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But the "little" children are an invention of the poet's, or probably his belief, when he was a young man, and first heard the story; for some of Ugolino's fellow-prisoners may have been youths, but others were grown up none so childish as he intimates; and they were not all his own sons; some were his nephews.
Pisa Hotel Victoria Pisan weather The poet Shelley Historic Pisa Lung 'Arno San Stefano di Canalia Cathedral Baptistery Leaning Tower Campo Santo The divine angels The great chain of Pisa Leghorn Smollett's grave Poste-restante A sweet thing in Beggars Ugolino's Tower Departure for Rome.
In that terrific picture, in front of which all the generations of men that come after Dante are to weep purifying tears, the most exquisite stroke is given in five monosyllables; but in those five little words what depth of pathos, what concentration of meaning! On the fourth day one of Ugolino's dying sons throws himself at his father's feet, crying, "Father, why dost not help me?"
If the Homeric Elysium is a long, long way from the ethereal charm, the angelic pleasureableness of Milton's Paradise, it is because under Eden there is a hell far more terrible than the heathen Tartarus. Do you think that Francesca da Rimini and Beatrice would be so enchanting in a poet who should not confine us in the Tower of Hunger and compel us to share Ugolino's revolting repast?
"Ah," said he, "we have at Pisa, Ugolino's tower; at Ferrara, Tasso's prison; at Rimini, the room of Francesca and Paolo." "Yes, but you have not this little staircase," said Monte Cristo, opening a door concealed by the drapery. "Look at it, and tell me what you think of it." "What a wicked-looking, crooked staircase," said Chateau-Renaud with a smile.
Take the two lines which I have just quoted from Homer, the poet's comment on Helen's mention of her brothers; or take his the address of Zeus to the horses of Peleus; or take finally his the words of Achilles to Priam, a suppliant before him. Take that incomparable line and a half of Dante, Ugolino's tremendous words "Io no piangeva; sì dentro impietrai. Piangevan elli ..."
He is of opinion that the writer only does it to shew his knowledge of natural history. Hence there it no love-story so affecting as that of Paulo and Francesca thus told and perpetuated in another world; no father's misery so enforced upon us as Ugolino's, who, for hundreds of years, has not grown tired of the revenge to which it wrought him.
I took my sad heart's fill of the sad story of "Paolo and Francesca," which I already knew in Leigh Hunt's adorable dilution, and most of the lines read themselves into my memory, where they linger yet. I supped on the horrors of Ugolino's fate with the strong gust of youth, which finds every exercise of sympathy a pleasure.
The plot succeeded; but Pisa desired that the Archbishop should for the future divide the power with Ugolino. To this Ugolino would not agree, and in a rage he slew the nephew of the Archbishop. Meanwhile, Ugolino's nephew, Nino Visconti, was plotting with him to return.
The Count Ugolino was a traitor, who entirely deserved death; but another Count of Pisa, entirely faithful to the Ghibelline cause, was put to death by Charles of Anjou, not only in cold blood, but with resolute infliction of Ugolino's utmost grief; not in the dungeon, but in the full light of day his son being first put to death before his eyes.
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