Such was the versatility of his talents, that it is difficult to discover any department of business, or of amus.e.m.e.nt, of art, or of science, to which they were not at some time applied; and in whatever he undertook, he arrived at a proficiency which would seem to have required the labour of a life much longer than that which he was permitted to enjoy.

'The native energy and versatility of his character were invigorated by a suitable education: to the notions of piety, imbibed from Gentile d'Urbino, and perhaps from his mother, he added the accomplishments of a scholar, under the tuition of Landino, and received the elements of the Aristotelian and Platonic philosophy from Argyropylus and Ficino; but that exquisite taste in poetry, in music, and in every department of the fine arts, which enabled him to contribute so powerfully towards their restoration, was an endowment of nature, the want of which no education could have supplied.'

Such were the qualifications with which Lorenzo entered on the stage of public life, and which enabled him, with the political experience he had acquired on his travels through the most powerful states of Italy, and the connexions he had then formed, to defeat, at his return, the conspiracy framed by Luca Pitti against his father Piero, and probably to frustrate the war raised against Florence by its exiles, without the loss of much blood or treasure.

Delivered by these successes from external and domestic strife, the Medici were at leisure again to attend to their darling object, the promotion of learning. Several literary characters are here delineated; princ.i.p.ally those of Cristoforo Landino, and Leo Battista Alberti, the Crichton of Italy, of whose unlimited powers the greatest was perhaps that, which he, if we believe Vasari, possessed over his horse; and our author proceeds to the giostra, or tournament, celebrated by Luca Pulci and Agnolo of Monte Pulciano, in which Lorenzo and Juliano appear to have been the princ.i.p.al actors, though the candidates were eighteen in number.

'The steed upon which Lorenzo made his first appearance,' says our historian, p. 96, 'was presented to him by Ferdinand King of Naples. That on which he relied in the combat, by Borso Marquis of Ferrara. The Duke of Milan had furnished him with his suit of armour. His motto was, _Le tems revient_; his device, the _fleurs de lys_; the privilege of using the arms of France having shortly before been conceded to the Medici by Louis XI., by a solemn act.

His first conflict was with Carlo Borromei; his next with Braccio de' Medici, who attacked him with such strength and courage, that if the stroke had taken place, Orlando himself, as the poet a.s.sures us, could not have withstood the shock. Lorenzo took speedy vengeance, but his spear breaking into a hundred pieces, his adversary was preserved from total overthrow. He then a.s.sailed Carlo de Forme, whose helmet he split, and whom he nearly unhorsed; Lorenzo then changing his steed, made a violent attack upon Benedetto Salutati, who had just couched his lance ready for the combat.'

Some specimens of the two panegyrics, with the plan of that composed by Politiano, are annexed, and translated with our author's own felicity.

The philosophical amus.e.m.e.nts of the two brothers follow next, in a pertinent descant on the _disputationes Camaldulenses_ of Landino; and after these, Lorenzo is presented to us as a lover. The materials are furnished by his own sonnets, and the comment he composed on them, and, though the dead and the surviving beauties he celebrates are left nameless, there is reason to suppose, that they were Simonetta, the deceased mistress of his brother, and Lucretia Donati.

'The sonnets of Lorenzo,' says Mr. R., p. 116, 'rise and fall through every degree of the thermometer of love; he exults and he despairs; he freezes and he burns; he sings of raptures too great for mortal sense, and he applauds a severity of virtue that no solicitations can move. From such contradictory testimony, what are we to conclude? Lorenzo has himself presented us with the key that unlocks this mystery. From the relation which he has before given, we find that Lucretia was the mistress of the poet, and not of the man. Lorenzo sought for an object to concentrate his ideas, to give them strength, and effect, and he found in Lucretia a subject that suited his purpose and deserved his praise. But having so far realized his mistress, he has dressed and ornamented her according to his own imagination. Every action of her person, every emotion of her mind, is subject to his control. She smiles or she frowns; she refuses or relents; she is absent or present; she intrudes upon his solitude by day, or visits him in his nightly dreams, just as his presiding fancy directs.

'In the midst of these delightful visions, Lorenzo was called upon to attend to the dull realities of life. He had now attained his twenty-first year, and his father conceived that it was time for him to enter into the conjugal state. To this end, he had negotiated a marriage between Lorenzo and Clarice, the daughter of Giacopo Orsini, of the n.o.ble and powerful Roman family of that name, which had so long contended for superiority with that of the Colonna. Whether Lorenzo despaired of success in his youthful pa.s.sion, or whether he subdued his feelings at the voice of paternal authority, is left to conjecture only. Certain, however, it is, that in the month of December 1468, he was betrothed to a person whom, it is probable, he had never seen, and the marriage ceremony was performed on the 4th day of June, 1469.[31] That the heart of Lorenzo had little share in this engagement, is marked by a striking circ.u.mstance. In adverting to his marriage in his Ricordi, he bluntly remarks, that he took this lady to wife; _or rather_, says he, _she was given to me_, on the day before-mentioned. Notwithstanding this apparent indifference, it appears, from indisputable doc.u.ments, that a real affection subsisted between them; and there is reason to presume that Lorenzo always treated her with particular respect and kindness. Their nuptials were celebrated with great splendour. Two military spectacles were exhibited, one of which represented a field battle of hors.e.m.e.n, and the other the attack and storming of a fortified citadel.'

Lorenzo's second journey to Milan, and the death of his father, Piero, take up the remainder of this chapter.

The variety of the materials that compose the third chapter, which opens with the political state of Italy at the time of Lorenzo's succession to the direction of the republic, is too great, perhaps the incidents too minute, and the transition from event to event too rapid, to admit of extracts. The riches of the Medici, their commercial concerns, and other sources of revenue--the character of Giuliano de' Medici, that of Angelo Politiano--the league between the Duke of Milan, the Venetians, and the Florentines--the establishment of the academy of Pisa--an account of Lorenzo's Poem, ent.i.tled _Altercatione_, with specimens and translations, const.i.tute the most prominent features of the chapter.

The fourth chapter, whether we consider the importance of the events related, or the perspicuity and energy with which they are developed and told, contains, in our opinion, the most interesting period in the life of Lorenzo, the annals of Florence, and the general history of that time. 'The conspiracy of the Pazzi,' says our author, p. 176, was 'a transaction in which a pope, a cardinal, an archbishop, and several other ecclesiastics, a.s.sociated themselves with a band of ruffians, to destroy two men who were an honour to their age and country; and purposed to perpetrate their crime at a season of hospitality, in the sanctuary of a Christian church, and at the very moment of the elevation of the host, when the audience bowed down before it, and the a.s.sa.s.sins were presumed to be in the immediate presence of their G.o.d.'

Having traced the origin of the conspiracy to Rome, and the ambition and inveterate enmity of Sixtus the Fourth, and his nephew, Count Girolamo Riario, to Lorenzo, Mr. R. proceeds to their Florentine accomplices, the family of the Pazzi, whom, though allied by intermarriages to that of the Medici, envy, intolerance of superiority, penury, and profligacy, had rendered their irreconcilable enemies. The young Cardinal Riario our author considers more as an instrument in the hands of his uncle Girolamo, than as an accomplice in the scheme; and proceeds:

P. 180. 'This conspiracy, of which Sixtus and his nephew were the real instigators, was first agitated at Rome, where the intercourse between the Count Girolamo Riario and Francesco de' Pazzi, in consequence of the office held by the latter, afforded them an opportunity of communicating to each other their mutual jealousy of the power of the Medici, and their desire of depriving them of their influence in Florence; in which event it is highly probable that the Pazzi were to have exercised the chief authority in the city, under the patronage, if not under the avowed dominion, of the papal see. The princ.i.p.al agent engaged in the undertaking was Francesco Salviati, archbishop of Pisa, to which rank he had lately been promoted by Sixtus, in opposition to the Medici, who had for some time endeavoured to prevent him from exercising his episcopal functions. If it be allowed that the unfavourable character given of him by Politiano is exaggerated, it is generally agreed that his qualities were the reverse of those which ought to have been the recommendations to such high preferment. The other conspirators were, Giacopo Salviati, brother of the archbishop; Giacopo Poggio, one of the sons of the celebrated Poggio Bracciolini, and who, like all the other sons of that eminent scholar, had obtained no small share of literary reputation; Bernardo Bandini, a daring libertine, rendered desperate by the consequences of his excesses; Giovan Battista Montesicco, who had distinguished himself by his military talents, as one of the _condottieri_ of the armies of the pope; Antonio Maffei, a priest of Volterra; and Stephano da Bagnone, one of the apostolic scribes, with several others of inferior note.

'In the arrangement of their plan, which appears to have been concerted with great precaution and secrecy, the conspirators soon discovered, that the dangers which they had to encounter were not so likely to arise from the difficulty of the attempt, as from the subsequent resentment of the Florentines, a great majority of whom were strongly attached to the Medici. Hence it became necessary to provide a military force, the a.s.sistance of which might be equally requisite, whether the enterprise proved abortive or successful. By the influence of the Pope, the King of Naples, who was then in alliance with him, and on one of whose sons he had recently bestowed a cardinal's hat, was also induced to countenance the attempt.

'These preliminaries being adjusted, Girolamo wrote to his nephew, Cardinal Riario, then at Pisa, ordering him to obey whatever directions he might receive from the Archbishop. A body of two thousand men were destined to approach by different routes towards Florence, so as to be in readiness at the time appointed for striking the blow.

'Shortly afterwards the Archbishop requested the presence of the Cardinal at Florence, where he immediately repaired, and took up his residence at a seat of the Pazzi, about a mile from the city.

It seems to have been the intention of the conspirators to have effected their purpose at Fiesole, where Lorenzo then had his country residence, to which they supposed he would invite the Cardinal and his attendants. Nor were they deceived in this conjecture, for Lorenzo prepared a magnificent entertainment on this occasion; but the absence of Giuliano, on account of indisposition, obliged the conspirators to postpone the attempt.

Disappointed in their hopes, another plan was now to be adopted; and, on further deliberation, it was resolved, that the a.s.sa.s.sination should take place on the succeeding Sunday, in the Church of the Reparata, since called Santa Maria del Fiore, and that the signal for execution should be the elevation of the host.

At the same moment, the Archbishop and others of the conspirators were to seize upon the palace or residence of the magistrates, whilst the office of Giacopo de Pazzi was to endeavour, by the cry of liberty, to incite the citizens to revolt.

'The immediate a.s.sa.s.sination of Giuliano was committed to Francesco de' Pazzi and Bernardo Bandini, and that of Lorenzo had been entrusted to the sole hand of Montesicco. This office he had willingly undertaken, whilst he understood it was to be executed in a private dwelling, but he shrunk from the idea of polluting the House of G.o.d with so heinous a crime. Two ecclesiastics were, therefore, selected for the commission of a deed, from which the soldier was deterred by conscientious motives. These were, Stefano da Bagnone, the apostolic scribe, and Antonio Maffei.

'The young Cardinal having expressed a desire to attend divine service in the church of the Reparata, on the ensuing Sunday, being the 26th day of April, 1478, Lorenzo invited him and his suite to his house in Florence. He accordingly came with a large retinue, supporting the united characters of cardinal and apostolic legate, and was received by Lorenzo with that splendour and hospitality with which he was always accustomed to entertain men of high rank and consequence. Giuliano did not appear, a circ.u.mstance that alarmed the conspirators, whose arrangements would not admit of longer delay. They soon, however, learnt that he intended to be present at the church.--The service was already begun, and the cardinal had taken his seat, when Francesco de' Pazzi and Bandini, observing that Giuliano was not yet arrived, left the church and went to his house, in order to insure and hasten his attendance.

Giuliano accompanied them, and as he walked between them, they threw their arms round him with the familiarity of intimate friends, but in fact to discover whether he had any armour under his dress; possibly conjecturing from his long delay, that he had suspected their purpose. At the same time, by their freedom and jocularity, they endeavoured to obviate any apprehensions which he might entertain from such a proceeding. The conspirators having taken their stations near their intended victims, waited with impatience for the appointed signal. The bell rang--the priest raised the consecrated wafer--the people bowed before it,--and, at the same instant, Bandini plunged a short dagger into the breast of Giuliano.--On receiving the wound, he took a few hasty steps and fell, when Francesco de' Pazzi rushed upon him with incredible fury, and stabbed him in different parts of his body, continuing to repeat his strokes even after he was apparently dead. Such was the violence of his rage, that he wounded himself deeply in the thigh.

The priests who had undertaken the murder of Lorenzo were not equally successful. An ill-directed blow from Maffei, which was aimed at the throat, but took place behind the neck, rather roused him to his defence than disabled him. He immediately threw off his cloak, and holding it up as a shield in his left hand, with his right he drew his sword and repelled his a.s.sailants. Perceiving that their purpose was defeated, the two ecclesiastics, after having wounded one of Lorenzo's attendants, who had interposed to defend him, endeavoured to save themselves by flight. At the same moment Bandini, with his dagger streaming with the blood of Giuliano, rushed towards Lorenzo; but meeting in his way with Francesco Nori, a person in the service of the Medici, and in whom they placed great confidence, he stabbed him with a wound instantaneously mortal. At the approach of Bandini, the friends of Lorenzo encircled him and hurried him into the sacristy, where Politiano and others closed the doors, which were of bra.s.s.

Apprehensions being entertained that the weapon which had wounded him was poisoned, a young man attached to Lorenzo sucked the wound.

A general alarm and consternation took place in the church; and such was the tumult which ensued, that it was at first believed by the audience that the building was falling in; but no sooner was it understood that Lorenzo was in danger, than several of the youth of Florence formed themselves into a body, and receiving him into the midst of them, conducted him to his house, making a circuitous turn from the church, lest he should meet with the dead body of his brother.'

Through the subsequent scenes of this atrocious drama as our limits forbid to follow the author, and an abbreviated account would do little justice to his copiousness or pathos, let it suffice to say, that the immediate punishment inflicted on the conspirators, was such as might be expected from the revenge of an infuriate people.

Even the Archbishop was hung from the windows of the palace, without being suffered to divest himself from his prelatical robes; nor ought it to be considered as a small aggravation of their punishment, to have after death been gibbeted for lasting infamy, by the pencil of such a villain as Andrea dal Castagno. Happy Julian! happier Lorenzo, whom the contemporary genius of Politiano has rescued from the equivocal memorial of Pollajuoli.

It is with regret, we must refer the reader to the work itself for the consequences that attended the defeat of this execrable attempt--the storm raised by the enraged Pontiff, who now launched excommunication on the quondam treasurer of the Holy See, as a son of iniquity and nursling of perdition;--the war which, at his instigation, the court of Naples commenced against the Republic, on their refusal to deliver up Lorenzo;--it's various success; with the result of that bold expedient by which Lorenzo at once put an end to the miseries of his country, and completely triumphed over all his enemies, we mean his visit to Ferdinand himself! At that moment his genius had attained the summit of his powers.

The fifth chapter treats of the studies of Lorenzo, and is executed with a degree of _amore_ which developes to us the favourite studies of his historian, though from the penetration displayed in the management of all the other topics of his hero's character, it would be unjust to apply to him the motto of '_tractant fabrilia fabri_,' or as Johnson has since expressed it, on talking of the political disputes of Milton with Salmasius and More, 'that let the subject of dispute be the rights of princes and of nations, it will, if treated by grammarians, end in grammatic squabbles.' The author is perfectly in place and time: if we be to consider Lorenzo as a poet, his right to that t.i.tle was to be examined and established, and the chapter became, with great propriety, part of a treatise on poetry. After noticing the rise of Italian literature in the fourteenth century, it's subsequent degradation, it's revival in the fifteenth, and the rude attempts at restoring it, by Burchiello, Matteo Franco, and the three Pulci, that honour is conferred on Lorenzo: he is shown to have first, among his contemporaries, discriminated the true object, and expressed the real characteristics of poetry, in description, poetic comparison, and personification of material objects, of pa.s.sions and affections; to have treated with success the prosopopia. The sonnet, that favourite of Italy, is next discussed, and his claims to it's honours compared with those of Dante and Petrarca; his "Selve d'Amore," a poem in ottava rima; his new discovered poem of "Ambra;" of the Caccia col Falcone, his moral pieces, his sacred poems or orations, and Laude, or Lodi, are reviewed, and specimens admirably translated, or, to speak with more propriety, excelled, are annexed. We then proceed to his "Beoni," a piece of jocose satire in terza rima on drunkenness, of which the fragment produced and translated does at least as much honour to our author's vein of humour, as to his hero's; and after expatiating on the expedition with which he wrote, and many pertinent remarks on the "Improvisatori" of Italy, its drama, opera, and carnival songs, the chapter concludes with the opinion of the best contemporary critics, on the poetic powers of Lorenzo.

As the mutual limits of poetry and painting are so frequently confounded, it may not be improper to extract what our author says on the objects and characteristics of poetry. Vol. 1. p. 255.

'The great end and object of poetry, and consequently, the proper aim of the poet, is to communicate to us a clear and perfect idea of his proposed subject. What the painter exhibits by variety of colour, by light and shade, the poet expresses in appropriate language. The former seizes only the external form, and that only in a given att.i.tude. The other surrounds his object, pierces it, and discloses its most hidden qualities. With the former, it is inert and motionless; with the latter, it lives and moves; it is expanded or compressed; it glares upon the imagination, or vanishes into air, and is as various as Nature herself.

'The simple description of natural objects is perhaps to a young mind the most delightful species of poetry, and was probably the first employment of the poet. It may be compared to melody in music, which is relished even by the most uncultivated ear. In this department Virgil is an exquisite master.[32] Still more lively are the conceptions of Dante, still more precise the language in which they are expressed. As we follow him, his wildest excursions take the appearance of reality. Compared with his vivid hues, how faint, how delicate, is the colouring of Petrarca! yet the harmony of the tints almost compensate for their want of force.

With accurate descriptions of the face of Nature the works of Lorenzo abound; and these are often heightened by those minute but striking characteristics, which though open to all observers, the eye of the poet can alone select. Thus the description of an Italian winter, with which he opens his poem of _Ambra_[33], is marked by several appropriate and striking images.

'The foliage of the olive appears of a dark green, but is nearly white beneath.

"L'uliva in qualche dolce piaggia aprica Secondo il vento par or verde or bianca."

"On some sweet sunny slope the olive grows, Its hues still changing as the zephyr blows."

'The flight of the cranes, though frequently noticed in poetry, was perhaps never described in language more picturesque than the following, from the same poem.

"Stridendo in ciel, i gru veggonsi a lunge L'aere stampar di varie e belle forme; E l'ultima col collo steso aggiunge Ov' e quella dinanzi alle vane orme."

"Marking the tracks of air, the clamorous cranes Wheel their due flight, in varied lines descried; And each with outstretched neck his rank maintains, In marshal'd order, through th' ethereal void."

The following picture from his _Selve d'amore_ is also drawn with great truth and simplicity.

"Al dolce tempo il bon pastore informa Lasciar le mandre, ove nel verno giacque: E 'l lieto gregge, che ballando in torma, Torna all'alte montagne, alle fresche acque.

L'agnel, trottando pur la materna orma Segue; ed alcun, che pur or ora nacque L' amorevol pastore in braccio porta: Il fido cane a tutti fa la scorta."

"Sweet Spring returns; the shepherd from the fold Brings forth his flock, nor dreads the wintry cold; Delighted once again their steps to lead To the green hill, clear spring, and flow'ry mead.

True to their mother's track the sportive young Trip light. The careful hind slow moves along, Pleased in his arms the new-dropt lamb to bear: His dog, a faithful guard, brings up the rear."

'In the same poem is a description of the golden age, in which the author seems to have exerted all his powers, in selecting such images as are supposed to have been peculiar to that happy state of life.'

Mr. R., with great propriety, places the essence of poetic diction,--not of poesy itself, for that consists in invention,--in representing its object in motion, to impress us with it's variety of action and att.i.tudes; in short, in following _time_, avoiding a minute anatomy of motionless surfaces, to which words, it's vehicle, are totally inadequate. Surface can only be distinctly discriminated by line and colour. Hence it is evident that poetry cannot in this respect be either put in comparison with, or be elevated above painting; the province of their expression, and effect, must be for ever separate, though they perfectly coincide in their aim, which is to charm and convince the senses. Thus, when poetry attempts to describe an object, it must confine itself to one, or a very few words, in whatever merely relates to the shape or surface of that object, and it's more profuse description is _only then_ in it's place, when that object begins to move. Such is the rule of Nature and of Homer, from which no ancient or modern poet has deviated with impunity; and _Ariosto_, who has described the shape, figure, and colour of Alcina, in five stanzas, has laboured as much in vain to acquaint us with the ingredients of his witch-beauty, as _Constantinus Mana.s.ses_ to give us a clear idea of Helen by his agglomeration of epithets, or as Haller of the Genziana, by a description of nineteen lines. The images which Mr.

R. adduces from Lorenzo confirm this; they attain their effect merely by hastening from the body of the object to it's motion.

Not the most expressive words of the most expressive language ever given to man, arranged by Homer or Milton, or a power still superior to their's, could produce a sensation equal to that which is instantaneously received by one glance on the face of the Venus de' Medici, or in that of the Apollo in Belvedere; and if the spark, which Phidias caught from the Zeus of Homer, were shot by his _waving_ locks and the _nod_ of his brow, will it be denied that _Ctesilas_ in his expiring warrior, from whose expression might be collected how much remained of life, or _Aristides_ in the wounded mother, who, in the pangs of death, struggled to remove her child from her palsied nipple, 'surrounded, pierced, and disclosed the most hidden qualities of their objects?'

From what Mr. R. with great acuteness remarks on poetic comparison, we have extracted the following sonnet of Lorenzo, with the translation, 'not only,' as he adds, 'as an instance of the ill.u.s.tration of one sensible object by another, but of the comparison of an abstract sentiment with a beautiful natural image.' P. 260.

SONETTO.

"Oime, che belle lagrime fur quelle Che 'l nembo di disio stillando mosse!

Quando il giusto dolor che'l cor percosse, Sal poi su nell' amorose stelle!

Rigavon per la delicata pelle Le bianche guancie dolcemente rosse, Come chiar rio faria, che'n prato fosse, Fier bianchi, e rossi, le lagrime belle; Lieto amor stava in l' amorosa pioggia, Com' uccel dopo il sol, bramate tanto, Lieto riceve rugiadose stille.

Poi piangendo in quelli occhi ov'egli alloggia, Facea del bello e doloroso pianto, Visibilmente uscir dolce faville."

"Ah! pearly drops, that pouring from those eyes, Spoke the dissolving cloud of soft desire!

What time cold sorrow chill'd the genial fire, 'Struck the fair urns, and bade the waters rise.'

Soft down those cheeks, where native crimson vies With ivory whiteness, see the crystals throng; As some clear river winds its stream along, Bathing the flowers of pale and purple dyes, Whilst Love rejoicing in the amorous shower, Stands like some bird, that, after sultry heats, Enjoys the drops, and shakes his glittering wings: Then grasps his bolt, and, conscious of his power, Midst those bright orbs a.s.sumes his wonted seat, And thro' the lucid shower his living lightning flings."

The wing, the harp, the hatchet, the altar of _Simmias_, were the dregs of a degraded nation's worn-out taste; but it is matter of surprise, that a race celebrated for susceptibility of sentiment should have submitted to lisp their first accents, and continued to breathe their full raptures of love, in the trammels of a sonnet.