Ariosto must here mean one of the many of St. Michael’s seats in Brittany, and not our Cornish “vision of the guarded Mount:” for St. Michael seems to have been a very favourite saint with the Celts of Brittany as well as those of Cornwall. ↩
I can no more explain what Ariosto means by these names, which, as having a Welsh or Breton sound, may be supposed real, than former commentators could what Milton had in view when he spoke of Namancos, which he places on the Spanish coast, opposite to St. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall. But as Namancos has been found in an old map of Spain, so Breac and Landriglier may perhaps be discovered in one of France. ↩
This piece of ferocity, which might seem inconsistent with such a character as that of Olympia, in any age, convinces me that this incident of the story, which seems to have been made up of many parts, had a foundation in truth. Credo quia impossibile est. I am, however, unable to discover any traces of it anterior to Ariosto’s poem. At any rate, the reader will regret that such a trait of brutality was either invented or copied by Ariosto. It is, however, a mere act of justice to observe that he seems to have repented making a Judith of Olympia; for among the alterations of the Furioso, vouched by Galasso, as the intended emendations of his brother Ludovico, the original line
“Io saltai presto e gli segai lagola,”
is changed to
“Poi saltò presto e gli segò la gola,”
the poet thus transferring the consummation of the murder to the servant who had struck down the bridegroom. But even admitting this correction, there is a daring spirit in the woman which is repugnant to our notions of feminine softness, and I cannot help thinking that the interest which she excites, is, in a great degree, owing to the beautiful picture which we have of her when stripped for sacrifice, and fastened to the rock. She is like the Athenian courtesan who, when her cause was going ill, dropped her clothes, and stood naked before her judges. ↩
Ariosto is here accurate in his geography, in which he almost always observes that of his age. His precision on such points (as where he illustrates the relative position of Alcina’s and Logistilla’s territories by the boundaries of England and Scotland) is the more remarkable, as he is, I believe, the first among the moderns, who made a study of such proprieties. ↩
Volana, not far distant from Ferrara, is one of the mouths of the Po, in which the fish take refuge, and from which their return is intercepted by a net, resembling the Seine. ↩
The zimbello of the text is a bird used to decoy others, which, together with the birds first taken, is, in Italy, confined with a string, and by the fowler’s play made to leap up and flutter; which attracts the notice of the wild birds, who join them, and are taken by a claptrap. I have seen this practice in Tuscany, where it is styled the paretajo. It is, I believe, called the roccolo in Lombardy, and is common in Germany, and probably in other parts of the continent. ↩
The frog-hunter has changed his weapons, and frogs are now fished for in Italy. ↩
I suppose with collars armed with spikes, as may yet be seen on the wolf-dogs in parts of Switzerland. ↩
Orlando. ↩
Here Ariosto has, I think, improved Ovid’s description, by turning the woodland-birds into halcyons, whose appearance and plaintive cries seem to harmonize more happily with the scene.
The “old woe,” lamented by them, was the catastrophe which led to the transformation of Ceyx and Alcyone into halcyons. For Ceyx having been drowned in a tempest, and Alcyone having cast herself into the sea upon the body, the gods, compassionating their misfortune, we are told, operated this prodigy in their behalf. ↩
Defoe, that true observer of nature, remarks, that every nation has its peculiar sound indicative of pain and grief, and, it may be added, that different ages have also different signs for expressing their emotions, which symbols appear to be purely conventional. Thus clapping of the hands, now a sign of pleasure and approbation, has been used as expressive of pain; and we read in Dante,
Harsh tongues discordant—horrible discourse—
Inferno III ver. 25–28.
Words of despair—fierce accents of despite—
Sinking of hands—with curses deep and hoarse.
As things often bear the name of the place from which they are received, and not of the country of which they are the production, articles imported from the East were usually called Alexandrian, when Alexandria was the channel through which flowed the commerce of Asia. For this, see our chronicles and romances. ↩
Astolpho. ↩
Ariosto in this and a future passage, where he treats of Asiatic countries, seems to have grafted the discoveries of Marco Polo upon the map of Ptolemy. ↩
Those who have been taught that the strength of the ancient English armies consisted in their infantry, will be startled at the mention of mounted archers; but Ariosto is here perfectly right. The English archer (at least latterly) was mounted; but made use of his horse only as a vehicle, as originally was the practice of the dragoon, who, when in action, fought as a foot-soldier. The English archers, indeed, were the yeomanry of the country, and wholly unlike the naked rabble of peasants, who composed the infantry of the other European nations. Hence they were allowed one horse per man (as we
