_Algernon._ I remember the passage well. The beautiful _Fata_, dancing and singing by the fountain, presents a delightful picture. _Morgana._ Then, you know, Orlando, who had missed his opportunity of seizing the golden forelock while she was sleeping, pursues her a long while in vain through rocky deserts, _La Penitenza_ following him with a scourge. The same idea was afterwards happily worked out by Machiavelli in his _Capitolo del Occasion_. _Algernon._ You are fond of Italian literature? You read the language beautifully. I observe you have read from the original poem, and not from Bemi's _rifacciamento_. _Morgana._ I prefer the original. It is more simple, and more in earnest. Bemi's playfulness is very pleasant, and his exordiums are charming; and in many instances he has improved the poetry. Still, I think he has less than the original of what are to me the great charms of poetry, truth and simplicity. Even the greater antiquity of style has its peculiar appropriateness to the subject. And Bojardo seems to have more faith in his narrative than Berni. I go on with him with ready credulity, where Berni's pleasantry interposes a doubt. _Algernon._ You think that in narratives, however wild and romantic, the poet should write as if he fully believed in the truth of his own story. _Morgana._ I do; and I think so in reference to all narratives, not to poetry only. What a dry skeleton is the history of the early ages of Rome, told by one who believes nothing that the Romans believed! Religion pervades every step of the early Roman history; and in a great degree down at least to the Empire; but, because their religion is not our religion, we pass over the supernatural part of the matter in silence, or advert to it in a spirit of contemptuous incredulity. We do not give it its proper place, nor present it in its proper colours, as a cause in the production of great effects. Therefore, I like to read Livy, and I do not like to read Niebuhr. _Algernon._ May I ask if you read Latin? _Morgana._ I do; sufficiently to derive great pleasure from it. Perhaps, after this confession, you will not wonder that I am a spinster. _Algernon._ So far, that I think it would tend to make you fastidious in your choice. Not that you would be less sought by any who would be worthy your attention. For I am told you have had many suitors, and have rejected them all in succession. And have you not still many, and among them one very devoted lover, who would bring you title as well as fortune? A very amiable person, too, though not without a comic side to his character.