Perhaps Leonora did speak thus in the open discussion which followed the reading of the poem as in that at the Court of Urbino when Cardinal Bembo, distraught by his own rhapsody on love, stood silent as one transported, and the lady Emilia to recall him to himself shook him playfully, crying, "Have a care, Pietro, lest in this mood your soul should be separated from your body."
And the gay Cardinal replied: "Madam, this would not be the first miracle which Love hath wrought in me."
Certainly, Tasso's wooing, even at Villa d'Este, was not always a happy one. In the following stanzas he tells of temporary despairs, but he hints also of a great hope at his darkest moment:
"By what dim ways at last Love leadeth man Unto his joy and sets him 'mid the bliss Of his heart's heaven of love--then when he most Thinketh him sunk in an abyss of bale; O blest Amyntas--from thy fate I augur for mine own, that so may she, That fair untender maid, who in a smile Of pity sheaths the steel of heartlessness, So may she with true pity heal the hurt Wherewith feigned pity pierced me to the heart."
In another beautiful passage it is not hope which he sings but rapture:
"Let him who serveth Love Divine it in his heart, though scarce may he Divine or give it voice."
What was the boon which gave Tasso so much bliss? Perchance no greater than the one he celebrates in the exquisite lines:
"My lady at a balcony alone One day was standing, when I chanced to stretch My arm on hers; pardon I begged, if so I had offended her; she sweetly answered, 'Not by the placing of thy arm hast thou Displeased me aught, but by withdrawing it Do I remain offended!' O fond words! Dear little love words, short but sweet, and courteous! Courteous as sweet, affectionate as courteous! If it were true and certain what I heard, I shall be always seeking not to offend thee, Repeating the great bliss: but my sweet life, By all my eagerness therein remember-- Where there is no offence, there must be No visiting of vengeance!"
It must have been early in their acquaintance that such gratitude was poured forth for so slight a favour. There are balconies at Villa d'Este, balustraded terraces where now the contorted stems of giant vines wrestle with the carved pillarets and rend them relentlessly from their copings where at intervals the bayonet-leaved aloes keep sentinel like the bravi of Cardinal Ippolito I., their long green knives unsheathed and ready for any deed of horror. Here, unconscious of spying eyes, Leonora may have leant apparently absorbed in that glorious view, and Tasso's hand have stolen furtively to her own.