The Venetians sent a numerous army, who engaged the army of the French at Ghiaradada, though contrary to the opinion of the Venetian general. After an obstinate battle, the Venetians were defeated with great loss; the gates of Bergamo, Brescia, and Cremona were thrown open to Lewis; many other places surrendered to him, and he prepared to attack Venice itself. ↩
Alphonso, duke of Ferrara. ↩
King Lewis, exasperated at being driven out of Italy, made a peace and league with the Venetians, and sent a fresh army against Maximilian Sforza. Maximilian, assisted with the pope’s money, called in the Swiss to his aid, not without risk (as the poet observes), considering the fate of his father; however, joined with these, he attacked and entirely defeated the French army; for which victory the pope bestowed on the Swiss the title of Defenders of the Holy Church. ↩
Ferrando, king of Spain, being dead, the Emperor Maximilian invaded Lombardy with fourteen thousand Swiss and seven thousand Belgians, with an intention of laying siege to Milan, defended by Trivulzio and Charles of Bourbon. ↩
The Emperor Charles V made a league with Pope Leo, in order to drive the French out of Milan; and restore Francesco Sforza, nephew of the first Francis, and son of Ludovico il Moro. The French were now become odious to the Milanese. Sforza engaging Lantric, put him to flight, and, entering the city by night, was made duke. ↩
Venice. ↩
The battle of Bicocca was most fatal in its immediate consequences to the Swiss, and in its ultimate consequences to the French.
King Francis, resolving to recover the duchy of Milan, passed into Lombardy with a great army, when all submitted to him except Pavia. Being attacked in the night by the Marquisses of Pescara and Guasto, he was vanquished and made prisoner, though afterwards set at liberty upon giving up his sons for hostages. ↩
Henry VIII of England. ↩
The assault of Rome by the constable Bourbon. The kingdom in this canto, and others treating of Italian wars, means Naples. ↩
Naples, where Parthenope the syren was said to have been buried. ↩
He alludes here to the great naval engagement at Cape d’Orso, between the imperialists and the French, while Naples was besieged, when the French fleet was commanded by Philip Dorea, who held the place of Andrew Dorea, of whom so much is said in the 15th book.
We have now gone the round of this most wearisome picture-gallery, and are about to escape into the open air. Ariosto has most grievously abused the privilege of poetical prophecy: in his other least successful flights there is some great redeeming grace: in these the beauties are so thinly scattered, that they hardly serve to lead us on to the conclusion. ↩
The city of Cyrene was built by Battus. ↩
Hoole says that the ancient Nubians, interpreting the Gospel literally, were branded with the cross. ↩
It is hardly necessary to observe that this is the king of Abyssinia, who was formerly so called, it is supposed, as uniting the royal and priestly character. Our “Priest” is no doubt a corruption of “presto,” as Prester John is of “Prete janni.” ↩
Not only Dante (I believe on authority to be found in the fathers) has assigned a seat to paradise, but it is laid down in the mappa mondo of Fra Mauro, that wonderful monument of genius and industry, in which so many geographical discoveries are anticipated. ↩
It is strange that this prophecy should have been interpreted in any other way than as referring to the war and waste wrought by the transalpine nations in Italy; yet (as Mr. Hoole observes) another explanation of the poet’s meaning has been given by the majority of Italian commentators. ↩
Who drove the harpies from the table of Phineus, a blind king of Thrace; the story in Ovid which suggested that in the text. ↩
Astolpho. ↩
It was natural enough for Ariosto to take his idea of hell rather from Boccaccio than from Dante; but Lydia’s story is certainly but a bad imitation of that of Theodore and Honoria. ↩
Anaxarete was a girl of Salamis, who so arrogantly despised the addresses of Iphis, a youth of ignoble birth, that the lover hung himself at her door. She saw this sad spectacle without emotion, and was changed into a stone.—See Ovid’s Metamorphoses. ↩
Aeneas. ↩
It is impossible for the reader who is most incredulous as to allegory not to suspect a mystic meaning in many parts of this canto, in the lines where we are told that the smoke had not alone outwardly stained Astolpho, but had searched even beneath his clothes—in his long search for a fountain in order to cleanse himself preparatory to his journey to Paradise—in his desire to reach heaven—his contempt of earth—and finally his accomplishment of his object through intensity of aspiration. ↩
This introduction of St. John, which to us must appear so indecent and extravagant, will probably be attributed by many to the character of the nation, or to that of the religion, to which Ariosto belonged. For myself, I ascribe it simply to the character of his age, and my reason for so doing is, that Harrington, an Englishman and a Protestant, in commenting upon this passage, expresses neither scandal nor surprise; and indeed would seem to have considered it as an edifying allegory. ↩
I have before observed that Ariosto, like
