inst the Duke of Ferrara. A pretty post for a scholar
and a poet! But to it he went, and conquered the brigands, proving
himself as expert in the use of the sword as in that of the pen.

"We produce no such men now. Bernardo Tasso, to whom I gave employment
when he was exiled from Naples, and who wandered freely in this garden,
felt not its charm, for he was but a third-rate poet, and even he is
dead. Who in our day can interpret the poetry which I feel here but
cannot express? And with but so little more of endowment I might have
done it, for after all is not the inner ear, the second sight, the major
part of genius?

"Listen, and tell me what you hear. Only the musical plash of the
fountains and the sonorous undertone of the organ, like the distant roar
of surf upon the beach? Ah, me! ah, me! how materialistic you are, my
children. Your old uncle hears in these myriad-voiced fountains the
musical instruments which Boccaccio gave to the Satyrs; 'cymbals, pipes,
and whistling reeds,' and the song of the nymphs. Did you note that
startled cry? It is the Oread Arethusa flying from the river-god
Alpheus. He is imprisoned in the organ, where he is mightily bellowing,
and whence he will presently burst forth. But Arethusa will slip away
(coquette that she is), under ground and under sea to her Sicilian home;
for fable and stream sing eternally the same story, _Mulier hominis
confusio est_.

"Tell me, my niece, have we in all Italy a poet who can voice such a
theme?"

"Yes, uncle," the Duchess of Urbino interposed, "Bernardo Tasso's little
son heard and understood the song of the fountains when he played here
in his childhood. He told me that he believed a _folletto_ or tricksy
spirit talked with him here and promised him that if he came again he
would find here both love and fame. He can interpret your songs for you,
for he has grown a man, and is a greater poet than his father."

"And meantime," added Leonora, "he has absorbed all that the
universities of Bologna and Padua can give him, and has written a
romantic poem, the _Rinaldo_, on the exploits of one of our ancestors,
that mythical old peer of Charlemagne, which he has dedicated to our
house. It is in recognition of this tribute that our brother Luigi has
made him his secretary."

"And Luigi is at the French Court intriguing with the Queen Mother,
Catherine de' Medici. Torquato is doubtless with him," replied the
Cardinal. "I ask you of what good to tantalise m