FRANCESCA DA RIMINI.

DANTE, L'INFERNO.

CANTO V.

"SIFDE la terra dove nata fui

Su la marina, dove il Po discende,
Per aver pace coi seguaci sui,
Amor, che al cor gentil ratto s' apprende,
Prese costui della bella persona

Che mi fu tolta; e il modo ancor m' offende.

Amor, che a null' amato amar perdona,

Mi prese del costui piacer si forte,

Che, come vedi, ancor non m'abbandona;
Amor condusse noi ad una morte:

Caina attende chi in vita ci spense: "
Queste parole da lor ci fur porte.

(1) This translation, of what is generally considered the most exquisitely pathetic episode in the Divina Commedia, was executed in March, 1820, at Ravenna, where, just five į centuries before, and in the very house in which the unfortunate lady was born, Dante's poem had been composed.

In mitigation of the crime of Francesca, Boccaccio relates, that "Guido engaged to give his daughter in marriage to Lanciotto, the eldest son of his enemy, the master of Rimini. Lanciotto, who was hideously deformed in countenance and figure, foresaw that, if he presented himself in person, he should be rejected by the lady. He therefore resolved to marry her by proxy, and sent as his representative his younger brother, Paolo, the handsomest and most accomplished man in all Italy. Francesca saw Paolo arrive, and imagined she beheld her future husband. That mistake was the commencement of her passion. The friends of Guido addressed him in strong remonstrances, and mournful predictions of the dangers to which he exposed a daughter, whose high spirit would never brook to be sacri. ficed with impunity. But Guido was no longer in a condition to make war; and the necessities of the politician overcame the feelings of the father."

In transmitting his version to Mr. Murray, Lord Byron says "Euclosed you will find, line for line, in third rhyme (terza rima), of which your British blackguard reader as yet understands nothing. Fanny of Rimini. You know that she was born here, and married, and slain, from Cary, Boyd, and such people. I have done it into cramp English, line for line, and rhyme for rhyme, to try the possibility. If it is published, publish it with the original."

In one of the poet's MS. Diaries we find the following passage:-"January 29, 1821, past midnight-one of the clock. I have been reading Frederick Schlegel till now, and I can make out nothing. He evidently shows a great power of words, but there is nothing to be taken hold of. He is like Hazlitt in English, who talks pimples, a red and white corruption rising up (in little imitation of mountains upon maps), but containing nothing, and discharging nothing, except their own humours. I like him the worse (that is, Schlegel), because he always seems upon the verge of meaning; and, lo! he goes down like sunset, or melts like a rainbow, leaving a rather rich confusion. Of Dante, he says, that at no time has the greatest and most national of all Italian poets ever been much the favourite of his countrymen! 'Tis false. There have been more editors and commentators (and imitators ultimately) of Dante, than of all their poets put together. Not a favourite! Why, they talk Dante-write Dante-and think and dream Dante, at this moment (1821), to an excess which would be ridiculous, but that be deserves it. He says also that Dante's chief defect is a want, in a word, of gentle feelings.' Of gentle feelings and Francesca of Rimini-and the father's feelings in Ugolino-and Beatrice-and La Pia!' Why, there is a gentleness in Dante beyond all gentleness, when he is tender. It is true that, treating of the Christian Hades, or Hell, there is not much scope or site for gentleness: but who but Dante could have introduced any 'gentleness' at all into Hell? Is there any in Milton's? No-and Dante's Heaven is all love, and glory, and majesty."

Francesca, daughter of Guido da Polenta, Lord of Ravenna and of Cervia, was given by her father in marriage to Lanciotto, son of Malatesta, Lord of Rimini, a man of ex• Lectures on the History of Literature, Ancient and Modern.-L. E.

FRANCESCA OF RIMINI.

FROM THE INFERNO OF DANTE. (1)

CANTO V.

"THE land where I was born (2) sits by the seas,
Upon that shore to which the Po descends,
With all his followers, in search of peace.
Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends,
Seized him for the fair person which was ta'en (3)
From me, and me even yet the mode offends.

Love, who to none beloved to love again

Remits, seized me with wish to please, so strong, That, as thou seest, yet, yet it doth remain.

Love to one death conducted us along,

But Caina (4) waits for him our life who ended :”(5) These were the accents utter'd by her tongue.

His

traordinary courage, but deformed in his person. brother Paolo, who unhappily possessed those graces which the husband of Francesca wanted, engaged her affections; and being taken in adultery, they were both put to death by the enraged Lanciotto. The interest of this pathetic narrative is much increased, when it is recollected that the father of this unfortunate lady was the beloved friend and generous protector of Dante during his latter days. See ante, p. 333, and also Canto xxvii. of the Inferno, where Dante, speaking of Ravenna, says—

(4) From Cain, the first fratricide. By Cainà we are to understand that part of the Inferno to which murderers are condemned.

(5) The whole history of woman's love is as highly and completely wrought, we think, in these few lines, as that of Juliet in the whole tragedy of Shakspeare. Francesca impates the passion her brother-in-law conceived for her, not to depravity, but nobleness of heart in him, and to her own loveliness. With a mingled feeling of keen sorrow and complacent naïveté, she says she was fair, and that an ignominious death robbed him of her beauty. She confesses that she loved, because she was beloved,-that charm had deluded her; and she declares, with transport, that joy had not abandoned her even in hell

--piacer si forte,

Che, come vedi, ancor non m' abbandona.'

It is thus that Dante unites perspicuity with conciseness, and the most naked simplicity with the profoundest observation of the heart. Her guilty passion survives its punishment by Heaven-but without a shade of impiety. How striking is the contrast of her extreme happiness, in the midst of torments that can never cease; when, resuming her nar rative, she looks at her lover, and repeats with enthusiasm -

Questi, che mai da me non fia divisoShe nevertheless goes on to relieve her brother-in-law from all imputation of having seduced her. Alone, and uncon

Da ch' io intesi quell' anime offense

Chinai il viso, e tanto il tenni basso Fin che il poeta mi disse: "Che peuse?" Quando risposi cominciai: "Ahi lasso!

Quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio Meno costoro al doloroso passo!" Poi mi rivolsi a loro, e parlai io,

E cominciai: "Francesca, i tuoi martiri A lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pio. Ma dimmi al tempo de' dolci sospiri A che, e come concedette Amore Che conosceste i dubbiosi desiri?" Ed ella a me: "Nessun maggior dolore Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria: (1) e ciò sa il tuo dottore. Ma, se a conoscer la prima radice

Del nostro amor tu hai cotanto affetto Faro (2) come colui che piange e dice. Noi leggevamo un giorno per diletto

Di Lancillotto,(3) come Amor lo strinse: Soli eravamo, e senza alcun sospetto. Per più fiate gli occhi ci sospinse

Quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso: Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse. Quando leggemmo il disiato riso

Esser baciato da cotanto amante, Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso, La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante:

Galeotto fu il libro, e chi lo scrisseQuel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante." Mentre che l' uno spirto questo disse,

L'altro piangeva si, che di pietade Io venni men così com' io morisse, E caddi, come corpo morto cade.

scious of their danger, they read a love-story together. They gazed upon each other, pale with emotion; but the secret of their mutual passion never escaped their lips:— Per più fiate gli occhi ei sospinse Quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso;

Ma solo un punto fu qual che ci vinse."

The description of two happy lovers in the story was the ruin of Francesca. It was the romance of Lancilot and Ge nevra, wife of Arthur, King of England;

'Quando leggemmo il disiato riso

Esser baciato da cotanto amante,
Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso
La bocca mi bariò tutto tremante.'

After this avowal, she hastens to complete the picture with one touch which covers her with confusion:

Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante.'

She utters not another word!-and yet we fancy her before us, with her downcast and glowing looks; whilst her lover stands by her side, listening in silence and in tears. Dante, too, who had hitherto questioned her, no longer ventures to inquire in what manner ber husband had put her to death; but is so overawed by pity, that he sinks into a swoon. Nor is this to be considered as merely a poetical exaggeration. The poet had probably known her when a girl, blooming in innocence and beauty under the paternal roof. This, we think, is the true account of the overwhelming sympathy with which her form overpowers him. The episode, too, was written by him in the very house in which she was born, and in which he had himself, during the last ten years of his exile, found a constant asylum."* Macaulay.-L. E. (1) "In omni adversitate fortunæ infelicissimum genus infortunii est fuisse felicem."-Boetius. Dante himself tells us, that Boetius and Cicero de Amicitia were the two first books that engaged his attention.-L. E.

"I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid;
A little cupola, more neat than solemn,
Protects his dust,-but reverence here is paid

To the bard's tomb, and not the warrior's column:
The time must come when, both alike decay'd,
The chieftain's trophy, and the poet's volume,
Will sink where lie the songs and wars of earth,
Before Pelides' death, or Heiner's birth."-Don Juan, C. 1.

Since I first listen'd to these souls offended,

I bow'd my visage, and so kept it till"What think'st thou?" said the bard; when I unAnd recommenced: "Alas! unto such ill [bended, (+) How many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstasies Led these their evil fortune to fulfil!" And then I turn'd unto their side my eyes,

And said, "Francesca, thy sad destinies
Have made me sorrow till the tears arise.
But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs

By what and how thy love to passion rose,
So as his dim desires to recognise?"
Then she to me: "The greatest of all woes
Is to remind us of our happy days (5)
In misery, and that thy teacher knows. (6)
But if to learn our passion's first root preys
Upon thy spirit with such sympathy,

I will do even as he who weeps and says.(7)
We read one day for pastime, seated nigh,
Of Lancilot, how love enchain'd him too.
We were alone, quite unsuspiciously.
But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue
All o'er discolour'd by that reading were;
But one point only wholly us o'erthrew ; (8)
When we read the long-sigh'd-for smile of her,
To be thus kiss'd by such devoted lover,(9)
He who from me can be divided ne'er
Kiss'd my mouth, trembling in the act all over.
Accursed was the book and he who wrote!
That day no further leaf we did uncover."
While thus one spirit told us of their lot,

The other wept, so that with pity's thralls
I swoon'd as if by death I had been smote,
And fell down even as a dead body falls.(10)

(2) In some of the editions it is dirò,' in others 'faro; an essential difference between saying' and 'doing,' which I know not how to decide. Ask Foscolo, The d-d editions drive me mad." Lord B. to Mr. M.-L. E.

(3) One of the Knights of Arthur's Round Table, and the lover of Genevra, celebrated in romance. See Southey's King Arthur, vol. i. p. 52. Whitaker, the historian of Man-chester, makes out for the knight both a local habitation and a name "The name of Lancelot," he says, "is an sp pellation truly British, and significative of royalty; Lance being a Celtic term for a spear, and Leod, Lod, or Lot, importing a people. He was therefore (!) a British sovereign; and since he is denominated Lancelot of the Lake, perhaps he resided at Coccium, in the region Linnis, and was the monarch of Lancashire; as the kings of Creones, living at Selma, on the forest of Morven, are generally denominated sovereigns of Morven; or, more properly, was King of Cheshire, and resided at Pool-ton Lancelot, in the hundred of Wirral," See also Ellis's Specimens of early Romances, vol. i. p. 271.-L. E.

STANZAS, (1)

WRITTEN WHEN ABOUT TO JOIN THE ITALIAN

CARBONARI.

WHEN a man hath no freedom to fight for at home,
Let him combat for that of his neighbours;
Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome,
And get knock'd on the head for his labours.

To do good to mankind is the chivalrous plan,
And is always as nobly requited;
Then battle for freedom wherever you can,

And, if not shot or hang'd, you'll get knighted.

EPIGRAM ON MY WEDDING-DAY.
TO PENELOPE. (2)

THIS day, of all our days, has done

The worst for me and you:

'Tis just six years since we were one,
And five since we were two.

January 2, 1821. coming all the difficulties of rhyme, with which Mr. Cary does not grapple:

...The land that gave me birth

Is situate on the coast, where Po descends
To rest in ocean with his sequent streams.

.. Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt,
Entangled him by that fair form, from me
Ta'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still:
Love, that denial takes from none beloved,
Caught me with pleasing him so passing well,
That, as thou seest, he yet deserts me not.
Love brought us to one death: Caina waits
The soul, who spilt our life.' Such were their words,
At hearing which downward I bent my looks.
And held them there so long, that the bard cried:
. What art thon pondering ? l in answer thus :
Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what foud desire.
Must they at length to that ill pass have reach'd!'
"Then turning, I to them my speech address'd,
And thus began: Francesca! your sad fate
Even to tears my grief and pity moves.
But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs,
By what, and how Love granted, that ye knew
Your yet uncertain wishes ?' She replied :
No greater grief than to remember days
Of joy, when misery is at hand. That kens
Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly
If thou art bent to know the primal root
From whence our love gat being, I will do
As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day.
For our delight, we read of Lancelot,
How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and no
Suspicion near us. Ofttimes by that reading
Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue
Fled from our alter'd cherk. But at one point
Alone we fell. When of that smile we read,
The wished smile, so rapturously kiss'd
By one so deep in love, then he, who ne'er
From me shall separate, at once my lips
All trembling kiss'd. The book and writer both
Were love's purveyors.
In its leaves that day
We read no more." While thus one spirit spake,
The other wail'd so sorely, that heart-struck,
I, through compassion fainting, seem'd not far
From death, and like a corse fell to the ground."

The story of Francesca and Paolo is a great favourite with the Italians. It is noticed by all the historians of Ravenna. Petrarch introduces it, in his Trionfi d'Amore, among his examples of calamitous passion; and Tassoni, in his Secchia Rapita, represents Paolo Malatesta as leading the troops of Rimini, and describes him, when mounted on his charger, as contemplating a goiden sword chain, presented to him by Francesca :-

Rimini vien con la bandiera sesta,
Guida mille cavalli, e mille fanti...
Halli donata al dipartir Francesca'
L'aurea catena, a cui la spada appende.
La va mirando il misero, e rinfresca
Quel foco ognor, che l' anima gli accende,
Quanto cerca fuggir, tanto s' invesca."

To him Francesca gave the golden chain

At parting-time, from which his sword was hung;

The wretched lover gazed at it with pain,

Adding new pangs to those his heart had wrung;

The more he sought to fly the Inscious bane,

The firmer he was bound, the deeper sting," -L. E

(1) In allusion to these stanzas, Lord Byron writes thus to Mr. Moore, from Ravenna, 1820:-"If honour should come unlooked for' to any of your acquaintance, make a melody of it, that his ghost, like poor Yorick's, may have the satisfaction of being plaintively pitied-or still more In nobly commemorated, like 'Oh breathe not his name.' case you should not think him worth it, here is a chant for you instead."-P. E.

(2) Another version of this epigram runs thus:-
"How strangely Time his course has run,
Since first I pair'd with you;

Six years ago we made but ONE,

Now five have made us TWO."-P. E

(3) In Lord Byron's MS. Diary of the preceding day, we find the following entry:-" January 21, 1821. Dined-visited-came home-read. Remarked on an anecdote in Grimm's Correspondence, which says, that Regnard et la plupart des poètes comiques étaient gens bilieux et mélan coliques; et que M. de Voltaire, qui est très gai, n'a jamais fait que des tragedies-et que la comedie gaie est le seul genre où il n'ait point réussi. C'est que celui qui rit et celui qui fait rire sont deux hommes fort differents!' At this moment I feel as bilious as the best comic writer of them all (even as Regnard himself, the next to Molière, who bas written some of the best comedies in any language, and who is supposed to have committed suicide), and am not in spirits to continue my proposed tragedy. To-morrow is my birth-day-that is to say, at twelve o' the clock, midnight; t. e. in twelve minutes, I shall have completed thirty-andthree years of age !!!-and I go to my bed with a heasiness of heart at having lived so long, and to so little purpose. It is three minutes past twelve"'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,' and I am now thirty-three