Evening star., 1928-12-29
THE LIBRARY TABLE
BY the Booklover

most delightful or the biographies OF
Lincoln, containing much authentic,
new material, and written in prose
poetry. Amy Lowell, poet, wrote what
is considered by most critics the author
itative biography of Keats, heavily an
notated, rather too lengthy, and schol-
arly rather than poetic in style. Rachel
Armand Taylor, less well known poet,
has now written rather striking biog-
raphy of Leonardo da Vinci, Leonardo
the Florentine." In an Introductory
note Gilbert Murray, regius professor
of Greek at oxford, gives unstinted
praise to Mrs. Taylors exquisite crafts
manship" in her volumes of verse,
Rose and Vine" "The Hours of Fiam-
meta" and 1.-THE End of Fiammetta,
and then says of Leonardo the F1oren-
tine: II am told that unprincipled
critics in disturbed states of society
have been known to write reviews of
books which they have not read. If
were to follow that criminal example, !
should say that Mrs. Taylor'S Leo
nardo' will offend many readers and be-
wilder more; that it will be strange
and perhaps morbid, and at times star
tling; that it is sure to be written with
wide knowledge, sincere feeling and
exact scholarship, but that such quail
ties will almost be forgotten, for good
or i'll, in an exotic and riotous luxury
of imagination and phrasing and a
power of poetic Interpretation which at
times acts like a fashlight. Altogether
a book dangerous in its power of illu-
sion, as Chaucer Is dangerous to weak
speller: dangerous to students who can
not pick and choose among its highly
personal pronouncements, and particu-
larly to those young writers who are
already too prone to be Intoxicated by
beautiful language and strange doctrine,
but full of value and new light to sober
persons who care about style and art
and human personality, and neverthe-
less know how to keep their heads"
Gilbert Murray might further have
said in his excellent introduction that
much knowlet,Sc of the Renaissance Pc
riod comes not amiSs before beginning
to read Leonardo the Florentine." Mrs.
Taylor deals in bare facts as little as
does Walter Pater. Her treatment is
abusive, has an implication Of "You
already know this, so why repeat?"
This in no way detracts from pleasure
in the book. If you do already know,
you feel complimented; If you do not
have the knowledge taken for granted.
you keep history of the Renaissance
at hand, or are content merely to enjoy
a delightful excursion into medieval
Italy without carrying too heavy i'm
pedimenta of historical fact. After all.
Mrs. Taylor'S book Is literature, rather
than simple biography. Perhaps lib
eral definition would allow it to be
called poetry. There is no straight mar
rative, but one is drawn imaginatively
into the spirit and atmosphere of the
Renaissance, where one almost longs to
stay, far from the unromantic practi-
calities of modern life. Can any one
the Renaissance in this description? /:
Whatever Milan had been, she was
barbaric and splendid when Leonardo
sought her courts like new Citharoe-
dus, barbaric in her excess of pearl and
gold, in her clouds of perfume, her
rose-drift cupid-broidered palaces, her
snowdrift incredible cathedral, her
mythic pageantry Of pleasure and
power, barbaric like Grecian cities of
old richly corrupting into strange colors
in Asia and in Egypt through sweet
spendthrift. luxurious moods.
Through the ages called dark Milan
remains. a dim flame of rose, a rumour
of litanies and tumult of spears and
eagles. She had great traffic with kings
and popes and emperors; she had
spoken haughtily in the gate with
many powers and principalities, and she
had felt the clash of armies from all
the ways of the world shiver in her
hoo tatifftI hro oct - nff a
five parts of the book show that the
subject is not Leonardo alone. The
story and significance of all Italy dur
ing his lifetime form the subject-"The
City of Lorenzo" "The Court of Lodo-
vico." 1.-THE Wandering Years." 1.-THE
Hostel of Francis" and Leonardo da
Vinci" Some of the best writing is to
be found in the description of the bril-
liant court of Lodovico II Moro of Milan
husband of Beatrice d,Este. It was a
court of beautiful women, whose gay
feverish lives were all too short. BIZ
anca, the natural daughter of Lodovico
the little princess of Ambrogio ds
Predis' portrait, was the dearest play.
mate" of Beatrice, Lodovicos wife, anC
the two died in their early youth within
short time Of each other. Blanca
died first, and Beatrice "keeps her sac
vigil in the Chapel of Santa Maria dele
Grazie by her playfellow's grave. anc
the tears of her suffering soul fall
through to the dead, sweet breast Of
Blanca, who never hurt anybody; anc
then she is clad in her brocade of fly
ing white doves on a red ground ant
her cuiraSS of jewels for the evening
Little avail Lodovico'S long days in the
black chamber of lamentation, and the
| hundred tapers burning silver in the
darkness where she lies in her mos
golden camorra, and the hundred masse:
sung to quiet her restless soul, little the
lovely tomb where she shall be Sculp.
! tured her sweetest"
From vessel on q shining sea mar
in proper travelling costume starts or
an excursion beneath that liquid sur.
face. The man Is William Beebe, anC
he tells of the excursion in his book
Beneath Tropic Seas" "You are
standing on a metal ladder in water
up to your, neck. Something round anc
heavy is slipped gently over your heac
and a metal helmet rests upon youl
shoulders. Thus were the knights ol
old helmed by their squires for the
slotted vizor, however, you find two
large frames of glass before your eyes
Turning your head, you see emerald
waves breaking upon the distant beach
of ivory, backed by feathery palms
waving in the sunlight against sky OF
pure azure. Then the worlC
changes. There is no more harsh sun
light, but delicate blue-greens with q
f1uttering of shadows everywhere. Huge
pink and orange gxowths rise on all
sides. Now your feet touch
ground and you walk slowly about or
the cleaneSt white sand in the world
An ostrich feather of a Seaplume as
tall as yourself sweeps against you
On mound of sand you
gently seat yourself. sand-colored crabs
and small fish skittering just out of the
way. Dozens of fishes, all strange, al
graceful and beautiful, play about you
nibbling at the coral, rushing toward
the sponge which you have lifted from