not live to receive it.

He felt his end approaching, and Petrarch's death loosened his last tie to earth. He made his will, and named the sons of his brother Jacopo his heirs. He left legacies to those to whom he owed return for friendship and services; and he concluded, by leaving his library, in the first instance, to his spiritual director, Martino da Signa, to go, after his death, to the convent of the Spirito Santo, at Florence, for the benefit of the studious.

He survived Petrarch one year only, and died at Certaldo, on the 21st December, 1375, in the 63d year of his age. His death was occasioned by a malady of small moment in itself, but fatal in his debilitated state, and aggravated by his continual application. He was buried at Certaldo, in the church of SS. Jacopo and Filippo. His son presided at his funeral, and erected a tomb, on which was inscribed a Latin epitaph, composed by Boccaccio himself, in which he mentions that honourable love of literature which characterised him through life:—"Patria Certaldum; studium fuit alma poesis." He was lamented throughout Italy; but his loss was chiefly deplored in his native city, as, during his residence there, he had redeemed his early follies by a course of life devoted to the cultivation of literature and religion, and the duties of a citizen. While all read with delight the purer productions of his imaginative genius, the learned of every age must feel grateful to his unwearied labours in the preservation of the ancient manuscripts, many of which, but for him, had been lost for ever to the world.

LORENZO DE' MEDICI

(considered as a poet);

FICINO, PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA, POLITIAN,
THE PULCI, etc.

After the deaths of Petrarch and Boccaccio, the cause of learning was, to a certain degree, lost. The study of Greek and the search for manuscripts was discontinued. The first person who brought that language again into notice, was Emanuel Chrysoloras, a noble Greek, who was frequently sent into Italy on embassies by the emperor of Constantinople, and employed his leisure in teaching his native tongue in Florence. His disciples were numerous: among these. Poggio Bracciolini was the most distinguished. He discovered and collected a vast number of the most valuable manuscripts. Besides the philosophic and beautiful poem of Lucretius, we owe to him the complete copies of Quintilian, Plautus, Statius, Silius Italicus, Columella, and many others. Several of these exist only from the copy found by him, and were thus rescued from certain destruction. "I did not find them in libraries," he says, "which their dignity demanded, but in a dark and obscure dungeon at the bottom of a tower, in which they were leading the life of the damned." Filelfo was also an ardent collector. The discussions between the Roman and Greek churches brought several Greek scholars and philosophers into Italy, and through them the Platonic doctrines were known to the Italians. 1438. Gemisthus Pletho, who had been master of Chrysoloras, but who survived him many years, was their chief promulgator. They were in opposition to the Aristotelian philosophy, which had so long been the only one taught in the schools of Italy; but their glowing beauty and imagination were adapted to enchant all who heard them. Cosmo de' Medici became their convert, and resolved to establish an academy at Florence for their study and propagation. He caused Marsiglio Ficino, the son of his favourite physician, to be educated for this purpose by the teachers of Platonic philosophy. 1453. Cosmo was also the founder of the Medicean library. The taking of Constantinople by the Turks aided the advancement of learning; and while Cosmo protected many learned Greeks who took refuge at Florence, they spread refinement and knowledge throughout the peninsula.

1464.

Cosmo died soon after; and as his son Piero did not long survive him, Lorenzo succeeded to his wealth and political influence. Lorenzo had been brought up with solicitous attention. He was fortunate in his mother. Madonna Lucretia, a lady of considerable talents and accomplishments, a lover of learning, and patroness of learned men. He was first the pupil of Gentile d' Urbino, bishop of Arezzo; and afterwards of Christofero Landino; and a warm attachment subsisted between master and pupil. He soon gave manifestations of the magnificence of his disposition; and his love of poetry developed itself at an early age. After the death of Cosmo, and his father Piero, however, his life was no longer one of studious leisure or youthful enjoyment; but visited by many disastrous occurrences. 1478. The conspiracy of the Pazzi was directed against his life and that of his brother. Giuliano was its victim; while he with difficulty escaped from the poniard of the assassin. He was scarcely free from these domestic dangers, when he encountered greater foreign ones, from the implacable enmity of Sixtus VI. This pope leagued almost all Italy against Florence, declaring at the same time that Lorenzo was the object of their attack; and that if he were sacrificed, Florence should obtain peace. Lorenzo maintained the weight of this coalition with firmness and dignity. 1479. With heroic gallantry he took the whole responsibility on his own person, and threw himself into the hands of the king of Naples. 1480. His firmness and talents enabled him to induce this monarch to conclude a treaty beneficial and honourable to Florence, and his authority in the republic was thus confirmed greater than ever. From this time he occupied himself by establishing an enduring peace in Italy; not pursuing his object by pusillanimous concessions, but by an unremitted attention to the course of events, and sound policy in preserving the balance of power among the Italian states.

From the anxieties and cares attendant on his public life, he was glad to find relaxation in the cultivation of poetry and the pursuits of philosophy. He loved literature and the fine arts, and devoted much of his time and fortune to their cultivation. He encouraged Greek learning, and was an enthusiastic Platonist. His chief friends were literary men—Politian, Marsiglio Ficino, and the three brothers of the name of Pulci. He busied himself in raising and giving reputation to the university of Pisa. He instituted a yearly celebration of the anniversary of Plato's birth and death, and was the cause that his refined philosophy became the fashion in Italy. All the learned wrote and spoke Plato; and in Florence in particular, classic learning was an indispensable qualification in a well-educated man.

One of the chief merits of Lorenzo is derived from the revival of his native language. A century had elapsed since the golden age of Petrarch and Boccaccio, but the Italian language, instead of redeeming the promise of its birth, had remained mute and inglorious. The neglect which so speedily darkened the native literature, may be attributed to these very men, and especially to Petrarch, who cast disgrace over what he called the vulgar tongue, and taught that Latin was the only worthy medium by which learned men should communicate their ideas—and such Latin! However, the spirit of improvement, which is the most valuable attribute of human nature, led the students who succeeded him to cultivate and understand the implement he placed in their hands. They applied themselves to a critical examination of Latin; and after all, it is perhaps, to the bald, unformed Latinity of Petrarch, that we owe the knowledge which the scholar of the present day possesses of the construction and delicacies of that language. If he had not taught the world, that the object chiefly worthy of their ambition was to imitate the works of Virgil and Cicero, no one had spent the labour necessary to the entire understanding of the language of the Romans.

Yet, while this advantage was derived from his mistake, imagination and genius were silenced; little prose and no poetry, either in Latin or the vulgar tongue, appeared in Italy. The writers educated by Cosmo, Politian, and Ficino, still adhered to the hereditary error, and wrote in Latin. Lorenzo first broke through these rules, and expressed in his native language the fragile and delicate ideas inspired by a poetic imagination. He ranks high as a poet: he does not possess the sublimity and grace of Dante, nor the elegance, tenderness, and incomparable sweetness of Petrarch; but his merits are original and conspicuous: simplicity and vivacity adorn his verses. His love poems are full of fire, and come from the heart; his descriptions are delightful, from their truth, elegance, and flow of fancy throughout; his diction is that of a genuine poet.

It is singular, that although Lorenzo possessed the germ of real poetry in his mind, he began to work himself up to writing verses in a manner that appears cold to our northern imaginations: he resolved to love, and resolved to write verses on her he loved; yet, being a poet, and a man whose heart easily opened itself to the warmer affections, no doubt a great deal of real feeling accompanied his aspirations. He himself gives the account of all these circumstances in a commentary written on his first sonnets.

His brother Guiliano had been deeply attached to a lovely girl named Simonetta, who died in the bloom of beauty: it is supposed, that he alludes to her when he describes the excitement caused by the public funeral of a beautiful young lady, whose admirers crowded round her open bier, and gazed, for the last time, on the pallid face of the object of their adoration, which was exposed uncovered to their view, accompanying the funeral with their tears. All the eloquence and talent of Florence were exerted to pay honour to her memory in prose and verse. Lorenzo himself composed a few sonnets, and to give them greater effect, he tried to imagine that he also was a lover, mourning over the untimely end of one beloved, and then again he reflected that he might write still more feelingly, if he could discover a living object, to whom to address his homage. He looked round among the beauties of Florence, to discover one whose perfections should satisfy his judgment, as worthy of inspiring a sincere and constant attachment. At last, at a public festival, he beheld a girl so lovely and attractive in her appearance, that, as he gazed on her, he said to himself, "If this person were possessed of the delicacy, the understanding, and accomplishments of her who is lately dead, most certainly she excels her in personal charms." On becoming acquainted with her, he found his fondest dreams realised: she was perfectly beautiful, clever, vivacious, yet full of dignity and sweetness. It is a pity that this account rather chills us as we read his sonnets, and we feel them rather as coming from the head than heart: yet they are tender and graceful; and it is not difficult for a youth of an ardent disposition, and an Italian, to love a beautiful girl, even at the word of command.

One of these sonnets possesses the simplicity and grace which distinguish Lorenzo's poetry: we give Mr. Roscoe's translation of it, and yet are not satisfied. Mr. Roscoe wrote at a time when the common-places of versification, brought in by the imitators of Pope, were still in vogue; but this observation applies chiefly to the beginning of the sonnet; the conclusion is better, yet the whole wants the brightness and spring of the original. Happy are those who can refer to that.[78]

Many sonnets and canzoni were written to celebrate this lady's perfections and his passion, but he never mentions her name. From contemporary poets, Politian and Verini, who addressed her, and Valori, who wrote a life of Lorenzo, we learn, that her name was Lucretia, of the noble family of Donati; an ancestor of whom, Cuzio Donato, had been celebrated for his military enterprises. But it is mutual love that excites our sympathy, and there is no token that Lucretia regarded her lover with more fervour than he deserved; for, however Verini may undertake to prove that he was worthy of a return for his attachment, a different opinion must be formed, when we find that he married a short time after, not the sighed for Lucretia, but Clarice degli Orsini; and although the usual excuse is given, that this marriage was consented to by him to please his relatives, and as he expresses it, "I took for a wife, or rather was given me;" yet as Lucretia must have been the victim of his obedience, it is agreeable to find that she gave slight ear to his empty or deceptive protestations.

His other poems were composed as recreation during a busy life, and many of them are animated by glowing sensibility or light-hearted hilarity. Among them the most celebrated is "La Nencia da Barbarino," where he makes a swain praise his mistress in rustic phrase; this is a dangerous experiment, but Lorenzo perfectly succeeded. His poem is totally devoid of affectation, and is so charming for its earnestness and simplicity, that it was repeated and sung by every one in Florence. Many tried to imitate the style, but vainly; and they complained that, though many peasant girls were celebrated, La Nencia da Barbarino was the only rustic beauty who could gain the popular favour.

His Canzoni Carnaleschi are animated and original; he was the inventor of this style of song. He exerted himself, on all occasions, to vary and refine the public amusements of Florence, and during the carnival, the period of gaiety and pleasure in Catholic countries, introduced processions and dances of a novel and delightful description. It was the custom of the women to form themselves into bands of twelve, and, linked hand with hand, to sing as they danced in a circle. Lorenzo composed several canzoni a ballo, which became favourites for these occasions. One of these,—

is the prettiest and most spirited song for May ever written. His processions and masquerades afforded also subjects for verse. Bands of people paraded the city in character, personating triumphs, or exhibitions of the arts; and Lorenzo wrote songs, which they chanted as they passed along. It is singular, that, free and energetic as the Florentines were, yet the songs composed for them never spoke of liberty, but turned upon love only: love was all their theme—love that was often licentiousness, and yet described with such truth and beauty, as must have tended greatly to enervate, and even to vitiate, the various persons that formed these gay companies. Lorenzo's canzoni are tainted with this defect.

Lorenzo was a faithful and kind, though not a fond husband. His feelings were always held in discipline by him; and if he were too sensitive to the influence of beauty, yet his actions were all regulated by that excellent sense of justice and duty which is his admirable characteristic. There are some elegiac stanzas preserved of his, which prove that he suffered at one time the struggles and errors of passion, and was subdued by it to other thoughts than those which his reason approved. How different is this poem to those addressed to Lucretia Donati. There is no Platonic refinement, no subtlety, no conceit, no imitation of Petrarch; its diction is clear and sweet; truth and strength of feeling animate each expression; it bears the stamp of heartfelt sincerity, and is adorned by all the delicacy which real passion inspires. "Ah!" he exclaims, "had we been joined in marriage! Had you been earlier born, or had I come later into the world!" These stanzas are even left unfinished, and probably were concealed, as revealing a secret which it would have been fatal to have discovered to the world.

Besides the animated and gay songs, and choruses, in which Lorenzo is unrivalled, he wrote several descriptive poems: one long one relates the history of how his favourite country house, named Ambra, was carried away by the overflowing of the Ombrone. He figures the villa to be a nymph, of whom the river god is enamoured, and, like one of Ovid's heroines, she falls a victim to his pursuit. The descriptions in this poem are lively, true, and graceful. The "Caccia di Falcone" gives a spirited detail of the disasters that befall falconers: he bring in several of his friends by name. "Where is Luigi Pulci," he cries, "that we do not hear him? He is gone before in that grove, for some whim has seized him, and he has retreated to meditate a sonnet."

April
8.
1492

Lorenzo died at the early age of forty-four, of a painful and inexplicable disorder, which, attacking his stomach, gave rise to the idea that he was poisoned. He was considerate and affectionate to the last; endeavouring to impress his system of policy on his son's mind, and exerting himself to lighten the grief of those around him. Potents and wonders followed his death, which even Machiavelli, then a very young man, deemed miraculous. He was universally lamented; and the downfall of his family, which occurred soon after, through the misconduct of his eldest son, Piero, renewed the grief of the friends who survived him.

MARSIGLIO FICINO

The literary tastes of Cosmo, the talents and admirable qualities of Lucretia, the mother of Lorenzo, and the example and protection of Lorenzo himself, rendered his a golden era for poets and philosophers. It has been already mentioned, that for the sake of spreading abroad a knowledge of the Platonic doctrines, Cosmo had caused the son of his favourite physician to be educated in the study and cultivation of them. Marsiglio Ficino was born at Florence, on the 18th of October, 1433. His first studies were directed by Luca Quarqualio, with whom he read Cicero, and other Latin authors; applying his attention principally to the mention made of Plato, and already admiring and loving his philosophy. His father, being poor, sent him to study at Bologna, to the discontent of Marsiglio; but fortunately, one day, during a casual visit to Florence, his father led him to Cosmo de' Medici, who, struck with the intelligence exhibited in his countenance, chose him at once, young as he was, to be the future support of his Platonic academy; and, turning to the father, said, "You were sent us by heaven to cure the body, but your son is certainly destined to cure the mind."[79] He adopted him in his house; and Marsiglio never ceased to testify his gratitude, and to declare that he had been to him a second father. He was given up henceforth to Platonism. At the age of twenty-three he wrote his "Platonic Institutions." Plato was his idol; he talked Plato, thought Plato, and became almost mad for Plato, and his deepest and most wonderful mysteries. The celebrated Pico della Mirandola shared his studies and enthusiasm. It was not, however, till after having written his "Institutions," that, at the advice of Cosmo, he learnt Greek, the better to understand his favourite author. He translated, as the first fruits of this study, the "Hymns of Orpheus" into Latin; he translated, also, the "Treatise on the Origin of the World," attributed to Hermes Trismegistus; and, presenting it to Cosimo, he was rewarded by him by the gift of a podere, or small farm, appertaining to his own villa of Caneggi near Florence, and a house in the city, besides some magnificent manuscripts of Plato and Plotinus. 1468.
Ætat.
35. After this Ficino occupied himself by translating the whole of Plato's works into Latin, which he completed in five years. He afterwards assumed the clerical profession, and Lorenzo bestowed on him the cure of two churches, and made him canon of the cathedral of Florence, on which he gave up his patrimony to his brothers. 1475.
Ætat.
42. He was a disinterested and blameless man: gentle and agreeable in his manners, no violent passions nor desires disturbed the calm of his mind. He loved solitude, and delighted to pass his time in the country, in the society of his philosophic friends. His health was feeble, and he was subject to severe indispositions, which could not induce him to diminish the ardour with which he pursued his studies. Sixtus IV., and Mathew Corvino, king of Hungary, tried to induce him, by magnificent offers, to take up his abode at their several courts, but he would not quit Florence. Many foreigners, particularly from Germany, visited Italy for the express purpose of seeing him, and studying under him. He died on the first of October, 1499, at the age of sixty-six. In the year 1521, a marble statue was erected in Florence to his memory.

GIOVANNI PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA

As the name of Pico della Mirandola has been mentioned, it is impossible not to bestow some attention on a man who was the glory and admiration of Italy. Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Conte della Concordia, was born in the year 1463; his father, Gian Francesco Pico, was lord of Mirandola and Concordia; his mother's name was Julia Boiarda. From his earliest years he manifested an extraordinary understanding and memory: he was naturally disposed to literary and poetic pursuits; but at the age of fourteen, being destined, as a younger son, for the church, he was sent to Bologna to study canon law. After two years spent in this way, he resolved to give himself up to philosophy, and visited the most celebrated schools of France and Italy, in which, studying under and disputing with the professors of highest reputation, he acquired an erudition that made him the wonder and delight of his contemporaries. To Greek and Latin he added a knowledge of Hebrew, Chaldaic, and Arabic. He relates how he was enticed by an impostor to purchase, at a high price, seventy Hebrew manuscripts, which he was told were genuine, and composed by order of Esdras, and contained the most recondite mysteries of religion. These were the books of the Cabala, or of the Traditions, which the Jews believe to have been collected at the command of Esdras. At the age of twenty-three Pico visited Rome, during the reign of Innocent VIII.; and here he published 900 propositions—dialectic, moral, physical, mathematical, theological, &c. &c.—offering to dispute with any one concerning them. These propositions still exist among his works, a sorrowful monument of the pedantry of the age, which could turn aside so admirable an understanding, from loftier and more useful studies, to the subtilties and frivolities of scholastic arguments. But, in those days, they caused Pico to be considered something wonderful, and almost divine. Yet they led him into annoyance, as envy caused other learned men to denounce thirteen among the propositions to be heretical, and he wrote a long apology to clear himself. This rather increased his difficulties; twice he was cited before the papal tribunal, but was each time pronounced innocent. This persecution caused him to reform his life. Handsome, young, rich, and of attractive manners, he had hitherto enjoyed the pleasures usual to his period of life; but henceforth he gave himself up to piety, burning his love verses, and devoting himself to theology and philosophy. He spent the last years of his life at Florence, in the society of Lorenzo and his friends. He was beside Lorenzo at his last moments; and, in a cheerful conversation with him, that amiable man spent his last hours, saying, that he should meet death with more satisfaction after this interview. Pico has been praised by every writer for his beneficence and generosity; he died in the year 1494, in his thirty-second year only.

ANGELO POLIZIANO

Politian formed a third, and was the dearest of Lorenzo's friends. He was born at Monte Pulciano, a small town not far from Florence; he was named Angelo, and his father was called Benedetto di Cini. The son adopted the place of his birth for a surname, changing Pulciano into the more euphonic appellation of Poliziano. He was born on the 24th of July, 1454: his father was poor, which occasioned him in his youth to call himself Angelo Basso. Brought to Florence during his childhood, he studied under the most celebrated scholars of the day, Cristofero Landino, and Giovanni Agyropylo. It is uncertain whether he derived this advantage from his father's care, or from the kindness of Lorenzo de' Medici, as it is not known at what age he first became known to that munificent patron. His own words are, "From boyhood almost I was brought up in that asylum of virtue, the palace of the great Lorenzo de' Medici, prince of his flourishing republic of Florence."[80] These words coincide with the general idea, that at a very early age he attracted the notice of Lorenzo by his poem entitled, "Giostra di Giuliano de' Medici," written to celebrate the first tournament of Giuliano, as Luca Pulci had composed another in honour of that of Lorenzo. This poem consists of 1400 lines, and yet is left unfinished; breaking off at the moment that the tournament is about to begin. It commences by an address to Lorenzo, and then goes on to describe the youthful occupations of Giuliano, his carelessness of female beauty, and the subduing of his heart by the lovely Simonetta. A description of Venus and the island of Cyprus is introduced: it concludes abruptly, as is often the case with youthful attempts. Yet the beauty and variety of the ideas, and smoothness and elegance of the versification, render it doubtful to critics whether it was written at so early an age as fourteen. At least it must cause regret that he afterwards applied himself to compositions in Latin: for though his poetry in that language has a life and vigour which distinguishes it from any other of his age, yet it must always fall short of the genuine flow of thought, in which a poet so easily indulges when he adopts his native tongue.

From the period that he took up his abode in Lorenzo's palace, he received the instructions of the most celebrated men of the age, and his progress showed his aptitude to learn. He enjoyed here also the society of Lorenzo's accomplished mother, Lucretia Tornabuoni, a lover of poetry, and herself a poetess. Lorenzo afterwards appointed him tutor to his children; but he did not agree so well with Mona Clarice. When Lorenzo was engaged in the hazardous war that disturbed the beginning of his political life, he sent his wife and children to Pistoia, with Politian as tutor, who wrote frequent letters to Lorenzo, with accounts of the well-being and occupations of his family. "Piero," he writes, "never leaves my side, nor I his. I should like to be useful to you in greater things; but since this is entrusted to me, I willingly undertake it."—"All your family are well. Piero studies moderately; and we wander through the town to amuse ourselves. We visit the gardens, of which this city is full, and sometimes the library of Maestro Zambino, where I found several good Greek and Latin books. Giovanni[81] rides on his pony have all day long, followed by numbers of people. Mona Clarice is well in health; but takes pleasure in nothing but the good news she receives from you, and seldom quits the house." In another letter he asks, that more power may be given to him over the studies of the boys:—"As for Giovanni, his mother employs him in reading the Psalter, which I by no means commend. Whilst she declined interfering with him, it is wonderful how he got on." Monna Clarice was not better pleased with the tutor than he with her. She writes to her husband—"I wish you would not make me the fable of Francho, as I was of Luigi Pulci; and that Messer Angelo should not say that he remains in my house in spite of me. I told you, that if you wished it, I was satisfied that he should stay, though I have suffered a thousand impertinences from him. If it is your will, I am patient; but I cannot believe that it should be so." Thus situated, Politian lamented the absence of Madonna Lucretia from Pistoia, and complained to her of the solitude he endured there. "I call it solitude," he says, in a letter written at this time to Lucretia, "for Monsignore shuts himself up in his room, with thought for his only companion; and I always find him so sorrowful and anxious, that it increases my melancholy to be with him: and when I remain alone, weary of study, I am agitated by the thoughts of pestilence and war, regret for the past and fear for the future; nor have I any one with whom to share my reveries. I do not find my dear Mona Lucretia in her room, to whom I could pour forth my complaints, and I die of ennui."[82]

At the age of twenty-nine, he was appointed to the professorship of Greek and Latin eloquence in the university of Florence. Happy in the friendship of his patron, his life was disturbed only by literary squabbles, in which he usually conducted himself with forbearance and dignity. He was held in high repute throughout Italy, and received preferment in the church, and on one occasion was sent ambassador to the papal court.

His life for many years was one of singular good fortune and happiness: adversity ensued on the death of Lorenzo. 1492.
Ætat.
38. There is a long letter of his to Jacopo Antiquario[83], which describes the last days of his beloved patron in affecting and lively terms. He speaks of the counsels he gave his son, and his interview with his confessor, during which he prepared himself for death with astonishing calmness and fortitude. On one occasion he made some enquiry of the servants, which Politian answered,—"Recognising my voice," he writes, "and looking kindly on me, as he ever did, 'O Angelo,' said he, 'are you there? and stretching out his languid arms, clasped tightly both my hands. I could not repress my sobs and tears, yet, trying to conceal them, I turned my face away; while he, without being at all agitated, still held my hands: but when he found that I could not speak for weeping, by degrees and naturally he set me free, and I hurried into the near cabinet, and gave vent to my grief and tears."

The disasters that befel the Medici family after the death of Lorenzo, are supposed to have broken Politian's heart. The presumption and incapacity of Piero caused him and all who bore his name to be exiled. The French troops at that time invaded Italy under Charles VIII.: they entered Florence, and, in conjunction with the ungrateful citizens, plundered and destroyed the palace of the Medici; and the famous Laurentian library was dispersed and carried off in the tumult. Politian had composed a pathetic Latin monody on Lorenzo.[84]