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I should not have spared my execrations, had it not traversed a picturesque valley, overgrown with juniper, and strewed with fragments of rock, precipitated, long since, from the surrounding eminences, blooming with cyclamens. I clambered up several of these crags, "fra gli odoriferi ginepri," to gather the flowers I have just mentioned, and found them deliciously scented.
A me mi pare un poeta sovrano, Tanto gli è sperto nella poesia. While I am writing thus about the production and dissemination of these love-songs, I cannot help remembering three days and nights which I once spent at sea between Genoa and Palermo, in the company of some conscripts who were going to join their regiment in Sicily.
In that reposeful kingdom, which could in miniature offer to Caterina's courtiers all the pomp and charm without the drawbacks of sovereignty, Pietro Bembo wrote for "Madonna Lucretia Estense Borgia Duchessa illustrissima di Ferrara," and caused to be printed by Aldus Manutius, the leaflets which, under the title Gli Asolani, ne' quali si ragiona d' amore, soon became a famous book in Italy.
A woman's heart is tenacious, and wide as the world, when it contains that world which is the memory of something perfect that gave it satisfaction. "Mi destan le dolcissime serate Gli occhi do Rosa e il mar di Mergellina." Dear happy, lovable youth that can sing to itself like that in the deep night! Like that once Maurice, her sacred possession of youth, sang.
Nevertheless there are here and there those among the faithful who continue to say, Ma sopra tutto nel buon via ho fede; E credo che sia salvo che gli crede. And since latterly the Russians have introduced their brandy, the number of believers is not small, who, on mounting their steeds, will take a stirrup cup of schnapps when offered.
Alas for the beautiful city! Alas for the wit and the learning, the genius and the love! "Le donne, e i cavalier, gli affanni, e gli agi, Che ne 'nvogliava amore e cortesia La dove i cuor son fatti si malvagi."
At the age of thirty-six Paganini again found himself at Milan, and there organized a society of musical amateurs, called "Gli Orfei." He conducted several of their concerts. But either the love of a roving life or the necessity of wandering in order to fill his exchequer kept him constantly on the move; and, though during these travels he is said to have met with many extraordinary adventures, very little reliance can be placed upon the accounts that have come down to us, the more so when we consider that Paga-nini's mode of life was, as we shall see presently, become by this time extremely sober. It was not until he was forty-four years old that he finally quitted Italy to make himself better known in foreign countries. He had been encouraged to visit Vienna by Prince Metternich, who had heard and admired his playing at Rome in 1817, and had repeatedly made plans to visit Germany, but his health had been so wretched as to prevent his departure from his native country. But a sojourn in the balmy climate of Sicily for a few months had done him so much good that in 1828 he put his long-deferred plans into execution. The first concert in March of that year made an unparalleled sensation. He gave a great number of concerts in Vienna, among them several for the poor. A fever seized all classes of society. The shop windows were crowded with goods
There is a book, "Gli Ornamenti delle Donne," which will tell you what that bastion of a fair girl should be; and what it should be those Paduan lyrists will more than assure you Ippolita's was. Thus passionately they fingered every part, dwelling here, touching there, with no word that was not a caress. What she had not, too, they gave her the attributes she sowed in them.
In his first edition, Vasari tells us that, after his death, his memory was honoured by many epitaphs, among which he quotes the following: "Pianga Cortona omai, vestasi oscura, Che estinti son' del Signorello i lumi; Et tu, Pittura, fa de gli occhi fiumi, Chè resti senza lui debili e scura."
Parsons, by taking further liberty with the original, has not surpassed it: "And she to me: The mightiest of all woes Is in the midst of misery to be cursed With bliss remembered." "Ond' ella, appresso d'un pio sospiro, Gli occhi drizzo ver me con quel sembiante, Che madre fa sopra figlinol deliro." And, finally, the beginning of the eighth canto of the "Purgatorio":
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