fact might have been a matter of pride to
either the poet or the Signora Strozzi. Family reasons have been alleged
by Baruffaldi, one of Ariosto's many biographers, but they seem entirely
inadequate and unsatisfactory, and the whole matter still remains
shrouded in mystery.

One side of the question which has not perhaps been presented before is
this--would there have been any change in the tone of Ariosto's lyric
verse if Alessandra had been known to all the world as his wife? With
the possible exceptions of the Brownings and one or two others, the case
is hardly recorded where a poet has been inspired to his highest efforts
by his wedded wife, and it is extremely problematical whether or not in
the present instance the fire and fervor of Ariosto's lines could have
been kindled at a domestic hearth which all the world might see. The
secret marriage was probably insisted upon by the wife, and all honor to
Alessandra Strozzi for her pure heart in that corrupt time! But the fact
was probably kept hidden to gratify some whim of the poet. The very
situation is tinged with the romantic, the old adage about stolen sweets
was undoubtedly as true in that time as it is to-day, and the poet had a
restless nature which could ill brook the ordinary yoke of Hymen. So
long as he could live in the Via Mirasole, and Alessandra in the stately
Casa Strozzi, Ferrara had charms for him, and his muse was all aflame.
Would this have been true if one roof had sheltered them?

Whatever the verdict may be in this matter, the fact remains that all of
Ariosto's lyric poetry and many of the passages in the _Orlando Furioso_
were inspired by his real love for some woman, and it was this living,
burning passion which gives him his preeminence as a poet. He had
mannerisms, it is true, and much that he wrote is apt to appear stilted
to the ordinary English reader, but such mannerisms are only the
national characteristics of most Italian poetry and must be viewed in
that light. On the other hand, Ariosto's evident sincerity is in
striking contrast to the cold, intellectual, amatory verse of Lorenzo
de' Medici, which was, in truth, but an aesthetic diversion for that
brilliant prince. And even this was due to the inspiration he received
from the sight of a fair lady, many years his senior, for whom he had a
most distant, formal, Platonic affection, while it never dawned upon him
that his own wife's beauty might deserve a sonnet now and then.

Ch