Chapter VI

Fuseli's proficiency in Italian History, Literature, and the Fine
Arts, exemplified in his Criticism on Roscoe's Lorenzo de' Medici.

The following review of Roscoe's Lorenzo de' Medici, will shew Fuseli's critical knowledge of Italian history.

ROSCOE'S LORENZO DE MEDICI.

"The close of the fifteenth, (says Mr. R. Pref. p. i.) and the
beginning of the sixteenth century, comprehend one of those periods
of history which are entitled to our minutest study and enquiry.
Almost all the great events from which Europe derives its present
advantages are to be traced up to those times. The invention of the
art of printing, the discovery of the great Western Continent, the
schism from the Church of Rome, which ended in the reformation of
many of its abuses, and established the precedent of reform; the
degree of perfection attained in the fine arts, compose such an
illustrious assemblage of luminous points, as cannot fail of
attracting for ages the curiosity and admiration of mankind.

"A complete history of these times has long been a great
desideratum in literature; and whoever considers the magnitude of
the undertaking will not think it likely to be soon supplied.
Indeed, from the nature of the transactions that then took place,
they can only be exhibited in detail, and under separate and
particular views. That the author of the following pages has
frequently turned his eye towards this interesting period is true;
but he has felt himself rather dazzled than informed by the survey.
A mind of greater compass, and the possession of uninterrupted
leisure, would be requisite to comprehend, to select, and to
arrange the immense varieties of circumstances which a full
narrative of those times would involve, when almost every city of
Italy was a new Athens, and that favoured country could boast its
historians, its poets, its orators, and its artists, who may
contend with the great names of antiquity for the palm of mental
excellence: when Venice, Milan, Rome, Florence, Bologna, Ferrara,
and several other places, vied with each other, not in arms, but in
science and in genius, and the splendour of a court was estimated
by the number and talents of learned men, who illustrated it by
their presence, each of whose lives and productions would, in a
work of this nature, merit a full and separate discussion.

"From this full blaze of talents, the author has turned towards a
period when its first faint gleams afford a subject, if not more
interesting, at least more suitable to his powers; when, after a
night of unexpected darkness, Florence again saw the sun break
forth with a lustre more permanent, though perhaps not so bright.
The days of Dante, Boccaccio, and of Petrarch, were indeed past;
but under the auspices of the House of Medici, and particularly
through the ardour and example of Lorenzo, the empire of science
and taste was again restored."

Having thus, with great modesty, stated the motives for his choice
of subject, the author presents us with a rapid sketch of the
Medician family, the literary and political character of Lorenzo,
and his undeserved fate as statesman and writer in the succeeding
century: he then proceeds to a critical enumeration of the
narratives composed of his life, from the contemporary one of
Niccolo Valori to the recent volumes of Fabroni, the mass of whose
valuable documents, together with the communications of a learned
friend, admitted to the printed and manuscript treasure of the
Laurentian library, and the acquisition of a number of scarce
tracts, procured from the sales of the Crevenna and Pinelli books,
arranged and concentrated by indefatigable assiduity, he considers
as the basis on which he was enabled to erect his own system, and
to fill up the chasm that had hitherto separated from legitimate
history, the period elapsed between the last stage of decay and
final dissolution of the Byzantine empire by Mahommed II. and the
brilliant epoch that rose with the accession of Charles the Fifth
to the German throne.

The first chapter opens with Florence, its origin, its tempestuous
though not improsperous liberty during the political schism of its
citizens into the two factions of Ghibelines and Guelphs, or
Bianchi and Neri, subsiding at length under the levelling
preponderance of the Medicean family, whose annals our author
traces from the real or romantic date of Charlemagne to the
accession of Cosmo, emphatically decorated with the appellation of
_Pater Patriæ_, and the height of its commercial and political
influence.

'The authority,' observes our author, p. 13, 'which Cosmo and his
descendants exercised in Florence during the fifteenth century, was
of a very peculiar nature; and consisted rather in a tacit
influence on their part, and a voluntary acquiescence on that of
the people, than in any prescribed or definite compact between
them. The form of government was ostensibly a republic, and was
directed by a counsel of ten citizens, and a chief executive
officer, called the _Gonfaloniere_, or standard-bearer, who was
chosen every two months. Under this establishment, the citizens
imagined they enjoyed the full exercise of their liberties; but
such was the power of the Medici, that they generally either
assumed to themselves the first offices of the state, or nominated
such persons as they thought proper to those employments. In this,
however, they paid great respect to popular opinion. That
opposition of interests so generally apparent between the people
and their rulers, was, at this time, scarcely perceived at
Florence, where superior qualifications and industry were the
surest recommendations to public authority and favour. Convinced of
the benefits constantly received from this family, and satisfied
that they could, at any time, withdraw themselves from a connexion
that exacted no engagements, and required only a temporary
acquiescence, the Florentines considered the Medici as the fathers,
and not as the rulers of the republic. On the other hand, the
chiefs of this house, by appearing rather to decline than to court
the honours bestowed on them, and by a singular moderation of the
use of them when obtained, were careful to maintain the character
of simple citizens of Florence, and servants of the state. An
interchange of reciprocal good offices was the only tie by which
the Florentines and the Medici were bound; and, perhaps, the long
continuance of this connexion may be attributed to the very
circumstance, of its being in the power of either of the parties,
at any time, to have dissolved it.'

The temporary interruption of Cosmo's power by the successful
struggle of an opposite party, headed by families eclipsed in his
blaze, his exile, and his banishment to the Venetian state, tended
only, from the resignation and magnanimity of his conduct, to
rivet, at his recall, the voluntary chains of his
fellow-citizens;--and he continued the unrivalled arbiter of
Florence and it's dependencies, the primary restorer of Greek and
Latin literature, and the most enlightened patron of the arts, to
the advanced age of seventy-five, and the hour of his death,
gratified with the prospect of the continuation of family power,
from the character of his son Piero, and that of his two grandsons,
Lorenzo and Juliano. The ample and varied detail of this assemblage
of important subjects we leave, as preliminary, to the curiosity of
our readers, and hasten to the second chapter, and the appearance
of Lorenzo.

'Lorenzo de' Medici,' says, Mr. R., p. 69, 'was about sixteen years
of age when Cosmo died, and had at that time given striking
indications of extraordinary talents. From his earliest years he
had exhibited proofs of a retentive and vigorous mind, which was
cultivated not only by all the attention which his father's
infirmities would permit him to bestow, but by a frequent
intercourse with his venerable grandfather. He owed also great
obligations, in this respect, to his mother, Lucretia, who was one
of the most accomplished women of the age, and distinguished
herself not only as a patroness of learning, but by her own
writings. Of these some specimens yet remain, which are the more
entitled to approbation, as they were produced at a time when
poetry was at its lowest ebb in Italy. The disposition of Lorenzo,
which afterwards gave him a peculiar claim to the title of
_magnificent_, was apparent in his childhood. Having received as a
present a horse from Sicily, he sent the donor, in return, a gift
of much greater value, and on being reproved for his profuseness,
he remarked that there was nothing more glorious than to overcome
others in acts of generosity. Of his proficiency in classical
learning, and the different branches of that philosophy which was
then in repute, he has left indisputable proofs. Born to restore
the lustre of his native tongue, he had rendered himself
conspicuous by his poetical talents, before he arrived at manhood.
To these accomplishments he united a considerable share of strong,
natural penetration and good sense, which enabled him, amidst the
many difficulties that he was involved in, to act with a
promptitude and decision which surprised those who were witnesses
of his conduct; whilst the endowments which entitled him to
admiration and respect, were accompanied by others that
conciliated, in an eminent degree, the esteem and affections of his
fellow-citizens.

'In his person, Lorenzo was tall and athletic, and had more the
appearance of strength than of elegance. From his birth, he
laboured under some peculiar disadvantages--his sight was weak, his
voice harsh and unpleasing, and he was totally deprived of the
sense of smell. With all these defects his countenance was
dignified, and gave an idea of the magnanimity of his character;
and the effects of his eloquence were conspicuous on many important
occasions. In his youth, he was much addicted to active and
laborious exercises, to hawking, horsemanship, and country sports.
Though not born to support a military character, he gave sufficient
proofs of his courage, not only in public tournaments, which were
then not unfrequent in Italy, but also upon more trying occasions.
Such was the versatility of his talents, that it is difficult to
discover any department of business, or of amusement, 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; principally 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
principal 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 assures
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 assailed
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 amusements 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 noble 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
passion, 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 circumstance. 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 documents, 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 horsemen, 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,
entitled _Altercatione_, with specimens and translations,
constitute 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, associated
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 assassins were presumed
to be in the immediate presence of their God.'

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 principal 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 assistance 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
assassination 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 assassination 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 God 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 circumstance 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 assailants. 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 brass.
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 title 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 passions and
affections; to have treated with success the prosopopoeia. 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 attitude. 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' è 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 attitudes; 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 Manasses_ 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
illustration of one sensible object by another, but of the
comparison of an abstract sentiment with a beautiful natural
image.' P. 260.

SONETTO.

"Oimè, che belle lagrime fur quelle
Che 'l nembo di disio stillando mosse!
Quando il giusto dolor che'l cor percosse,
Salì 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 assumes 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.
If, as may reasonably be supposed, the first twister of a sonnet
were a being of a versatile head and frozen heart, the beauties
thronged into this little labyrinth, it's glowing words, and
thoughts that burn, whether we consider the original, or it's more
than equal translation, equally challenge our admiration and
sympathy.

We must yet be allowed to make a few observations on what our
author, perhaps with greater ingenuity than impartiality,
pronounces on the comparative excellence of the ancients and
moderns in the use of the prosopopoeia.

P.266.--'If the moderns excel the ancients in any department of
poetry, it is in that now under consideration. It must not indeed
be supposed, that the ancients were insensible of the effects
produced by this powerful charm, which, more peculiarly than any
other, may be said

_To give to airy nothing,
A local habitation and a name._

But it may safely be asserted, that they have availed themselves of
this creative faculty much more sparingly, and with much less
success, than their modern competitors. The attribution of sense to
inert objects, is indeed common to both; but that still bolder
exertion, which embodies abstract existence, and renders it
susceptible of ocular representation, is almost exclusively the
boast of the moderns.[34]

'If, however, we advert to the few authors who preceded Lorenzo de'
Medici, we shall not trace in their writings many striking
instances of those embodied pictures of ideal existence, which are
so conspicuous in the works of Ariosto, Spenser, Milton, and
subsequent writers of the higher class, who are either natives of
Italy, or have formed their taste upon the poets of that nation.'

To enforce his premises, the author produces a variety of tableaux
from the writings of his hero, and not without appearance of
success, to show his superiority in this species of composition.

To invalidate the claim of the moderns, with their fragments of
personification, it might, perhaps, be sufficient to call to the
reader's mind that immense mass of prosopopoeia, on which the
ancients established the ostensible fabric of their religion. What
were the divinities that filled their temples, but images of
things, personifications of the powers of nature? and were not
these the auxiliaries of their poets? Discriminated by
characteristics so appropriate and so decisive, that no observation
of succeeding ages has been able to add any thing essential, or to
subtract any thing as superfluous from their insignia. At this
moment, the poet and the artist subsist on their sterling
properties; and the greatest of the moderns could do no more than
recompose from the birth of Minerva, the charms of Pandora, and the
horrors of Scylla, the origin, the beauty, and the deformities of
his Sin; and if, by the superhuman flight of his fancy, he snatched
the attributes and shape of Death from a region yet unexplored by
former wings, the being itself had not been unknown to the
ancients; it carried off Alceste, and offered battle in it's gloom
to Hercules. But will it be denied, that by personifying the _act_
by which his heroes were to fall, and the _punishment_ attendant on
that act, Milton has, as far as in him lay, destroyed the
_credibility_ of his poem? Homer found the _abstractions_, which he
mingled with the real actors of his poem, already personified; and
to demand a belief in the existence of Minerva or Jupiter,
subjected his reader to no greater exertion, than to believe in the
existence of Achilles or Ulysses. Had credibility not been the
great principle of Homer, had he introduced _Wisdom_ seizing
_Achilles_ by the hair, and _Beauty_ ravishing _Paris_ from the
combat, the Iliad, in what concerns the plan, would be little more
than the rival of the Pilgrim's Progress.

But if Homer _refused admittance to new-personified beings_ as
actors of his poem, has he contented himself entirely with
monosyllabic animation of the inanimate, with roaring shores,
remorseless stones, or maddening lances? The enormous image of
_Discord_ in the fourth, the picturesque prosopopoeia of
_Prayers_ and _Guilt_ in the ninth, and the luxuriant episode of
_Guilt_ again in the nineteenth book of the "Ilias," not only prove
the contrary, but establish him beyond all competition, Milton
perhaps excepted, as the first master of that poetic figure. The
_Liberty_ of Petrarch, and the _Jealousy_ and _Hope_ of Lorenzo de'
Medici, may with equal propriety adopt the names of _Health_,
_Suspicion_, and _Curiosity_; but the _Litæ_ of Homer are images
discriminated from all others, and will rank as models of true
prosopopoeia without the assistance of Hesiod, Æschylus, or the
love-embodying romance of Apuleius.

The Appendix to the first volume consists of forty-two pieces, and
contains the political and literary documents of the history. Of
these the papers relative to the conspiracy of the Pazzi,
especially the commentarium of Poliziano, the brief of
excommunication of Sixtus IV, the reply of the Florentine Synod,
and the deposition of Giambattista de Montesicco before his
execution, are the most interesting.

One great prerogative of the author is, no doubt, that happy
distribution of matter, by which the grave and the more amusing
parts of the subject alternately relieve each other. Having left
his reader "con la bocca dolce," at the conclusion of the first
volume, Mr. R. at the beginning of the second, exhibits the rival
of Petrarch, if not as the founder, at least as the first who gave
action and energy to that conciliating system of politics, since
denominated the balance of power, the darling maxim of modern
statesmen.

'The situation of Italy,' says our author, p. 4, 'at this period,
afforded an ample field for the exercise of political talents. The
number of independent states of which it was composed, the
inequality of their strength, the ambitious views of some, and the
ever-active fears of others, kept the whole country in continual
agitation and alarm. The vicinity of these states to each other,
and the narrow bounds of their respective dominions, required a
promptitude of decision, in cases of disagreement, unexampled in
any subsequent period of modern history. Where the event of open
war seemed doubtful, private treachery was without scruple resorted
to; and where that failed of success, an appeal was again made to
arms. The Pontifical See had itself set the example of a mode of
conduct that burst asunder all the bonds of society, and operated
as a convincing proof that nothing was thought unlawful which
appeared to be expedient. To counterpoise all the jarring interests
of these different governments, to restrain the powerful, to
succour the weak, and to unite the whole in one firm body, so as to
enable them on the one hand successfully to oppose the formidable
power of the Turks, and on the other, to repel the incursions of
the French and the Germans, both of whom were objects of terror to
the less warlike inhabitants of Italy, were the important ends
which Lorenzo proposed to accomplish. The effectual defence of the
Florentine dominions against the encroachments of their more
powerful neighbours, though perhaps his chief inducement for
engaging in so extensive a project, appeared, in the execution of
it, rather as a necessary part of his system than as the principal
object which he had in view. In these transactions, we may trace
the first decisive instance of that political arrangement, which
was more fully developed and more widely extended in the succeeding
century, and which has since been denominated the balance of power.
Casual alliances, arising from consanguinity, from personal
attachment, from vicinity, or from interest, had indeed frequently
subsisted among the Italian States; but these were only partial and
temporary engagements, and rather tended to divide the country into
two or more powerful parties, than to counterpoise the interests of
individual governments, so as to produce in the result the general
tranquillity.'[35]

Before, however, Lorenzo could proceed to the execution of his
beneficent system, he had to thank his stars for a second escape
from a new conspiracy formed against his life, at the instigation
of his old and inveterate enemies, the Riarii, by Battista
Frescobaldi. This attempt, conducted with less prudence, had none
of the atrocious consequences of the first, but ended in the
immediate destruction of Frescobaldi and his Tuscan accomplices.
Cursorily however, as it is related by our author, it appears to
have made a deep impression on the mind of his hero, since he
adopted, in consequence of it, a measure of safety which even the
homicide Cesar had scorned, that of appearing in public guarded by
a select band of armed friends.

The author now proceeds at length, and with equal perspicuity,
impartiality, and diligence, to detail the progress of Lorenzo's
measures to secure and establish the independence of Florence, and
to compose the jarring interests of Italy. Popes, kings, petty
princes, republics, appear in succession, poised, supported,
checked, advised, reconciled, to cement his generous plan.
Eloquence, military skill, caution, liberality, intrepidity, stamp
him by turns the soul of his own, and the arbiter of the
surrounding states, till at length the whole is composed and well
poised,--Italy enjoys security and peace. Such is the general
outline; a more minute detail, as it would exceed our limits, could
in a meagre summary serve only to weary the reader: the materials
vary, the contending parties are not equally important, the heroes
sometimes relax; conquests give way to a leader's indisposition,
and battles are fought which remind us of Virgil's winged
squadrons;

"Hi motus animorum, atque hæc certamina tanta,
Pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescunt."

Chap. VII. From politics, negotiations, and war, we follow our
author to his academic shades, to the improvements in classic
learning made under the fostering patronage of Lorenzo; to the
importation of Greek literature by Emanuel Chrysoloras, Joannes
Argyropylus, Demetrius Chalcondyles; to the introduction of
printing, the progress of the Laurentian library, and the
establishment of a Greek academy at Florence. We are made
acquainted with Politiano; his merits as a civilian, critic,
translator, controvertist, and poet: Giovanni Pico, Prince of
Mirandola, next excites our wonder; and after him, Linacer Landino,
and the two Verini might claim our attention, were they not
eclipsed by the female efforts of Alessandra Scala, and Cassandra
Fidelis.

'It might have been expected,' says our author, p. 55, after having
premised some observations on the seemingly unattainable excellence
of Dante, Petrarca, and Boccaccio, 'that the successful efforts of
these authors to improve their native tongue, would have been more
effectual than the weak, though laudable, attempts made by them to
revive the study of the ancient languages; but it must be
remembered, that they were all of them men of genius, and genius
assimilates not with the character of the age. Homer and Shakspeare
have no imitators, and are no models. The example of such talents
is perhaps, upon the whole, unfavourable to the general progress of
improvement; and the superlative abilities of a few, have more than
once damped the ardour of a nation. But if the great Italian
authors were inimitable in the productions of their native
language, in their Latin writings they appeared in a subordinate
character. Of the labours of the ancients, enough had been
discovered to mark the decided difference between their merits and
those of their modern imitators; and the applauses bestowed upon
the latter, were only in proportion to the degree in which they
approached the models of ancient eloquence. This competition was,
therefore, eagerly entered into; nor had the success of the first
revivers of these studies deprived their followers of the hope of
surpassing them. Even the early part of the fifteenth century
produced scholars as much superior to Petrarca, and his coadjutors,
as they were to the monkish compilers, and scholastic disputants,
who immediately preceded them; and the labours of Leonardo Aretino,
Gianozzo Manetti, Guarino Veronese, and Poggio Bracciolini,
prepared the way for the still more correct and classical
productions of Politiano, Sannazaro, Pontano, and Augurelli. The
declining state of Italian literature, so far then from being
inconsistent with, was rather a consequence of the proficiency made
in other pursuits, which, whilst they were distinguished by a
greater degree of celebrity, demanded a more continued attention,
and an almost absolute devotion both of talents and of time.'

It would be injustice to suppose that, by this well turned and
energetic passage, our author could mean to depreciate the benign
influence of original genius, or to insinuate aught against the
necessity of it's periodical appearance: his aim is to assign their
proper place to the literati of the epoch he describes, to trace
the probable motives of their pursuits, and to show, that by a
judicious choice they supplied, in some degree, their want of
innate power, and even of discernment in their objects of
imitation. Who, better than our historian, knows, that, if Nature
be inexhaustible in her resources and productions, and genius be
merely a power, seizing and representing with clearness some of her
features, the appearance of one man of genius can no more check the
perceptions, than preclude the existence of another? He who takes
Homer or Michael Angelo for his model, adopts him merely as his
medium to see Nature more distinctly or on a grander scale; he
imitates without copying, like Virgil and Pelegrino Tibaldi, for
whom it will be difficult to find a name, if they be refused that
of imitators of the Ionian and the Tuscan genius. If the supposed
inaccessible excellence of Dante and his contemporaries dispirited
the Italians of the fifteenth century from the cultivation of the
higher Italian poetry, it proved not that they had exhausted
Nature, but that they were no longer understood; and that they were
not, almost every line of their pedantic commentators proves.
Machiavelli, Ariosto, Tasso, appeared after them, with the same
models before their eyes, and each produced works none would wish
to exchange for all the laboured lucubrations of Tuscan Latinists:
the fact is, it was easier to shine before a partial public formed
by themselves, with glittering compilations of classic lines,
almost always dishonoured by some clumsy or gothic addition of
their own, than to emulate the pace of their great predecessors
before the general eye.

The domestic character of Lorenzo, the wit, the husband, father,
friend, appear in the eighth chapter. The author examines and
acquits him of the charge of having been addicted to licentious
amours, and exhibits him, if not as a tender, at least as a civil
husband: but "in no point of view," says he, "does the character of
this extraordinary man appear more engaging than in his affection
towards his children, in his care of their education, and in his
solicitude for their welfare." He accordingly, on each of these
particulars, enters into very interesting details: we are
introduced to the characters of his sons, Piero and Giovanni, the
first known as his successor, the second celebrated as supreme
pontiff under the assumed name of Leo X. From his children, we pass
on to Lorenzo's domestic concerns. His villas, Poggio Cajano,
Careggi, Fiesole, and other domains, pass in review. The visits of
Piero to Rome and Milan, his marriage with Alfonsina Orsini; the
exaltation of Giovanni to the dignity of cardinal at the age of
fourteen, his father's admirable admonitory letter to him on that
occasion; the death of Madonna Clarice, Lorenzo's wife; his
patronage of learned ecclesiastics; the assassination of G. Riario,
and the tragic death of Galeotto Manfredi, Prince of Faenza, occupy
the remainder.

If the subject of the ninth chapter, the progress of the plastic
arts, under the patronage of the Medici, reflect a new lustre on
the beneficent grandeur of that family, the judgment, perspicuity,
elegance of taste, and 'amore,' with which it is treated by our
author, reflect almost equal honour on himself. From the obscure
dawn of Cimabue to the noonday splendour of M. Angelo, we are
gradually led to form our ideas of art with a precision and
distinctness, in vain looked for in the loquacious volumes and
indiscriminate panegyrics of Vasari. Among so many beauties, the
choice of selection is difficult; a short extract from one or two
passages will inform the reader what he is to expect from the
whole. After mentioning the successful efforts of Lorenzo, Ghiberti
and Donatello, the author continues:

P. 189.--'Notwithstanding the exertions of these masters, which
were regarded with astonishment by their contemporaries, and are
yet entitled to attention and respect, it does not appear that they
had raised their views to the true end of the profession. Their
characters rarely excelled the daily prototypes of common life, and
their forms, although at times sufficiently accurate, were mostly
vulgar and heavy. In the pictures which remain of this period, the
limbs are not marked with that precision which characterizes a
well-informed artist. The hands and feet in particular appear soft,
enervated, and delicate, without distinction of sex or character.
Many practices yet remain that evince the imperfect state of the
art. Ghirlandajo and Baldovinetti continued to introduce the
portraits of their employers in historic composition, forgetful of
that _simplex duntaxat et unum_ with which a just taste can never
dispense. Cosimo Roselli, a painter of no inconsiderable
reputation, attempted, by the assistance of gold and ultramarine,
to give a factitious splendour to his performances. To every thing
great and elevated, the art was yet a stranger; even the celebrated
picture of Pollajuolo exhibits only a group of half-naked and
vulgar wretches, discharging their arrows at a miserable
fellow-creature, who by changing places with one of his murderers,
might with equal propriety become a murderer himself.[36] Nor was
it till the time of Michaelagnolo, that painting and sculpture rose
to their true object, and instead of exciting the wonder, began to
rouse the passions and interest the feelings of mankind.'

Though indignant at the doating tradition which still presumes to
foist the bedlam trash of Titus Andronicus among Shakspeare's
pieces; and certainly as little partial to the rubric of
martyrologies as our author or Mr. Tenhove; we yet believe, that
their observation receives it's force rather from the
insensibility, perhaps brutality, of artists, than from the subject
itself. Let horror and loathsomeness be banished from the
instruments of art, and the martyrdom of Stephen or Sebastian,
Agnes or John, becomes as admissible as that of Marsyas or
Palamedes, Virginia, or Regulus. It is the artist's fault if the
right moment be missed. If you see only blood-tipt arrows,
brain-dashed stones, excoriating knives, the artist, not the
subject, is detestable; this furnished heroism, celestial
resignation, the features of calm fortitude and beauty, helpless,
but undismayed; the clown or brute alone, who handled it, pushed
you down among the assassins from the hero's side. Humanity may
avert our eyes with propriety from the murdered subjects of Pietro
Testa, Joseph Ribera, sometimes even of Domenicho himself; but
apathy, phlegm,[37] effeminacy, alone would prefer an Andromeda, an
Agave, or a Venus hanging over an expiring Adonis, to the "Madonna
del Spasmo" of Raffaello, or M. Angelo's Crucifixion of St. Peter.

We next present the reader with the following passage on
Michaelagnolo.

P. 208.--'The labours of the painter are necessarily transitory,
for so are the materials that compose them. In a few years
Michaelagnolo will be known like an ancient artist, only by his
works in marble. Already it is difficult to determine whether his
reputation be enhanced or diminished by the sombre representations
of his pencil in the Pauline and Sixtine chapels, or by the few
specimens of his cabinet pictures, now rarely to be met with, and
exhibiting only a shadow of their original excellence. But the
chief merit of this great man is not to be sought for in the
remains of his pencil, nor even in his sculptures, but in the
general improvement of the public taste which followed his
astonishing productions. If his labours had perished with himself,
the change which they effected in the opinions and the works of his
contemporaries would still have entitled him to the first honours
of the art. Those who from ignorance, or from envy, have
endeavoured to depreciate his productions, have represented them as
exceeding in their forms and attitudes the limits and the
possibilities of nature, as a race of beings, the mere creatures
of his own imagination; but such critics would do well to consider,
whether the great reform to which we have alluded could have been
effected by the most accurate representations of common life, and
whether any thing short of that ideal excellence which he only knew
to embody could have accomplished so important a purpose. The
genius of Michaelagnolo was a leaven which was to operate on an
immense and heterogeneous mass, the salt intended to give a relish
to insipidity itself; it was therefore active, penetrating,
energetic, so as not only effectually to resist the contagious
effects of a depraved taste, but to communicate a portion of its
spirit to all around.'

The comprehensive conception and energy of this admirable passage
prove our author to have penetrated farther into the character of
Michaelagnolo, and to have found far more accurate ideas of his
real prerogative, than either of his favourite biographers.[38]

Before we dismiss this chapter, we state it as matter of surprise,
that the accomplishments and gigantic powers of Lionardo da Vinci,
a man nearly of Lorenzo's own age, appear to have shared in none of
the favours which he showered on inferior artists.

Chap. X. We approach with regret the concluding period of this
history, the last moments and death of Lorenzo. Our regret is
increased by the limits prescribed to our review, as our author, if
possible, rises here above the preceding chapters, in the
accumulation of interesting circumstances, delineation of
character, and pathetic scenery. The death of his hero involves
that of the most conspicuous characters around him, of Politiano,
Pico, Ermolao; the expulsion of his family, and the death of his
unfortunate son soon follow; and with the reinstatement of the
Medici, the extinction of the republic, after the unsuccessful
struggles of Lorenzino de' Medici, and Philippo Strozzi, under the
establishment of a tyranny, finishes the work. From so rich an
aggregate of materials, we must content ourselves with a single
extract, the character of Lorenzo and our author's review of his
conduct as a statesman.

P. 239. 'In the height of his reputation, and at a premature period
of life, thus died Lorenzo de' Medici; a man who may be selected
from all the characters of ancient and modern history, as
exhibiting the most remarkable instance of depth of penetration,
versatility of talent, and comprehension of mind. Whether genius be
a predominating impulse, directing the mind to some particular
object, or whether it be an energy of intellect that arrives at
excellence in any department in which it may be employed, it is
certain that there are few instances in which a successful
exertion in any human pursuit has not occasioned a dereliction of
many other objects, the attainment of which might have conferred
immortality. If the powers of the mind are to bear down all
obstacles that oppose their progress, it seems necessary that they
should sweep along in some certain course, and in one collected
mass. What then shall we think of that rich fountain, which, whilst
it was poured out by so many different channels, flowed through
each with a full and equal stream? To be absorbed in one pursuit,
however important, is not the characteristic of the higher class of
genius, which, piercing through the various combinations and
relations of surrounding circumstances, sees all things in their
just dimensions, and attributes to each its due. Of the various
occupations in which Lorenzo engaged, there is not one in which he
was not eminently successful; but he was most particularly
distinguished in those which justly hold the first rank in human
estimation. The facility with which he turned from subjects of the
highest importance to those of amusement and levity, suggested to
his countrymen the idea that he had two distinct souls combined in
one body. Even his moral character seems to have partaken in some
degree of the same diversity, and his devotional poems are as
ardent as his lighter pieces are licentious. On all sides, he
touched the extremes of human character, and the powers of his mind
were only bounded by that impenetrable circle which prescribes the
limits of human nature.

'As a statesman, Lorenzo de' Medici appears to peculiar advantage.
Uniformly employed in securing the peace and promoting the
happiness of his country, by just regulations at home, and wise
precautions abroad, and teaching to the surrounding governments
those important lessons of political science, on which the
civilization and tranquillity of nations have since been found to
depend. Though possessed of undoubted talents for military
exploits, and of sagacity to avail himself of the imbecility of
neighbouring powers, he was superior to that avarice of dominion,
which, without improving what is already acquired, blindly aims at
more extensive possession. The wars in which he engaged were for
security, not for territory; and the riches produced by the
fertility of the soil, and the industry and ingenuity of the
inhabitants of the Florentine republic, instead of being dissipated
in imposing projects and ruinous expeditions, circulated in their
natural channels, giving happiness to the individual, and
respectability to the state. If he was not insensible to the charms
of ambition, it was the ambition to deserve rather than to enjoy;
and he was always cautious not to exact from the public favour more
than it might be voluntarily willing to bestow. The approximating
suppression of the liberties of Florence, under the influence of
his descendants, may induce suspicions unfavourable to his
patriotism; but it will be difficult, not to say impossible, to
discover, either in his conduct or his precepts, any thing that
ought to stigmatize him as an enemy to the freedom of his country.
The authority which he exercised was the same as that which his
ancestors had enjoyed, without injury to the republic, for nearly a
century, and had descended to him as inseparable from the wealth,
the respectability, and the powerful foreign connexions of his
family. The superiority of his talents enabled him to avail himself
of these advantages with irresistible effect; but history suggests
not an instance in which they were devoted to any other purpose
than that of promoting the honour and the independence of the
Tuscan state. It is not by the continuance, but by the dereliction
of the system that he had established, and to which he adhered to
the close of his life, that the Florentine republic sunk under the
degrading yoke of despotic power; and to his premature death we may
unquestionably attribute, not only the destruction of the
commonwealth, but all the calamities that Italy soon afterwards
sustained.'

Though we admire the author's eloquence, and in a great measure
subscribe to this character, some doubts may be entertained,
whether Lorenzo had not to thank a premature death for having left
his political character, if not unsuspected, at least unimpeached
by direct proofs. Aggrandisement by enormous accumulation of
wealth, and that obtained, by cautious but unremitting grasps at
power, appears to have been the leading principle of the Medicean
family: hence those sacrifices of private attachments and
animosities; hence that ambition of connecting themselves by
intermarriage with the most powerful families of the surrounding
powers; hence the indecent, though successful attempt of raising a
boy to the dignity of Cardinal, against the qualms of an else
willing Pontiff; steps not easily accounted for from men who
professed the honour of being considered as the first citizens of
Florence, to be the height of their ambition.

But let us return for a moment to our historian, whose work we
cannot dismiss without adding our feeble vote to the unbounded
applause which it has obtained from the best part of the public.
Mr. R., in our opinion, possesses a high rank among the historians
of his country. Notwithstanding the modesty of the title, the life
of Lorenzo de' Medici unites the general history of the times, and
the political system of the most memorable country in Europe, with
the characters of the most celebrated men, and the rise and
progress of science and arts. The greatest praise of the historian
and biographer, impartiality, might be called its most prominent
feature, were it not excelled by the humanity of the writer, who
touches with a hand often too gentle, those blemishes which he
scorns to disguise. It is impossible to read any part of his
performance without discovering that an ardent love for the true
interests of society, and a fervid attachment to virtue and real
liberty, have furnished his motives of choice, and every where
directed his pen. The diligence and correctness of judgment by
which the matter is selected and distributed, notwithstanding the
scantiness, obscurity, or partiality of the documents that were to
be consulted, are equalled only by the amenity with which he has
varied his subjects, and the surprising extent of his information.
Simplicity, perspicuity, and copiousness, are the leading features
of his style, often sententious without being abrupt, and decided
without an air of dogma; that it should have been sometimes
verbose, sometimes lax or minute, is less to be wondered at, than
that it should never be disgraced by affectation or pretence of
elegance. If we be not always led by the nearest road, our path is
always strewn with flowers; and, if it be the highest praise of
writing to have made delight the effectual vehicle of instruction,
our author has attained it.

The Appendix, of upwards of forty documents relative to the text,
many highly interesting, is preceded by some original poems of
Lorenzo, copied by Mr. Clarke, from the MSS. preserved in the
Laurentian library, and now published for the first time.