It was on this occasion that Ariosto, probably from inability to choose his times or anodes of returning home, contracted a cough, which is understood to have shortened his existence; so that Julius may have killed him after all.  But the pope had a worse enemy in his own bosom—­his violence—­which killed himself in a much shorter period.  He died in little more than two years afterwards; and the poet’s prospects were all now of a very different sort—­at least he thought so; for in March 1513, his friend Giovanni de’ Medici succeeded to the papacy, under the title of Leo the Tenth.

Ariosto hastened to Rome, among a shoal of visitants, to congratulate the new pope, perhaps not without a commission from Alfonso to see what he could do for his native country, on which the rival Medici family never ceased to have designs.  The poet was full of hope, for he had known Leo under various fortunes; had been styled by him not only a friend, but a brother; and promised all sorts of participations of his prosperity.  Not one of them came.  The visitor was cordially received.  Leo stooped from his throne, squeezed his hand, and kissed him on both his cheeks; but “at night,” says Ariosto, “I went all the way to the Sheep to get my supper, wet through.”  All that Leo gave him was a “bull,” probably the one securing to him the profits of his Orlando; and the poet’s friend Bibbiena—­wit, cardinal, and kinsman of Berni—­facilitated the bull, but the receiver discharged the fees.  He did not get one penny by promise, pope, or friend.[13] He complains a little, but all in good humour; and good-naturedly asks what he was to expect, when so many hungry kinsmen and partisans were to be served first.  Well and wisely asked too, and with a superiority to his fortunes which Leo and Bibbiena might have envied.

It is thought probable, however, that if the poet had been less a friend to the house of Este, Leo would have kept his word with him, for their intimacy had undoubtedly been of the most cordial description.  But it is supposed that Leo was afraid he should have a Ferrarese envoy constantly about him, had he detained Ariosto in Rome.  The poet, however, it is admitted, was not a good hunter of preferment.  He could not play the assenter, and bow and importune:  and sovereigns, however friendly they may have been before their elevation, go the way of most princely flesh when they have attained it.  They like to take out a man’s gratitude beforehand, perhaps because they feel little security in it afterwards.

The elevation to the papacy of the cheerful and indulgent son of Lorenzo de’ Medici, after the troublous reign of Julius, was hailed with delight by all Christendom, and nowhere more so than in the pope’s native place, Florence.  Ariosto went there to see the spectacles; and there, in the midst of them, he found himself robbed of his heart by the lady whom he afterwards married.  Her name was Alessandra Benucci.  She was the widow of one of the Strozzi family, whom