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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2f9c89b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53084 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53084) diff --git a/old/53084-0.txt b/old/53084-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d0dbcfb..0000000 --- a/old/53084-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7348 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's A Manual of Italian Literature, by Francis Henry Cliffe - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: A Manual of Italian Literature - -Author: Francis Henry Cliffe - -Release Date: September 18, 2016 [EBook #53084] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MANUAL OF ITALIAN LITERATURE *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version, also linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational materials,...) -Image generously made available by the Hathi Trust. - - - - - - -_A Manual of_ - -_Italian Literature_ - -BY - -FRANCIS HENRY CLIFFE - -LONDON: JOHN MACQUEEN - -1896 - - - - -CONTENTS. - - I. INTRODUCTION - II. DANTE - III. PETRARCH - IV. BOCCACCIO AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY - V. WRITERS OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY - VI. ARIOSTO - VII. POETS CONTEMPORARY WITH ARIOSTO - VIII. MACHIAVELLI AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY - IX. BERNARDO AND TORQUATO TASSO - X. MARINO, CHIABRERA, FILICAIA, AND OTHER POETS OF - THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY - XI. GALILEO AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY - XII. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE WRITERS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - XIII. METASTASIO - XIV. PARIMI - XV. ALFIERI - XVI. OTHER POETS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - XVII. PROSE WRITERS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - XVIII. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE WRITERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY - XIX. LEOPARDI - XX. MANZONI - XXI. SILVIO PELLICO - XXII. POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY - XXIII. PROSE WRITERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY - XXIV. CONCLUSION - -INDEX - - - -_A Manual of_ - -_Italian Literature_ - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -INTRODUCTION. - - -Whoever examines a map of Europe, and sees the position occupied by -Italy, must, even without knowledge of history, come to the conclusion -that a country situated in so central a position and favoured in so -many respects by Nature, cannot have failed to command an exalted -rank in the hierarchy of nations. But the most daring conjectures -would probably fall short of the brilliant reality. The rise and the -dominion of Rome would be regarded in a romance as too improbable for -the credulity of the simplest reader, but as a well-established fact in -the annals of mankind, it becomes a phenomenon of the most striking -importance and interest. That a solitary city should produce brave and -distinguished men, and even, aided by wealth and courage, establish -settlements in remote countries, is not wonderful; Carthage and Tyre -did so at an earlier period, Venice and Genoa did so in times nearer -the present; but that a solitary city should play a part reserved -apparently only for a great nation, should draw to itself, as in a -magic circle, all Italy, should conquer Gaul, Greece, Africa, Spain, -Britain, Asia Minor, and even threaten Persia and India, is indeed -marvellous. Nor were the conquests of Rome transient conflagrations -whose fury was soon exhausted; they were as durable as they were -brilliant, and the subjugated races speedily learned the language and -the manners of their masters. Only one nation, though politically -enslaved, remained intellectually free. Greece had produced poets so -sublime, philosophers so profound, historians so brilliant, that even -in the darkest hour of degradation, even when Memmius was despoiling -Corinth of the works of the greatest of statuaries, even when Sulla -was slaughtering the helpless inhabitants of Athens, she had the -satisfaction of seeing the master minds of Rome coming as humble -disciples to the sources of art and wisdom that took their origin only -on her soil. - -Indeed, it is scarcely far-fetched to say that Greece was avenged -for her slavery by the not less complete slavery of Rome to her -intellectual supremacy. The Roman poets, dazzled by the brilliancy -of their Athenian prototypes, fancied that only by imitating, could -they hope to excel. A more unfortunate idea never took possession of a -nation. It destroyed everything in their writings that was spontaneous -and redolent of their native soil. Whatever is really endowed with -life and intrinsic value in their works, has had to struggle into -existence through the suffocating atmosphere of foreign fashions and -foreign trains of thought. This evil was apparent in other branches -of literature, but it was very far from injuring them as it injured -poetry. Virgil was assuredly one of the greatest poets that ever lived, -and yet how much of his poetry is second-hand, or, at best, adapted -from others. The adaptations are often executed with marvellous skill, -but this fact only enhances our regret that he should have made of his -_Æneid_ but an echo of Homer; and of his _Eclogues_ but a repetition of -Theocritus. His _Georgia,_ indeed, escaped being only a decoction from -Greek herbs, because in them he wrote of what he had actually seen and -experienced, and they are, in truth, his masterpiece. Indeed, if we -deduct the extraordinary beauty of the style, which is above praise, -what is there of great value in the _Eclogues,_ except some images of -rural beauty, and some outbursts of exquisite tenderness? Or in the -_Æneid,_ except those passages where he praises the greatness of Italy -and Rome, expatiates on his philosophy, and depicts with tenderness -and fire, such as no other ancient poet could command, the passion of -love? Better, far better, would it have been for him if he had never -heard of Homer, and had never studied Theocritus. This great poet -would then have been compelled to rely on his own resources, and would -have produced works, different it may be, but far more striking and -profound, than those we now possess. - -The vigorous mind of Lucretius suffered but little from reliance on -Greek models. But this was partly owing to the nature of his subject. -A philosopher is assisted, his mind is enriched, by the speculations -of his predecessors; and the fact of his writing in verse is but an -accident which in no way detracts from the truth of this remark. His -strength of mind and matchless powers of description make his poem -one of the finest monuments in the Latin language. Catullus had so -much sweetness and tenderness, a cast of thought at once so fiery and -so natural, that even the study of the most laboured performances -of Alexandrian pedants could not rob him of his spontaneity and -freshness. With Horace the case is somewhat different. He was deeply -read in the poets of Greece, and that course of study is visible in -every line he wrote. But he had the wisdom to select as models only -the sublimest passages of the noblest writers, and he adapted what he -borrowed from them with such exquisite art to his Roman surroundings, -that we may well ask whether he did not positively gain by having -Pindar, Alcæus and Sappho constantly before him. Still, the result is -artificial in a high degree, and the emotions that greater poets really -feel, he too often only simulates. - -If we except many tender passages from Tibullus, many picturesque -passages from Ovid, and many vigorous passages from Lucan, Roman -Poetry presents us for centuries with nothing but feeble echoes of -Greek models, and those models too often the pedantic and lifeless -productions of Alexandria. A genuine Roman Drama may be said never to -have existed. Plautus and Terence are but pale reflections of the Attic -comedies; the tragedies attributed to Seneca, the only specimens that -have come down to us of Roman Tragedy, are but clumsy imitations, or -rather travesties, of Sophocles and Euripides. In the declining ages -of Roman Literature, Claudian was the only poet who showed genuine -originality and freshness of thought, and he, strange to say, was an -Alexandrian by birth, to whom the Latin language was not natural, but -acquired. - -I know of no other instance of a great nation, victorious and dominant -over the whole civilised world, humbly sitting as a disciple at the -feet of one of her captives, and that not only for a short time, -but for the whole course of her intellectual development. Spain, in -the Sixteenth Century, borrowed many of her literary fashions from -Italy; England, in the Seventeenth Century, modelled her productions -in many respects on France, as did Germany somewhat later; but these -were merely transient fashions, not deep-rooted customs, and produced -no very lasting effect. Rome was alone, and has been since, in her -deference to a foreign model, nor can it be said in extenuation that -she had only the choice of having poetry on that model or no poetry at -all. She had plenty of indigenous material, and Niebuhr has well said -that the true poetry of Rome must be found in her history and in her -early legends rather than in the finished productions of her literary -poets. - -This is all the more remarkable, as her greatness was such that it -could not fail to inspire even the least susceptible of minds. It made -itself felt from the shores of the Baltic to the Persian Gulf, and is -attested by ruins more substantial than the uninjured structures of -feebler races. Such was its inherent strength, that it withstood the -bloodiest civil wars and the most crushing despotism; nor is it easy -to surmise what could have undermined it, had not the immigration of -barbarian tribes from the mysterious and unexplored regions of the -North given shock after shock to that stately system, the work of so -many warriors and legislators. It may truly be said that the walls of -Rome fell at the blast of the Gothic trumpet. - -When Constantine removed the seat of Empire to Constantinople, he broke -the spell that had for so many ages held the nations captive. The -partition of the Empire into East and West finished what the removal -began. Nor had Rome only the rivalry of Constantinople to dread. Milan, -and then Ravenna, became the scene of Imperial splendour ind the centre -of Imperial policy. Rome would, indeed, have been deserted but for her -Bishop, who was gradually establishing for himself and his successors a -dominion not less brilliant and more durable than that of the Cæsars. - -When at last the old order of things had so completely collapsed -that the phantom Emperor was no longer allowed to retain his phantom -title, it must have been obvious to all thinking men that changes -so far reaching had come over Italy as to make it almost another -world. The invaders had mingled largely with the conquered nation, -inter-marriages were frequent; and it must, in justice to the -barbarians, be admitted that they rapidly assumed the manners, and, -indeed, the thoughts, of civilisation. If we compare the Court of -Theodoric to that of Honorius, or even to that of Valentinian III, -the superiority of the Gothic ruler in statesmanship, and even in -superficial attainments, is manifest. But wars and invasions desolated -the unhappy country. Belisarius defeated the Goths and regained Sicily -and the South of Italy for the Emperors of the East. Although the -Byzantine dominion was not of long duration, traces of its existence -may still be found in those regions by the curious. It must not be -forgotten that the Goths introduced new blood into the country, and -that every new invasion tended to modify, if not to alter, the national -character of the Peninsula. - -But while Italy was suffering for ages from the invasions of the -Lombards, the Saracens, and the Normans, it must not be forgotten -that she was steadily increasing in wealth, until, in the Thirteenth -Century, she became the great money market of the world, and retained -that position until shortly after the discovery of America. Wealth -produced its usual effect of giving men ample leisure, and leisure -created the demand for intellectual and artistic gratifications. -Sicily was the favourite abode of the Emperor Frederick II, and at -his brilliant Court poets were encouraged and minstrels rewarded. -The Troubadours of Provence offered to Italy in noble verse that -chivalric spirit of gallantry and love so congenial to the taste of -the age. What the Italians so much admired, they naturally desired to -emulate. But in order to do so they required a language capable of -expressing thoughts with accuracy and adorning them with splendour. -It is no exaggeration to say that from the decadence of the Latin -language arose, not one tongue, but many dialects. These dialects were -fostered by the division of the Peninsula into many principalities, -townships, republics, and kingdoms. It was, therefore, incumbent upon -the Italians to combine from existing materials a literary language. -By a fortunate coincidence, the most gifted writers arose in Tuscany, -where the most promising of these dialects was spoken. Thus it happened -that the Tuscan idiom became the standard for literary composition. It -was felt, even by the least discerning, that the Latin language, no -longer the living property of the nation, was not suited to express the -inspirations of contemporary poets, however advantageously it might be -retained for legal, theological, and historical works. - -At the end of the Thirteenth Century, GUINICELLI of Bologna and -CAVALCANTI of Florence gave greater finish and regularity, more -scholarly perfection, and more literary merit to that style of amorous -poetry which they, in common with their contemporaries, so greatly -admired in the Troubadours. Even in prose, valuable works were -produced. The _Chronicle_ of DINO COMPAGNI has many passages deserving -the highest praise. Those writers were worthy predecessors of the poet -who was to give the _Divine Comedy_ to the world, and first among the -moderns was to equal, if, indeed, he did not in some respects excel, -the greatest poets of antiquity. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -DANTE. - - -DURANTE (a name afterwards called for shortness DANTE) was born in -Florence in the month of May, 1265, the son of Aldighiero Aldighieri -and Bella, his wife. "Of his ancestors, this much is evident through -the mists of a very nebulous antiquity," says Symonds, in his -_Introduction to the Study of Dante,_ "that they were well-placed -among the citizens of Florence, and it seems that their primitive name -was not Aldighieri, but Elisei. Tradition differs about the origin of -the Elisei. Some of Dante's biographers trace them to Roman colonists -of Florence in the time of Julius Cæsar. Others, and these are the -majority, derive them from one Eliseo, of the noble Roman house of -Frangipani, or bread-breakers--so called by reason of some eminent act -of public charity--who is said to have settled at Florence in the days -of Charlemagne, or soon after. In any case, the Elisei were honourable -in Florence, possessing castles in the country round and towered houses -in the city. They dwelt within the old Pomoerium, or primitive walled -circuit, in the Via degli Speziali, near the Mercato Vecchio; this -in itself was a sign of ancient blood. Dante prided himself upon his -descent from the purest blood of Florentine citizens. The change in -the name of Dante's family from Elisei to Aldighieri took place thus: -Cacciaguida degli Elisei, who was born in 1106, married Aldighiera -degli Aldigheri of Ferrara, and he had a son by her whom he called -Aldighiero. This son gave his Christian name to his descendants, whilst -a brother of Cacciaguida continued the line and name of the Elisei. -Cacciaguida followed Conrad III to the Crusades in 1147, was knighted -by him, and died, at the age of forty-two, in the Holy Land." - -The poet introduces this ancestor in one of the finest passages of the -_Paradiso._ - -Dante was educated by BRUNETTO LATINI, the author of a curious poem, -entitled the _Tesoro,_ in which the germ of many thoughts of the -_Divine Comedy_ may be traced. He was subsequently placed by his -grateful pupil in the centre of Hell. Dante possessed a thorough -knowledge of the science of his day, and we may give his instructor -credit for having carefully developed the brilliant abilities of his -pupil. He is said to have studied music and to have shown decided -skill in painting. - -His father died when he was nine or ten years of age. Shortly before -his death, he introduced his son to Folco Portinari, a rich citizen -of Florence, and to his daughter, Beatrice, who was his first, and -probably his only, love. Although but a child, he was struck by -her beauty. "Her dress on that day," he says, "was of a most noble -colour, a subdued and goodly crimson, girdled and adorned as best -suited with her very tender age." Beatrice died when Dante was in his -twenty-sixth year, and the blow was so great that it was long before -he was comforted by philosophy and study. She became, in his mind, the -personification of everything great and noble. In the _Divine Comedy_ -she appears as his guide from the summit of Purgatory to Paradise. - -In 1292, he married Gemma Donati, by whom he had seven children. Thus, -it can hardly have been an unhappy marriage; but as she did not follow -him into exile, and as he never mentions her in any of his extant -letters, we may suppose there was no very ardent affection on either -side. - -The latter part of Dante's life was destined to be marked with many -sorrows and disasters. He was dragged into the vortex of faction and -civil war, and was wrecked with many less noteworthy mariners. - -He was made Prior of Florence in 1300, and so eminent was he that -he was appointed one of the four ambassadors who were sent to Pope -Boniface Viii to complain of the French intervention under Charles of -Valois. Before they returned, Charles had entered Florence; Dante and -his companions were outlawed, his property was confiscated, his house -pillaged, and he never again was suffered to return to the city of his -birth. - -Tradition says, and I think it is supported by the internal evidence -of the poem, that he wrote the first seven cantos of the _Inferno_ in -Florence before his exile, and that the beginning of the eighth canto: - - "Io dico, seguitando," - -is a proof that the poem was continued after having been laid aside -for a time, otherwise the word "seguitando" would be unnecessary to -the sense, and it is not in Dante's style to admit unnecessary words -into his lines. If this reasoning hold good, we can determine pretty -accurately the date of the _Divine Comedy._ The poet feigns that he -descended into the infernal regions on Good Friday of the year 1300; -his exile began in 1301; therefore, the latter part of 1300 very -probably saw him write the first seven cantos of the work. In the -sixth canto there is an allusion to his exile, and to the defeat of -his party; but that may have been inserted afterwards. - -Cruel was the blow that fell upon him, doubly cruel after so many years -of prosperity and honour. He had to consort with unworthy companions; -he had to eat the bitter bread of dependence; he was severed from those -whom he loved most dearly; and, as he makes Cacciaguida foretell in -Paradise, "this was the first arrow with which the bow of exile struck -him." - - "Tu lascerai ogni cosa diletta - Più caramente; e questo è quello strale - Che l'arco dell esilio pria saetta." - -The reader may peruse in the seventeenth canto of the _Paradiso,_ -his concise and pathetic account of the sorrows of his later years. -Clad in the form of prophecy, it constitutes one of the grandest -passages in the whole poem. Some letters, written during his exile, -are still extant and breathe a spirit so lofty that versification -alone is wanting to equal them to his sublimest inspirations. Amid all -the troubles of his eventful life, he still found leisure to study, -meditate, and write, and when he died in Ravenna in 1321, the first -great poem of modern times was completed. - -"Many volumes have been written," says Carlyle, "by way of commentary -on Dante and his book; yet, on the whole, with no great result. His -biography is, as it were, irrecoverably lost for us. An unimportant, -wandering, sorrow-stricken man, not much note was taken of him while he -lived; and the most of that has vanished, in the long space that now -intervenes. It is five centuries since he ceased writing and living -here. After all commentaries, the Book itself is mainly what we know -of him. The Book, and one might add, that Portrait commonly attributed -to Giotto, which, looking on it, you cannot help inclining to think -genuine, whoever did it. To me it is a most touching face; perhaps -of all faces that I know, the most so. Lonely there, painted as on -vacancy, with the simple laurel wound round it; the deathless sorrow -and pain, the known victory which is also deathless; significant of -the whole history of Dante. I think it is the mournfullest face that -ever was painted from reality; an altogether tragic, heart-affecting -face. There is in it, as foundation of it, the softness, tenderness, -gentle affection as of a child; but all this is as if congealed into -sharp contradiction, into abnegation, isolation, proud, hopeless -pain. A soft, ethereal soul, looking out so stern, implacable, grim, -trenchant, as from imprisonment of thick-ribbed ice. Withal it is a -silent pain, too, a silent, scornful one; the lip is curled in a kind -of god-like disdain of the thing that is eating out his heart, as if -it were withal a mean insignificant thing, as if he whom it had power -to torture and strangle, were greater than it. The face of one wholly -in protest, and life-long unsurrendering battle against the world. -Affection all converted into indignation; slow, equable, silent, like -that of a god. The eye, too, it looks out as in a kind of _surprise,_ a -kind of inquiry, why the world was of such a sort? This is Dante, so he -looks, this 'voice of ten silent centuries,' and sing us his 'mystic, -unfathomable song.'" - -Dante is one of those authors who concentrate all their greatness -in one stupendous work. The _Vita Nuova_ has many beauties, the -_Convito_ deserves to be read, the Latin Treatises offer numerous -points of interest, but it is only in the _Divina Commedia_ that he -rises to the height of his sublimity. He was singularly judicious, -both in the choice of his subject and in the form of his verse. The -Terza Rima carries the reader onwards in its progress, calmly, nobly, -irresistibly. Had the work been written in prose, it would not have -commanded the attention of future ages, so great is the embalming power -of verse. A fine prose work may be neglected in the course of ages; a -fine poetical work, never. Had the work been written in Latin verse, as -indeed it was begun, it would only be a study for the curious and not -a possession for all humanity. - -The vivid power of Dante's imagination, the intense and rugged strength -of his thoughts, and the graphic realism with which he presents the -scenes of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven to his readers, are above praise -and can find no parallel in the works of other poets. Milton surpasses -him in sustained grandeur, but in picturesqueness the English poet does -not attempt to rival the Florentine. - -Dante's Poem is so well known that it is needless to insist upon -particular beauties. All cultivated readers are familiar with them, if -not in the original, at least in translations. If any fault is to be -found in the poem, it is that it somewhat falls off; the _Purgatorio_ -is not quite so fine as the _Inferno_; the _Paradiso,_ not quite -so fine as the _Purgatorio._ The poet sometimes has an unfortunate -tendency only to hint at the histories of the spirits he meets, so that -we are indebted to his commentators rather than to himself for stories -worthy to be chronicled in immortal verse. His style is not always -free from coarseness on the one hand, and from obscurity on the other. -But in so noble an achievement it would be mean to dwell on occasional -blemishes, instead of being grateful to the poet who has presented us -with a work, perhaps in many respects, the noblest production of the -human mind. - -As a specimen of Dante's Poem, I quote the last canto of the _Inferno,_ -in Cary's translation. The reader will notice the curious passage that -seems to prove that Dante was aware, four hundred years before Newton, -of the law of gravitation: - - - CANTO XXXIV. - - "The banners of Hell's Monarch do come forth - Towards us; therefore look," so spake my guide, - "If thou discern him." As when breathes a cloud - Heavy and dense, or when the shades of night - Fall on our hemisphere, seems view'd from far - A windmill, which the blast stirs briskly round, - Such was the fabric then methought I saw. - - To shield me from the wind, forthwith I drew - Behind my guide: no covert else was there. - - Now came I (and with fear I bid my strain - Record the marvel) where the souls were all - Whelmed underneath, transparent, as through glass - Pellucid the frail stem. Some prone were laid, - Others stood upright, this upon the soles, - That on his head, a third with face to feet - Arched like a bow. When to the point we came - Whereat my guide was pleas'd that I should see - The creature eminent in beauty once, - He from before me stepp'd and made me pause. - "Lo!" he exclaimed, "lo Dis! and lo the place - Where thou hast need to arm thy heart with - strength." - - How frozen and how faint I then became, - Ask me not, reader! for I write it not, - Since words would fail to tell thee of my state. - I was not dead nor living. Think thyself, - If quick conception work in thee at all, - How I did feel. That Emperor who sways - The Realm of Sorrow, at mid breast from th' ice - Stood forth; and I in stature am more like - A giant, than the giants are his arms. - Mark now how great that whole must be, which suits - With such a part. If he were beautiful - As he is hideous now, and yet did dare - To scowl upon his Maker, well from him - May all our misery flow. Oh what a sight! - How passing strange it seem'd when I did spy - Upon his head three faces: one in front - Of hue vermilion, th' other two with this - Midway each shoulder join'd and at the crest; - The right 'twixt wan and yellow seem'd: the left - To look on, such as come from whence old Nile - Stoops to the lowlands. Under each shot forth - Two mighty wings, enormous as became - A bird so vast. Sails never such I saw - Outstretch'd on the wide sea. No plumes had they, - But were in texture like a bat, and these - He flapp'd i' th' air, that from him issued still - Three winds, wherewith Cocytus to its depth - Was frozen. At six eyes he wept; the tears - Adown three chins distill'd with bloody foam. - At every mouth his teeth a sinner champ'd - Bruis'd as with pond'rous engine, so that three - Were in this guise tormented. But far more - Than from that gnawing, was the foremost pang'd - By the fierce rending, whence ofttimes the back - Was stript of all its skin. "That upper spirit, - Who hath worse punishment," so spake my guide, - - "Is Judas, he that hath his head within - And plies the feet without. Of th' other two, - Whose heads are under, from the murky jaw - Who hangs, is Brutus: lo! how he doth writhe - And speaks not! Th' other Cassius, that appears - So large of limb. But night now re-ascends, - And it is time for parting. All is seen." - - I clipp'd him round the neck, for so he bade; - And noting time and place, he, when the wings - Enough were op'd, caught fast the shaggy sides, - And down from pile to pile descending stept - Between the thick fell and the jagged ice. - - Soon as he reached the point whereat the thigh - Upon the swelling of the haunches turns, - My leader there with pain and struggling hard - Turn'd round his head, where his feet stood before, - And grappled at the fell, as one who mounts, - That into hell methought we turned again. - - "Expect that by such stairs as these," thus spake - The teacher, panting like a man forespent, - "We must depart from evil so extreme." - Then at a rocky opening issued forth, - And placed me on a brink to sit, next join'd - With wary step my side. I raised mine eyes, - Believing that I Lucifer should see - Where he was lately left, but saw him now - With legs held upward. Let the grosser sort, - Who see not what the point was I had pass'd, - Bethink them if sore toil oppress'd me then. - - "Arise," my master cried, "upon thy feet. - The way is long, and much uncouth the road; - And now within one hour and half of noon - The sun returns." It was no palace hall - Lofty and luminous wherein we stood. - But natural dungeon where ill footing was - And scant supply of light. "Ere from th' abyss - I sep'rate," thus when risen I began, - "My guide! vouchsafe few words to set me free - From error's thraldom. Where is now the ice? - How standeth he in posture thus reversed? - And how from eve to morn in space so brief - Hath the sun made his transit?" He in few - Thus answering spake: "Thou deemest thou art still - On th' other side the centre, where I grasp'd - Th' abhorred worm, that boreth through the world. - Thou wast on th' other side so long as I - Descended; when I turn'd, thou didst o'erpass - That point, to which from every part is dragg'd - All heavy substance. Thou art now arriv'd - Under the hemisphere opposed to that, - Which the great continent doth overspread, - And underneath whose canopy expir'd - The Man, that was born sinless, and so liv'd. - Thy feet are planted on the smallest sphere, - Whose other aspect is Judecca. Morn - Here rises, when there evening sets: and he, - Whose shaggy pile was scal'd, yet standeth fix'd, - As at the first. On this part he fell down - From heav'n; and th' earth, here prominent before, - Through fear of him did veil her with the sea, - And to our hemisphere retir'd. Perchance - To shun him was the vacant space left here - By what of firm land on this side appears, - That sprang aloof." There is a place beneath, - From Belzebub as distant, as extends - The vaulted tomb, discover'd not by sight, - But by the sound of brooklet, that descends - This way along the hollow of a rock, - Which, as it winds with no impetuous course, - The wave hath eaten. By that hidden way - My guide and I did enter, to return - To the fair world: and heedless of repose - We climb'd, he first, I following his steps, - Till on our view the beauteous lights of heav'n - Dawn'd through a circular opening in the cave. - Thence issuing we again beheld the stars. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -PETRARCH. - - -Unlike the life of Dante, of which so few particulars have come down -to us that our curiosity is rather excited than satisfied by the -information we possess, the life of PETRARCH is illustrated in its -minutest details by extracts from his works and correspondence. - -Francesco Petrarca was born at Arezzo on the twentieth of July, -1304. His family originally came from the little village of Ancisa, -fifteen miles from Florence, but for many years his ancestors had been -settled in that city. His father, Pietro di Parenzo, was familiarly -called Petracco, in Latin, Petracchus, whence his son was designated -"Petracchi filius," and thus the poet evolved the more euphonious name -of Petrarca. His father was a Notary Public, and seems to have held -some responsible posts, but he belonged to the party of the "Bianchi," -and was exiled in 1302 with Dante and many others. His property was -confiscated, and he never returned to the city of his birth. In 1313, -he went with his wife and children to Avignon, where the Popes then -held their court. He sent his children to the quieter neighbourhood -of Carpentras, and there, under an able master, Petrarch studied -Latin, and the acquaintance of the ancient writers kindled him in an -enthusiasm that only ended with his life. He was destined for the study -of the law, and in 1318 he went to Montpellier, and in 1322 to Bologna, -but he felt little inclination for this science, and on the death -of his father in 1326 he returned to Avignon and devoted himself to -literature and society. - -His name is inseparably connected with that of Laura, and it was on -Good Friday of the year 1327 that he met her for the first time. - - "Era il giorno, ch'ai Sol si scoloraro - Per la pietà del suo Fattore i rai, - Quando i' fuipreso, e non me ne guardai, - Che i he' vostr' occhi, Donna, mi legaro." - SONNET 3. - - - -From the researches of her descendant, the Abbé de Sade, there can be -no doubt that Laura was the wife of Hugo de Sade, and the daughter of -Audibert de Noves. She died in 1348 of the Black Death, which was then -devastating Europe, and her loss inspired the poet with some of his -noblest effusions. The attachment was perfectly platonic, nor does it -seem to have excited any adverse comments among his contemporaries, -for similar homage had been paid by poetry to beauty from the first -appearance of the Troubadours. - -Petrarch was fortunate in acquiring the friendship and favour of some -of the most eminent men of his time. Jacopo Colonna, Bishop of Lombés, -invited him to his palace at the foot of the Pyrenees. He gratified -his intense desire to see the world by travelling through France and -Germany, and subsequently visiting many cities of Italy. In Rome he -was welcomed by Stefano Colonna, the head of that illustrious family, -but Rome was then deserted and lonely, and Petrarch soon returned to -the more brilliant circles of Avignon. He found a delicious retreat -fifteen miles from Avignon, at Vaucluse, a pleasant valley, watered by -the river Sorga. Here he produced some of his loveliest Italian poems, -and some of his most elaborate Latin compositions. So uncertain are -the vicissitudes of literary taste, and so little do even great poets -know where their real strength lies, that Petrarch treated his sonnets -and canzoni, to which alone he is indebted for his immortality, as the -amusement of his leisure hours, and devoted all his care and study to -those Latin works which are now read only by the curious. He composed -a ponderous epic poem in Latin hexameters, and gave it to the world -under the title of _Africa._ It procured for him an immense reputation. -The whole literary world read it with avidity, and all Europe resounded -with his praises. Paris and Rome simultaneously invited him to be -crowned with the laurel within their walls. He decided to accept the -invitation of Rome; but before the ceremony he went to Naples, where -he was received with enthusiasm by King Robert, who was so enraptured -with the _Africa_ that he begged it should be dedicated to himself. -This request the poet gladly granted, and he left for Rome laden with -signs of Royal favour. He was crowned in the Capitol by the Senator -Orso dell' Anguillara, on the 8th of April, 1341, and the laurel wreath -bestowed upon him he hung up as a votive offering in the Church of St. -Peter. - -Petrarch was one of those who succeed in everything; and, as if the -distinctions already showered upon him were not enough, he was, when -visiting Parma, invited to the Court by Azzo da Correggio, and within a -short time sent as his envoy to Clement VI at Avignon. He wrote a Latin -poem advising the Pope to return to Rome, and his Holiness, though -he did not take the advice, was so delighted with the poem that he -bestowed a valuable benefice on its author. - -From the end of May, 1342, until September, 1343, Petrarch resided -chiefly at Vaucluse, with occasional visits to Avignon. He was occupied -writing his work, _De Contemptu Mundi,_ and studying Greek under -Barlaam, who was one of those emigrants from Greece willing to impart -their language to the few desirous of acquiring it. No more zealous -disciple could have been found than Petrarch. He spent large sums, like -his friend, Boccaccio, in collecting manuscripts, and he even copied -many rare works with his own hand. He seems to have been in possession -of some productions of classical writers, which were subsequently lost -during the interval between his death and the invention of printing. - -When Rome rose against the tyranny of the noble houses, Colonna -and Orsini, and when Cola di Rienzi proclaimed himself the Tribune -of the People, Petrarch's imagination took fire, and he hailed the -deliverer in prose and verse. Cardinal Colonna was deeply offended at -his taking the part of one whom he regarded as a rebel and a traitor. -This diversity of opinion seems to have induced him to leave the Papal -Court, and for some years he resided in various towns of Italy. He was -in Parma, where he had just received a valuable benefice attached to -the Cathedral, when he heard of the death of his beloved Laura. The -blow was terrible, and he long refused to be comforted. But if he lost -his love, he gained a friend, for in the year of Jubilee, 1350, on his -way to Rome, he made the acquaintance of Boccaccio at Florence. This -was his first visit to the Tuscan city, and the Florentines offered -to restore his father's confiscated property, on condition that he -should lecture at their newly-founded University. But this he refused, -and nothing came of the offer. For many years he lived in Milan, the -favoured guest of the Visconti. There is a pretty story of Galleazzo -Visconti telling his little son in jest, at a brilliant entertainment -he was giving, to find out the wisest man present, and to bring him -forward. The child looked at the assembled company, and then went up to -Petrarch and led him to his father, to the admiration of all beholders. -"So clearly," says Schopenhauer, who quotes the anecdote, "does Nature -stamp the greatness of the mind on the countenance, that even a child -can perceive it." - -Petrarch was sent by the Visconti to Prague, as envoy to the Emperor -Charles IV, and afterwards in the same capacity to King John of France. -He subsequently resided in Padua and Venice, and in 1370 he retired to -the village of Arqua, in the Euganean mountains, where he was destined -to pass the remainder of his days. He was found on the morning of the -18th of July, 1374, dead in his library, with his head resting on a -book. - -The host of imitators who, without a spark of Petrarch's genius, -mimicked his mannerisms for centuries, produced at last the inevitable -reaction, and of recent years many censors have insisted on his faults, -while ignoring his beauties. But Petrarch was assuredly one of the -greatest lyric poets that ever lived. The melody of his sonnets and the -splendour of his odes are unrivalled in the literature of his country, -nor did any Italian lyrist rise to an equal height until in the -Nineteenth Century Leopardi combined inspiration no less ardent with a -style more natural, simple and direct. Petrarch is one of those poets -who present nothing to their readers in a sharp and graphic style, but -everything involved in a rich haze of trope and metaphor. From this -tendency, it cannot be denied, he becomes occasionally artificial and -forced, but he is far more frequently soul-stirring and magnificent. -Unlike Dante, whose chief inspirers were hatred and indignation, he is -prompted by love and reverence: love for his country and for Laura, and -reverence for all that is noble and heroic. His sublime ode, _Spirto -gentil,_ addressed to Rienzi, rouses the spirit like a trumpet, even -after the lapse of so many centuries. How noble is the invocation to -the heroes of ancient Rome: "O grandi Scipioni! O fedel Bruto!" And -the conclusion is superb: - - "Sopra il monte Tarpeo, Canzon, vedrai, - Un cavalier[1] ch' Italia tutta onora, - Pensoso più d'altrui che di sè stesso. - Digli: Un che non ti vide ancor da presso, - Se non come per fama uom s'innamora, - Dice che Roma ogni ora, - Con gli occhi di dolor bagnati e molli - Ti chier mercè da tutti sette i colli." - -Magnificent is the Ode to Italy, _Italia Mia,_ and even superior, if -possible, is the poem addressed to Giacomo Colonna in favour of another -Crusade. Marvellous in their delicate beauty are the Odes addressed -to Laura, _In quella parte dov' Amor mi sprona,_ and, _Di pensier -in pensier, di monte in monte._ But to enumerate the poems in which -extraordinary beauties are to be found would be to enumerate nearly -the whole collection. The tenderness and fire, the melody and richness -of his style are equalled by no poet in any language unless it be by -Tennyson in his finest lyric effusions, especially in the _In Memoriam._ - -That Petrarch brought the Sonnet to the highest point of perfection is -universally allowed, and to those readers who wish to enter into the -details of the subject, I can recommend _The Sonnet, its origin and -history,_ by CHARLES TOMLINSON. - -Dante was altogether a man of the Middle Ages, dwelling upon the past, -and scarcely bestowing a thought upon the future; but Petrarch was in -many respects surprisingly modern, and both in his Latin Prose and in -his Italian Verse we can find many passages instinct with the fire of -hope and the belief in progress. - -[Footnote 1: Rienzi.] - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -BOCCACCIO AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. - - -GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO was born in 1313 in Paris, the son of a Florentine -merchant and a French-woman. His father had property in the hamlet of -Certaldo, and the author always signed himself "Boccaccio da Certaldo." -He was destined, first for commerce, then for the study of the law, -but finding neither avocation congenial, he after his father's death, -devoted himself entirely to his favourite pursuits. He was honoured -with the favour of King Robert of Naples and with the love of the -King's daughter, Maria, whom he celebrates in his poems under the name -of Fiammetta. His zeal for the writers of antiquity was not inferior -to that of Petrarch. He sent for Leontius Pilatus to teach him Greek. -He devoted large sums to the purchase and reproduction of the works of -classical writers. He seems to have been an amiable and honourable -man, free alike from pride like that of Dante, and from vanity like -that of Petrarch. He repented in later years of the somewhat frivolous -character of many of his writings, took holy orders, and spent the -last days of his life at Certaldo. When Florence endowed a chair for -the explanation of the _Divine Comedy,_ Boccaccio was the first to -be appointed. He wrote a life of Dante and began a commentary on the -_Inferno,_ which, however, he did not live to finish, dying at Certaldo -on the 21st of December, 1375. - -Boccaccio was a most fertile writer, both in Latin and in Italian. His -Latin works have but little merit and are vastly inferior to those of -Petrarch in strength and originality of thought. His Italian poems -are heavy and uninteresting, but he has the credit of inventing the -"Ottava Rima," the stanza in which Ariosto and Tasso subsequently -wrote their immortal epics. Praise-worthy as these works were for the -time in which they were written, he would not occupy a high position -in the literature of his country, had he not proved himself in other -productions to be the first great writer of Italian prose. His romantic -stories, _Il Filocopo, La Fiammetta, l'Admeto,_ are written in a -flowing and pleasing style; his _Life of Dante_ and _Commentary on the -Inferno_ are valuable for the information they impart, but the crowning -glory of his literary career is the collection of stories published -under the title of _Il Decamerone._ - -The terrible plague that swept over the earth in the middle of the -Thirteenth Century, known in history as the "Black Death,"[1] ravaged -Florence with peculiar malignity, and Boccaccio feigns that five -ladies and their cavaliers took refuge in a villa in the neighbourhood -and beguiled their leisure by telling stories to each other. Being a -collection of tales told by various characters, the _Decamerone_ bears -a certain resemblance to another memorable work of the Fourteenth -Century, Chaucer's _Canterbury Tales,_ but happier than his great -contemporary, Boccaccio lived to complete his design. - -The work opens with a noble description of the Plague of Florence, -but this gloomy and terrible introduction gives no forecast of the -light, festive and occasionally indecorous character of many of the -tales. Others, however, are highly picturesque and even poetical, -and some have a special interest for English readers as being the -sources whence Shakespeare drew _All's Well that Ends Well,_ and -_Cymbeline,_--Dryden, _Theodore and Honoria_ and _Sigismonda and -Guiscardo,_ and Keats _Isabella, or the Pot of Basil._ - -Boccaccio had every quality of a great novelist. His style is varied, -flexible and animated, and his idiom is so purely Tuscan that it was -held up as a standard by the _Accademia della Crusca,_ and if any fault -can be found with it, it is that the copiousness of his vocabulary -sometimes leads him into florid and redundant amplifications. His -characters are drawn with considerable skill. His dialogue is -invariably natural and appropriate. His incidents, though sometimes -overstepping the limits of decorum, are ingenious and entertaining. The -work gives a brilliant panorama of the men and manners of Italy in the -Fourteenth Century. - -No writer has derived more advantage from the admiration of other -writers than Boccaccio. Great poets are indebted to him for the plots -of some of their most successful works. Great painters have vied with -each other in illustrating the brilliant scenes of his _Decamerone._ -Great philologians and grammarians have expressed their admiration for -the purity and elegance of his style. Brilliant as his services were -to the literature of his country, they have received a more than ample -measure of reward from the gratitude of posterity. - -Italy produced in the Fourteenth Century many other prose writers of -note, though none so eminent as Boccaccio. - -First and foremost we must mention the invaluable _Chronicle_ of -GIOVANNI VILLANI. This historian rose in the service of the Florentine -Republic until he became Prior. He was one of the many victims of the -Black Death, and his unfinished work was continued by his brother -MATTEO, and this continuation was completed by Matteo's son, FILIPPO. -All these are quoted as classics by the Accademia della Crusca. -According to competent judges, Giovanni was the most brilliant, Matteo -the most noteworthy for the important events he narrates, and Filippo -remarkable rather for industry and research than for ability as a -writer. - -The _Travels_ of MARCO POLO, a Venetian, were an inestimable -contribution to the knowledge of remote countries. For centuries he lay -very unjustly under the suspicion of falsehood and exaggeration, and -it was only at a comparatively recent date that his veracity, nay, his -scrupulous exactness, received a tardy vindication. - -JACOPO PASSAVANTI, a Dominican. Friar, wrote a devotional book, -entitled, _Lo Specchio della Penitenza,_ written in prose so musical -and flowing as to be preferred by some to the prose of Boccaccio, -because Passavanti never indulges in the over-elaboration sometimes to -be detected in the pages of the _Decamerone._ - -GIOVANNI DA CATIGNANO known in the Calendar as the Blessed John of the -Cells, after a dissolute youth was converted by the ardent exhortations -of the Abbot of Vallombrosa, and in deep contrition ended his days as a -hermit. Some letters from this interesting penitent are extant, written -in a style so exquisitely Tuscan that they are quoted by the Accademia -della Crusca as models of propriety and elegance. - -Another canonized celebrity, SAINT CATHERINE OF SIENA, is no less -remarkable for the beauty of her style than for the beauty of her -character. - -A Life of Saint Francis of Assisi, entitled _Fioretti di San -Francesco,_ has been highly praised for the freshness and simplicity -of the language. The piety or the modesty of the author induced him to -conceal his identity. - -These religious writers, though treating of subjects so different, -almost equalled Boccaccio in perfection of style, but the two authors -who produced collections of stories somewhat similar to his, FRANCO -SACCHETTI and SER GIOVANNI FIORENTINO, were very far indeed from -approaching his mastery. - -On reviewing the literary development of Italy in the Fourteenth -Century, we find that the language attained the fullest perfection -both in prose and verse, only the lighter kinds of poetry remaining -uncultivated. The appearance in one century of two such great poets as -Dante and Petrarch was quite phenomenal and threw a lustre over the age -which has attracted the whole world. But another fact, less universally -known, is equally worthy of attention, namely the extraordinary merit -of the prose writers of the period. It may well be doubted whether -any compositions in Italian prose of a later date exhibit the rare -qualities of those of the Fourteenth Century. Leopardi, indeed, -produced marvels of style, but they were the result of art and study, -whereas the writers of the Fourteenth Century display an ease and a -simplicity, a freshness and a graphic power, combined with the most -exquisite lightness and harmony in their phrases, that must ever -render them more admirable models than the artificial and laborious -productions of later ages. - - -[Footnote 1: For details on the subject of this most terrible -pestilence, probably the worst that ever afflicted humanity, we may -refer the reader to Father Gasquet's valuable and interesting work on -the subject.] - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -WRITERS OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. - - -In striking contrast to the Fourteenth Century, the Fifteenth is -conspicuous for a great dearth of eminent authors. The same may be -noticed in the literary development of England. After the brilliant -apparition of Chaucer, more than a hundred years elapsed before an -eminent writer arose. This may be partly accounted for by the Civil -Wars which devastated the island and brought misery and anarchy in -their train. Widely different was the plight of Italy. There were wars -and disturbances, it is true, but the wealth of the country became more -enormous than ever, and great princes extended munificent patronage to -science and learning. But all intellectual energies were directed, not -to the cultivation of the Italian language, but to the study of the -writers of antiquity. Greek and Latin were alone held in estimation, -the vulgar tongue was contemptuously neglected. - -The only eminent prose writer was FEO BELCARI, a Florentine -magistrate, who wrote the Lives of the Blessed Giovanni Colombini and -other Friars, and who reproduced the beauty and elegance of the best -authors of the Fourteenth Century. He died at an advanced age in 1484. - -LEON BATTISTA ALBERTI was a universal genius. He distinguished himself -as painter, sculptor and architect, but his Italian writings would -hardly be of sufficient importance to mention, had not the dearth of -names in this barren century made historians of literature thankful for -any means of filling up the blank. - -LEONARDO DA VINCI wrote a _Treatise on Painting,_ and he impressed upon -all artists the necessity of being original, and of not copying their -predecessors. It would have been well if the writers of the age had -laid this injunction to heart as well as the painters, for as years -advanced, the servile imitation of conventional forms became more and -more the bane of Italian literature. - -PULCI is celebrated for his mock-heroic poem, the _Morgante Maggiore._ -The giant Morgante is the hero, but we also make the acquaintance of -Orlando, Rinaldo, Charlemagne, and many other characters that appear in -the more famous poems of Bojardo and Ariosto. It was unfortunate for -Pulci that he had such great successors. He had abundance of wit and -originality, but he had neither the poetical imagination of Bojardo -nor the magic style of Ariosto, so that it is no cause for astonishment -that he fell into neglect. - -MATTEO BOJARDO, Count of Scandiano, was born in 1430 and died in 1494. -He was favoured by nature and fortune; a soldier and a statesman, he -had every opportunity of enriching his mind with varied experiences, -nor can we say that those opportunities were neglected. His _Orlando -Innamorato,_ which he did not live to finish, long as it is, displays -great wealth of imagination and considerable creative power; but -unfortunately, his style is heavy and rough, and was completely -eclipsed by the extraordinary merits of Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso,_ -which professes to be only a continuation of the earlier poem. Fifty -years later, Berni entirely re-wrote Bojardo's work and certainly -succeeded in giving it greater elegance, but he did not make it more -interesting to modern readers. In truth, the knights of the epic cycle -beginning with the _Morgante Maggiore_ and ending in the Eighteenth -Century with the _Ricciardetto,_ appear terribly uninteresting in the -present day, and it requires the picturesque and melodious style of a -really great poet like Ariosto to entice the reader through the account -of their numerous adventures. - -The celebrated scholar, ANGELO POLIZIANO, shows a poetical mind in his -poems, and his _Orfeo_ may claim the credit of being the first dramatic -work of any literary value in the Italian language. It has many lyric -beauties and the choruses are spirited.[1] - -His poem in Ottava Rima on a tournament given by Giniano de Medici, -was interrupted by the tragic death of his patron in the conspiracy -organised by the Pazzi family, nor was the loss of the remainder of the -poem the least deplorable consequence of that great crime. Politian -died in the prime of life in 1494. It is reasonable to suppose that if -his years had been prolonged, he might have enriched the literature of -his country with works of even greater beauty. - -A poet of true tenderness and fire, but more remarkable for the -extraordinary perfection of his Latin poems than for any other -productions of his muse, was JACOPO SANNAZZARO, a Neapolitan. He -survived until the year 1530, but his Italian poems are the productions -of his youth. His _Arcadia,_ a pastoral romance in prose with poems -interspersed, acquired a great celebrity and undoubtedly served as -model to Sir Philip Sydney's work of the same name. It is tender and -graceful, but the extreme unreality of the Nymphs and Shepherds makes -it rather cloying to a modern taste. His Italian poems have not nearly -so much melody and fire as those he wrote in Latin, which are, indeed, -so perfect that they cannot be distinguished, as far as rhythm is -concerned, from those of Virgil himself. - -These names practically exhaust the band of Italian writers of the -Fifteenth Century, truly a meagre list, and in striking contrast to the -countless painters who were an ornament to their country during the -same period. - - -[Footnote 1: The Chorus from the _Orfeo_-- - - "Noi seguiamo, Bacco, te; - Bacco, Bacco, evoè, evoè!" - -is quoted by George Eliot in _Romola._] - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -ARIOSTO. - - -The Sixteenth Century had not seen many years before the world was -presented with one of the most celebrated works in the Italian -Language, a poem destined to acquire a reputation hardly inferior to -that of Dante's great work, the _Orlando Furioso_ of ARIOSTO. - -LUDOVICO ARIOSTO was born at Reggio in Lombardy on the eighth of -September, 1474. His father was attached to the Court of Ferrara, and -he himself entered the services of Cardinal Ippolito d'Esté, brother -to the Duke, but in what capacity is not accurately known. To the -Cardinal he dedicated his great work, but received no thanks for the -homage. He fell into complete disgrace by refusing to accompany his -patron to Hungary. He then tried his luck with the reigning Duke, who -was more generous than his kinsman, and who appointed the poet Governor -of Garfagnana, a remote province of the Duchy, infested by brigands. -He retained this post for three years, and brought the province into -such excellent order that he acquired the love and esteem of the whole -district. - -When he returned to Ferrara, he enjoyed the highest consideration and -favour of the Duke, who took great pleasure in the representation of -his comedies. He was clandestinely married to a Florentine lady, by -whom, however, he had no children. It is supposed that secrecy was -kept in order to preserve some ecclesiastical revenues assigned to his -share by the Cardinal. From previous connections he had two sons, on -whom the Duke conferred patents of legitimacy. His descendants acquired -considerable opulence, and became one of the first families of Ferrara. -His son Orazio made himself remarkable by declaring, when the question -of Torquato Tasso's superior genius roused the attention of Italy, -that both poets had their particular beauties, for which opinion he -was fiercely attacked by the zealots in his father's cause. In the -Eighteenth Century, a Marquis Ariosto was intimate with Voltaire at -Brussels. The last descendant of the poet, the Countess Ariosto, died -at Ferrara in 1878, at the age of ninety years. - -Ariosto gives us in his Satires with rare candour a picture of his -mind and of the vicissitudes of his life. He was of a buoyant and -open disposition, fond of pleasure and susceptible to the attractions -of love, but faithful and sincere to his friends, and very generous -to his numerous brothers and sisters. Titian was among his friends, -and the great painter has preserved for us the features of the great -poet. Curious anecdotes are told of his absence of mind when plunged -in thought. Once he went through the streets of Ferrara in his -dressing-gown, and was not aware of his apparel until an acquaintance -accosted him and told him of the fact. He built himself a little house, -and placed a Latin inscription over the entrance, and when someone -remarked that it was very small for one who had described such splendid -edifices in his verses, he made answer that fabrics of the imagination -are erected with little, and those of stone and mortar, with great, -cost. His death, the result of indigestion, owing to the rapidity with -which he took his meals in order to return to his studies, took place -in 1533. - -Fully to appreciate the genius of Ariosto we must understand the spirit -of his age, for in him were developed, more fully than in any other -writer of the period, the qualities, moral and intellectual, that gave -their stamp to the memorable epoch of the Renaissance. The taste, the -love of beauty, the classical simplicity, the vivid imagination, the -ethereal lightness of touch characterising the productions of the great -contemporary painters, are united in as high perfection in the verse of -Ariosto as on their canvas and frescoes. He had, with the merits of his -age, also its shortcomings: the want of moral elevation, the frivolity, -and the absence of religious enthusiasm. - -He was, therefore, unfitted to be an heroic poet in the stiff old -conventional style, and it was not until he had tried and abandoned -many subjects chat he discovered himself to be something infinitely -more striking and original. At last he discovered in the subject that -inspired Pulci and Bojardo, an inexhaustible mine of poetry, and he -took up the thread of narrative where Bojardo's unfinished poem had -left it, and produced one of the greatest masterpieces in the whole -range of literature. - -He is matchless in the ease and clearness of his style, which never -flags for one moment in the forty-six cantos of the work. He is said -to have written with the greatest care, and to have corrected much and -erased not a little. The stanza in the first canto: - - "La verginella è simile alla rosa," - -he wrote nine times before he was satisfied. Galileo confessed that he -owed the lucidity of his style to the assiduous study of Ariosto, but -accused him of introducing verses for the sake of the rhyme; but we may -pardon an occasional blemish in a work of such immense length. - -He tells us himself that he saturated his mind with the spirit of the -Latin poets, especially with Catullus, and in his works we find the -urbanity of the Augustan age united to a strength and vivacity of -imagination unknown to the Romans. With great judgement he improved -on the hints they gave him, and the graceful manner in which he -occasionally introduces mythological allusions seems to have been -Milton's model when he did the same. Although he rates Virgil's -flattery of Augustus at its proper value when he says: - - "Non era cosi saggio e grande Augusto - Come la tromba di Virgilio suona, - E per avere in poesia buon gusto - Le proscrizioni inique gli perdona," - -he cannot himself be acquitted of the charge of gross flattery to -the House of Este, without having even the excuse of Virgil, for -it is well known with how little applause his patrons received his -masterpiece. Some critics have asserted that he chose his subject -merely because he could introduce the character of Ruggiero, ancestor -to his patrons, but, fortunately for the glory of one of the greatest -of human minds, there is no reason to believe this libel. The subject -recommended itself by its own merits to the poet, as any candid reader, -after perusing the work, will confess. It is impossible to enter the -maze of incidents in the _Orlando Furioso_ without being bewildered, -astonished, dazzled, and lost in all the wonders conjured up by the -poet's fancy. His genius was essentially narrative (as is proved by his -comedies being so vastly inferior to his Epic), and his subject allowed -him to heap story on story, and to develop adventure out of adventure. - -No finer compliment was ever paid by one poet to another, than by Byron -to Scott, when he called him the Northern Ariosto, and the Italian poet -the Southern Scott, - - "Who, like the Ariosto of the North, worth." - Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly - -It was not a mere compliment, but a very just parallel, and it would -be difficult to decide which of the two poets was the greater. Scott -had certainly more power of delineating character; but Ariosto had, if -not the richer, the more vivid imagination. If we take only Scott's -poetical works into consideration, Ariosto would have the advantage; -but if the prose romances of Scott are thrown into the balance, they -incline the scales in his favour. Both poets were, as Byron called -them, bards of chivalry, but Scott's chivalry was that of the soul, -and Ariosto's too often only that of the sword. Perhaps we may come to -a satisfactory conclusion by saying that Ariosto was the greater, and -Scott the nobler, poet. - -Ariosto's rapidity of style is such that I know of no poem more concise -than this Epic, containing over forty thousand lines. One of his tricks -to arrest the attention, or to tantalize the curiosity of the reader, -is to break off a story in the middle, passing on to other incidents, -and concluding the interrupted episode in a later canto. The graceful -badinage with which he amuses us when the interest threatens to flag, -is most judiciously introduced, for such a subject treated with solemn -glumness and heavy pomp would become irksome in the extreme. - -Every canto has an introduction, as ingenious in thought as it is -beautiful in expression. The most interesting Introduction is probably -that of the last canto, where he represents his contemporaries -congratulating him on the completion of so arduous a work; but others -deserve scarcely less praise; for instance, that on jealousy, and that -in which he enumerates the great painters of the age, amongst others, -Michael Angelo: - - "Quel che a par sculpe e colora, - Michel, più che mortal, Angel divino." - -The rapidity of his transitions is truly amazing. He whirls the -reader in two lines from one end of the world to the other. When we -are harassed and wearied by the breathless speed of his Pegasus, he -pauses, lavishing all the riches of his mind on a description or an -incident. Here he reveals himself the wonderful poet he is. The maiden -chained to a rock and about to be devoured by the sea-monster; Zerbino -and Isabella, Ginevra and Ariodante; above all, Alcina and her magic -garden; and, not inferior to any passage in the greatest poets, the -frenzy of Orlando: these are only a few of the wonderful passages that -place his Epic among the noblest productions of the human mind. - -His style is, perhaps, if not the most lofty, yet the most perfect -of any Italian poet; it is so sweetly varied, so gracefully and -judiciously adorned with metaphors and tropes, so picturesque in -description, so vivid in narrative, so exquisitely graduated to impart -the suitable colouring to the poet's thoughts. Perhaps the only -quality it lacks, is the expression of deep emotion, which his joyous -and animated verse seldom attains. Nor can it be said that he ever -displays great depth of thought, so that we seek in vain in his works -for those marvellous flashes that irradiate the mystery of things. With -this want is connected the absence of striking individuality in many -of his characters; they are Knights and Saracens such as tradition -supplied. When he chooses, however, he can individualize his figures, -like Angelica, or Orlando and Alcina, with great success, and many -observations interspersed throughout the work, show keen insight into -human nature. Voltaire, an ardent admirer of this poet, said he had -more knowledge of the human heart than is to be found in all epics and -novels from Homer's _Iliad_ down to Richardson's _Pamela._ He regretted -Madame du Deffand had not learnt Italian in order to read so admirable -a poet. He says in one of his last poems: - - "Je relis l'Arioste ou même la Pucelle." - -The _Pucelle,_ indeed, was written in emulation of the _Orlando -Furioso_ which it resembles no more than a statue of Silenus resembles -the Jupiter of Otricoli. - -No one represented more truthfully the effect produced by Ariosto on -the mind than Leopardi in the following lines: - - "Nascevi ai dolci sogni intanto, e il primo - Sole splendeati in vista, - Cantor vago dell' arme e degl' amori, - Che in età della nostra assai men trista - Empièr la vita di felici errori, - Nova speme d'Italia. O torri, O celle, - O donne, O cavalieri, - O giardini, O palagi! a voi pensando, - In mille vane amenità si perde - La mente mia." - -Ariosto began his great poem in 1505, at the age of thirty-one, and -finished it in 1516; but the year before his death he published an -edition with countless alterations and improvements, and with six -additional cantos, and it is in the latter form that it has descended -to posterity. At his death he left five cantos of an unfinished epic, -entitled _Rinaldo Ardito,_ in which many characters of the _Orlando_ -reappear; but the fragment is in a very imperfect state and by no means -approaches the beauty of the completed work. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -POETS CONTEMPORARY WITH ARIOSTO. - - -The age of Ariosto is remarkable for the first appearance of blank -verse in the Italian language. The _Italia Liberata_ of TRISSINO, on -the subject of the victories of Belisarius over the Goths, is the -first work in that metre. Trissino thought himself a second Homer, and -his epic is full of injudicious imitations of the _Iliad._ The scene -between Jupiter and Juno on Mount Ida is transferred to Justinian -and Theodora, in the Palace of Constantinople, with very voluptuous -amplifications More than with this ponderous epic, Trissino did his -country service by writing the first Italian tragedy, _Sofonisba,_ a -work containing passages almost worthy of Euripides. With a style less -languid and prosaic, Trissino might have achieved considerable success -in the drama. - -The poet who came nearest to Ariosto in elegance of style, though -far indeed from possessing equal fire and genius, was FRANCESCO -BERNI, mentioned in a previous chapter, as having recast the _Orlando -Innamorato_ of Bojardo. He cannot have had a very original mind, or he -would not have submitted to the drudgery of re-writing, line for line, -the work of another man, when he might have been employed on poems of -his own; but he had plenty of vivacity and raciness, as his Satires and -Sonnets attest. So popular did they become, that light and comic poetry -came to be called after him, _Poesia Bernesca._ His end was more tragic -than his works. Unfortunately for himself, he lived in Florence in the -intimacy of the Medici family. A bitter feud arose between the Duke -Alexander and Cardinal Ippolito. The Duke endeavoured to bribe Berni to -poison the Cardinal, and on his refusing to be a party to so terrible -a crime, Alexander had him poisoned in his turn, lest he should reveal -the secret of his guilt. - -LUIGI ALAMANNI was an indefatigable writer of poetry. He wrote two -enormous epics, _Giron il Cortese_ and the _Avarchide;_ but it would -require the musical diction of Ariosto to make such productions live; -and, unfortunately, Alamanni, though a scholarly and painstaking -writer, had nothing like Ariosto's powers of versification. The work -by which he is most honourably remembered is a didactic poem, _La -Coltivazione,_ on the same subject as the _Georgics._ - -GIOVANNI RUCELLAI, a nephew of Lorenzo the Magnificent, was also -indebted to the Georgics for his poem, _Le Api_ (on Bees), in blank -verse, of which there is an excellent defence in the introductory -lines, quite the most original and pleasing passage in the poem. - -Monsignor GIOVANNI DELLA CASA acquired an immense reputation in his -own age for his works in prose and verse, in Latin and Italian; -but as his merit consists exclusively in the finished style--his -thoughts not rising above conventionality--he has been neglected for -writers combining equal, if not greater, beauty of language with more -originality of thought. - -ANNIBAL CARO rendered signal service to his country by giving it a -spirited translation of the _Æneid,_ and his works in prose and verse -are all characterised by vigour of style. He rose from a humble origin -to considerable wealth and prominence, and he became notorious by -reason of a bitter feud with a contemporary critic of the name of -CASTELVETRO. He had written a poem in praise of the House of Valois, -"Venite all'ombra de' gran gigli d'oro," and Castelvetro wrote a -sharp and acrimonious criticism upon it, to which he retorted in his -_Apologia_ with almost insane rancour. Castelvetro was not tardy in -replying, and Caro is suspected of having used all his influence to -ruin the career of his adversary. But it is painful to dwell upon these -ebullitions of spite, unfortunately too frequent in the annals of -literature. - -CARDINAL BEMBO was a writer fastidiously elegant. He is reported to -have possessed forty portfolios, in the first of which he put the first -draft of his works; in the second, the second; and so on until the -fortieth revision reached the fortieth receptacle, after which alone -would he suffer the work to see the light. His productions are such as -might be expected from a man so minutely laborious. He is more intent -upon words than upon realities. His poetry is modelled on Petrarch, his -prose on Boccaccio. He wrote a _History of Venice_ in twelve books, -originally in Latin, translating it himself into Italian. A dialogue, -entitled _Gli Asolani,_ is interesting to English readers from its -similarity of title to Browning's _Asolando._ The name is taken from -Asolo, a spot on the mainland not far from Venice, whither he loved -to retire, as Browning did three hundred years later. His letters are -esteemed his best production, being less over-elaborated in style than -his other works. His Latin works are entirely modelled on those of -Cicero. - -FRANCESCO GRAZZINI, surnamed IL LASCA, was a sort of inferior Berni -in his poems, but he is remarkable as one of the founders of the -Florentine Accademia della Crusca. - -BERNARDINO ROTA, a Neapolitan, produced some really pathetic poems on -the death of his wife. - -The Sixteenth Century was remarkable for three poetesses of -considerable merit: VITTORIA COLONNA, GASPARA STAMPA, and VERONICA -GAMBARA. VITTORIA COLONNA was the widow of the Marquis of Pescara, and -dedicates many of her verses to his memory. GASPARA STAMPA, a native of -Padua, was deeply in love with Collatino Collalto, and gave utterance -to her passion in numerous Sonnets, some of which rise to considerable -beauty and dignity. VERONICA GAMBARA, of Brescia, produced some noble -verses, especially the fine Sonnet in which she implores, in the name -of Christ, Charles V and Francis I, to put an end to their hostilities. - -Although he lived until nearly the end of the century, we may for -convenience mention ANGELO DI COSTANZO in this chapter. He was born in -Naples, in 1507, of a wealthy and noble family, but in spite of his -wealth he had many sorrows. Don Pedro de Toledo, Viceroy of Naples, -banished him from the city of his birth. His first wife died in youth; -his second wife caused him much unhappiness by her misconduct; and to -complete his misfortunes, he lived to deplore the loss of his two -sons. He appealed in vain to be allowed to return to his home. His -petitions were rejected, and he died in grief and exile in 1591. Some -of his poems are eminently beautiful; his Sonnet on Virgil, "Quella -cetra gentil," is justly celebrated. In prose he wrote a history of -Naples, frequently reprinted. - -On reviewing the poetry of this period, with the brilliant exception -of Ariosto, the result is, perhaps, a feeling of disappointment. -Certainly, the achievements are not commensurate with the undoubted -culture and intellect of the writers. There is nothing (always -excepting Ariosto) that has taken hold of the world's attention. How -different in this respect are the poets from the painters of the same -period! How obscure by the side of Michael Angelo, Raphael, Correggio, -Titian, Giorgione, Sebastian del Piombo, Tintoretto, and the whole -galaxy sparkling for ever in the heaven of Art! Some powerful minds, -such as Vida and Fracastoro, were diverted into the path of Latin -poetry; but I think the chief explanation of the inferiority of the -poets is their lack of really fine subjects; for how can a poet write -nobly if he has no adequate theme for his verse? Their amorous poetry -ran too much in the Petrarchan groove; their heroic poetry was too apt -to assume the form of ponderous epics, utterly unreadable without the -graces of Ariosto. Religious enthusiasm seems to have been remote from -their minds. Another generation had to arise before that fire was again -kindled on the shrine of Poetry. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -MACHIAVELLI AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. - - -NICCOLÒ MACHIAVELLI, the profoundest thinker and the keenest politician -of his century, was born in Florence on the third of May, 1469. In 1498 -he was made Secretary of State of the Florentine Republic. But this -dignity was the cause of his subsequent adversity. When the Medici -family was restored to power in Florence, he was imprisoned, fined, and -even put to the torture. He profited by an amnesty issued by Leo X on -his accession, but he was relegated to poverty and obscurity. Impatient -of both, he curried favour with the reigning dynasty, but such was the -ill-luck that steadily pursued him through life, that no sooner had he -acquired a certain degree of favour than the Medici were again expelled -from Florence, and he, as one of their adherents, was regarded by the -triumphant party with suspicion and hostility. He did not long survive -the wreck of all his hopes, dying on the twenty-second of June, 1527. - -In his generation, Italy had fallen on evil days. The invasion -of Charles VIII of France opened the flood-gates of a deluge of -disasters; and the devastations of the King were succeeded by the -crushing despotism of the Emperor. The immense wealth, accumulated -during centuries of prosperity, was rapidly melting away. The -Republic of Venice lost much of her trade owing to the rivalry of -Holland and Portugal, and the stream of commerce was directed from -the Adriatic by the discovery of the new passage to India round the -Cape of Good Hope. The reckless extravagance of Leo X exhausted the -Papal Treasury; a great religious schism cut off abundant supplies -from distant countries; and the terrible sack of Rome, with the -ruinous ransom demanded from Clement VII, completed, in the year of -Machiavelli's death, a long series of disasters. Freedom was crushed -by native tyrants and foreign oppressors. The present was ghastly with -innumerable wounds, the future looked blacker than the grave. What -wonder was it, therefore, that men sought refuge from such horrors -in every finesse that diplomacy could suggest? This is the true -explanation and the one excuse of Machiavelli's tortuous policy. He is -utterly unscrupulous, but it is the unscrupulousness of a patriot at -bay who has exhausted all other means of self-defence. - -Still, it cannot be denied that Machiavelli is anything but a -sympathetic figure. We admire the keenness of his intellect as we -admire the keenness of a sharp-edged sword; but where is the love of -humanity, the enthusiasm for great ideals, the indignation of a noble -mind at the iniquities of an evil age? Wonderful is the penetration -of his remarks; unrivalled his insight; above praise the clearness -and precision of his thoughts. No historian has ever surpassed him in -unrolling a panorama of past events. No politician has ever laid down -more sagacious rules for attaining an object in view. No statesman has -ever discerned with a keener eye the symptoms of the times. - -But if we ask what profit has been derived from the exertions of this -most acute and logical of minds, what is the answer? His name has -become a byeword as the symbol of a heartless intriguer, and his works -glare like a meteor of evil in the dark and troubled sky of his century. - -Great praise is due to his _History of Florence._ In the first book, -with a concise lucidity which later historians have emulated without -surpassing, he surveys the events of ten centuries, and that noble -introduction is followed by a work which displays to the fullest -advantage the great powers of its author. - -The _Discourses on the First Decade of Livy_ and _The Art of War_ both -treat of the same subject; the necessity of a freedom-loving nation to -attain and preserve a high standard of military efficiency. The system -of hiring venal condottieri had profoundly demoralised the forces of -Italy, indeed, it had paved the way for the invasion of France and the -dominion of Spain, and its effects were felt even to the middle of the -present century, for no other explanation suffices to account for the -submission of a nation with such a history as Italy to the oppression -of foreign garrisons. So clear-sighted a patriot as Machiavelli could -not fail to see the evil and to point out the remedy. His despatches -and correspondence are also invaluable for the history of his times. - -But the work pre-eminently associated with his name is the treatise, -entitled _Il Principe,_ a manual for a ruler who desires to keep an -unsteady throne and to outwit unscrupulous enemies. He advocates, it is -true, a policy regardless of all mercy and morality in the pursuit of -its object; but injustice to Machiavelli, we must bear in mind what his -object was. He had seen his country desolated for years by cruel and -rapacious invaders, and he thought, most justly, that the only chance -of Italy against her enemies was the establishment of the dominion of -one powerful and politic prince over the whole Peninsula, and it was -to establish a standard of conduct for such a prince that he wrote his -book. - -His story, _Belphegor,_ and his plays, among which the _Mandragora_ -stands pre-eminent, are witty and lively, but they frequently overstep -the limits of decorum. All his works are interspersed with innumerable -proofs of the keenness of his observation, and the style is clear and -forcible, but somewhat wanting in colour. He wrote a few poems, but -they are of no great value or interest. - -Machiavelli is as undoubtedly the first prose writer of the age as -Ariosto is the first poet, Second to him as an historian, though at a -wide interval, we may place his friend and fellow-townsman, FRANCESCO -GUICCIARDINI, born in 1480, died in 1540. He studied law to such good -purpose at Florence, Ferrara and Padua, that at the early age of -twenty-two he was chosen to lecture on the Institutes of Justinian, -and at the age of thirty-one he was sent as Ambassador to Ferdinand of -Aragon, which post he occupied for two years. With the help of that -King, Julius the Second forced the Florentines to submit again to the -rule of the Medici family. Guicciardini was suspected by the friends -of liberty of having a hand in the negotiations between the Pope and -the King, and of being a tool of that ambitious dynasty. Such, in -truth, he proved himself; and harshness, rancour, and vindictiveness -characterised his conduct towards his political opponents. When Leo -X visited Florence in 1515, Guicciardini was sent by the Republic -to receive him at Cortona. No circumstance could have proved more -favourable to the historian's career. Leo X looked upon him with -the utmost favour, and nominated him to high and important offices, -which his successor, Adrian VI, continued, and to which Clement VII -subsequently added others. When the "Holy League," headed by the Duke -of Urbino, was formed against the Emperor Charles V, Guicciardini was -one of its leading spirits. But the Imperial arms prevailed; Clement -VII had to take refuge in the Castle of St. Angelo, and had the agony -of seeing Rome stormed and plundered under his very eyes. Atrocious -were the cruelties committed. St. Peter's itself was stained with -the blood of the slaughtered. Huge contributions were levied on the -citizens, and an enormous ransom exacted from the Pope. Seeing Clement, -himself a Medici, deprived of liberty and even in danger of his life, -the Florentines took to arms and expelled the obnoxious dynasty. But -the unexpected happened. The injured Pope and the tyrannical Emperor -became reconciled; and probably to atone for the atrocities committed -by his forces, Charles V lent effective aid to Alexander de Medici in -his endeavour to regain his lost dominion over Florence. Guicciardini -became the instrument of Alexander, a cruel and relentless tyrant, who -was subsequently assassinated by his kinsman Lorenzino. Guicciardini -was an active agent in the election of Cosimo I, and when he was -reproached for imposing another tyrant on his country, he answered that -the more princes were assassinated, the more would arise. But Cosimo -was ungrateful when Guicciardini demanded the reward of his services; -bitter disappointment was in store for him; he withdrew from public -affairs, and lived in retirement at Arcetri, where he died. - -It was in the leisure hours of this retirement that he wrote the -history on which his literary reputation is founded. It embraces the -period from the invasion of Charles VIII to the year 1532. It is a -valuable and important work; but, as may be gathered from the details -of his life, the author shows no elevation or purity of mind. His view -of human nature is low; his estimate of his fellow-creatures harsh and -cynical. But if the colours are unpleasing, the picture is valuable, -and it would have been a great loss had it not been preserved for -posterity. - -Guicciardini is often heavy and prolix, and many ludicrous stories -have been told of the sufferings of those readers who conscientiously -plodded through the entire work. Thus it is related of the jocular -Governor of a Province, that he promised a free pardon to a convict if -he would read Guicciardini's History from the first page to the last. -The prisoner gladly embraced this opportunity of regaining his liberty. -He little knew the task that was imposed upon him. As he turned over -page after page of the ponderous tomes, a deadly weariness overpowered -him, until at last the endless details of the Siege of Pisa exhausted -his patience. "Take me back to the galleys," he exclaimed. "Rather that -than the misery of toiling through this awful book." - -AGNOLO FIRENZUOLA was a good prose writer, out a very inferior poet; -indeed, so great is the contrast between the two classes of his works, -that it is difficult to believe that they can emanate from the same -pen. The most striking of his works is a _Dialogue on the Beauty of -Women._ - -PIER FRANCESCO GIAMBULLARI wrote a _History of Europe_ from the -accession of Charlemagne to the year 913. The history is unfinished, -the author dying in 1555. He was one of the founders of the Florentine -Accademia della Crusca. He has been highly praised for the dignity and -finish of his style. Vasari and CELLINI are names renowned in the -annals of Art, the former for his invaluable biographies of painters, -and the latter as a sculptor and a worker in gold and bronze. His -biography is a striking memorial of the man and the age. - -BENEDETTO VARCHI had many qualities of an able historian, but as he was -in the pay of the Grand Duke Cosimo I, his independence may be more -than suspected. - -In contrast to him, JACOPO NARDI was a bitter opponent of the Medici -family, and in his _History of Florence_ from 1494 to 1531 he paints -them in the blackest colours. So determined an adversary of the ruling -dynasty could not be suffered to remain in Florence. He was driven into -banishment, and took refuge in Venice, where he died after the middle -of the Century. As a biographer he distinguished himself by his life of -Antonio Giacomini. - -The Sixteenth Century was fertile in historians, for we have to -chronicle the name of another in BERNARDO SEGNI. He wrote the _History -of Italy_ from 1527 to 1555, or three years before his death. Dealing -with contemporary events, he could not treat his subject with the -requisite independence, and living a quiet and studious life, it is -difficult to see how he could gather reliable information, or have -access to important documents. - -VINCENZO BORGHINI was a laborious antiquarian, who wrote a book on the -_Origin of the City of Florence._ - -GIAMBATTISTA ADRIANI professed to continue Guicciardini's work in his -_History of his Own Times,_ but it is complete in itself, and has many -merits, both of style and subject. Adriani was celebrated in his day as -a public speaker, and his _Latin Orations_ were so much admired that -they were translated into Italian as soon as they were held. He died in -1579. - -CAMILLO PORZIO who survived until 1603, wrote several historical -monographs concerning the Kingdom of Naples. - -Skilful as they were in all the arts of composition, the writers of -the Sixteenth Century too frequently indulged in redundant prolixity. -Conscious of this defect, BERNARDO DAVANZATI determined to cultivate -the opposite quality of laconic conciseness. He was brilliantly -successful. He translated Tacitus, that great model of brevity, and -boasted that his rendering contained fewer words than the original -without sacrificing a particle of the sense. He wrote a book on the -Reformation in England, a Funeral Oration on Cosimo I, and several -treatises on finance and agriculture. - -In reviewing the writers of this Epoch, we are struck with the -number and merit of the historians. The other Prose Writers appeal -but faintly to modern readers. With the exception of BALDASSARE -CASTIGLIONE, who, in his _Cortegiano_ gives us a pleasing picture -of the more refined circles of Italian society, and of Vasari and -Benvenuto Cellini, they do not disclose much of the manners and customs -of their age. No Boccaccio arose to portray for future times the men -and women of his day. - -The stories of BANDELLO and of LUIGI DA PORTO have but little to -recommend them except the fact that they supplied Shakespeare with some -of his plots. Bandello, however, is by no means destitute of vivacity. -STRAPAROLA, the author of _Tredici Piacevoli Notti,_ and FIORENTINI, -the author of _Il Pecorone,_ also had the honour of furnishing hints to -the great dramatist. Too often it happens that the extreme prolixity of -the writers of the Sixteenth Century drowns their thoughts in an ocean -of words. It is strange that the great convulsion of the Reformation -did not produce any theological work written in the Italian language. -The controversies were all carried on in Latin, but even in Latin -nothing was produced in the Peninsula that is now remembered. Indeed, -the great Catholic reaction had the effect of making writers fearful -of giving offence. It restricted them more and more within academic -grooves, thus unhappily fostering that tendency to conventionality and -unreality which immersed Italian literature deeper and deeper into a -morass of mediocrity. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -BERNARDO AND TORQUATO TASSO. - - -It is but seldom that poets are as romantic as their poems, or as -interesting as the offspring of their imagination. When, therefore, -a poet arises gifted with an interesting personality, the attention -he excites becomes universal. Such was the fate of TORQUATO TASSO. It -would not be altogether unjust to say that had he not suffered so many -misfortunes, his name would not be a household word, for the merit of -his poems hardly sustains the dignity of his renown. - -His father, BERNARDO, a native of Bergamo, was born in 1493, and died -in 1569. He was a writer in prose and verse, his chief work being the -_Amadigi,_ an epic of immense length, well and carefully written, but -without any spark of genius. He was attached to the Court of Ferrante -Sanseverino, Prince of Salerno, and when his master was driven out -of his dominions by the Emperor Charles V, he followed his fortunes, -leaving his wife, Properzia de' Rossi, and three children, the youngest -of whom was Torquato, born in 1544, to the care of her relatives. -His devotion to the fallen fortunes of the Prince of Salerno was the -cause of many of the sorrows of his illustrious son. His patrimony -was sequestrated, and when he died, he had nothing to leave to his -children. Nor was this the greatest of his trials. He never saw his -wife again, and when he wished to have her with him in Rome, she was -in a dying condition. All she could do, was to send him the little -Torquato, whose training was henceforth confided to the father's care. - -The youth displayed as much love and more aptitude for poetical -composition. When he was eighteen, he published his epic, _Rinaldo,_ a -wonderfully mature work for so young a writer. Torquato Tasso was one -of those poets who produce their finest works in the earlier portion -of their career. The works by which alone he is remembered, were all -produced before his thirty-second year. His mind attained full mastery -over its powers at a very early period, and when, like the voice of -a singer, it lost its freshness, it also lost its charm. Corneille -and Tennyson resemble him in this peculiarity of producing their -masterpieces in comparative youth, but in their case, the division -between the two periods is not quite so marked as in his. Corneille -produced no really great drama after _La Mort de Pompée,_ but some -of his later tragedies have occasional flashes of his early fire. -Tennyson gave no memorable creation to the world after _Maud,_ but his -_Idylls of the King_ offer some poetical details, and a few lyrics are -not devoid of that perfection which characterised his previous poems. -But Tasso produced absolutely nothing that could, by any stretch of -indulgence, be said to add to his renown after the publication of -the _Gerusalemme Liberata._ On the contrary, he rather injured his -reputation by yielding to the cavils of his detractors, and re-writing -his great work under the title of _Gerusalemme Conquistata,_ and -producing an epic so feeble and lifeless that it immediately sank into -utter neglect. - -Precocious as he was in the manifestation of brilliant genius, his -father was anxious that such powers should be cultivated to the utmost, -and Torquato was sent to study law at Padua. But the law was little -to his taste. His _Rinaldo_ procured him immense renown, and he found -it more agreeable to bask in the sunshine of the brilliant society -that courted him in the dawn of his celebrity, than to spend laborious -hours in the pursuit of a dry and distasteful science. No poet at so -early an age ever had so brilliant a prospect of renown and fortune -before him. But the very extent of the admiration he excited laid the -foundations of the terrible disasters that were to overtake him ere -many years had elapsed. - -Cardinal Luigi of Este, attracted by his brilliant reputation, offered -him a post in his household and an introduction to the Court of -Ferrara. The dazzling offer was accepted by the poet; but the kindness -of the Cardinal had results more fatal than could have attended the -machinations of his bitterest enemies. - -At first all went well. Tasso produced a favourable impression upon -the Duke Alfonso and upon his two sisters, Lucrezia and Eleonora. He -accompanied the Cardinal on a mission to the Court of Charles IX of -France, and after a year's sojourn in Paris, where he was fêted by the -leading authors, including Ronsard, then at the height of his fame, -he returned to Ferrara to receive new proofs of the favour of the -Duke. But the more he rose in the estimation of his master, the more -he excited the jealousy of those who were equally ambitious but less -successful. There is, indeed, no truth in the popular legend of his -love for the Princess Eleanora. The object of his affections appears -to have been a lady of the Court, Leonora Scandiano. The poet Guarini -was also in love with this lady, and bitter hostility resulted from -the rivalry of the two poets. The malignant envy of his opponents -was excited by the brilliant success of his pastoral play, _Aminta,_ -produced in 1573. So much was that poem talked of, that the Princess -Lucrezia, who had meanwhile married the Duke of Urbino, sent for Tasso -to read it to her at Pesaro. So pleased was she both with the work and -the writer, that she invited him to pass the summer at her palace of -Castel Durante. The exquisite beauty of the gardens and the grounds is -said to have been in his mind when he described the gardens of Armida -in the _Gerusalemme._ - -This was the happiest time of Tasso's life. He was honoured with the -favour of the highest in the land, and with the admiration of the whole -of Italy. He was congenially employed on the completion of the great -epic which was to make his name immortal. Never was a poet placed in a -more brilliant position, nor more apparently certain of a splendid and -triumphant career. - -But the seeds of evil were already sown, and the mischief soon became -apparent. He completed the _Gerusalemme_ in 1575, and from that moment -his peace of mind was gone. Whether he overworked himself in that great -task, or whether he had secret causes of annoyance and humiliation, of -which his biographers know nothing, it is difficult to conjecture, but -from that period his temper seems to have become morbidly suspicious -and irritable. He was painfully sensitive to criticism, and he harassed -himself and others by perpetually altering and correcting passages to -which objection had been taken. When at last the poem was published, -which was not until some time after its completion, it was attacked by -the Accademia della Crusca with considerable harshness and unfairness. -The great fault found by the Academy was that the idiom was not always -purely Tuscan. The very first line of the first Canto was singled out -for censure: - - "Canto l'arme pietose e il Capitano." - -The poet uses the word "pietose" in the sense of 'pious," whereas the -Academy contended that it could never mean anything but "compassionate." - -Tasso was not only worried by these minute quibbles, but he was also -haunted by the dreadful apprehension that his religious orthodoxy -might be impugned, and he himself applied to the Fathers of the Holy -Inquisition for an examination and a vindication. In vain the Fathers -assured him with unanimous cordiality that such a process was utterly -superfluous, and that the purity of his faith had never for a moment -been held in doubt; he still professed himself dissatisfied, and he -long continued to torment himself with religious scruples. - -The Duke of Ferrara, doubtless highly gratified at the success of the -masterpiece of his Court Poet, appointed Tasso his private secretary -when that post became vacant through the death of Giambattista Pigna -in 1577. Probably the arduous duties and the heavy responsibilities of -this appointment weighed him down with a fresh load of anxiety, and he -may have felt that he had become more than ever the object of malice -and envy; whatever the cause, excitability verging on frenzy, and -suspicion verging on madness betrayed themselves more and more in his -speech and actions. He fancied, perhaps not without reason, that some -of his letters had been intercepted; he firmly believed, though with -less foundation, that there was a plot to poison him. He had also the -annoyance, peculiarly galling to an author, of knowing that spurious -copies of his great epic were being circulated throughout Italy, full -of mistakes and interpolated passages. - -All these causes of uneasiness culminated in frightful violence in -the month of June of that fatal year. One evening in the apartments -of the Princess Lucrezia, and even in her presence, he drew a dagger -and stabbed a manservant whom he suspected of being concerned in the -robbery of some missing documents. He was arrested, and the Duke -ordered him to be kept a close prisoner. When released from captivity, -he was so excited with grief and indignation, that all observers -pronounced him mad. He took refuge in a Franciscan Monastery; but when -the Duke refused to receive his letters, he dreaded the effects of his -master's anger, and fled from Ferrara in a pitiable condition, without -his manuscripts, without sufficient clothes, and without a particle -of money. He seems actually to have begged his way from Ferrara to -Sorrento, near Naples, where his sister was married to Marzio Sersale. -It would be difficult to find a more picturesque episode in the life -of any poet than that of Tasso presenting himself to his sister in the -garb of a mendicant. She received the unhappy wanderer with hospitality -and affection, welcomed him in her house, and when he was sufficiently -recovered from the fatigues of mind and body to discuss his affairs, -gave him the sensible advice never to return to the Court of Ferrara. - -Unhappily, this advice was rejected; but to be perfectly just in our -estimate of Tasso's conduct, we must bear in mind the position of men -of letters of the Sixteenth Century in Italy. The complete absence of -copyright law made it impossible for even the most popular writer to -derive emolument from his books, for as soon as they acquired any -popularity, they were shamelessly pirated all over the Peninsula. -Enormously popular as they were, even during their lifetime, it does -not appear that either Ariosto or Tasso ever profited to the extent -of even one scudo by the sale of their poems. Thus a writer, unless -he possessed ample means, or held some lucrative office, was entirely -dependent for his bread on the fickle favour of the great. Tasso, -in consequence of the reverses experienced by his father and the -sequestration of his property, was absolutely devoid of anything he -could call his own, and owed even the barest necessaries of life to the -bounty of the Prince whom his violent conduct had, it must be admitted, -justly offended. Great as his reputation was, he might well doubt -whether any other sovereign in Italy would extend to him even a quarter -of similar favour after the reckless and violent conduct of which he -had been guilty. - -Whatever may have been his motives, he wrote again and again to Alfonso -and the Princesses for pardon for his errors and for permission to -return. Eleonora alone answered him, and her reply was not encouraging. -The mortification of being repulsed was doubtless intolerable to his -proud spirit. He deserted Sorrento and the sister whose affection he -should have valued above all the favours of princes. He went straight -to Ferrara, but the doors of the Palace were barred against him, and to -add to his afflictions, the Duke refused to allow his manuscripts to -be given up to him. He was lonely and destitute, and the bitterness of -his fall was intensified by the jeers of those who, on the very spot of -his disgrace, had envied him the brilliancy of his triumph. Without a -morsel of bread to eat, or a roof under which to take shelter, he sold -some valuable trinkets which had been given to him in happier days by -the Princess Lucrezia, and with the proceeds he made his way through -Mantua and Padua to Venice. - -In these towns he seems to have been received with the consideration -due to his poetical renown; but still the painful question as to where -he should find a permanent home occurred to him in moments of anxiety -and gloom. Strange to say, help came to him from an unexpected quarter. -The Duke of Urbino's marriage with the Princess Lucrezia had turned out -most unhappily, and the couple were now separated. It probably occurred -to the Duke that the best way of annoying the House of Este would be -to show favour to the poet who had been expelled from Ferrara in such -deep disgrace, and Tasso owed to rancour and resentment that temporary -respite from misfortune which he might have implored in vain from -esteem and humanity. - -The Duke in time wearied of the capricious and irritable poet, and -Tasso found it expedient to remove to Turin. He received no countenance -from the House of Savoy, and again his evil star led him to the Court -of Ferrara. - -In the month of February, 1579, he returned to Ferrara when it was -at its gayest, on the occasion of the Duke's marriage to Margherita -Gonzaga, daughter of the Duke of Mantua. But Tasso was looked upon -with aversion as an intruder. He wearied those who did not want to see -him with long stories of his grievances, and with bitter invectives at -princely ingratitude. These invectives waxed fiercer, until, after a -culmination of insane violence, the Duke's patience was exhausted, and -he had the unhappy poet arrested and thrown into a cell in the madhouse -of Ferrara. - -Here Tasso languished for more than seven years, until July, 1586. -The most zealous admirers of the poet cannot deny that he brought -this terrible catastrophe upon himself. The Duke cannot be blamed for -having ordered his incarceration; indeed, in the frenzied condition -of his mind at the time of arrest, it was probably the best thing that -could have happened to him. If not placed under restraint, he might -have done himself an injury, or he might even have attacked others. -If he had been held in captivity for some weeks, or even months, until -the paroxysm of his frenzy had spent itself, the Duke would not have -incurred the odium which subsequently blackened his memory. But the -peculiar hardship of Tasso's imprisonment was its long duration. A -short period of restraint might actually have been beneficial, but -seven years of gloomy captivity aggravated the malady which they were -intended to cure, and it is no wonder that the patient subsided from -wild excitability into sullen despair. - -It is due to his gaolers to say that he was not treated with the -inhumanity popularly supposed. Visitors were admitted into his -presence, he was allowed occasionally to take walks in the town of -Ferrara and the neighbourhood; his manuscripts were restored to him; he -was at liberty to receive the letters of his friends, and to beguile -with composition the weary hours of captivity. But still the galling -fact remained that he was a prisoner, and a mind naturally prone to -melancholy was still more darkened by contrasting the stern reality -with the brilliant hopes fostered by the triumphs of his youth. He -wrote to many of the nobles and princes of Italy, imploring them to use -their influence to obtain his release. These letters do not seem to -have been either intercepted or delayed. Strong representations were -undoubtedly made to the Court of Ferrara to obtain the liberation of -one so gifted and so unfortunate. Unhappily for his credit and honour, -Alfonso proved inflexible, and what was originally salutary discipline -became at last detestable tyranny. - -Many different opinions were expressed as to whether Tasso was really -insane. Montaigne, who was travelling in Italy at the time of his -incarceration, visited him in his cell and left a pitiable description -of the apathetic misery in which he found him, as if his powers of -endurance were exhausted by suffering, and nothing but the stupor of -despair remained. Others pointed to the poems, the essays, the letters -he wrote in captivity, and asked in indignant tones whether the author -of compositions so pregnant with thought and so perfect in diction -could possibly be insane? Peculiar, he undoubtedly was; but he had -expiated his errors by severe suffering, and was it not reasonable -to suppose that he had learnt a salutary lesson, and would not, if -restored to freedom, repeat the regrettable follies of the past? - -This consideration, doubtless, after the lapse of so many years, -inclined Alfonso to clemency, and when his brother-in-law, Vincenzo -Gonzaga, interceded for the luckless poet, he did not meet with the -harsh refusal given to others, but was able to boast that he alone of -so many petitioners had obtained Tasso's release. - -The door of the cell where the author of the _Gerusalemme_ had -languished for so many years was opened, and he was free to go wherever -he liked. As may be imagined, he was cured of his wish to figure at -the Court of Ferrara, and he left the inhospitable dominions, never to -return. - -Vincenzo Gonzaga took him to Mantua, where he passed the time -immediately following his release. But the ire-action, after so long -a period of wretchedness, was too trying for his enfeebled frame. -He forsook the brilliant circles of Mantua for a quieter retreat at -Bergamo with some of his relatives. Here he finished his tragedy of -_Torrismondo,_ begun many years previously, but thrown aside, at first -because he was engaged on the arduous task of his great epic, and then -because his own life drifted into a tragedy far transcending the mimic -sorrows of the stage. - -At Bergamo, he learned that his liberator, Vincenzo Gonzaga, had -succeeded to the Duchy of Mantua. Something of his old hope of -courtly success revived in the wounded heart of Torquato. He left his -provincial abode and hurried to the palace of his benefactor to lay -the dedication of _Torrismondo_ at his feet. He doubtless indulged -in dreams of rich appointments and gratifying distinctions. But, -alas! Vincenzo, kind and humane to the captive, seems to have turned -a deaf ear to the courtier. Tasso had an unfortunate knack of making -his presence irksome to his patrons. His ever keen sense of injury -was stung to the quick by the Duke's neglect, and he lost no time in -leaving Mantua to repair to Rome. But here new mortifications awaited -him. Cardinal Scipio Gonzaga lodged him in his Palace, but was neither -cordial nor gracious. Probably the dread that his insanity might burst -out again, made people desirous of keeping him at a distance. Sixtus -the Fifth, who then occupied the Papal Chair, took no interest in -literature, and did not show him any attention, and the example of the -Pope was followed by the Society of the capital. - -He left Rome with even greater disappointment than he had felt in -leaving Mantua. He hurried to Naples, where he had no cause to complain -of the reception that awaited him, for he was overwhelmed with -demonstrations of admiration and affection. But sorrow, captivity, -and anguish of mind had done their evil work; he was but the wreck of -himself, and he could no more endure the sweetness of praise than the -bitterness of neglect. He fled from the kindness of the Neapolitans and -flitted from place to place in a weary pilgrimage, without happiness -and without repose. The wonder is, in his destitute condition, where -the money came from to enable him to travel. His mind and his health -were in a wretched condition. Distrustful and melancholy, he repelled -even those who most admired his genius and pitied his misfortunes, and -his ever-ready sense of injury magnified the slightest offence into -bitter unkindness. But in spite of agonising thoughts and disturbing -peregrinations, his pen never rested. He completed the _Gerusalemme -Conquistata,_ that unfortunate "improvement" on his masterpiece, -which is never mentioned but to be regretted; he wrote a long poem in -blank verse on the Creation, and dialogues and essays in abundance -and letters innumerable. Indeed, he was throughout his life an -indefatigable correspondent, and he seemed never to doubt that the -outpourings of his mind about his wrongs and grievances would be as -interesting to the recipients as to himself. Some of these letters are -noble and affecting, but too many betray a mind sore and festering from -constant brooding over his calamities. But in the presence of such -misfortune, we can only pity, we cannot condemn. - -Great though his errors were, and wayward as was his temper, he was a -man of whom his country had reason to be proud, and it is pleasing to -be able to narrate that he was destined to receive a tardy recognition -for all the works with which he had enriched the literature of Italy. -Cardinal Aldobrandini had been raised to the Papal Chair and had -assumed the name of Clement VIII, and he and his nephews were anxious -to signalise his Pontificate by reviving the Coronation of Petrarch -in the Capitol in favour of a poet not less illustrious and more -unfortunate. Accordingly, Tasso was summoned to Rome, and he was met -outside the gates by an immense concourse of people and a brilliant -galaxy of Cardinals, Prelates, and Nobles. But his frame was worn out, -and the excitement of this great reception hardly infused sufficient -animation to conceal from the bystanders the rapid approach of death. -He was lodged in a noble suite of apartments in the Vatican; the poet -who for so many years had been doomed to a madman's cell, found himself -an honoured guest in the Palace of the Popes. - -But the state and ceremony with which he was surrounded were more than -his ebbing strength could bear. Religious feelings had always held -powerful sway over his sensitive mind, and now, when he felt his end -drawing near, he retired to the Monastery of Sant' Onofrio, situated -on an eminence outside the town. Here, in prayer and meditation, he -devoutly awaited release from all his sorrows. The monks tended him -with care and assiduity; but it is recorded of him that his old -suspicions revived by fits and starts, and on one occasion he made his -attendant swallow the medicine he was directed to take in order to have -ocular proof that it was not poisoned. - -Worn out by his many sufferings, he passed away peacefully on the -twenty-fifth of April, 1595, the day before he was to receive the -laurel in the Capitol. But he probably did not regret that death -prevented him from enjoying this symbol of greatness. As Leopardi, -himself no less familiar with sorrow, beautifully says: - - "Morte domanda - Chi nostro mal conobbe, e non ghirlanda." - -There is a peculiar fitness in the circumstance that a poet, so singled -out for misfortune, was not destined to wear the wreath of a conqueror. -Peaceful after so much agitation, calm after such bitter resentment, -he sank to rest in that secluded monastery, and for thirteen years he -lay in the Church adjoining the quiet cloisters without a stone to mark -his resting-place, until Cardinal Bonifazio Bevilacqua raised a noble -monument to his memory, which may still be seen by the visitor who -wends his way to Sant' Onofrio to pay the tribute of a sigh to so much -glory linked to so much misfortune. - -Tasso was tall and active; his countenance was handsome, though in -later years much clouded by melancholy. In his younger days he was an -expert swordsman, and skilled in all bodily exercises. - -The vicissitudes of his life afford such picturesque material for -narration and description that we cannot wonder that it became a -favourite theme with poets and biographers. The noble play of Goethe is -familiar to all lovers of poetry. Of his biographers the earliest was -Manso, a Neapolitan nobleman, who had the singular fortune of being, in -the course of his long life, the friend of three renowned epic poets, -of Tasso himself, of Marino, and of the greatest of all, Milton, whose -acquaintance he made during the travels of the English poet in Italy. -Tasso mentions him in the _Gerusalemme Conquistata_: - - "Fra cavalier magnanimi e cortesi - Risplende il Manso." - -Marino did not leave his praises unsung, and Milton addressed him in -one of his finest Latin poems. He must have had striking qualities -to endear him to men so eminent and so different; but his biography, -probably because it was the first, gave rise to many legends which have -been repeated down to the present day. He seems to have been somewhat -credulous, and to have relied too much on the statements made to him -by Tasso himself, without distrusting his informant's wild and heated -imagination. - -The Abbé Serassi, in his biography published in 1785, did what Manso -had neglected to do. He sifted the evidence and examined the documents; -and gave to the world a picture much nearer the truth than had yet been -presented; but it was reserved for the indefatigable labours of Angelo -Solerti to produce a really exhaustive history of the poet. - -It must be confessed that in turning from Tasso's life, so full of -passion and romance, to his poetry, we experience a certain sense of -disappointment. Had he not been so striking an object of sympathy and -interest, it may be doubted whether his works would have arrested quite -so much attention as they actually did. Considering the varied panorama -of life that had been unfolded before him and the mental sufferings he -underwent, he does not sound those depths of impassioned meditation -that might be expected. What traces there are of them, will be found -rather in his letters than in his poems. This fact is very strange -and points to the limitations of his talent. He had materials in his -life sufficient to inspire him with great lyric poems, and yet we find -nothing in his odes, sonnets and madrigals to compare to the finest -passages of Petrarch, or of Leopardi, or even of Filicaia. None of his -shorter poems impress themselves indelibly on the reader: none glow -with the intensity of lyric fire. - -Not being able to give him the title of a great lyric poet, we proceed -to enquire whether he was a great epic or a great dramatic poet. - -His narrative poems are four in number; the _Rinaldo,_ the _Gerusalemme -Liberata,_ the _Gerusalemme Conquistata,_ and the _Sette Giornate -del Mondo Creato,_ a long work in blank verse on the subject of the -Creation. His _Rinaldo_ is remarkable because it was written in such -early youth; his _Gerusalemme Conquistata_ was admitted even by his -admirers to be an utter failure. It has only one striking passage, -a prophecy of evil to the house of Bourbon, which seems clearly to -foretell the crimes and horrors of the French Revolution, and which -deserves to rank among poetical prophecies next to the celebrated -prediction of the discovery of America in the tragedy of _Medea_ -attributed to Seneca. The _Sette Giornate_ furnished some hints to -Milton when he came to the description of the Creation of the World in -_Paradise Lost._ It has, however, no intrinsic merit to recommend it, -being heavy and uninteresting to the last degree. These three poems -had hardly vitality enough to keep them alive until the close of the -Century in which they were written, and to modern readers they are -quite dead. And yet the subjects were of sufficient interest to afford -brilliant opportunities of displaying the powers of a great writer. We -cannot help asking the question, can he be a great poet who allowed -such brilliant opportunities to escape? - -His pastoral play, _Aminta,_ has much sweetness and freshness of style; -his tragedy, _Torrismondo,_ has some touches that lead us to think -that under happier circumstances and with a mind less pre-occupied with -his own distresses, he might have become a fine dramatist; but the -shepherds and nymphs of the _Aminta_ seem vapid and mawkish to readers -of the present day; and the _Torrismondo_ has not that convincing power -that a tragedy ought to possess. - -In all these works, lyric, epic, and dramatic, Tasso's style, though -sweet and flowing in the earlier productions, is strangely devoid of -originality, and, therefore, of colour; and no writer was more deeply -imbued with the conventional phraseology of the poetry of his age. -Thought and style are alike devoid of those vivid touches that command -admiration and ensure immortality. We are left under the impression -that the poet is not fixing all his powers of mind on his verse, and -that his attention is largely engaged elsewhere. This absence of full -power is the only trace in his poems of the disordered state of his -mind. Many poets, whose sanity has never been questioned, have passages -far more morbid and eccentric than any that can be found in Tasso's -pages. He never indulges in wild flights of fancy, the order of his -thoughts is lucidity itself; and there are no incoherent and very few -exaggerated metaphors. On the contrary, they would rather gain by a -little more irregularity. They are so logically thought out as to -become occasionally almost exasperating. - -Thus it will be seen that his claims to rank as a great poet rest -entirely on the _Gerusalemme Liberata._ - -In considering that celebrated poem, the first thought that must -occur to the reader is the extremely happy choice of the subject. It -was unhackneyed; it was picturesque; it was noble. We cannot help -feeling that Ariosto is sometimes dragged down by the frivolous -stories he tells; we cannot help feeling that Tasso is sustained and -inspired by the magnificent episodes it is his duty to narrate. He is -rather too fond of imitating passages from Homer and Virgil, but such -imitation was universal in his day, and in his case it is skilfully -executed. The Oriental colouring of the scenes laid in Palestine and -Syria is, perhaps, not very vivid, but it is quite as vivid as his -contemporaries expected. On the whole it would be harsh to deny that -he has done justice to his subject, and in one respect he deserves the -highest praise: he imparts a human interest and an air of reality to -his characters that cannot be too highly extolled. Ariosto often treats -his characters merely as puppets, and is himself the first to laugh at -them. Very different is the attitude of Tasso towards his creations. -He believes in them with unshaken sincerity, and he loves them because -he believes in them. Erminia, Sophronia, Armida, Rinaldo, Goffredo, -Tancredi, all stand before us in the life, moving and breathing. As -Goethe says, in his play on the subject of Tasso: - - "Es sind nicht Schatten die der Wahn erzeugte; - Ich weiss es, sie sind ewig, denn sie sind. - - ["They are not shadows by illusion made; - I know they live for ever, for they live."] - -This great quality undoubtedly explains the universal popularity of the -_Gerusalemme._ That poem even penetrated to classes of the community to -whom, as a rule, literary poets appeal in vain. Detached passages were -set to music, and sung by the people like ballads. For two centuries -the gondoliers beguiled their work with the musical stanzas of the -unhappy poet. Who does not remember Byron's lines?-- - - "In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, - And silent rows the songless gondolier." - -When they first began to be neglected is not recorded. They seem only -to have been handed down orally. Alterations would inevitably creep in, -and losing their accuracy, they lost also their charm. - -Writing in the same stanza as Ariosto, Tasso could not fail to resemble -him in some respects. They are both clear, rapid, and musical. But the -style of the earlier poet is richer, stronger, more original, and, -I think, in spite of an occasional want of tenderness, more truly -poetical. Tasso too often indulges in conventions and common-places, -hence he becomes feeble and unimpressive. To give samples of the two -poets, I will quote a passage from each. - - -ARIOSTO. - -_A ship of the enemy approaches incautiously the fleet of Charlemagne._ - - "Quivi il nocchier, eh' ancor non s'era accorto - Degl' inimici, entrò con la galea, - Lasciando molte miglia addietro il porto - D'Algieri, ove calar prima volea, - Per un vento gagliardo ch' era sorto, - E spinto oltre il dover la poppa avea. - Venir tra i suoi credette, e in loco fido, - Come vien Progne al suo loquace nido. - - Ma come poi l'imperiale augello, - I gigli d'oro, e i pardi vide appresso, - Restò pallido in faccia, come quello - Che 'l piede incauto d'improvviso ha messo - Sopra 'l serpente venenoso e fello, - Dal pigro sonno in mezzo l'erbe oppresso; - Che spaventato e smorto si ritira, - Fuggendo quel ch'è pien di tosco e d'ira." - - _"ORLANDO FURIOSO,"_ c. xxxìx, st. 31 ani 32. - - -TASSO. - -_The Saracens hearing from the walls of Jerusalem the chorus of the -Crusaders in the distance._ - - "Colà s'invia l'esercito canoro, - E ne suonan le valli ime e profonde, - E gli alti colli e le spelonche loro; - E da ben mille parti Eco risponde; - E quasi par che boschereccio coro - Fra quegli antri si celi e quelle fronde, - Si chiaramente replicar s'udia - Or di Cristo il gran nome, or di Maria. - - D'in sulle mura ad ammirar frattanto - Cheti si stanno e attoniti i Pagani - Que' tardi avvolgimenti, e l'umil canto, - E l'insolite pompe e i riti estrani. - Poi che cessò dello spettacol santo - La novitate, i miseri profani - Alzâr le strida; e di bestemmie e d'onte - Mugì il torrente e la gran valle e 'l monte." - - "_GERUSALEMME LIBERATA_," c. xv, st. 11 ani 12. - -Tasso's style has a pathetic air which is very taking at first sight; -but when we examine it minutely, we find certain weaknesses which -cannot be detected in the style of Ariosto. The magnificent passage -from the _Orlando Furioso_ is without a flaw and could not be improved. -The same cannot be said of the stanzas from the _Gerusalemme,_ musical -as they are. We may be sure that Ariosto would never have been guilty -of the feeble repetition of the feeble epithet, _"gran nome, gran -valle."_ - -It is owing to his pathos that Tasso loses so much less in translation -than Ariosto. All the renderings of the _Orlando Furioso_ that I have -seen, are somewhat colourless, even the Elizabethan translation of -Harrington, and even the careful and accurate translation of Rose. The -German translations of Griess and Donner are as admirable as they can -possibly be, considering the great difficulties of the task, but even -they do not quite succeed in reproducing the exquisite flexibility -of Ariosto's style. Tasso, in many respects the most unfortunate of -poets, was singularly lucky in the translators who introduced him to -foreign nations. He has been translated into many languages with signal -success, and with remarkably little loss of spirit and beauty. The -earliest English rendering, that of Fairfax, is the best. It is not -always scrupulously accurate, but it is delightfully fresh, vigorous, -and musical. I will subjoin one of the most successful passages which -will give the reader a favourable idea of the skill of Fairfax, and -of the thoughts and conceptions of the illustrious Italian poet, -illustrious in spite of the shortcomings which occasionally detract -from his qualities. - -_The Christian Knights in search of Rinaldo, find him in the enchanted -Palace of Armida._ - - (GERUSALEMME LIBERATA, CANTO XVI.) - - I. - - The palace great is builded rich and round, - And in the centre of the inmost hold - There lies a garden sweet on fertile ground, - Fairer than that where grew the trees of gold. - The cunning sprites had buildings reared around, - With doors and entries false a thousandfold. - A labyrinth they made that fortress brave, - Like Daedal's prison or Porsenna's grave. - - II. - - The Knights passed through the castle's largest gate. - (Though round about a hundred ports there shine), - The door leaves framed of carved silver plate - Upon their golden hinges turn and twine; - They stayed to view this work of wit and state, - The workmanship excelled the substance fine, - For all the shapes in that rich metal wrought, - Save speech, of living bodies wanted nought. - - III. - - Alcides there sat telling tales, and spun - Among the feeble troups of damsels mild; - (He that the fiery gates of Hell had won, - And Heaven upheld); false love stood by and smiled. - Armed with his club, fair Iole forth run, - His club with blood of monsters foul denied; - And on her back his lion's skin had she, - Too rough a bark for such a tender tree. - - IV. - - Beyond was made a sea, whose azure flood - The hoary froth crushed from the surges blue, - Wherein two navies great well-rangéd stood - Of warlike ships, fire from their arms out flew; - The waters burnt about their vessels good, - Such flames the gold therein enchased threw; - Cæsar his Romans hence, the Asian Kings - Thence Anthony and Indian Princes, brings; - - V. - - The Cyclads seemed to swim amid the main, - And hill 'gainst hill, and mount 'gainst mountain smote; - With such great fury met those armies twain, - Here burnt a ship, there sank a bark or boat; - Here darts and wildfire flew, there drowned or slain - Of Princes dead the bodies fleet and float; - Here Cæsar wins, and yonder conquered been - The eastern ships, there fled the Egyptian Queen. - - VI. - - Antonius eke himself to flight betook, - The Empire lost to which he would aspire; - Yet fled not he, nor flight for fear forsook, - But followed her, drawn on by fond desire. - Well might you see, within his troubled look, - Strive and contend love, courage, shame and ire; - Oft looked he back, oft gazed he on the fight, - But oftener on his mistress and her flight. - - VII. - - Then in the secret creeks of fruitful Nile, - Cast in her lap he would sad Death await. - And in the pleasure of her lovely smile - Sweeten the bitter stroke of cursed Fate. - All this did art with curious hand compile - In the rich metal of that princely gate. - The Knights these stories viewed, first and last; - Which seen, they forward pressed, and in they passed. - - VIII. - - As through his channel crook'd Meander glides - With turns and twines, and rolls now to and fro, - Whose streams run forth there to the salt sea-sides, - Here back return, and to their spring-ward go; - Such crooked paths, such ways this palace hides; - Yet all the maze their map described so - That through the labyrinth they go in fine - As Theseus did by Ariadne's line. - - IX. - - When they had passed all those troubled ways, - The garden sweet spread forth her green to shew; - The moving crystal from the fountains plays, - Fair trees, high plants, strange herbs, and flowers new, - Sun-shiny hills, dales hid from Phœbus' rays, - Groves, arbours, mossy caves at orice they view; - And that which beauty most, most wonder brought, - Nowhere appeared the art which all this wrought. - - X. - - So with the rude, the polished mingled was, - That natural seemed all, and every part. - Nature would craft in counterfeiting pass, - And imitate her imitator art. - Mild was the air, the clouds were clear as glass, - The trees no whirlwind felt nor tempest's smart, - But ere their fruit drop off, the blossom comes, - This springs, that falls, that ripeneth, and this blooms. - - XI. - - The leaves upon the self-same bough did hide, - Beside the young, the old and ripened fig. - Here fruit was green, there ripe with vermeil side, - The apples new and old grew on one twig. - The fruitful vine her arms spread high and wide, - That bended underneath their clusters big; - The grapes were tender here, hard, young and sour, - There, purple, ripe and nectar sweet forth pour. - - XII. - - The joyous birds, hid under greenwood shade, - Sung many notes on every branch and bough; - The wind that in the leaves and waters played, - With murmur sweet now sang, and whistled now; - Ceased the birds, the wind loud answer made, - And while they sang, it rumbled soft and low; - Thus, were it hap or cunning, chance or art, - The wind in this strange music bore his part. - - XIII. - - With party-coloured plumes and purple bill - A wondrous bird among the rest there flew, - That in plain speech sung lovelays loud and shrill, - Her leden[1] was like human language true; - So much she talked, and with such wit and skill - That strange it seemed how much good she knew; - Her feathered fellows all stood hushed to hear, - Dumb was the wind, the waters silent were. - - XIV. - - "The gently-budding rose (quoth she) behold, - The first scent peeping forth with virgin beams, - Half ope, half shut, her beauties doth upfold - In their dear leaves, and less seen fairer seems; - And after, spreads them forth more broad and bold, - Then languisheth and dies in last extremes; - Nor seems the same that decked bed and bower - Of many a lady late and paramour; - - XV. - - "So in the passing of a day doth pass - The bud and blossom of the life of man, - Nor e'er doth flourish more, but like the gratis - Cut down, becometh withered, pale and wan; - Oh, gather then the rose while time thou has: - Short is the day, done when it scant began; - Gather the rose of love which yet thou may'st; - Loving be loved; embracing, be embraced." - - XVI. - - She ceased; and as approving all she spoke, - The choir of birds their heavenly tune renew; - The turtles sighed, and sighs with kisses broke; - The fowls to shades unseen by pairs withdrew; - It seemed the laurel chaste and stubborn oak, - And all the gentle trees on earth that grew, - It seemed the land, the sea and heaven above - All breathed out fancy sweet and sighed out love. - - XVII. - - Through all this music rare and strong consent - Of strange allurements, sweet 'bove mean and measure, - Severe, firm, constant, still the Knights forth went, - Hardening their hearts 'gainst false, enticing pleasure; - 'Twixt leaf and leaf their sight before they sent, - And after crept themselves at ease and leisure - Till they beheld the Queen sit with their knight - Beside the lake, shaded with boughs from sight. - - * * * * * - - XXVII. - - The twain that hidden in the bushes, were, - Before the Prince in glittering arms appear. - - XXVIII. - - As the fierce steed for age withdrawn from war, - Wherein the glorious beast had always won, - That in vile rest, from fright sequestered far, - Feeds with the mares at large, his service done: - If arms he sees or hears the trumpet's jar, - He neigheth loud, and thither fast doth run, - And wisheth on his back the armed knight, - Longing for jousts, for tournaments and fight: - - XXIX. - - So fared Rinaldo when the glorious light - Of their bright harness glistered in his eyes; - His noble spirit awaked at that sight. - His blood began to warm, his heart to rise; - Though drunk with ease, devoid of wonted might, - On sleep till then his weakened virtue lies. - Ubaldo forward stepped and to him held - Of diamonds clear that pure and precious shield. - - XXX. - - Upon the targe his looks amazed he bent, - And therein all his wanton habit spied, - His civet, balm, and perfumes redolent, - How from his locks they smoked and mantle wide - His sword that many a Pagan stout had shent,[2] - Bewrapped with flowers, hung idly by his side, - So nicely decked that it seemed the knight - Wore it for fashion sake, but not for fight. - - XXXI. - - As when from sleep and idle dreams abrayed[3] - A man awaked calls home his wits again, - So in beholding his attire he played, - But yet to view himself could not sustain; - His looks he downward cast and nought he said, - Grieved, shamèd, sad, he would have diéd fain; - And oft he wished the earth or ocean wide - Would swallow him, and so his errors hide. - - XXXII. - - Ubaldo took the time, and thus began-- - "All Europe now, and Asia be in war - And all that Christ adore and fame have won - In battaille strong, in Syria fighting are; - But thee alone, Bertoldo's noble son, - This little corner keeps, exiled far - From all the world, buried in sloth and shame, - A carpet champion for a wanton dame! - - XXXIII. - - "What letharge hath in drowsiness append[4] - Thy courage thus? What sloth doth thee infect? - Up! up! Our camp and Godfrey for thee send, - Thee fortune, praise and victory expect; - Come fatal champion; bring to happy end - This enterprise begun, and all that sect - (Which oft thou shaken hast) to earth full low - With thy sharp brand strike down, kill, overthrow." - - XXXIV. - - This said, the noble infant stood a space - Confused, speechless, senseless, ill, ashamed, - But when that shame to just disdain gave place, - To fierce disdain, from courage sprung untamed, - Another redness blushèd through his face, - Whence worthy anger shone, displeasure flamed; - His nice attire in scorn he rent and tore, - For of his bondage vile that witness bore; - - XXXV. - - That done he hastèd from the charmed fort, - And through the maze passed with his searchers twain. - Armida of her mount and chiefest port - Wondered to find the furious keeper slain; - Awhile she feared, but she knew in short - That her dear lord was fled; then saw she plain - (Ah! woeful sight!) how from her gates the man - In haste and fear, in wrath and anger ran. - - -[Footnote 1: Leden--_language._] - -[Footnote 2: Shent--_Iniured._] - -[Footnote 3: Abrayed--_Awaked._] - -[Footnote 4: Append--_Tied-up._] - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -MARINO, CHIABRERA, FILICAIA AND OTHER POETS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. - - -The Annals of Italy during the Seventeenth Century were not signalised -by disasters as terrible as those of the Sixteenth Century. The country -was not desolated by the invasion of foreign conquerors. Rome was -not sacked for a second time. Florence was not convulsed with civil -dissensions. But the nation was sick at heart, and the tyranny of her -rulers gave only the choice of submission or death. Lombardy, Naples -and Sicily were groaning under the iron yoke of Spain. The petty -sovereigns ruled with irresponsible despotism over their dominions. -Venice and Genoa boasted that they were free; but the freedom of Venice -consisted in the rule of a suspicious oligarchy, guiltless, indeed, -of wanton oppression, but upholding its rule by merciless punishment -of the slightest disaffection. The Papal States were exhausted in -their endeavour to minister to the splendour of the families of a -rapid succession of Popes, for never was nepotism more rampant than -in the Seventeenth Century, and the illustrious houses of Rome, the -Aldobrandini, the Borghese, the Pamphili, the Barberini, the Chigi, the -Altieri, the Odescalchi, the Albani, date their greatness from that -epoch. The Catholic reaction subsequent to the Reformation established -a rigid code of theology, from which it was fatal to dissent. Leo X had -underrated the importance of the Reformation, but his successors made -up for the error by exercising unceasing vigilance over their spiritual -subjects. The only rising in favour of freedom was that of Masaniello -in Naples, which was rather a riot than a rebellion. Still, some great -minds pined for happier things, and the finest flashes of poetry in the -Century were kindled by the fire of patriotism. - -It has always been the policy of despots to supply their subjects with -plenty of amusements. Accordingly we find in the Seventeenth Century -records of gorgeous pageants and brilliant theatrical entertainments, -and the already waning wealth of the nation was further exhausted by -reckless prodigality of governments and individuals. Italian Opera -took its origin early in the Century, and RINUCCINI was the first -Librettist. The theatre more and more engaged the attention of -writers, but nothing remarkable was produced, with the exception, -perhaps, of the tragedies of CARDINAL DELFINO, Patriarch of Aquilea, -which present here and there touches worthy of a fine poet. The -death-scene of his _Cleopatra_ bears a striking resemblance to the -corresponding scene in _Anthony and Cleopatra,_ although he doubtless -never so much as heard of Shakespeare's name. - -BATTISTA GUARINI, who died in 1612, was pre-eminent, by reason of his -_Pastor Fido,_ among writers of Pastoral Plays; but these insipid and -unreal creations have no attraction for modern readers. The _Pastor -Fido_ is a work of much skill and ingenuity; but it is tainted with -that fondness for quibbles and conceits which disfigures so much of the -literature of the Seventeenth Century, not only in Italy, but also in -other countries. If Italy had her Marino, Spain had her Gongora, France -her Benserade, and England her Lyly, Donne, and Cowley. It is curious -to remark how a literary fashion spreads from one country to another, -and in that age of scanty travel and difficult communication, it is -doubly curious. Thus, in the early part of the Nineteenth Century, -Byronism became a universal epidemic. - -The love of far-fetched conceits originated in the latter half of the -Sixteenth Century. We see much of it in Shakespeare's early comedies, -and the traces of it in Tasso gave ground to Boileau one hundred years -later to sneer at those who preferred "the tinsel of Tasso to the gold -of Virgil." - - "A Racan, à Malherbe, préférer Théophile, - Et le clinquant du Tasse à tout l'or de Virgile." - -It is, however, unjust to blame Tasso for an inordinate profusion of -conceits. He presents some, it is true, but they are almost always -ingenious and imaginative, and not so far-fetched as to be unnatural. - -The poet who really set the fashion of fantastic ingenuity, was -GIAMBATTISTA MARINO (or MARINI, for both forms of the name seem to -have been used by his contemporaries), a Neapolitan, born in 1569, -died in 1625. His chief work is the _Adone_ an epic poem in twenty -enormous cantos on the loves of Venus and Adonis. If it were not for -its appalling length, the poem would have much to recommend it. He also -wrote other epics, not quite so voluminous: _La Gerusalemme Distrutta, -La Strage degl' Innocenti,_ on the Massacre of the Innocents, and -numerous lyric effusions. When he was at Turin, he had a vulgar dispute -with a rival poet of the name of Murtola, and numerous satires and -pasquinades were the result. Murtola was so incensed at the biting -sarcasms of Marino, that he waylaid him one evening and fired a -pistol. The shot killed, not Marino, but a favourite courtier of the -Duke of Savoy, who was walking with the poet. Murtola was thrown into -a dungeon, but Marino interceded for his fallen rival, and it is a -curious illustration of the absolute power of the Princes of those -days, that all proceedings against Murtola were stopped, and he was -granted a free pardon. Marino had reason to regret his intercession for -so unworthy an object. Murtola accidentally discovered a copy of verses -written by Marino many years previously, reflecting on the Duke. He -lost no time in forwarding them to the Duke, who was so incensed that -he would doubtless have inflicted upon Marino the punishment from which -he had saved the treacherous Murtola, had not Marino prudently taken -refuge in flight. - -He repaired to Paris, where he was enthusiastically received, and -Marie de Medici, the second wife of Henry IV, and Regent during the -minority of Louis XIII, gave him a large pension and many other tokens -of Royal favour. He enjoyed full leisure to complete his _Adone,_ and -when it was published in 1623, it fully satisfied the expectations -of his admirers. He returned to his native city of Naples, where a -magnificent ovation awaited him. He did not, however, live long to -enjoy his triumph, and Italy had to mourn his loss in 1625. - -Marino exactly hit the taste of his contemporaries, and the praises -lavished upon him are almost incredible in their exaggeration. The poet -Claudio Achillini wrote to him from Bologna: "There is not a doubt -in my mind that you are the greatest poet the world has ever seen." -Cardinal Bentivoglio, one of the most brilliant intellects of the age, -addressed him in terms hardly less rapturous. - -There must assuredly have been something remarkable in Marino's works -to produce such a dazzling effect on his contemporaries. - -In early youth Marino formed a theory that a poet in order to succeed -ought to astonish his readers. In every line he wrote, it was his -object to excite astonishment. He fully succeeded. The most ingenious -thoughts, the most dazzling metaphors, the most vivid descriptions, are -crowded together in his pages to such an extent that it is impossible -to deny that he was prodigally gifted by Nature with some of the rarest -attributes of thought and imagination. But his works present no human -interest, no patriotic fire, and no religious inspiration. They are -fantastic and unreal, but then they do not pretend to be anything else. -His imagination presented him with an inexhaustible succession of -brilliant and striking images, and provided they glittered and sparkled -in his verse, he was careless whether they were true to nature or -consistent with each other. He is a delightful poet to read in detached -passages when the mind wants to indulge in the refreshing vagaries of -fancy. He is very even in his style; possessing consummate mastery -over his language, the most elaborate difficulties of rhyme and metre -present no obstacles to him. I do not think that he is in any respect -inferior to Spenser in strength of poetical inspiration, and he is -certainly less heavy and slow. But the subject of his principal work -is frivolous, and it is, in truth, a mere bubble of the imagination, -made to expand, glitter, and burst. But for that purpose it is much -too long. Heroic thoughts alone should assume heroic proportions. Even -in Ariosto, we have the same effect too often. Much more so in the -_Adone._ Marino had nothing of the classical simplicity of Ariosto. -He probably disdained it as insipid. But high seasoning involves -rapid satiety, and the mind derives no nourishment from condiments so -artificial. This circumstance alone solves the problem why Marino has -fallen into such neglect. Take each stanza of his poems and consider it -separately, and it appears a marvel of fancy, ingenuity, and musical -diction. But take his productions as a whole, and it cannot be denied -that they are wanting in sustained interest, in human pathos, and in -philosophic intention. Indeed, he had nothing of a philosopher. No -great problems occupy his mind; no sublime aspirations raise him above -sublunary things. He spends the wealth of his intellect, not on noble -monuments, but on filigree trinkets. Hence, probably, his popularity. -His contemporaries did not want to be shaken with tempestuous -sublimity, or led to an abyss of profound meditation. They wanted to -be lulled into voluptuous repose by a singer skilful enough to delight -their fancy with strains sufficiently beautiful to compensate the -absence of higher qualities, and yet not too elevated to soar beyond -the range of the limited horizon to which they confined themselves. -Hence Marino's brilliant success. But he sacrificed to immediate -popularity the admiration and gratitude of future ages, which with his -prodigal gifts of song and imagination he might possibly have acquired. - -As a sample of Marino's style, I subjoin the beautiful opening stanza -of the seventh canto of the _Adone._ - - "Musica e Poesia son due sorelle, - Ristoratrici delle afflitte genti, - De' rei pensier le torbide procelle - Con liete rime a serenar possenti. - Non ha di queste il mondo arti più belle, - O più salubri all' affannate menti, - Nè cor la Scizia ha barbaro cotanto, - Se non è tigre, a cui non piaccia il canto." - -As Marino aspired to be the first epic poet of his age, GABRIELLO -CHIABRERA, of Savona, aspired to be its first lyric poet, and he -took Pindar for his model. He obtained much applause, but it may be -doubted whether he was quite so successful as his contemporary. He -has nothing like Marino's teeming wealth of imagination, and his more -ambitious Odes are often turgid and heavy. On the other hand, it must -be allowed that his most successful passages are splendid and sonorous. -The _Adone_ is the best of the long-winded Italian epics with the -exception of the two unapproachable masterpieces, the _Orlando Furioso_ -and the _Gerusalemme Liberata._ But it cannot be said that Chiabrera -comes as near to Petrarch as Marino does to his two illustrious -predecessors. He is full of those hackneyed mythological allusions -which encumbered poetry up to the end of the Eighteenth Century, nor -has he the excuse of indulging in them for the purpose of conjuring -up gorgeous and romantic visions. His powers of description are but -slight, a remarkable circumstance, as his powers of versification were -beyond doubt very extensive. Some of his lighter poems are gay and -vivacious, and he wrote a series of epitaphs known to English readers -by Wordsworth's noble translation. Not often did Chiabrera indulge in a -strain so natural and impassioned as the following: - - "Not without heavy grief of heart did he - On whom the duty fell (for at that time - The father sojourned in a distant land) - Deposit in the hollow of this tomb - A brother's child most tenderly beloved! - Francesco was the name the youth had borne, - Pozzobonelli his illustrious house; - And when beneath this stone the corse was laid, - The eyes of all Savona streamed with tears. - Alas! the twentieth April of his life - Had scarcely flowered; and at this early time - By genuine virtue he inspired a hope - That greatly cheered his country; to his kin - He promised comfort; and the flattering thoughts - His friends had in their fondness entertained, - He suffered not to languish or decay. - Now is there not great reason to break forth - Into a passionate lament? O Soul! - Short while a Pilgrim in our nether world, - Do thou enjoy the calm empyreal air; - And round this earthly tomb let roses rise, - An everlasting spring! in memory - Of that delightful fragrance which was once - From thy mild manners quietly exhaled." - -The following epitaph on an Admiral is also fine: - - "There never breathed a man who, when his life - Was closing, might not of that life relate - Toils long and hard. The warrior will report - Of wounds, and bright swords flashing in the field, - And blast of trumpets. He who hath been doomed - To bow his forehead in the Courts of Kings - Will tell of fraud and never-ceasing hate, - Envy and heart-inquietude, derived - From intricate cabals of treacherous friends. - I, who on shipboard lived from earliest youth, - Could represent the countenance horrible - Of the vexed waters, and the indignant rage - Of Auster and Bootes. Fifty years - Over the well-steered galleys did I rule. - From huge Pelorus to the Atlantic pillars, - Rises no mountain to mine eyes unknown; - And the broad gulfs I traversed oft and oft. - Of every cloud which in the heavens might stir - I knew the force; and hence the rough sea's pride - Availed not to my Vessel's overthrow. - What noble pomp and frequent have not I - On regal decks beheld! yet in the end - I learned that one poor moment can suffice - To equalise the lofty and the low. - We sail the sea of life--a Calm one finds, - And one a Tempest--and, the voyage o'er, - Death is the quiet haven of us all. - If more of my condition ye would know, - Savona was my birthplace, and I sprang - Of noble parents; seventy years and three - Lived I--then yielded to a slow desease." - -A poet who may not have equalled Chiabrera in the general excellence of -his work, but who far surpassed him in sudden and brilliant flashes of -inspiration, was VINCENZIO DA FILICAIA, a Florentine, born in 1642, -died in 1707.[1] A few of his very finest verses are so renowned, that -when we turn to an edition of his complete works, we are disagreeably -surprised to find that the bulk of his poetry is far from coming up -to his most striking passages. He is often conventional and turgid, -sometimes heavy and awkward. He has not Chiabrera's technical skill, -nor has he the vivacity of lighter poets. Hallam complained of a want -of sunshine in his verse, and in truth his elegies are occasionally -doleful where they ought to be tragic. The man seems to have been -greater than his works; but when a chord of his lyre touches his heart, -he breaks forth into song so noble and impassioned that he fully -deserves to be acclaimed the greatest Italian poet in the Seventeenth -Century. First and foremost stands his celebrated Sonnet on Italy, -especially the four opening lines: - - "Italia! Italia! O tu cui feo la sorte - Dono infelice di bellezza, ond'hai - Funesta dote d'infiniti guai - Che in fronte scritti per gran doglia porte." - -But there is something heavy and slow in the continuation and -conclusion. - -Superior in general excellence, though not possessing the inimitable -pathos of the passage just quoted, is the sonnet beginning: - - "Dov'è, Italia, il tuo braccio? e a che ti servi - Tu dell' altrui? non è, s'io scorgo il vero, - Da chi t'offende, il difensor men fero, - Ambo nemici son, ambo fur servi." - -Another sonnet on the same subject opens very impressively: - - "Vanno a un termine sol, con passi eguali, - Del verno, Italia, e di tua vita l'ore; - Nè ancor sai quante di sua man lavore - A tuo danno il Destin saette e strali." - -So does a fourth: - - "Sono, Italia, per te discordia e morte - In due nomi una cosa; e a si gran male - Un mal s'aggiunge non minor, che frale - Non se' abbastanza, nè abbastanza forte." - -Christina, Queen of Sweden, took up her residence in Rome after her -abdication, and delighted in attracting a brilliant circle to her -Court. Filicaia does not seem to have left his native city, but she -extended her patronage to his sons, and he celebrated her munificence -in many odes, and wrote a noble Sonnet on her death. In one of his -poems he exhorts Rome to rejoice in Christina's presence: - - "Non lungi là dal gelido Boöte - Sorse indi a poco imperiosa Stella, - Ma fausta si, che se mentir non vuoi, - Dire a ragion tu puoi: - Antica Roma, a par di te son bella." - -Filicaia received immense praise and universal renown for a series -of Odes on the Liberation of Vienna from the Turks by John Sobiesky, -King of Poland, in 1683. No lyric poems in the Italian language are -more universally known. They are undoubtedly splendid and effective -compositions. They inspired Wordsworth with the following Sonnet: - - 'Oh, for a kindling touch from that pure flame - Which ministered, erewhile, to a sacrifice - Of gratitude, beneath Italian skies, - In words like these: 'Up, Voice of Song! proclaim - 'Thy saintly rapture with celestial aim; - 'For lo! the Imperial City stands released - 'From bondage threatened by the embattled East, - 'And Christendom respires, from guilt and shame - 'Redeemed, from miserable fear set free - 'By one day's feat, one mighty victory. - 'Chant the deliverer's praise in every tongue; - 'The Cross shall spread, the Crescent hath waxed dim, - 'He conquering, as in joyful Heaven is sung; - 'He conquering through God, and God through Him.'" - -The poems rise to the occasion, but at times they are more rhetorical -than poetical, and the constant apostrophes to God to wake up from His -sleep are not in the best taste. Filicaia unfortunately devotes almost -as much eulogy to the ungrateful Leopold as to the heroic Sobiesky, and -the grovelling adulation with which he addresses Royal and Imperial -personages, detracts from the loftiness of the whole. - -Filicaia was remarkable for tenderness. One of the finest of his -sonnets is on Divine Providence: - - "Qual madre i figli con pietoso affetto," - -in which thought and pathos are blended with admirable art. Some of -his sonnets are strikingly ingenious. Very beautiful is that on the -earth-quake of Sicily, in 1683: - - "Quì pur foste, o Città; nè in voi quì resta - Testimon di voi stesse un sasso solo, - In cui si scriva: Quì s'aperse il suolo, - Qui fu Catania, e Siracusa è questa!" - -Very beautiful are some of his religious verses: - - "Avess' io scritto meno, e assai più pianto; - E stil men terso avessi, alma più bella, - Men chiaro ingegno, e cor più puro e santo!" - -The final impression left by Filicaia's poems is that he was a great -nature rather than a perfect poet, and that it is owing to the -loftiness of his spirit rather than to the mastery of his art, that his -pages, too often cumbrous and conventional, are irradiated with flashes -so brilliant and striking that they leave an indelible impression on -the reader and place the poet on a pedestal more lofty and honourable -than many writers, gifted with keener wit and more vivid imagination, -can ever hope to ascend. - -As Chiabrera took Pindar for his model, so did FULVIO TESTI endeavour -to appear in the character of an Italian Horace. And, in truth, he -had many qualities to justify his undertaking the task. He has wit, -ingenuity, clear and pointed expression, and a mind genuinely poetical. -He seems to have developed early, and some of his best pieces were -written before he was twenty-five. He dedicated an edition of his poems -to Charles Emmanuel, Duke of Savoy, and thereby incurred the wrath of -the Spanish Governor of Lombardy, and had to take refuge in flight. -The Duke of Modena became his patron and gave him a pension, and his -successor, Francis I, was even more favourable to the poet, and took -him in his suite to Madrid in 1638, when Philip IV of Spain conferred -upon him a lucrative office. Testi resembled Ariosto in being made -Governor of the Province of Garfagnana, and Tasso in exciting the most -intense hatred and jealousy. For some unexplained reason, he was -arrested early in 1646 and thrown into prison, where he met his death -on the twenty-eighth of August. It is suspected that he was executed -within the precincts of the prison, but nothing certain is known; all -is suspicion and mystery. If he has not left anything very memorable, -his poems are at least spirited and elegant, and, unlike many of his -contemporaries, he is never dull and ponderous. Some of his letters are -witty and vivacious. - -The great painter, SALVATOR ROSA, often amused his leisure with writing -verses, and if his attention had not been so strongly directed to -the sister art of painting, he might have achieved notable success -in poetry. Some of his ballads are spontaneous and natural, and his -satires show genuine powers of observation and ridicule. That on the -painters of his day is, perhaps, the best, and is well worth reading. - -Another satirist of merit was BENEDETTO MENZINI. Like Filicaia, he -enjoyed the patronage of Christina of Sweden. Never, since the terrible -catastrophe of the sack of Rome under Clement VII, did the Eternal -City present such a magnificent aspect as in the latter part of the -Seventeenth Century. The stately days of Leo X seemed to be revived. -Alexander VII signalised his Pontificate by extraordinary splendour. -The colonnade enclosing the square before St. Peter's was erected by -Bernini in his reign. Christina vied with the Pope in the magnificence -of her Court. The Ambassadors to the Vatican endeavoured to out-shine -each other in pomp and luxury. If Menzini who lived in the heart of -this splendid society, did not transfer more than a dim reflection of -its brilliancy to his pages, he writes at least as a man who has seen -and observed much, and he is neither a pedant nor an empty declaimer. -He wrote an Art of Poetry--in verse, almost as good as that written in -France at the same period by Boileau. His sonnets and serious poems are -much more conventional. He was a good Latinist, but the great series of -Italian writers of Latin poems closed with the sparkling epigrams of -the brothers Amaltei. - -Another lyric poet attracted to Rome by the liberality of the Queen -of Sweden was ALESSANDRO GUIDI. He found a patron not only in that -Princess, but also, early in the Eighteenth Century, in Pope Clement -XI, whose Latin homilies he turned into Italian verse. Previous writers -had, in the composition of their Odes, observed the most rigid rules -of metre and rhyme. The same stanza, the same order of rhymes, was -maintained throughout each poem. Guidi, whether from want of skill, or -from indolence, or from love of originality, was thé first to discard -this iron regularity, and to write Odes in irregular stanzas, even -occasionally leaving verses without giving them a succeeding rhyme. -This was followed at intervals by other writers, until it culminated -in the boundless freedom of Leopardi, who, in his last productions, -introduces rhymes so sparingly as to make his metre little more than -a modification of blank verse. After Leopardi's imitators had tired -the public ear with their slipshod effusions, a reaction set in, -and regular stanzas are now more than ever in favour, the long and -elaborate stanzas of Filicaia being, however, neglected for the lighter -and more pointed quatrains. - -By this license, strongly censured at the time, Guidi undoubtedly -gained greater freedom of movement, and he is never obliged to force -his thoughts and twist his phrases. But it cannot be said that his -conceptions are more natural and unconventional than those of his -predecessors. He has no great glow of imagination, no rainbow hues -of fancy, no depth of thought, nor has he any powers of pathos or -tenderness. But he is always tasteful and scholarly, and his works are -perfectly free from any taint of coarseness or vulgarity. - -ALESSANDRO MARCHETTI was remarkable rather for his magnificent -translation of Lucretius than for any of his original productions. The -book was considered in Italy of a tendency too dangerous to be allowed -to pass the censorship, and it had to be printed in London and smuggled -surreptitiously into the country of its origin. - -FRANCESCO REDI wrote one very celebrated work, _Bacco in Toscana,_ a -dithyramb, full of fire and enthusiasm, a species of poem of which -there are few examples in the Italian language. He was a physician by -profession, and greatly advanced the science of his time. He died in -1698. - -CARLO MARIA MAGGI wrote some pleasing poems in the Milanese dialect, -and some of his Sonnets addressed to Italy have the patriotic fire so -much extolled in Filicaia. - -FELICE ZAPPI and FAUSTINA MARATTI, his wife, wrote some noble and -spirited Sonnets. One by Zappi on the Moses of Michael Angelo, has most -striking beauty and originality. - -The Seventeenth Century was not rich in comic poets. The versifiers of -the age are mostly distinguished by a rather monotonous seriousness. -Two poets, however, are remarkable for their comic inventions, LORENZO -LIPPI and ALESSANDRO TASSONI. - -The former, a Florentine, was painter as well as poet. He wrote a -burlesque poem in Ottava Rima called the _Malmantile._ It is valued -as a storehouse of Tuscan phrase, and is, indeed, so full of the slang -of the Mercato Vecchio as to be almost unintelligible to Italians -themselves, much more to foreigners, without the copious annotations of -the commentators. - -ALESSANDRO TASSONI was a native of Modena, born in 1565, died in -1635. He distinguished himself as a Commentator on Petrarch, but more -especially by his mock-heroic poem, _La Secchia Rapita,_ which may be -translated _The Rape of the Bucket._ Like so many other writers of -the day, he passed his life in the service of Cardinals md Princes, -and he suffered much from the caprice of his masters and the envy -of his rivals. But he ended his days peacefully as a pensioner of -Francis I, Duke of Modena. His principal work, _La Secchia Rapita,_ has -much ingenuity of thought to recommend it, but his style is somewhat -deficient in colour, and his subject is not very interesting in itself, -nor is it made so by its author. Misled by the similarity of the names, -Dickens, in his _Pictures from Italy,_ attributes the _Secchia Rapita_ -to Tasso. Among mock-heroic poems of modern times, Boileau's _Lutrin_ -may be said to be slightly inferior to the _Secchia Rapita,_ but Pope's -_Rape of the Lock_ and Leopardi's _Paralipomeni_ vastly superior, both -in brilliancy of thought and perfection of style. - -In comparing the poetry of the Seventeenth Century with that of the -Sixteenth, we are struck by the curious fact that its authors have -a more old-fashioned air than their predecessors. This is partly to -be-accounted for by their search for ingenious conceits, which prevents -them from being as flowing and natural as the contemporaries of Ariosto -and Tasso. Their style, too, is more cumbrous. They are fonder of -long and complicated periods than the poets of the Sixteenth Century. -But they have many compensating qualities. Their very fault of being -too artificial in thought and imagery argues the possession of no -little imagination and fertility. A man cannot pervert into strange -and fantastic forms his thoughts and conceptions without being at -considerable pains to do so. None of these writers spare themselves -any trouble, and they often choose the most difficult metres which -the language can present. Their great defect is conventionality of -phraseology, which began with Tasso and only ended in the Nineteenth -Century with Monti. They bedeck themselves with the rags of Ancient -Mythology, and do not seem for a moment to suspect that they would -look much better in unborrowed garments. Instead of talking of the -wind, they talk of Boreas. Instead of mentioning the sea, they mention -Neptune and Thetis. All this makes even the best of them unnatural and -pedantic to a degree, and it is only in their very finest passages that -they are enjoyable to the modern reader. The intense love for Classical -Antiquity had died out with the Renaissance, and the allusions to the -Gods of Greece and Rome were but the outcome of habit and convention. -Instead of adorning their works, these allusions positively make them -dry, for it is only Marino who uses them as they should be used: for -the display of brilliant pageants of description and imagery. He -conjures up a fairyland of his own as Keats did two hundred years later. - - -[Footnote 1: Lord Somers was a great admirer of Filicaia. See Lord -Campbell's _Lives of the Chancellors,_ and Macaulay's _History._] - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -GALILEO AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. - - -In enumerating the Prose Writers of the Seventeenth Century, we are -confronted with the illustrious name of GALILEO GALILEI, which will -continue to be remembered as long as Science is cultivated. - -This celebrated man was born at Pisa in 1564, and died at Arcetri, near -Florence, in 1642. He was Professor of Mathematics at the University -of Pisa, and there would be absolutely nothing of note to tell of his -life, had he not happened to come into collision with the Inquisition, -for maintaining, or rather for his method of maintaining, that the -earth revolved round the sun. He was cited to appear before the -Tribunal of the Inquisition, but when he arrived in Rome he was treated -with consideration, and even with distinction. His place of arrest was -the magnificent palace of the Tuscan Ambassador, near the Trinità de' -Monti. But it will be more satisfactory to quote his own statement in a -letter to a priest of his acquaintance, Father Vincenzo Renieri. - -"From a youth upwards," he writes, "I meditated the composition of -a Dialogue on the Two Systems of Ptolemy and Copernicus. My chief -inducement was to explain the ebb and flow of the tides by the movement -of the earth. That which first acquainted Rome with my opinions on the -movement of the earth was a long dissertation which I addressed to -Cardinal Orsini, and then I was denounced as a scandalous and impudent -writer. After the publication of my Dialogues, I was summoned to Rome -by the Congregation of the Holy Office I arrived in Rome on the tenth -of February, 1633, and was confined to the delightful palace of the -Tuscan Ambassador on the Trinità de' Monti. Next day I was visited by -Father Lancio, Commissary of the Holy Inquisition. He took me with him -in his carriage. On the way he asked me numerous questions. He was most -zealous in his endeavour to make me repair the scandal I had given to -the whole of Italy by maintaining the shocking doctrine that the earth -revolved round the sun. To all my arguments, drawn from physics and -mathematics, he answered in the words of Scripture: '_Terra autem in -æternum stabit, quia Terra autem in æternum stat._' Occupied in this -conversation, we arrived at the Palace of the Holy Office, situated -to the west of the magnificent Church of St. Peter. I was immediately -presented by the Commissary to Monsignor Vitrici, the Assessor. Two -Dominican Monks were with him. They politely requested me to produce -my arguments before the full Congregation, so that in case I should -be condemned my defence might be heard. The following Thursday I was -presented to the Congregation. I produced my proofs, but unhappily -they were not appreciated, and all my endeavours failed to make them -acceptable. They zealously endeavoured to convince me of the scandal I -had given, and the passage of Scripture was always quoted as a proof of -my guilt. I remembered opportunely an argument drawn from Scripture. -I alleged it, but with little success. I said that it appeared to me -that there were passages in the Bible worded in accordance with the -popular views of Astronomy current in antiquity, and that the passage -which was quoted against me might be conceived in that spirit. I added -that in the Book of Job, chapter xxxvii, v. 18, it is said that the -heavens are as if they were made of metal and bronze. Elihu it is who -utters these words. Thus we clearly see that he speaks according to -the system of Ptolemy, and that system has been proved to be absurd by -modern philosophy and common sense. If, therefore, so much stress is -laid on Joshua stopping the sun, we ought also to consider that passage -where it is said that the heavens are composed of so many skies like -mirrors. The inference seemed to me to be perfectly logical. Still, it -was always slurred over, and I could extract no reply except a shrug of -the shoulders, the usual refuge of those who have made up their minds, -and who are deaf to argument from excess of prejudice. - -"Finally, I was obliged, as a good Catholic, to retract my opinion, -and my Dialogue was placed on the Index of forbidden books. After -five months I received permission to leave Rome. Florence was then -visited by the Plague, and as the place of my arrest, I was sent, as -a great favour, to the abode of the dearest friend I had at Siena, -the Archbishop Piccolomini. His company gave me so much pleasure and -contributed so much to my peace of mind, that I resumed my studies, -and after another five months, when the Plague had lost its virulence -in Florence, I was, by the kindness of his Holiness the Pope, allowed -to exchange the confinement of that house for the liberty of a country -retreat which I so vastly enjoy. Towards the beginning of December of -this year, 1633, I returned to the Villa of Belriguardo, and then to -Arcetri, where I am now, enjoying salubrious air in the neighbourhood -of my cherished Florence." - -This letter, dated Arcetri, December, 1633, gives a plain unvarnished -account of what took place. It is obvious, from the expressions used -by Galileo, that he thought he was let off with considerable leniency. -We cannot fail to agree with him when we think of Bruno and Vanini, -who, not long before, had been burnt alive by the same Tribunal, and of -Campanella, confined in a dungeon for twenty-seven years. - -Thus we see that there is no truth in the popular legend that he was -put to the torture, and there is probably as little in the anecdote -that on rising to his feet after his retractation, he exclaimed, -_"Eppur si muove!"_ Doubtless, if he had uttered those words, he would -have paid heavily for his temerity. - -In his retirement at Arcetri he was at liberty to continue unmolested -those researches which have made his name immortal. His invention -of the telescope revealed to him many wonders of the Heavens. He -discovered the Satellites of Jupiter and the Ring of Saturn, although -he did not realise the annular nature of the latter object, a triumph -reserved for Huyghens. He observed the spots on the Sun and the -Mountains of the Moon. His researches in Chemistry enhanced his renown -with many memorable results. - -Nor was it only as a man of science that he claimed the admiration of -the world. As a writer, he stands foremost in his age. His prose is -clear, unaffected, graceful, and occasionally eloquent and impressive. -His scientific treatises are models of lucidity. He himself, when -praised for that quality, attributed it in a large measure to his -constant perusal of the works of Ariosto. Clearness, indeed, is the -especial merit of that great poet. In his youth he wrote an essay -to prove the superiority of Ariosto to Tasso. He said Tasso gave us -words, and Ariosto, realities. This assertion may be somewhat sweeping, -but it has a foundation of truth. Still, he admitted that Tasso had -many qualities that please the reader, and that it was only the sharp -scrutiny of criticism which he could not sustain. - -The works of Galileo are not very voluminous. First and foremost -in importance, comes the _Dialogue on the Two Systems of Ptolemy -and Copernicus._ His _Saggiatore_ is hardly less important. His -_Problems_ contain descriptions of many experiments, and his Letters -are as remarkable for wit and vivacity as for strength and boldness -of thought. His Essay on the comparative merits of Ariosto and Tasso -has already been mentioned. He took great delight in poetry, and we -are assured by his biographers that he knew by heart many passages -from Virgil, Ovid, Horace, and the Tragedies attributed to Seneca. In -Italian, he derived the greatest pleasure from Ariosto, and next to -him, from Petrarch and Berni. Dante is not mentioned, but it would be -extraordinary if the most profound and graphic of all poets did not -appeal to him, although the vagaries of taste are incalculable. It must -be remembered that in the Seventeenth Century the appreciation of Dante -had sunk to its lowest ebb. - -Among those who signed the decree condemning the errors of the -illustrious Galileo, was Cardinal GUIDO BENTIVOGLIO, who, in spite -of that unfortunate circumstance, deserves honourable mention as an -historian and writer of Memoirs. He was employed as Nuncio by several -Popes in Flanders and in France. Gregory XV raised him to the Roman -purple, and when the Conclave met in 1644, after the death of Urban -VIII, there is every reason to believe that he would have been elected -Pope, had he not fallen ill and died on the seventeenth of September. -There is a magnificent portrait of him by Vandyke at Bologna. - -He had many qualities of an able, though not of a great, writer. He had -the advantage of seeing and observing much, and the impress of his -experience is discernible in all he wrote. Ranke extols his Memoirs -as giving an attractive picture of his age, and, in truth, he is one -of the few authors, not of French nationality, who approach in merit -the great memoir-writers of France. He also wrote an account of his -missions as Nuncio, numerous Letters, and a History of the War of -Independence of the Netherlands against the despotism of Spain. The -_History_ is a readable and spirited narrative, and the historian is -seldom prejudiced or bitter. Having himself lived so long in Flanders, -he is able to give graphic descriptions of the localities he mentions. -Ambrosoli censures his style for its monotony, but I cannot say I ever -detected that defect. On the contrary, it seems to me to be as flowing -and animated as can be desired. A writer on historical subjects cannot -be expected to indulge in the fanciful digressions of novelists or -essayists. If Bentivoglio had lived to be Pope, he would doubtless have -distinguished his Pontificate in a manner worthy of his abilities. - -A greater historian than Bentivoglio appeared in DAVILA, a native of -Padua. In his youth he served in the French army, and then in that -of the Republic of Venice. He was of noble origin, and his ancestors -occupied the post of Grand Constable of the Island of Cyprus when it -was still under the dominion of Venice. They had the privilege of -taking their seat next to the Doge when they appeared in the Grand -Council, and this privilege was accorded to Davila himself, in such -high esteem was he held. In 1630, he published his _History of the -Civil Wars of France,_ the work to which he is indebted for his -literary fame. He was appointed in the following year Commandant of -the garrison of Crema, but on his way from Venice to that town he was -foully murdered in a village named San Michele. - -Davila was a man of action rather than of letters, and it is therefore -not surprising if his style is less purely Tuscan than that of -more elegant scholars. But he had great strength of thought, keen -penetration, and no contemptible knowledge of affairs. These qualities, -added to the interesting events he narrates, secured great attention -and applause for his work. He has, however, some defects. He is not -always very skilful in presenting vivid pictures to the imagination and -he sometimes Italianizes the names of persons and places until they -become hardly recognisable. Thus Elboeuf is metamorphosed into Ellebove. - -FRA PAOLO SARPI obtained immense reputation, especially in Protestant -countries, for his _History of the Council of Trent_ and his bitter -pamphlets against the Court of the Vatican. In the great contest -between the Republic of Venice and Pope Paul V, he took the part of -his native city with intrepidity not unalloyed by ferocity. He was -undoubtedly a man of great abilities, but his abilities were sharpened -by his rancour and malignity. - -Another historian of the Council of Trent, but one who regarded it from -the point of view of the Papal party, was Cardinal SFORZA PALLAVICINO, -one of the most brilliant men that ever entered the Society of Jesus. -He was so amiable and benevolent that Pope Alexander VII used to say of -him "Il Cardinal Pallavicino é tutto amore." He died in 1667. His works -comprise, besides the _History of the Council of Trent,_ a _Treatise -on Christian Perfection,_ an _Essay on Style_ and a _Biography of -Alexander VII._ All these works are remarkable for distinction of -style, although he sometimes indulges too much in pointed antitheses. -He was very unlike Davila in the care and polish he bestowed upon his -compositions. - -Another Jesuit, DANIEL BARTOLI, wrote the _History of his Order_ and -the _Lives of Eminent Jesuits_ in a style little short of perfection. -He has indeed been accused of elaborating his phrases until they -ceased to be natural; and yet in spite of his elaboration, he had his -cavillers who pointed out idioms of doubtful correctness, and said -_Questo non si può dire, (this cannot be said.)_ He replied to them in -a witty pamphlet: _The Right and Wrong of the Non Si Può._ "A clever -work," says Fontanini; "but the Author's cleverness would have been -better displayed in avoiding the errors than in defending them with -obstinate ingenuity." - -An eminent preacher and divine of the age was FATHER PAUL SEGNERI -whose books of devotion are still used in Catholic countries. He, too, -was a Jesuit, but his style is not quite so good as that of his two -predecessors. It is occasionally too pompous and declamatory; but he -had a fertile and vigorous mind and preached and wrote from his heart. - -Another writer, less orthodox, but more celebrated, was GIORDANO -BRUNO. His works, however, although published on the threshold of the -Seventeenth Century, were conceived and written in the Sixteenth. He -was burnt alive for his heresies in the year 1601. For some years -he took refuge in England, and it would have been well for his -prosperity had he stayed there. In these days of greater latitude of -speculation, there appears to be little in his works to bring down -upon him so terrible a penalty, but the provocation hardly given by -the works, seems to have been afforded by the author. He was irritable -and vainglorious, and he knew neither prudence nor discretion. His -great treatise, _Della Causa, Principio ed Uno,_ is an exposition of -Pantheism, but his vague reveries have little foundation in science to -recommend them. He also wrote a Comedy, rather more indelicate than -should emanate from the pen of a philosopher. - -CAMPANELLA, a somewhat kindred spirit, though without the latent -Atheism of Giordano Bruno, was a Dominican Friar, a native of Cosenza. -He was suspected of disaffection, perhaps of heresy, and was cooped -up for twenty-seven years in a narrow dungeon. He beguiled his weary -captivity by writing long philosophical works. They are, however, all -in Latin,[1] and therefore do not come within the scope of this volume. -I mention them as a sign of the revival of the long dormant spirit -of science and speculation. Campanella wrote in defence of Galileo's -theory of the rotation of the earth round the sun. Campanella obtained -his liberty in 1629 and retired to France, where he met with some -kindness from Cardinal Richelieu. - -The first Edition of the celebrated _Dictionary of the Accademia della -Crusca_ was published in 1613. It is curious that with the universal -attention it aroused, it did not raise the standard of taste and -scholarship, for truth to tell, the average run of inferior writers -produced works incredibly bad. - -There was a dearth of really good writers of stories in prose in the -Seventeenth Century. The _Stories_ of CELIO MALASPINI are racy and -amusing, and give a graphic idea of the manners and customs of the -early part of the Century, but they are often indelicate and have -few graces of style to recommend them. TRAJANO BOCCALINI wrote some -vivacious political and literary squibs which had a wide circulation in -an age long before the introduction of newspapers, where alone writings -on such ephemeral topics now appear. - -Florence could boast of a select band of philosophers, MAGALOTTI, -VIVIANI, REDI and DATI, but their influence does not seem to have -extended beyond Tuscany. AUTON MARIA SALVINI was a laborious grammarian -and one of the chief compilers of the Dictionary above named. - -Probably the most eminent man of letters of the last ten years of the -Seventeenth Century was CRESCIMBENI, the historian of Italian poetry, -and the founder of the Arcadian Academy, still flourishing in Rome. -He was a writer of great talent and judgment, and he was more alive -than his contemporaries to the evils resulting from the exaggerated -metaphors and wild hyperboles introduced by the followers of Marino. He -looked out for a perfect model of poetry, and he found it in the works -of Angelo di Costanzo, and certainly that writer's equable sweetness -and refinement are unruffled by tempestuous passion or towering -sublimity. Crescimbeni might, we think, with greater propriety have -selected Dante, Petrarch, and Ariosto to reform the degraded taste of -the age; but still, the beauties of Costanzo are of a high order, and -the recommendation bore good fruit. - -If it cannot be said of any writer of the Seventeenth Century that he -rises to the highest pinnacle of Art, yet, on a review of the whole -period, there remains an impression of much ingenuity and much vigour -of thought. - - -[Footnote 1: His poems, chiefly Sonnets, are in Italian.] - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -CHARACTERISTICS OF THE WRITERS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. - - -The precepts of Crescimbeni bore good fruit, and both prose and poetry -gradually freed themselves from the faults of taste so obvious in the -preceding generation. Verse became lighter and more flowing, although -there was, unhappily, no diminution of conventional phraseology or -of mythological allusion. The comic poets were numerous and gifted. -But, on the other hand, there was less seriousness and perhaps less -originality. The influence of French Literature began to prevail, and -it has not been shaken off even to the present day. The tyranny of -governments was not quite so oppressive. Public opinion began to revolt -against the most flagrant abuses, and a succession of enlightened -sovereigns and statesmen carried into practice the enlightened -philanthropy of Voltaire and the sentimental philanthrophy of -Rousseau. Indeed, all over Europe, there was a desire, in the second -half of the Eighteenth Century, to promote the welfare of the people, -such as was never evinced in the age of Davila or of Filicaia. Louis -XVI and Turgot in France, Charles III and Aranda in Spain, Pombal in -Portugal, the Grand Duke Leopold in Tuscany, were all zealous in the -cause of humanity and enlightenment. It seemed even to acute observers -that a golden age was awaiting the human race. Unhappily, the horrors -and crimes of the French Revolution rudely dispelled these pleasing -visions and produced a reaction, the effects of which threw back the -progress of humanity for many generations. It is heart-breaking to -think how different the development of Europe might have been, had the -extreme section of the French Republicans been kept in subordination -and had Roland guided the destinies of France instead of Robespierre. - -The conquests of Napoleon completed what the Reign of Terror had begun. -Old abuses were swept away, but only to make way for tyranny more -hopeless and relentless. The loss of life and treasure was enormous, -and the decline in the wealth of Italy became more conspicuous than -ever. - -Authors fared somewhat badly during this century. Princes, probably -following the example of the frivolous Court of Louis XV, no longer -even pretended to encourage science and literature. We hear of no poet -receiving even the precarious and capricious patronage bestowed upon -Tasso and Ariosto. Metastasio was the only poet who basked in the -sunshine of Royal favour, and he owed his prosperity to the Court of -Vienna, and not to the Court of Sardinia, or of Naples. The patronage -of the great was withdrawn, and that of the public had hardly begun. -Thus writers, unless possessed of ample means, had bitter struggles -with poverty and obscurity. Some, like Muratori and Parini, entered the -Church and became monks or abbés. Others, like Baretti and Algarotti, -sought their fortune in foreign lands. The impudent piracy of books, -and the unauthorised performance of plays deprived even popular authors -of the reward of their labours. Goldoni, after spending many years in -producing comedies that deserved and obtained applause, was glad to -find an asylum in France as reader of Italian to the three daughters of -Louis XV. - -The great merit of the Eighteenth Century, in Italy as elsewhere, was -its light-heartedness and humanity; the great defect, its materialism -and frivolity. Indeed, it would be hard to conceive a more enervating -atmosphere than surrounded many Italian poets, especially in the -earlier part of the Century; and unhappily, the numerous literary -Academies, instituted all over the Peninsula, instead of arresting -the evil, positively aggravated it, as they devoted their attention, -with few exceptions, to subjects and thoughts of the most trifling -description. This frivolity is not wholly absent even from the works of -Metastasio, one of the most delightful poets that Italy ever produced. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -METASTASIO. - - -PIETRO TRAPASSI was born in Rome on the third of January, 1698. His -parents were of humble origin, and he was apprenticed to a goldsmith. -He was gifted by nature with a musical voice, and he soon attracted -attention, not only by repeating the verses of others, but by -improvising verses of his own. A literary man of those days, Gian -Vincenzo Gravina, was among those who were interested in the infant -prodigy, and so high an opinion did he form of the youth's natural -abilities, that he decided to educate him and to start him in life. -Never did a benefactor bestow his kindness on a worthier object. -Gravina changed the boy's name from Trapassi to METASTASIO, and not -only taught him Greek and Latin, but also introduced him to the study -of the law, in which he himself was a proficient. In his will, he left -his protégé fifteen thousand scudi, that he might have leisure to -cultivate his intellectual gifts. - -Unfortunately, Metastasio was but young, and his sudden accession to -fortune turned his head. The fifteen thousand scudi were soon spent -in the company of friends who deserted him the moment they discovered -that he was no longer able to entertain them as before. He awoke from -his dream of prosperity, and found himself solitary and neglected in -the vast wilderness of Rome. To add to his misfortunes, Pope Clement XI -had become prejudiced against him by the extravagance of his conduct. -He saw that there was no opening for him in Rome, and he determined to -fall back upon his legal knowledge and to enter the office of a notary -at Naples. - -Italian Opera was beginning its brilliant career at that epoch, and -Metastasio had, when in Rome, written a drama for music which had -obtained much applause. A Neapolitan manager, on the look out for -a libretto, heard that the young Roman poet was in the town, and -commissioned him to write a work for his theatre. Metastasio produced -_Gli Orti Esperidi._ It was brilliantly successful. The celebrated -singer, Marianna Bulgarelli, surnamed "La Romanina," appeared as Venus, -and a life-long friendship was begun between her and the poet. His next -work, _Didom Abbandonata,_ was an even greater triumph, and, wonderful -for chose days, the poet derived handsome pecuniary profit from his -success. He was able in time to pay off his debts and to return to -Rome. Here he took Holy Orders, and was henceforth known as the Abbé -Metastasio. - -The Emperor Charles VI was a passionate lover of music, and kept not -only an Italian company in Vienna, but also an Italian poet to write -the words of the operas which his favourite composers received orders -to set to music. The poet was entitled "Poeta Cesareo," and enjoyed a -liberal stipend. The post was occupied by Apostolo Zeno, a Venetian, -who, on retiring by reason of advancing years, recommended the -brilliant Metastasio as his successor. Accordingly, in 1730, Metastasio -set out for Vienna, and although he lived for fifty-two years longer, -he never returned to his native country. - -His old friend, Marianna Bulgarelli, died some years after he had gone -to Austria, and she left him a large part of her considerable fortune. -But he refused to accept it, as he was of opinion that it ought to have -gone to her husband, to whom, accordingly, it was handed over. - -Metastasio is the only writer of librettos whose works have risen to -the dignity of a classic. Indeed, they are still remembered when the -composers who set them to music have sunk into oblivion. Some of his -dramas seem to have been used by several composers in succession, and -one, _La Clemenza di Tito,_ produced in Vienna for the first time with -the music of Caldara on the fourth of November, 1734, was many years -afterwards used by the illustrious Mozart. - -The highest favour of the Imperial family was bestowed upon Metastasio -during the reign of Charles VI, and was continued by the Empress Maria -Theresa and her son, Joseph II. It was only natural that he should feel -the most intense loyalty in return, and when the House of Hapsburg -suffered cruel reverses in the War of the Austrian Succession, and -later on, in the Seven Years' War, he sympathised acutely with his -Imperial mistress. - -Alfieri tells us in his _Memoirs_ that he might have had an -introduction to Metastasio during his stay in Vienna, but that he saw -him one day in the park at Schönbrunn making the customary obeisance to -Maria Theresa with an air of such cheerful adulation, that he conceived -the most supreme contempt for so servile a poet. But surely this is -carrying independence to the verge of churlishness. If Metastasio had -not reason to show his gratitude, who had? And the most ardent opponent -of tyranny must own that Maria Theresa had qualities that give her -a lofty rank among the monarchs, not only of her own century, but of -those past and to come. - -Metastasio lived in uninterrupted prosperity in Vienna for half a -century, and when he died on the twelfth of April, 1782, he was -universally regretted in the country of his adoption and in that of his -birth. He amassed a handsome fortune of one hundred thousand florins, -which he left to the family of the Councillor Martinez, with whom he -had resided since he first came to Vienna. - -The popularity of Metastasio's works during his lifetime was unbounded. -He is of all Italian poets the easiest for a foreigner to understand. -In consideration for the composers, he only selected those words that -most readily lent themselves to the purpose of singing. Thus his -vocabulary is somewhat limited, and he has a tendency to repeat the -same imagery. The construction of his phrases is simplicity itself, and -he offers no obscure passages for the reader to solve. He is neither -very profound nor very picturesque; he is essentially musical. But he -had a beautiful mind, and his tenderness and pathos have the qualities -of freshness and purity. The dialogue of his dramas, though musical -in versification, is not striking in substance, but every character -of importance, before leaving the stage, or at the end of an act, -is given a song, and it is by virtue of these glorious songs that -Metastasio continues to charm us even at the present day. They are so -musical that they positively sing themselves. They are so clear and -pointed in expression, that they easily impress themselves upon the -memory. He takes his plots from Ancient History and from Mythology, -and for his Oratorios, from the Bible. The local colouring is not -always very vivid, and we see too often the powdered hair and the red -heels of the age of Rococo. But the stories have plenty of spirit -and human interest, and if heroes like Titus and Cæsar sigh too much -in the manner of love-lorn swains, they do so in lines so melodious -that pardon cannot be withheld. An exquisite selection could be made -from the songs in Metastasio's operas, in which we find thoughts -tender, beautiful and ingenious, expressed in language delightfully -spontaneous, fresh and emphatic. The meaning is so linked with the -music of the verse, and that music is so peculiar to the Italian -language, that the subtle charm of the original would evaporate in -translation. - -I will quote a few of the finest. - -In the _Didone Abbandonata,_ Dido charges her sister Selene, who -herself is in love with Æneas, to assure him that she will ever love -him. Selene leaves the stage after singing the following song. The -passages in brackets are supposed to be asides: - - Dirò che fida sei, - Su la mia fè riposa; - Sarò per te pietosa; - (Per me crudel sarò.) - - Sapranno i labbri miei - Scoprirgli il tuo desio. - (Ma la mia pena, oh Dio! - Come nasconderò?) - -Dido vindicates her Royal dignity: - - Son regina, e sono amante; - E l' impero io sola voglio - Del mio soglio e del mio cor. - - Darmi legge in van pretende - Chi l' arbitrio a me contende - Della gloria e dell' amor. - -Selene says that every lover fancies that beauty alone makes him -fall in love; but it is not beauty, it is a fond desire that rises -unexpectedly, that delights us, and we know not why: - - Ogni amator suppone - Che della sua ferita - Sia la beltà cagione, - Ma la beltà non è. - - È un bel desio, che nasce - Allor che men s'aspetta; - Si sente che diletta, - Ma non si sa perchè. - -In the _Artaserse,_ Mandane implores of Arbace not to forget her, as -she will not forget him: - - Conservati fedele; - Pensa ch' io resto e peno; - E qualche volta almeno - Ricordati di me. - - Ch' io per virtù d'amore, - Parlando col mio core, - Ragionerò con te. - -In the Oratorio of _Gioas,_ Ismaele says that the race of David is not -exterminated as was supposed, and compares it to a flower that revives -from a languishing condition, and to a torch giving out new light when -it seemed to be dying: - - Pianta così, che pare - Estinta, inaridita, - Torna più bella in vita - Talvolta a germogliar. - - Face così talora, - Che par che manchi e mora, - Di maggior lume adorna - Ritorna a scintillar. - -In the _Olimpiade,_ Argene, disguised as a Shepherdess, sings with a -Chorus of Maidens the praises of the forest: - - _Coro._ - - Oh care selve, oh cara - Felice libertà! - - _Argene._ - - Qui se un piacer si gode, - Parte non v'ha la frode, - Ma lo condisce a gara - Amore e fedeltà. - - _Coro._ - - Oh care selve, oh cara - Felice libertà! - - _Argene._ - - Qui poco ognun possiede, - E ricco ognun si crede; - Ne, più bramando, impara - Che cosa è povertà. - - _Coro._ - - Oh care selve, oh cara - Felice libertà! - - _Argene._ - - Senza custode o mura - La pace è qui sicura, - Che l'altrui voglia avara - Onde allettar non ha. - - _Coro._ - - Oh care selve, oh cara - Felice libertà! - -Megacle declares that as he followed his friend in prosperity, so will -he stand by him in adversity: - - Lo seguitai felice - Quand' era il ciel sereno; - Alle tempeste in seno - Voglio seguirlo ancor. - - Come dell' oro il foco - Scopre le masse impure, - Scoprono le sventure - De' falsi amici il cor. - -Aminta compares himself in his misfortune to a ship-wrecked mariner who -gives up all hope and abandons himself to his fate: - - Son qual per mare ignoto - Naufrago passegiero, - Già con la morte a nuoto - Ridotto a contrastar. - - Ora un sostegno, ed ora - Perde una stella; al fine - Perde la speme ancora, - E s' abbandona al mar. - -The Chorus and Semi-chorus implore Jove to pardon a sacrilege: - - _Coro._ - - I tuoi strali, terror de mortali, - Ah! sospendi, gran padre de Numi, - Ah! deponi, gran Nume de' re. - - _Parte del Coro._ - - Fumi il tempio del sangue d'un empio - Che oltraggiò con insano furore, - Sommo Giove, un imago di te. - - _Coro._ - - I tuoi strali, terror de' mortali, - Ah! sospendi, gran padre de' Numi, - Ah! deponi, gran Nume de' re. - - _Parte del Coro._ - - L'onde chete del pallido Lete - L'empio varchi; ma il nostro timore, - Ma il suo fallo portando con se. - - _Covo._ - - I tuoi strali, terror de' mortali, - Ah! sospendi, gran padre de' Numi, - Ah! deponi, gran Nume de' re. - -In the Opera of _Demofoonte_ Dircea declares her constancy to Timante: - - In te spero, o sposo amato, - Fido a te la sorte mia; - E per te, qualunque sia, - Sempre cara a me sarà. - - Pur che a me nel morir mio - Il piacer non sia negato - Di vantar che tua son io, - Il morir mi piacerà. - -Creusa contrasts the happiness of primitive ages with the artificiality -of the present: - - Felice età dell' oro, - Bella innocenza antica, - Quando al piacer nemica - Non era la virtù! - - Dal fasto e dal decoro - Noi ci troviamo oppressi; - E ci formiam noi stessi - La nostra servitù. - -In the _Isola Disabitata,_ Costanza deplores her forsaken condition: - - Se non piange un' infelice, - Da' viventi separata, - Dallo sposo abbandonata, - Dimmi, oh Dio, chi piangerà? - - Chi può dir ch'io pianga a torto, - Se nè men sperar mi lice - Questo misero conforto - D'ottener l' altrui pietà? - -In the _Clemenza di Tito,_ Titus declares that if he cannot reign by -love, he will not reign by fear: - - Se al impero, amici Dei! - Necessario è un cor severo, - O togliete a me l' impero, - O a me date un altro cor. - - Se la fe de' regni miei - Con l' amor non assicuro, - D'una fede io non mi curo - Che sia frutto del timor. - -The Chorus declares that it is not to be wondered at that the Gods -protect a Prince as noble as themselves: - - Che del Ciel, che degli Dei - Tu il pensier, l'amor tu sei, - Grand' eroe, nel giro angusto - Si mostrò di questo dì. - - Ma cagion di meraviglia - Non è già, felice Augusto, - Che gli Dei chi lor somiglia - Custodiscano così. - -In the _Temistocle,_ Rossane admits that she is distracted by jealousy: - - Basta dir ch' io sono amante, - Per saper che ho già nel petto - Questo barbaro sospetto, - Che avvelena ogni piacer; - - Che ha cent' occhi, e pur travede, - Che il mal finge, il ben non crede; - Che dipinge nel sembiante - I deliri del pensier. - -Serse declares that silence is more eloquent than words: - - Quando parto, e non rispondo, - Si comprendermi pur sai, - Tutto dico il mio pensier. - - Il silenzio è ancor facondo, - E talor si spiega assai - Chi risponde col tacer. - -Temistocle fears no tortures, and is proud of dying: - - Serberò fra ceppi ancora - Questa fronte ognor serena; - E la colpa, e non la pena, - Che può farmi impallidir. - - Reo son io; convien ch' io mora, - Se la fede error s'appella; - Ma per colpa così bella - Son superbo di morir. - -It is a law of nature that we feel for that sorrow which we have felt -ourselves: - - È legge di natura - Che a compatir ci move - Chi prova una sventura - Che noi provammo ancor; - - O sia che amore in noi - La somiglianza accenda; - O sia che più s'intenda - Nel suo l'altrui dolor. - -A noble prisoner feels himself superior to his cruel oppressor: - - Guardami prima in volto, - Anima vile, e poi - Giudica pur di noi - Il vincitor qual è. - - Tu libero e disciolto, - Sei di pallor dipinto; - Io di catene avvinto, - Sento pietà di te. - -Adoration of Divinity: - - Te solo adoro, - Mente infinita, - Fonte di vita, - Di verità; - - In cui si move, - Da cui dipende - Quanto comprende - L'eternità. - -A faithless friend will never make a faithful lover: - - Avran le serpi, O cara, - Con le colombe il nido, - Quando un amico infido - Fido amator sarà. - - Nell' anime innocenti, - Varie non son fra loro - Le limpide sorgenti - D'Amore e d'amistà. - -If the sorrows of everybody could be known, how few would be envied: - - Se a ciascun l'interno affanno - Si vedesse in fronte scritto, - Quanti mai ch' invidia fanno, - Ci farebbero pietà! - - Si vedria che i lor nemici - Hanno in seno; e si riduce - Nel parere a noi felici - Ogni lor felicità. - -The age of gold still lives in the hearts of the innocent: - - Ah! ritorna, età dell'oro, - Alla terra abbandonata, - Se non fosti immaginata - Nel sognar felicità. - - Non è ver; quel dolce stato - Non fuggì, non fu sognato; - Ben lo sente ogn' innocente - Nella sua tranquillità. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -PARINI. - - -If the Eighteenth Century was frivolous and luxurious, it was also -picturesque and elegant. The age of Dresden china, the age of Watteau -and Liotard in painting, must also have left its impress of refined -gaiety on poetry. We find that impress in the satires of Pope, in the -lighter poems of Voltaire, and in the musical verse of Parini. - -GIUSEPPE PARINI was born of humble parents at Bosisio, a hamlet in the -district of Milan, near the lake of Pusiano, on the twenty-second of -May, 1729. He was educated in Milan at the Arcimboldi Gymnasium, under -the direction of the Barnabite Fathers. He showed marked ability and -strong inclination for literature. But he had his parents to support, -and necessity forced him to become a law-writer. This occupation -furnished him with the means of studying Theology, and he entered the -priesthood. In 1752 he published his first volume of poems, which, -immature as it was, contained sufficient elements of promise to gain -for him many friends and admirers, and he was elected a member of the -Academy of the Trasformati of Milan and of the Arcadia of Rome. - -Still, he was in great distress, and he was compelled by poverty to -become a tutor in private families, and when his father died, he sold -the bit of land that came to him in order to supply his mother with -the necessaries of life. But, in spite of misfortune, his ambition was -not dormant, and he determined that nothing from his pen should see -the light until it was brought to the utmost height of perfection. He -conceived the plan of his great work, _Il Giorno,_ and the first part, -entitled _Il Mattino,_ was published in 1763, and the second part, -entitled _Meriggio,_ two years later. - -Count Firmian, the Austrian Governor of Lombardy, was induced by -Parini's reputation to entrust him with the editorship of an official -Gazette, and later on gave him the post of Professor of Literature at -the Palatine School at Milan, and after the suppression of the Jesuits -he was appointed in the same capacity at the College of the Brera. -These appointments made his circumstances a little more comfortable, -but his health gradually deteriorated. An affection of the muscles of -the legs seems to have deprived him of che free use of his limbs, and -it became so much worse with years, that he ended by being hardly able -to walk at all. To add to his misfortunes, his spirit was independent, -and his judgment on men and books sharp and even acrimonious. Thus -he made many enemies, and when Count Firmian died, he lost his -appointments just at the time when he wanted support for his declining -years. His sight failed him from overstudy, and at last death came to -him as a release on the fifteenth of August, 1799. - -His fame as a great poet rests entirely on _Giorno._ The third part, -_Il Vespro,_ and the fourth, _La Notte,_ were not published until after -his decease. Although the work occupied him for nearly forty years, it -remained incomplete after all, a few lines being wanted to conclude _La -Notte._ He was one of those poets who write and re-write their works -until they reach the last point of elaboration. His mind was not very -fertile, and when a thought occurred to him, it was too precious to be -dismissed until it had been adorned with all the resources of his art. - -That art, at its best, is brilliantly successful. His blank verse -attained a perfection which had never yet been witnessed in the -Italian language. Indeed, his blank verse is immeasurably superior -to his rhymes. His sonnets and odes are hardly preferable to the -better class of similar productions in his day, but the moment he -returns to blank verse, he regains all the powers of his mind and -is seen to the greatest advantage. The only defect of his style is -that it occasionally becomes stiff and heavy, probably the result -of over-elaboration. Its peculiar merit is its picturesqueness. It -is impossible to read fifteen or twenty consecutive lines in his -compositions without coming across a picture which a painter might -reproduce on his canvas. - -This quality of picturesqueness is peculiarly observable in his best -work _Il Giorno,_ a mock-heroic poem in blank verse, describing a -day in the life of a Milanese nobleman. It must have had some truth -as a satire of manners, for one leader of Milanese Society, Prince -Belgiojoso, was so struck with the resemblance of its hero to himself, -that he hired some ruffians to waylay the author one evening and beat -him severely. - -Parini's experiences as a tutor in noble families do not appear to -have been very happy, and his bile was excited against a class which, -even at its best, is apt to be frivolous and self-indulgent. The great -merit of the poem is its picturesqueness and its originality; the great -defect, its monotony of style, though not of thought or imagery. It -is all on one note, that of elaborate irony. He pretends to venerate -profoundly things which he most utterly despises. The difficulty of -sustaining this tone is often painfully apparent. Another defect is -that the poem, unlike the _Rape of the Lock,_ offers no connected -story. It accompanies the hero from the morning toilet to the midnight -ball. Never leaving this one character, a certain monotony is the -result, which the author has modified, though not removed, by a few -happy digressions. If the irony were not always so obviously insisted -upon, it would be at once more effective and more artistic. - -As a sample of Parini's style, we may quote the exquisite passage -from the first part of the _Giorno,_ where the hero, after taking his -snuff-box, adorns himself with his rings, his watches (for in the -age of Parini it was the fashion to wear two of everything), and the -crystal locket containing the portrait of his love. - - "Ecco a molti colori oro distinto, - Ecco nobil testuggine, su cui - Voluttuosi immagini lo sguardo - Invitan degli eroi. Copia squisita - Di fumido Rapè quivi è serbata, - E di Spagna oleoso, onde lontana, - Pur come suol fastidioso insetto, - Da te fugga la noia. Ecco che smaglia, - Cupido a te di circondar le dita, - Vivo splendor di preziosa anella. - Ami la pietra ove si stanno ignude - Sculte le Grazie, e che il giudeo ti fece - Creder opra d' Argivi, allor ch'ei chiese - Tanto tesoro, e d' erudito il nome - Ti compartì, prostrandosi a tuoi piedi? - Vuoi tu i lieti rubini? O più t' aggrada - Sceglier quest' oggi l'indico adamante - Là dove il lusso incantata costrinse - La fatica e il sudor di cento buoi - Che pria vagando per le tue campagne - Faccean sotto a i lor piè nascere i beni? - Prendi o tutti o qual vuoi; ma l'aureo cerchio - Che sculto intorno è d'amorosi motti - Ognor teco si vegga, il minor dito - Prémati alquanto, e sovvenir ti faccia - Dell' altrui fida sposa a cui se' caro. - Vengane alfin de gli oriuoi gemmati, - Venga il duplice pondo; e a te dell' óro - Che al alte imprese dispensar conviene - Faccia rigida prova. Ohimè che vago - Arsenal minutissimo di cose - Ciondola quindi e ripercosso insieme - Molce con soavissimo tintinno! - Ma v' hai tu il meglio? Ah sì; che i miei precetti - Sagace prevenisti. Ecco risplende, - Chiuso in breve cristallo, il dolce pegno - Di fortunato amor: lunge, o profani! - Chè a voi tant 'oltre penetrar non lice." - -This is a style chiselled and finished to the last degree of -perfection; but it is somewhat wanting in ease, and its stiffness is -perceptible even in this quotation, much more in the extent of the -whole poem. Parini was somewhat deficient in tenderness, and that want -casts a dryness over portions of his work. - -In this lack of tenderness he was very unlike Pope, with whom he had -otherwise many points of resemblance. Both were poets of the highly -elaborate civilization of their century. Both were intensely satirical -by nature. Both lived in cities, Pope seldom deserting London and its -neighbourhood, Parini seldom being seen beyond the precincts of Milan. -Both suffered from delicate health and deformity. Both were intensely -admired by their contemporaries, and regarded as masters of the Art -of Poetry. Pope, however, was singularly prosperous in the course of -his life, and Parini singularly unfortunate. The Italian poet had a -mind far less fiery and impetuous. He was also far less prolific and -versatile. Pope produced eight or ten masterpieces, each of which alone -would perpetuate his fame; Parini only one. Pope's mind often seems -as it were on fire, so ardent and brilliant are the emanations of his -genius. The light of Parini's verse is softer and mellower, and if he -does not dazzle us with the blinding splendour of Pope at his best, -he fills the ear with musical lines, and gratifies the imagination by -conjuring up pictures, finished like the finest miniatures, infinitely -pleasing and precious to a cultivated taste. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -ALFIERI. - - -Italy had produced splendid epics, noble lyrics and spirited satires, -but up to the middle of the Eighteenth Century she had not produced a -single tragedy which could be placed beside the tragic masterpieces of -other nations. At last, in 1749, at Asti in Piedmont, the poet was born -who was destined in a certain measure to supply the want. - -VITTORIO ALFIERI was born of noble and wealthy parents. His father -died soon after his birth, and his mother married again and survived -until 1792. He has left us in his Autobiography a complete picture -of his life and times. His relatives looked down upon learning and -science, and he was taught to feel thankful that he had no need to -study. He learnt a little Latin and a good deal of French, and that was -practically all that he took away with him from college. He entered -the Piedmontese Army, but he found the routine of military duties -so irksome that he asked and obtained leave from the King to travel -in foreign countries. He was presented to Louis XV at Versailles and -to Frederick the Great at Potsdam. He visited Sweden and Russia, -Holland and England, Spain and Portugal. He liked the Dutch and the -English best, and found in their countries the beneficial effects of -that liberty which he loved and to which he consecrated the fruits of -his genius. The development of his intellectual powers was, however, -phenomenally slow. He had practically forgotten his own language and -had to acquire it all over again. He was gifted with a fiery and -impetuous nature and intense vigour of thought, but the fertility of -his imagination was not commensurate with his other powers, Thus he had -to wait until study and observation had furnished him with sufficient -materials to enable him to write. This is the true explanation of the -torpid condition of his intellect for so many years. - -A lady of Turin to whom he was much attached, fell dangerously -ill, and whilst he was sitting with her during the tedious hours -of convalescence, his eye fell upon some tapestries in her room, -representing the history of Anthony and Cleopatra. It occurred to him -that a fine tragedy could be written on the subject of their loves, -and he endeavoured to make the attempt. He liked the occupation, and -his ambitious spirit was fired by the hope that he might at last prove -to the world that Italy could produce a great tragic poet as well as -Greece, France, and England. He persevered, and by dint of labour and -study he overcame the difficulties of his task, not the least of which -was his inability to express himself in his native language, so that -he was at first obliged to write down his ideas in French, then to -translate them into Italian prose, and finally to alter the prose until -it became verse. His heroic industry was crowned with a measure of -success, and if he did not become an Italian Shakespeare or Sophocles, -he enjoys, at least, the distinction of being the first Italian writer -of tragedies who deserves serious consideration from the literary -historian. - -His ample wealth enabled him to indulge in pleasures and pursuits -which often diverted his attention from his poetical labours. He was -especially fond of riding and horses, and he made several pilgrimages -to England to replenish his stud. English literature does not seem to -have occupied much of his attention. In his Autobiography he mentions -the works of Pope, and he says that he looked into Shakespeare and -became fully aware of his faults. It would have been well if he had -been equally alive to his beauties, and if he could have caught a -reflection of their rainbow hues to irradiate his own statuesque -tragedies. - -In later years he made the acquaintance of Louisa Stolberg, Countess -of Albany, wife of Charles Edward, the Young Pretender, and she took -refuge with him from the brutality of her drunken husband. They went -together to Paris, and there he published his tragedies in four -volumes, in 1789. They remained in Paris, convulsed as it was with the -frenzy of the Great Revolution, up to the very last moment compatible -with safety; and in 1792 they returned to Italy, just in time to escape -the massacres of September. They took up their abode in Florence, where -he amused himself with learning Greek and translating some of the -tragedies of Euripides. He died in 1803, and the Countess of Albany had -a magnificent monument by Canova erected to his memory in the Church of -Santa Croce. - -Alfieri was a fertile writer, as was to be expected from the unwearied -industry which was one of his most salient characteristics. He -wrote numerous poems and satires, nearly thirty tragedies, several -comedies, translations from the Greek and Latin, political tracts, -and his Autobiography. His fame rests entirely on his Tragedies, his -Autobiography, and, I think, his Satires, some of which are very -racy and original, especially the piece descriptive of his travels -in foreign countries. His Autobiography gives us a vivid picture of -the Italy of the Eighteenth Century, of its torpor and frivolity. He -reveals himself with a complete absence of reserve, and his Life is -the only work in which he gives us vivid descriptions, all his other -productions being rather colourless from the lack of descriptions. - -Want of colour is, indeed, the great defect of his poetry, as well as -of his prose. He had little eye for the beauties of Nature, and less -for the beauties of Art. He has nothing of the sweetness of Metastasio; -he has none of the exquisite details of Parini. Indeed, the details of -his works are singularly devoid of charm. To do them justice, we must -consider them as a whole, and not dwell on detached passages. - -The best of his Tragedies, to my mind, is one of the earliest, the -_Filippo,_ on the subject of Philip the Second of Spain and Don Carlos. -One of the most striking passages in Alfieri is the laconic dialogue, -terrible in its fierce abruptness, between Philip and his confidant -Gomez, after they have overheard the interview between the lovers. - - _Filippo--_ Udisti? - _Gomez--_ Udii. - _Filippo--_ Vedesti? - _Gomez--_ Io vidi. - _Filippo--_ Oh rabbia! - Dunque il sospetto?... - _Gomez--_ E' omai certezza. - _Filippo--_ E inulto - Filippo è ancor? - _Gomez--_ Pensa... - _Filippo--_ Pensai ... Mi segui. - -Nothing could be more spirited and effective, and had Alfieri often -written like that, very few tragic poets would have surpassed him. But -unfortunately, he is seldom seen to such advantage, and his inability -to cast the charm of imagination over his works makes them dry and -stony. He is a strict adherent of the French school in so far as -scrupulous observation of the three unities of time, place, and action -is concerned. But unlike the French dramatists, freedom, and not love, -is the mainspring of his tragedies. He brings as few actors on the -stage as possible. Some of his tragedies have only four characters. -It would be impossible for even the most skilful dramatist to make so -few persons fill up five acts without monotony and repetition, and -unfortunately Alfieri is anything but a skilful dramatist. His powers -of construction are but slight, and in many of his plays it is curious -to observe that the first act and the last are by far the best, the -three intervening acts being filled up with conversations that do not -greatly advance the action. He had, however, some power of delineating -character and some power of expressing passion, and his blank verse -has often a stern and rugged ring, impressive in its noble severity. -Thus it happens that some of his creations have proved effective in -the hands of great actors. Ristori achieved a brilliant triumph in his -_Mirra._ Salvini often appeared in _Saul_ and _Timoleon._ His _Saul_ -has been extolled above all his other works, but I think _Virginia,_ -the _Congiura de' Pazzi,_ and _Filippo_ are quite as fine. The -_Antigone_ and the _Agamemnon_ are terribly dry and colourless compared -to the creations of Æschylus and Sophocles. The _Abele,_ on the subject -of Cain and Abel, endeavours to enchant the reader with lyrical beauty, -but the poet's want of imagination is more painfully apparent than ever. - -The great qualities of the poet are vigour of thought and tenacity of -purpose, thus he is seen to the greatest advantage in those plays that -deal with the aspirations of freedom and the downfall of tyrants. But, -unfortunately, these subjects do not admit of much variety, and when we -have read four or five of Alfieri's tragedies, we have practically read -them all. In perusing his plays, we have the impression as if we were -standing in a temple, bare and stern, adorned with only a few statues. -But, assuredly, the rigid grandeur of Alfieri's genius is better and -more worthy of praise and honour, than the meretricious ornaments of -too many of his contemporaries. He sounds an heroic note, and arouses -his hearers to noble deed and to magnanimous desire. There is nothing -low, nothing vile, in his works. He bids us ascend, not grovel. Every -line in his Tragedies was written with the desire of inspiring freedom -and patriotism. He hated oppression and he loved justice, and for that -he deserves honour and glory, and for that his Tragedies will ever hold -their own in the annals of literature, even though their creator does -not give us characters as human and varied as those of Shakespeare, or -compositions as perfect and splendid as those of Sophocles. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -OTHER POETS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. - - -The three great writers whose works we have just examined, tower above -their contemporaries at an immeasurable height. Still, many able poems -were produced, and many authors are worthy of mention. - -The first of these in point of time is EUSTACHIO MANFREDI, of Bologna, -who died in 1739. He was a mathematician and an astronomer, and he -added poetry to his other accomplishments. He was in love with a lady -of the name of Giulia Vandi, but she became a nun, and she was as much -lost to him as if they had been severed by death. He expressed his -sorrow in many sonnets and odes. He laboured sedulously to do justice -to his noble subject, but he had not the magic gift of genius which -alone confers immortality. His lines are not particularly melodious, -and though everything is good, nothing is enchanting. - -NICCOLÒ FORTIGUERRA occupied many high posts in the Roman Curia. He -rose to great dignities, but it is said that he wished to rise higher, -and that his death in 1736 was caused by grief at not being made a -Cardinal. He amused his leisure hours with the composition of poetry, -and he gained the distinction of being the last poet to produce a long -epic in the style of Ariosto. This poem, called the _Ricciardetto,_ -although the last in point of time, is by no means the last in point of -merit. He had a truly poetical mind and a genial disposition, and there -is a pleasing gaiety about his work that only wants to be expressed in -a style more rich and vigorous to achieve absolute greatness. It is -said that he made a wager that he would write his epic in as many days -as it contained cantos, and that he won his bet. The cantos are so long -that it is scarcely credible that he could have written each in a day. -Pope Clement XII took great interest in the work, and probably that -interest inspired the poet with the ambition of being raised to the -Roman purple. He published the _Ricciardetto_ under the pseudonym of -"Carteromaco." - -CARLO INNOCENZO FRUGONI was born in Genoa in 1692, and died at Parma -as Court Poet in 1768. _Frugonian_ poetry has become a bye-word to -indicate abundance of so-called eloquence, poverty of thought, and -cheap and hackneyed imagery. But Frugoni himself was by no means -a man devoid of talent. He had wit, he had imagination, he had -fertility. But he was without austerity of judgment. Whatever he wrote -delighted him, and he thought it would delight his readers. He did -.not stop to correct or to condense. He gave everything with perfect -self-satisfaction to the world. His verse is often most flowing and -musical, such as Metastasio might have written in his boyhood. He is -successful in his sonnets, chiefly because the strict symmetry of -that kind of composition prevents him from indulging in his favourite -foible of prolixity. Some of his lyric poems have fancy and elegance -to recommend them, but these good qualities are drowned in an ocean -of verbiage. He delighted in blank verse, and one of his funniest -compositions in that metre is entitled _L'Ombra di Pope,_ written -on the birth of a son of Lord Holderness, British Ambassador to the -Venetian Republic. The Ghost of Pope, in answer to Frugoni's prayers, -arises and prophecies the future of the noble infant and sings the -praises of its lovely mother. After paying many compliments to -Frugoni's poetical talents the ghost finally vanishes at break of day. - -ALFONSO VARANO was a more earnest and impassioned spirit than Frugoni, -and he deserves the credit of having, both by precept and example, -drawn attention to the neglected beauties of Dante. His principal work -is his _Book of Visions,_ written in the metre of Dante and redolent -of his style. Varano resolutely discarded the hackneyed mythological -allusions that disfigure the works of his contemporaries. He is -strictly Christian, and he endeavours to be medieval. But he has hardly -sufficient foundation to go upon, his Visions are about nothing in -particular, and his style is not sufficiently flexible and picturesque -to delight readers who cannot help being reminded of Dante. - -The Marquis GIAMBATTISTA SPOLVERINI, of Verona, born in 1695, died -in 1763, is remarkable for one extremely well-written poem in blank -verse on the cultivation of rice. The subject, as may be imagined, had -not previously been treated in poetry, and the author made himself -complete master of the technicalities of his theme. He devoted himself -to the perusal of the great models of poetry, and to writing verses -himself in order to acquire the necessary flexibility of style. He -laboured for many years over the details of the one work by which he -hoped to be remembered, and at last, in the memorable year 1758, he -gave _La Coltivazione del Riso_ to the world. But, alas! the world -paid no heed to the slender volume and went its way as usual. Deep was -the mortification of Spolverini. He could not realise that a poem so -important to himself, should appear so insignificant to the public. His -health and spirits gave way, and he died, unnoticed and unlamented, in -1763. The utter neglect of his contemporaries was neither discerning -nor creditable, and later years did justice to the numerous, though -unobtrusive, beauties of the poem. He has the merit, rare in his age, -of going straight to life and nature, and what he observes he is able -to record in spirited verse. But the subject does not appeal to the -general reader, and hence probably the utter indifference with which it -was received.[1] - -GIAMBATTISTA PASTORINI, a native of Genoa, wrote a noble sonnet on the -city of his birth. - -TOMMASO CRUDELI wrote some pretty fables. He languished for years in -the dungeons of the Inquisition, and died at the age of forty-two in -1745. - -PAOLO ROLLI is remarkable for having translated _Paradise Lost_ into -Italian. He lived for many years as teacher of Italian in London where -he seems to have been well received. He returned to Italy in 1747 and -chose Todi in Umbria as his residence, where he died twenty years later -aged eighty. - -Cassiani of Modena, produced some spirited Sonnets; so did ONOFRIO -MINZONI of Ferrara, and PROSPERO MANARA may be mentioned for the same -reason. - -PIGNOTTI and BERTOLA were good fabulists, and Bertola enjoyed the -further distinction of being the first to introduce German Literature -into Italy. - -Some of LUDOVICO SAVIOLI'S poems are musical in diction, but no poet of -the age revels more in the threadbare mythology of poetasters. - -GIAN CARLO PASSERONI wrote a burlesque _Life of Cicero_ in one -hundred and one Cantos and in Ottava Rima, full of comic digressions, -by no means without wit and sprightliness, but quite spoilt by the -preposterous length to which the poem is spun out. His career bears -much similarity to that of Parini. Like the greater poet, he was a -priest, he lived in Milan, and he suffered many privations owing to -poverty. He seems to have carried not only disinterestedness, but utter -indifference to his affairs, to a culpable extent. - -The ABBE CASTI was another poet who spoilt his wit by his prolixity. -He wrote the _Animali Parlanti_ and a collection of stories in verse, -less poetical and more indelicate than the prose of Boccaccio, and -finally a bitter satire on Catherine the Second of Russia. He had wit -in abundance and a coarse and ready style. His feuds with rival poets -were frequent and bitter, and Parini wrote some stinging verses against -him. In spite of his disreputable character he was nominated by the -Court of Vienna "Poeta Cesareo" after Metastasio's death, and the -appointment caused universal surprise and reprobation. After Casti the -post was discontinued. He died in Paris in 1503. - -GIOVANNI FANTONI was an elegant, but somewhat conventional, imitator -of Horace. At the outbreak of the French Revolution, he nearly lost -his reason from excessive zeal for liberty, and his advanced opinions -brought down upon him many persecutions. - -LORENZO MASCHERONI, a mathematician and a man of science, is remarkable -for a pleasing poem called _L'Invito a Lesbia Cidonia._ A lady of -Bergamo, the Countess Paolina Secco Suardo Grismondi, was known in the -Arcadian Academy as "Lesbia Cidonia." She was invited to visit Rome -when Mascheroni wished her to come to Pavia where he was living, and he -tried to induce her to do so by writing his poem full of descriptions -of the beauties of Pavia and of the treasures of its Museum. This -pleasing and original poem was much admired in its day. Mascheroni -wrote other poems in Italian and Latin, but nothing to equal this -little masterpiece. He was born in 1750 at Castagnetta, a small village -near Bergamo, and died in 1800 in Paris, whither he had retired during -the political storms that convulsed his country. - -In reviewing the poetry of the Eighteenth Century the most striking -fact is the remarkable advance in the art of writing blank verse. -Spolverini, Parini and Alfieri produced works in that metre more -masterly than those of former ages. These poets know how to vary their -cadences, how to sustain the melody, how to produce an impressive -close; and if Spolverini is at times a trifle prolix and Parini a -trifle heavy, Alfieri skilfully Avoids both faults, and as far as -rhythm is concerned, his verse is absolutely perfect; but only his -blank verse; his rhymes, like those of Parini, are vastly inferior and -not nearly so gratifying to the ear. - - -[Footnote 1: The work was dedicated to Elizabeth Farnese, widow of -Philip V of Spain. The fact of her accepting the dedication must -have given it some importance in the eyes of the world. Ambrosoli is -my authority for its cold reception. A copy of the second edition, -published 1764, is in my possession. The editor says the poem was -received with universal admiration, but perhaps his motive was to -induce the public by that statement to buy his edition. Probably the -fact of the author's death, as is so often the case, drew attention to -his poem.] - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -PROSE WRITERS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. - - -The Prose Writers of the Eighteenth Century need not detain us long, -for with the exception of the Comedies of Goldoni, few works have any -sort of vitality. Some authors, especially writers of Memoirs, wrote in -French, like Casanova and Goldoni himself, whose Autobiography is in -that language. Indeed, for some years, the danger seemed to be imminent -that French would be as much used as Latin had been in former ages. - -GOLDONI is a delightful writer, and some of his best comedies still -keep the stage. Those who have read Goldsmith's _Good-natured Man_ and -_She Stoops to Conquer,_ can form an accurate idea of what Goldoni was. -There is the same geniality, the same broad humour, the same light, -but effective delineation of character, and the same sparkling and -ingenious dialogue. If Goldoni has a fault, it is that his plots are -sometimes too thin, and that his comedies occasionally betray the -haste in which they were written. A few of his plays are in verse, -and some are in the Venetian dialect in which he is always racy and -spirited. He was a very fertile writer, and if many of his works are -inferior to his best, they all bear testimony to the fertility and -originality of his mind, and he deserves to be celebrated as the best -writer of comedy that his country has produced. - -The performance of Goldoni's Comedies may still be witnessed with -pleasure, and his masterpiece, _La Locandiera,_ has recently been -seen in London with the celebrated Eleonora Duse as Mirandolina. The -character of the heroine and the art with which she keeps her forward -lovers at bay, are admirably conceived. _Il Burbero Benefico_ is -hardly inferior. It deals with a man who, under a rough surface, hides -a tender heart.[1] _Le Donne Curiose_ has many amusing situations, -brought about by the prying curiosity of some women. _Il Poeta -Fanatico,_ gives a laughable idea of the third-rate literary academies -of his day, and the character of the poet who is always at a loss for -a rhyme, is amusingly drawn. _La Famiglia dell' Antiquario,_ offers a -ludicrous exposure of the gullibility of collectors and amateurs who -have neither taste nor knowledge. _Le Smanie per la Villeggiatura_ -takes for its theme the passion of Venetian families for spending some -months of the year in villas on the mainland. _L'Impresario_ has some -delightfully comic scenes between an Operatic Manager and his company. -_L'Avaro_ treats the same topic as Molière in one of his comedies, -and with hardly less success. _Il Ventaglio_ is ingenious in plot and -vivacious in dialogue. _I Rusteghi, Le Baruffe Chiozzotte, Sior Todero -Brontolon,_ and several other Comedies, are in the Venetian dialect, -in which he is quite it home, and in which he shows a vivacity and -originality worthy of all praise. As his works contain nothing immoral -or in any way indelicate they have always been in use at educational -establishments for theatricals in those classes where Italian is -taught. Goldoni is neither a philosophical nor a very profound writer, -but he is delightfully vivacious, and there is hardly one of his -comedies that the reader would not like to peruse a second time. - -The brothers GASPARO and CARLO GOZZI were Venetians, like Goldoni, -but they were his rivals, and not his friends. Gasparo was a good -literary essayist, and he wrote the _Osservatore,_ a sort of imitation -of Addison's _Spectator._ He also defended Dante against Bettinelli's -attacks. Carlo produced some fantastic and imaginative plays, one -of which Schiller adapted for the German Stage, under the title of -_Turandot, Princess of China._ He has plenty of imagination, but his -poetical talents are hardly powerful enough to give adequate expression -to his really brilliant and original ideas. - -A very different writer from these vivacious Venetians was the learned -MURATORI, for many years Librarian to the Duke of Modena. He was a man -of immense erudition and indefatigable industry. His works in Latin -and Italian fill more than one hundred volumes. His _Annali d'Italia_ -constitute his most valuable work. He also wrote a treatise, _Della -Perfetta Poesia._ He died in 1750. - -SAVERIO BETTINELLI, a Jesuit, may, perhaps, be taken as the most -perfect embodiment of the Italian literary man of the Eighteenth -Century. He had the light and easy style, the narrow canons of taste -and judgement, and the humane and benevolent spirit that characterised -his contemporaries. Although a Priest, he was a correspondent of -Voltaire, and the Italian Jesuit joined with the French Philosopher in -condemning the extravagant conceptions of those dreadful barbarians, -Dante and Shakespeare. In Dante he could discover absolutely no merit, -and he wrote long essays to convert his countrymen to his views. As -a poet, he is not without fluency and elegance, qualities which are -also conspicuous in his prose, which may still be read with pleasure, -though hardly with profit. His Tragedies appear very poor by the side -of those of Alfieri. He had plenty of learning and some acuteness, and -the tone of his mind is eminently judicious, but he could hardly rise -to the appreciation of conceptions greater than his own, and the shrine -at which he worshipped was that of academic elegance and delicate -refinement. He was inspired with genuine patriotism which led him to -write not only his chief historical work, _Risorgimento d'Italia,_ but -also some of his most spirited poems. His death took place in 1808, at -the great age of ninety. - -ANTONIO MAGLIABECCHI was one of the greatest marvels of erudition -that ever lived. He was a goldsmith by trade, but his heart was in -his books, and through the patronage of Michael Ermini, Librarian to -Cardinal Medici, he obtained access to a library extensive enough to -quench even his thirst for knowledge. When his friend Ermini died, he -became his successor as Librarian. All day long he locked himself up -in his house, reading from morning till night, and only after dark did -he open his door, and then only to admit men of taste and learning in -order to indulge in erudite conversation. His habits were almost those -of a hermit. He wore an old coat which served him as an apparel by day -and a blanket by night. A straw-bottomed chair acted as table for his -frugal meals, and another chair, hardly more comfortable, was his bed -in which he sat up at night reading, reading, reading until he fell -asleep from sheer fatigue. The marvel is that such industry, coupled -with such privations, did not undermine his health, but we hear nothing -of injurious results. He was very kind and benevolent in character, -always ready to assist the inquiring with his knowledge and the needy -with his money. He died in 1714. He was a Florentine by birth, and -he left his library to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and also a sum of -money, the interest of which was to be used for the purpose of making -valuable additions to the volumes already collected. This library is -still open to the public in Florence. Magliabecchi both by precept and -example, gave an impetus to learning and research, but he did not offer -to the world any works of his own, contenting himself with editing -the lucubrations of others. Although he never travelled, he was well -acquainted, by catalogues and descriptions, with the libraries of other -cities. There is an anecdote of an acquaintance asking him how many -copies were known to be extant of a book noted for its rarity. "Only -three," was Magliabecchi's reply. "One belongs to me; one is in the -Vatican, and the third at Constantinople in the library of the Grand -Turk; you will find it in the third room, on the bottom shelf to the -right as you enter, where it is the seventh volume." - -A noble family of Verona, the Maffei, gave two eminent men to the -Italy of the Eighteenth Century. The Marquis ALESSANDRO MAFFEI entered -the services of the Elector of Bavaria, and rose to be Field Marshal. -He was instrumental in gaining the great victory over the Turks at -Belgrade in 1717. He died in Munich in 1730, and left _Memoirs_ which -are both well-written and valuable as illustrating the history of -his times. His brother, SCIPIONE MAFFEI, was born on the first of -June, 1675. Scipione entered the Army and served under his brother -during the War of the Spanish Succession. His first work was a book -against the practice of duelling. When he returned to his native city, -he published a literary journal in conjunction with Apostolo Zeno -and Vallisnieri. He wrote a comedy, _La Ceremonia,_ and a tragedy, -_Merope,_ which became widely celebrated throughout Europe as the -prototype of Voltaire's tragedy on the same subject. Voltaire dedicated -his _Merope_ to Maffei, but he was in reality jealous of the reputation -the Italian work had acquired, and under a thin disguise he published -letters laying bare its foibles and defects. The task was not very -difficult, for Maffei's _Merope,_ beyond the fact of emanating from the -pen of an elegant scholar, has little to recommend it. The characters -are not very vividly drawn, and the blank verse is rather languid -and unimpressive. His best and most enduring work is the _Verona -Illustrata,_ a magnificent contribution to the history of his native -town. He died in 1755. - -The Jesuit TIRABOSCHI produced a voluminous _History of Literature_ and -his work has both judgement and research to give it permanent value. - -The humanitarian tendencies of the Eighteenth Century found an eloquent -exponent in the Marquis BECCARIA, a native of Milan. From a youth he -was inclined to the study of Philosophy, and he was much influenced -in his intellectual development by the contemporary French writers, -especially by Montesquieu. The first work with which he appeared -before the public was a pamphlet on the state of the Currency. In -conjunction with some friends, he published a journal called _Il -Caffé_ which advocated the humane and enlightened principles to which -he was devoted. But the great work by which he is remembered is the -treatise _Dei Delitti e delle Pene,_ published in 1764. In this book he -ventured to proclaim the doctrine that the penalty should not exceed -the offence. Barbarous sentences were passed in that age, not only in -Italy, but all over the world, for misdemeanours which do not call for -greater rigour than a few months' imprisonment. Criminals were broken -on the wheel, prisoners were tortured on the rack. All these frightful -abuses were attacked by Beccaria with the eloquence of burning -indignation, and he had the satisfaction of finding an abundant harvest -follow the sowing of the seed. Torture was abolished in France shortly -after the accession of Louis XVI, and even in the worst excesses of -the Reign of Terror nobody dared to suggest its revival. Many judicial -murders were committed, but none of the victims were tortured. It is -frightful to think what atrocities might have been perpetrated if that -odious and irrational practice had still been in force. Beccaria died -in 1793. - -GAETANO FILANGIERI resembled Beccaria in his ambition to improve the -laws, and his great work, _La Scienza della Legislazione,_ obtained -an immense reputation for its author. He was the scion of a noble -Neapolitan family, and the Minister Tannucci showed some inclination to -carry out his ideas. But he died when he was only thirty-six in 1788. -Perhaps he was fortunate in not living to see the evil times in store -for his country. - -FRANCESCO ALGAROTTI may be described as a sort of diluted Bettinelli, -but he had the merit of introducing Foreign writers to the Italian -public and of spreading the knowledge of Italian in Foreign countries. -Frederick the Great, who took delight in patronising the literature -of every nation except his own, received Algarotti hospitably at -Potsdam and conferred upon him the title of Count. He was a most -fertile writer and he took pleasure, not only in literary criticism, -but also in scientific investigation, and he was the first to make the -discoveries of Newton familiar in the Peninsula. His poems make but a -faint impression upon the modern reader, but they were such as the age -of Frugoni admired. In character he was discreet and amiable, hence his -personal popularity. His health gradually failed him and he died of -consumption at Pisa, in 1764, at the age of 51. Frederick the Great had -a handsome monument erected to his memory. - -ANTONIO COCCHI was a fertile writer on scientific and miscellaneous -subjects, but it is the melancholy fate of scientific writers to be -superseded by their successors, however well they may have written. He -was born in 1695, and died in 1758. - -GIROLAMO TAGLIAZUCCHI was Professor of Greek at the University of -Turin, and did much to spread the study of good literature. - -GIOVENALE SACCHI, a Barnabite Monk, wrote books on music, dancing, -and poetry in a style of great purity and elegance. He was, however, -charged by the more austere spirits of his Order with devoting his -attention to subjects too frivolous and profane, and he had to endure -many persecutions. He died in 1789. - -ANTONIO CESARI, a Priest of the Oratory, was born at Verona on the -sixteenth of January, 1760. He was an ardent admirer of the prose -writers of the Fourteenth Century, and it was his constant endeavour -to purify the Italian language from the Frenchified idioms it had -contracted in his day. Unlike Bettinelli, he was a devoted adherent of -Dante, and he wrote a book to point out his beauties, but he dwells -more upon the merits of the poet's style than upon the grandeur of his -conceptions. Cesari was a good translator, and he was particularly -successful in his rendering of the Comedies of Terence. In all his -works we find a deep and fervent spirit of patriotism, a fore-runner of -the wave of independence and devotion to their fatherland that swept -over the Italians of the Century that must now engage our attention. - - -[Footnote 1: _Burbero Benefico_ was originally written in French and -afterwards translated into Italian.] - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -CHARACTERISTICS OF THE WRITERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. - - -The tremendous cataclysm of the French Revolution produced vibrations -and convulsions throughout the civilized world, nor is it a subject of -surprise that Italy responded more vehemently than any other country -to the voice of France. In its inception, the French Revolution was, -undoubtedly, a necessity, and not an evil. Nobody can tax Necker, -Mirabeau, and the Girondins with any other desire than the amelioration -of France and of humanity. But when, owing to the utter inability -of the leading statesmen to control the legislative assemblies they -had convened, the direction of affairs slipped out of their hands -into those of men to the last degree vindictive and unscrupulous, -and when the great movement became stained with crimes so appalling -and atrocities so inhuman as to find no parallel in history, it -is no wonder that the Sovereigns of Europe combined to stamp out -a devastating conflagration. But an event which no sagacity could -foresee, destroyed all their plans and made them powerless even in -their own dominions. One of the greatest generals the world has ever -seen, rose to supreme power in France, and the Sovereigns who hoped to -overawe Robespierre had in time to tremble before Napoleon. If, after -the Peace of Amiens, the great soldier had known how to moderate his -ambition, Europe might have been spared many sorrows and calamities; -but unhappily, he did not rest content with the glory he had acquired; -he soared in hope to universal dominion, and Europe was convulsed for -more than a decade with struggles such as the world has never yet -witnessed, and the loss of blood and treasure was immense. At last -he was defeated, but not until he had practically defeated himself; -for the greatest generals of his opponents were powerless against him -for many years, and they only prevailed when he had exhausted the -resources at his disposal. He fell from power never to rise again, and -the triumphant Allies inaugurated a reaction, the effects of which -were felt throughout the Nineteenth Century. The demons returned to -their dwellings, and the second habitation was worse than the first. -The one great Bastille had indeed been pulled down, but each country -had innumerable little Bastilles of its own. Austria seized Venice and -recovered Lombardy, and the mild and philanthropic rule of Firmian -was replaced by the iron despotism of Metternich. In Naples the -philanthropy of Filangieri had to make way for the ferocity of Bomba. -But the nations had tasted liberty, and the old spirit of submission, -more or less unwilling, had died out for ever. Secret societies sprang -up all over the Peninsula, and the Carbonari continued what the -Philosophers had begun. The old clemency of Joseph II and Leopold II -was replaced by angry suspicion and ruthless severity. Men of stainless -character were suspected of disaffection and subjected to rigours -which should be reserved only for the worst of criminals. Shameless -tyranny aroused the indignation of an enlightened age, and a dynasty, -remarkable for the politic and steadfast character of its Princes, with -rare sagacity took advantage of the situation to achieve at once the -liberation of Italy and its own supremacy in the Peninsula. The House -of Savoy triumphed, not only over the Vatican and the Bourbons, but -also over Mazzini and Garibaldi and their visionary and enthusiastic -followers. - -It is not for the literary historian to enter into the details of -that great struggle. But one remark must be made. No statesmen were -more thoroughly imbued than Victor Emmanuel and Cavour with the -conviction of the folly committed by those victorious factions who -make martyrs of their political opponents. If Charles I had not been -beheaded, Charles II would probably never have ascended the throne -of his ancestors. If Louis XVI had not been guillotined, Louis XVIII -would probably never have been able to return to France. If Napoleon -had not shed the blood of the Due d'Enghien, he would probably never -have aroused the relentless enmity of his opponents. These examples -seem always to have been present to the minds of the Councillors of the -House of Savoy. And, in truth, if they had made a Louis XVI of the King -of Naples, if they had made a Marie Antoinette of his Queen, if they -had made a Boniface VIII of Pius IX, such a reaction would have swept -over the Peninsula as would have destroyed the fruits of the labours -of two generations of patriots. Fortunately for Italy and themselves, -they knew how to use their victory with moderation. Doubtless there -were some fierce and vindictive spirits who would have clamoured for -a Reign of Terror if they had dared; but they were firmly kept in -check, and the country is now reaping the benefit of the policy or of -the humanity of its liberators. Disappointments there have undoubtedly -been, especially is the grinding weight of taxation to be deplored -that is requisite to keep up a huge Army and a powerful Navy; but -the discontented spirits who clamour for a return to the old state -of things, are so few and far between, that they can be treated with -contemptuous forbearance. Such symptoms of reaction as may appear, -are so mild as to be positively beneficial in keeping up a spirit of -criticism and control over the Executive, which would else, owing -to the easy-going character of the populace, be allowed to slumber. -Indeed, it may be laid down as an axiom, that the more light-hearted -a nation is, the greater is its liability to acquiesce, perhaps -unconsciously, in the misgovernment of its rulers. - -The Eighteenth Century was remarkable for the paucity of eminent Prose -Writers; the Nineteenth Century, on the contrary, can show a brilliant -array of philosophers, historians, and novelists; and it would probably -be more extensive had not the rapid development of journalistic -enterprise drawn many able men to the daily Press, who would in former -ages have devoted themselves to the writing of books. Their articles -in newspapers ind magazines perished after the day of appearance, with -the exception of those rare cases where a writer, or his friends, -made a collection to be published in book form. Thus, many keen and -powerful minds laboured for the enlightenment of their generation, -but no record remains of their productions. The unbounded popularity -of fiction caused greater attention to be bestowed on that branch of -Literature, and memorable works were given to the world. For nearly -seventy years the chief inspirer was patriotism, as was only natural -in the Century that witnessed the liberation of the Peninsula from -foreign oppression. The Literature of England and Germany began to be -studied, and the romantic movement introduced an entirely new style of -subject and treatment. The old conventions of mythological allusions -are at last consigned to merited oblivion, and we find poets expressing -themselves in a direct and natural manner. The former timidity of -philosophical and religious speculation is exchanged for boundless -liberty, often coupled with intense hatred of Christianity. Strong -originality marks the writers of the Nineteenth Century, but that -originality is often purchased at the price of harmonious development -and serenity of mind. They have reason to envy the intellectual -complacency of Ariosto and Metastasio. This discord of the mind is more -marked in Leopardi than in any other writer, although he was almost -the first to display it. In truth, the Nineteenth Century was for -Italy a period of transition. The old forms of thought, as well as the -old forms of government, were gradually overcome and destroyed, and -perhaps it would be premature to say what definite form they are likely -to assume. One thing is certain; the old methods can never be revived, -and the efforts of pedants to infuse new life into their effete -decrepitude can only result in ignominious failure. Self-reliance and -originality must be the watch-words of the future, and it is gratifying -to observe that the best and most promising of the younger generation -of writers are, consciously or unconsciously, opening out new forms -of art and fresh vistas of ideas. That some mistakes have been made, -cannot be denied. Extreme realism has claimed its victims in Italy as -elsewhere. From excessive desire to be exact, some writers have ceased -to be natural. In their endeavour to avoid superstition, other writers -have advocated gross and vulgar materialism. Some have shewn repulsive -want of decency; others, utter disregard for beauty and purity of -style. There has been a tendency to indulge in glaring, tawdry effects, -from which the Eighteenth Century was commendably free. But, on the -whole, it would be unjust to deny that the Nineteenth Century offers a -striking panorama of stirring events and great and memorable authors. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -LEOPARDI. - - -It is not often that a writer towers so immeasurably above his -contemporaries, that we can point him out, without fear of -contradiction, as the greatest of his century. We can, however, -unhesitatingly do so in the case of Leopardi. The works to which he -owes his immortality are, indeed, few in number and short in extent, -but their perfection gives them a dignity which more voluminous -productions might emulate in vain. - -GIACOMO LEOPARDI was born at Recanati, a town of the March of Ancona, -on the 29th of June, 1798, the eldest son of Count Monaldo Leopardi -and Adelaide, his wife, daughter of the Marquis Antici. He had three -brothers, Carlo, Luigi, and Pierfrancesco, and one sister, Paolina. -His father was a man of literary tastes and had a magnificent library, -in which the future poet quenched his thirst for knowledge with as -much ardour as did Magliabecchi, in a former age, in the library of -Cardinal Medici. He soon outstripped in learning the priests who were -entrusted with his education. His eager and independent mind spurned -direction and disdained moderation. He acquired many languages, and -he soon endeavoured to put on paper the result of his studies. Some -of his injudicious admirers tried to make an infant prodigy of him, -and the stimulus of vanity was added to his passion for knowledge. He -toiled day after day in his intellectual quarry, with no relaxation -except the absolute necessities of food and sleep. The result may be -imagined. His sight failed him from the merciless strain put upon it -by reading till late hours of night, often by a flickering candle -burnt down to its socket. His spine became curved from constantly -bending over the huge folios that formed the staple of his reading. -His lungs craved in vain for dilation in his cramped chest and for the -freshness of the open air. His nerves gave way, his food failed to -nourish him, and his strength at last collapsed so completely that he -could neither read nor write, nor even think or speak. From the age of -sixteen to twenty-one the mischief was done. The duty of his parents -was plain. They should from the beginning have sternly forbidden the -overwork, and have compelled him to take requisite exercise and -rational amusement. Unhappily, they seem rather to have encouraged the -overwork, and actually to have discountenanced all amusement and all -intercourse with the outer world. They cannot be acquitted of grave -errors of judgment, but it would be harsh to charge them with cruelty. -Monaldo was devotedly attached to his children, but it would have been -better if he had sent them to school and college, where they would have -knocked about with companions of their own age, instead of being left -to solitary brooding with their minds preying upon themselves. They -would then have returned home, fresh and buoyant, and happy to be again -with their parents. - -Monaldo had been extravagant in his youth, his estates were -considerably encumbered; motives of economy probably made him rejoice -that his children were actually learning more at home than could be -expected from pupils of the most famous seminaries. In later life, -whilst willing and happy to keep them in a handsome style in his -ancestral home at Recanati, he found it impossible to supply them with -sufficient funds to live in Rome or Florence or Naples in the style to -which they had always been accustomed. Therefore, he strongly opposed -their desire to see the world. He was perfectly contented with his own -surroundings, and he neither understood nor sympathised with Giacomo's -longing to widen his sphere of experience. - -Painful misunderstandings were the result. Giacomo, owing to the -utter prostration into which he had fallen, was obliged to remain a -whole year without reading or writing, and he was thrown back upon -his melancholy thoughts. He had already received sufficient praise to -fire his youthful ambition and he chafed at the bondage in which he -was kept. Pietro Giordani was the first literary man of eminence whose -acquaintance he made, and long letters passed between the friends, -letters full of admiration on the part of Giordani, full of impatience -and despair on the part of Leopardi. That he exaggerated the horrors -of his condition cannot for a moment be doubted. Many youths would -have been thankful to take his place in a handsome and dignified home; -but then few youths could possibly have been tormented by such bitter -melancholy and such overweening ambition. - -At last a desperate resolve occurred to him. Permission to leave home -was denied him; he would act on his own responsibility and take refuge -in flight. He made preparations for secret departure, and wrote a long -letter to his father explaining the motives of his desperate measure. -Happily, the insane project was abandoned, but the letter was preserved -by his brother Carlo, and it is deeply to be regretted that it was -published some years ago. Far better would it have been to draw a veil -across the eccentricities of a great mind and the misunderstandings -between natures noble and upright, but painfully divergent in thought -and action. However, the letter exists and must be dealt with. There is -nothing discreditable in it either to the poet or to his father, but -much that is inexpressibly painful. - -The letter was written in the month of July, 1819. He begins by saying -with perfect sincerity that he always loved his father, that he always -would love him, and that he deeply grieved at being the cause of giving -him pain. "You know me," he continues, "and you know what my conduct -has been up to now. You will see that in all Italy, and I may say in -all Europe, no other person of my rank and even younger than I am, and -perhaps with intellectual gifts inferior to mine, could be found who -would show one-half of the circumspection, abstinence from all the -pleasures of youth, obedience and submission to his parents that I have -shown. However poor your opinion may be of the few talents that Heaven -has bestowed upon me, you cannot altogether refuse to credit the many -estimable and famous men who have passed the judgement upon me which -you know and which it is not for me to repeat. It was the marvel of -everybody who knew me that I should still be buried in this town, and -that you alone should be of an opposite opinion, and should inflexibly -persist therein. It is certainly not unknown to you, that there is not -a youth of barely seventeen years of age who is not taken in hand by -his parents to be placed in a position for his future advantage. I say -nothing about the liberty accorded to all young people of that age in -our position in life--liberty of which not one-third was accorded to -me at the age of twenty-one. It was only recently that I began to ask -you to provide for my future in the manner indicated by the opinion of -all who knew me. I noticed several families of this town, probably less -well off than we are, making heavy sacrifices in order to start their -sons in life, however faint the indications of promising talent might -be. - -"Many people were of opinion that my intellect showed much more than -a faint indication; but you were of opinion that I was quite unworthy -of a father's solicitude or of any sacrifice on his part, nor did you -think that my present or future welfare was of sufficient importance -for you to make any alteration in your domestic arrangements. - -"I saw my parents make light of the posts which they obtained for -others from the Sovereign Pontiff, and hoping that they would take -the same trouble for me, I asked that at least some means of living -might be obtained that would enable me to live in a manner suitable to -my position without being a drag upon my family. I was answered with -derision, and you did not think that your influence should be used -to obtain a decent competence for your son. I was well aware of the -projects you were forming for us, and how, to secure the prosperity of -what you call our '_house_' and _'family,'_ you exacted from Carlo and -from me the sacrifice of our inclinations, of our youth, and of our -whole life. Being quite certain that neither Carlo nor I would ever -humour you in that, I could not possibly entertain the idea of those -projects. You know only too well the most wretched life I have led -through the effects of my horrible melancholy, and the torments I have -endured from my strange imagination. You cannot have been blind to the -fact that there was no other remedy for my suffering health since I -fell into this wretched debility, but powerful distractions, and, in -short, everything that could not be had in Recanati. - -"In spite of all this, you suffered a man of my character, either to -consume the remnant of his strength in suicidal studies, or to bury -himself in the most terrible ennui with its attendant melancholy. These -evils were aggravated by the surrounding solitude, and by the empty -and unoccupied tenour of my life, especially in the last months. - -"It did not take me long to find that no arguments could move you, and -that the extraordinary firmness of your character, disguised under -a mild exterior, was such that I could not entertain even a shadow -of hope. All these circumstances and my reflections on human nature -persuaded me that I should rely upon nobody but myself, although I was -destitute of everything. And now that by law I am my own master, I will -no longer delay to take upon myself the load of my destiny. I know that -human felicity consists in contentment, and that I could more easily be -happy begging for bread like a mendicant, than surrounded in this abode -by all the material luxuries it may present. I hate that vile prudence -that freezes and binds us and makes us incapable of every great action, -reducing us to the level of the animals who apply themselves placidly -to the preservation of this unhappy life without any other thought. -I know that I shall be held to be insane, as all great men have been -held before me. And even as the career of almost every great genius has -begun with despair, I am not dismayed at mine beginning so too. I would -rather be unhappy than obscure; I would rather suffer than languish -in miserable ennui which to me is the fruitful mother of deadly -melancholy and black thoughts of wretchedness, more agonising than all -discomforts of the body. Parents, as a rule, judge their children more -favourably than others, but you, on the contrary, judge your children -more harshly, and therefore you never would believe that we were born -for anything great; perhaps no greatness appeals to you that cannot be -measured with geometrical precision. - -"Having, to the best of my ability, given you my reasons for the step -I am about to take, it only remains for me to ask your pardon for the -distress it may cause you. If my health were less uncertain, I would -rather beg from house to house that touch a pin that belonged to you. -But feeble as I am, and hopeless of getting anything from you, I -have been obliged, in order not to die on the road, to take what is -absolutely necessary for my existence. I am deeply grieved, and it -almost makes me waver in my resolution when I think of the sorrow I -shall cause you, knowing your kindness of heart and all your endeavours -to make us contented with our lot. For those endeavours I am grateful -from the bottom of my heart, and it is agony to me to think that I -shall appear infected with the vice of ingratitude which I abhor more -than anything else. Only the difference in our principles which was in -no way to be overcome, and which would necessarily end either in my -dying here of desperation, or in my taking to flight as I am doing, -has been the cause of all my unhappiness. It has pleased Heaven for -our punishment that the only young men in this town who had thoughts -above the ordinary level of Recanati, should be born to you to try -your patience and that the only father who looked upon such sons as a -misfortune, should be allotted to us. That which consoles me is the -thought that this is the last annoyance I give you, and that it will -free you from my unwelcome presence. My dear father, if you will allow -me to call you by that name, I kneel down before you, and pray you to -pardon one so unhappy by nature and by circumstances. I would that my -unhappiness were my exclusive property and that nobody might share it -with me, and so I trust it will be in the future. If fortune ever makes -me the possessor of anything my first thought shall be to replace what -I have now taken from you. The last favour that I ask of you is that -if ever you recall to your memory your wretched son who has always -venerated and loved you, you will not curse him; and that if you cannot -praise him, you will, at least, bestow upon him that compassion which -is granted even to malefactors." - -Such, abridged in a few passages, is the memorable letter which -reveals the troubles of Leopardi's mind. It is a curious medley of -wounded vanity, of imaginary wrongs and of genuine grievances. It is -passing strange that Leopardi should have been so anxious about his -future. He was his father's eldest son, and as such, heir to ample, if -somewhat encumbered, estates. I think he mistook his own feelings, and -what he thought solicitude for his livelihood, was in reality the agony -of unsatisfied ambition. The fatal mistake that his father made was to -coop up so ardent and aspiring a young man in the restricted routine -of a somewhat cloistral home. Monaldo and Adelaide had a genuine fear -of their children becoming contaminated by undesirable associates; and -to avert this evil, neither the poet nor his brothers were allowed -to go out unaccompanied. The young prisoners naturally resented this -surveillance, especially Leopardi who, at a time when his literary -renown was spreading all over Italy, was still under the restrictions -of the nursery. "Everybody treats me as a child," he writes, "except -my parents who treat me as a baby." No wonder that flight had its -romance and its attractions; but where would he have gone to if he had -run away? Doubtless, the utter inability to answer this question made -him abandon the idea. Carlo and Paolina noticed something peculiar in -his demeanour; they watched him, and we may safely assume that their -affection extorted from him his secret, that he showed them the letter -intended for his father and that they persuaded him to abandon the -wild and desperate scheme. It would have been well if the letter had -been burnt, and the whole unhappy episode consigned to oblivion. It -makes the poet appear wild and visionary and the father a more obdurate -tyrant than he really was. He utterly failed to enter into the ideas of -his illustrious son, and posterity has censured him with a harshness he -was far from deserving. - -Leopardi abandoned the idea of flight and resigned himself as best he -could to the melancholy life he was compelled to lead. His home was -dull, but it was not, it could not have been, the Hell upon earth that -Montefredini, one of his biographers, would have us believe. There was -no domestic discord; not a trace of strife is discernible. The style -of living in Monaldo's house was handsome and even luxurious, but -neither his father nor his mother seem to have encouraged visitors or -to have entertained as might be expected from their rank. Of Leopardi's -acquaintance with Pietro Giordani they were undoubtedly apprehensive. -Giordani, although a Priest, had the reputation of being a freethinker -at heart, and they trembled lest he should infect the poet with his -opinions. It is even suspected that many letters between the friends -were intercepted. But others not only reached their destination, but -have been preserved and published, and they now form a noble memorial -of confidence and friendship. Leopardi was able at intervals to devote -himself to his favourite pursuit of literature and he published some -of his earlier poems; but their patriotic character frightened the -apprehensive Monaldo. He was afraid his son would be regarded as a -sympathiser with the Carbonari, and Leopardi had to distribute the -copies surreptitiously and to speak of them as little as possible. - -He was abandoning his labours in the field of Classical Antiquity and -turning his attention to original and stirring themes, full of life and -actuality. But, unhappily, the more his intellect expanded, the more -his health deteriorated. The blackest melancholy never left him, and it -became daily intensified by his persistent habits of introspection. He -complains in a letter to Giordani of utter weakness of his whole body -and especially of the nerves. We hear nothing of doctors being called -in to arrest the evil, nor does the patient himself seem to have asked -for them. Things were allowed to drift until it was too late. "I am -lying," he says in one of his letters to Giordani, "under a mountain of -sorrows, and not a ray of hope can be seen." "I speak from my heart -and I do not pretend," he exclaims. The great poet is already a great -pessimist. - -In 1821 the tone of his letters became a trifle more cheerful and he -was interested in the engagement of his sister Paolina, and he wrote -a poem on her marriage. But the negotiations were broken off and the -wedding never took place. - -Conscious of the immense reputation he already possessed of vast -erudition, his parents formed the hope that he would embrace the -ecclesiastical career and rise to high dignities in the Roman Curia. -When at last their consent was obtained for his departure from home -in the hope that change would benefit his shattered nerves, it was to -Rome that he was sent, doubtless with the desire that he should make -acquaintances useful to him in the future. He resided with his maternal -uncle, the Marquis Carlo Antici. But no sooner had he arrived in Rome -than he regretted Recanati, and it became apparent that wherever he -went, one of his most striking oddities was an intense horror of his -place of residence, an utter loathing which he neither moderated -nor concealed. If he called Recanati a dungeon, he called Rome a -gigantic sepulchre. His shattered nerves could ill bear the concourse -of people around him, and he saw in society, not its vivacity and -animation, but its frivolity and emptiness. For the literary men of -Rome he entertained immeasurable contempt. He despised them for their -devotion to Antiquarian minutiæ. But this reproach came with ill-grace -from Leopardi, who had himself devoted years of laborious study, who -had even squandered the precious possession of health in laborious -elucidation of grammatical and philological problems, hardly more -important than the coins and inscriptions of Roman Antiquarians. - -He made, however, some agreeable acquaintances, pre-eminent among whom -was the historian Niebuhr, at that time Prussian Ambassador to the -Vatican. Niebuhr conceived the most intense admiration for his genius -and spoke of him in the highest terms to Cardinal Consalvi, Secretary -of State to Pius VII. The Cardinal offered him the prospect of -valuable preferment, but only on condition that he should embrace the -ecclesiastical career. To this, however, Leopardi offered invincible -repugnance. Neither his own interests nor the persuasion of friends -could induce him to yield. Pius VII died in 1823, and Consalvi retired -from the direction of public affairs. So favourable an opportunity -never returned. Niebuhr offered Leopardi an appointment in Prussia, -but he refused, dreading the long journey and the severe climate of -Berlin. Great as his reputation was, no other opening offered itself. -It is curious to reflect on the vicissitudes of literary fame. Leopardi -is now valued for his lyric poems and for his dialogues and thoughts -in prose; but his laborious studies in philology, studies to which he -sacrificed health and happiness, are rapidly sinking into oblivion. -When he first went to Rome, he had hardly written a line of that -which has conferred immortality upon him. All the esteem he enjoyed -was lavished upon him for the fruits of his juvenile industry. The -grammarian who could solve the most difficult passages in the ancient -writers of Greece and Rome, who was as well versed in the Talmud as in -the Bible, who knew the obscurest Italian writers of the Fourteenth -Century as intimately as his contempories knew Petrarch, was valued -and extolled; the melodious poet and the profound philosopher was not -ignored or despised, because he was not even suspected to exist. - -In 1823, after five months sojourn in Rome, he returned to Recanati. -He had seen the world he so longed to explore, and disenchantment -was the result. His health was not improved, on the contrary, it was -rather injured, by the inevitable exertions of travel, sight-seeing and -society. He remained at Recanati for two years, and during part of this -period he was occupied in publishing a volume of poems. They were well -received, but they were published secretly, without the knowledge of -his parents. The passion for overwork did not desert him even after the -warning already given to him by his shattered health. "I work day and -night as much as my strength will allow. When I break down, I walk up -and down my room daily for months." He would have done better to walk -up and down in the open air. - -Having seen so much in Rome of the incompetence and frivolity of -literary people, he despaired of finding due appreciation for the -elaborate finish which it was his ambition to bestow upon his -productions and without which he did not care to write. But still his -ambitious spirit commanded him to persevere, and among the signs of -encouragement he received was the homage paid him by Niebuhr of the -dedication of one of his works. When Niebuhr left Rome he enjoined upon -his successor Bunsen to value the great merit of Leopardi, and Bunsen -proved himself the poet's friend through life. - -In 1825 he received an offer from the Milanese publisher Stella to -superintend an edition of the complete works of Cicero and to reside -with him while the sheets were passing through the press. He gladly -accepted. He set out for Milan in July, staying at Bologna for a month -to avoid the fatigue of travelling during the great heat. Bologna was -one of the few places that he really liked. He enjoyed the company of -Giordani and other friends, and he was loth to part with them. When he -reached Milan, he pined to return to Bologna; everything seemed to him -repulsive and even hostile; he made no friends; his duties with regard -to the edition of Cicero seemed to him intolerably irksome; and he even -disliked the gaieties of Milan, gaieties in which he was at times too -unwell and at other times too melancholy to join. - -"He carried with him his misfortune wherever he went," says Ambrosoli, -who met him at this epoch; "and he could not remain happy for long in -any place. He could not obtain any suitable post in Italy, and out -of Italy he would not accept one. When in 1825 he came to Milan to -stay some months with the publisher Stella, he was already an object -of compassion, so young, and with such a reputation for genius and -learning, and yet visibly hastening to his end. In his conversation, -as well as in his writings, he was so simple, so remote from any -ostentation, that few might suspect that he was an extraordinary -man; but by degrees the flashes of his wit and the treasures of his -knowledge revealed the powers within him." - -At last he carried out his intention of returning to Bologna, but -the second visit was not so pleasant as the first. When the winter -came, it was bitterly cold, and his health suffered in proportion. -He would willingly have returned to Milan, but he did not receive -another invitation. He was occupied with a Commentary on Petrarch, a -labour which he did not undertake very readily, but which was pressed -upon him by Stella. It was a great success, and Stella had reason to -congratulate himself upon his acumen in getting the work done by so -gifted a writer. He entrusted Leopardi with the editing of a selection -from the best works of the best authors, and this task was still -occupying him when he returned to Recanati, in November, 1826. - -It would appear that during his sojourn at Bologna he had not been -insensible to the attractions of love; but love could be for him -nothing but a source of torment; and as his first return home was -signalised by the wreck of hope, so was his second by the blighting of -affection. He seemed, like the hero of the _Pilgrim's Progress,_ to be -writhing in the grasp of Giant Despair; and from the day of his arrival -to that of his departure, in the following April, he was not once seen -in the streets of Recanati. - -He sought a remedy for his sorrows by returning to Bologna, but in -vain; and on the 20th of June, 1827, he removed to Florence where he -enjoyed the society of Giordani; but an acute inflammation of the -eyes confined him to the house and long prevented him from inspecting -the treasures of art that overflow the Tuscan city. At this epoch he -published his _Operette Morali,_ a series of dialogues and essays, -offering, according to the best critics of his country, the most -perfect specimen of prose in the Italian language. - -In the autumn he somewhat recovered, and wishing to continue the -improvement, he avoided the cold of Florence by wintering at Pisa. -Florence, as a residence, he did not like, but with Pisa he was -enchanted. The improvement, however, was but slight, and his nerves -were in such a weak state that any sort of application or study was out -of the question. In April, 1828, he was able to apply himself again -to composition, and he seemed to be reviving, when the death of his -brother Luigi afflicted him profoundly. From June to November he was -again at Florence, but his yearning for home made itself felt after the -recent bereavement. - -He started on the 12th of November for Recanati in the company of a -young man afterwards known to fame as Vincenzo Gioberti. He found his -birthplace darkened by the shadow of death, which seemed to him the -herald of his own. His former gloom returned, but in a more terrible -shape; he saw only annihilation before him; and he took the last -glance of life in his superb _Ricordanze,_ the most richly coloured, -the most deeply pathetic, the most unfathomably profound of all his -poems. - -In 1830, his Florentine friends, wishing to have him once more in -their midst, urged his return to their city. Accordingly, in May he -took leave of his family, little thinking he should never see them -again. It would be curious to enquire what made him so wretched when -at home, and yet, when absent, always longing to be there. His brother -Carlo said many years later to Prospero Viani, the editor of his -correspondence, that none of his poems written elsewhere had the beauty -of those composed at Recanati; and when Viani mentioned the _Ginestra,_ -Carlo replied that in substance even the _Ginestra_ was conceived -at Recanati. Some biographers say the _Risorgimento_ was written at -Pisa; but Ranieri, who was probably well-informed, says it was written -at Recanati, and this assertion is, I think, borne out by internal -evidence. The _Canto Notturno_ seems also to have been written in his -birthplace. Thus, Carlo's statement would be correct. It is observable -that the poems subsequent to the _Canto Notturno,_ with the exception -of _Aspasia_ and the little poem _To Himself,_ have an air of languor, -foreign to his earlier productions. This languor is perceptible even -in the sublime _Ginestra,_ and it is not absent from passages of -the _Pensiero Dominante, Amore e Morte,_ and the long, mock-heroic -_Paralipomeni._ The repose, sepulchral as it may have seemed to him, -of Recanati, and the exquisite beauty of its scenery, bordered in the -distance by the blue waters of the Adriatic, were conducive to the -exercise of the imagination. Nor must we forget that he spoke of other -places (except Pisa and Bologna) with equal bitterness. The climate -seems really to have worked havoc on his delicate frame. He allowed its -inhabitants only one merit, that of speaking Italian with purity and -elegance. - -His stay in Florence, which extended from May, 1830, to October of -the following year, was made memorable by the publication of another -edition of his Poems, with many pieces added and with a dedicatory -epistle to his Tuscan friends. At this period, he made the acquaintance -of Ranieri, a Neapolitan with literary talents, who was to be his -intimate friend and future biographer. - -In October, 1831, he suddenly vanished from Florence and appeared -in Rome, why, none could tell. He wrote to his brother Carlo on the -subject, begging him not to ask for the details of a long romance, -full of pain and anguish. It has been conjectured that he fixed his -affections upon an unworthy object and was bitterly undeceived. -Whatever the circumstances may have been, it is certain that in Rome -his mental misery, always great, rose to an intolerable height, and -that for a time he harboured thoughts of self-destruction. But the -strength of his character overcame the strength of his affliction, and -he gradually softened to a serener mood. At this time the Florentine -Accademia della Crusca elected him a member, a worthy tribute to his -genius and eloquence. After five months sojourn in Rome, he returned to -Florence, where he fell so dangerously ill that the rumour was spread -of his decease. The doctors urged him to try a milder climate, and in -September, 1833, he set out for Naples, accompanied by Ranieri. - -In Naples and its vicinity the remainder of his life was destined to be -passed. - -The natural beauties of the surrounding country were delightful to -one so appreciative of their charm. His health improved after a time, -and he was able to display the riches of his intellect by writing the -_Paralipomeni,_ many detached thoughts in prose, like the _Pensées_ -of Pascal and the _Maxims_ of La Rochefoucauld; and above all, his -philosophic and immortal poem, the _Ginestra,_ of which it may be said -that had he written nothing else his fame would be perpetuated by that -production alone. - -In March, 1836, he who had formerly sighed so deeply for death and -who had invoked it in such exquisite verse, felt so greatly improved -in health that he imagined he had many years before him. But this was -only the last flickering of the flame before it went out for ever. The -Cholera was raging in 1837, and the prospect of falling a victim to -a mysterious and terrible disease, filled him with horror. The great -German poet Platen who had resided in Naples previous to his departure -for Sicily, where he died, was the first to instil him with alarm on -the subject. - -Leopardi was thoroughly unhappy, and his strange aversion to the places -where he lived revived with unreasonable violence. He wrote of Naples -as a den of barbarous African savagery. He yearned for home and pined -for his family, and the last letter he sent to his father (three weeks -before his decease), was full of plans for returning to Recanati as -soon as his infirmities and the Quarantine would allow. He had not been -able to write his letters for some years, owing to failing sight, and -was obliged to dictate them to an amanuensis. - -"If I escape from the Cholera," he says in this letter which was to -be his last, "and as soon as my health allows, I will do my utmost to -rejoin you, whatever time of year it may be; because I must hasten, -persuaded as I am that the term prescribed by God to my days, cannot -now be distant. My physical sufferings, incessant and incurable, have -in course of time attained such a degree that they cannot get worse, -and I hope that when at last the feeble resistance of my dying body -is exhausted, they may conduct me to that eternal rest which I pray -for daily, not from heroism, but from the intensity of the agonies I -suffer." - -His earthly sorrows were indeed drawing to a close, and he died -suddenly at Capo di Monte, when preparing to go out for a drive, at -five o'clock in the afternoon on the fourteenth of June, 1837, aged -thirty-nine years all but a fortnight. "His body," says Ranieri, "saved -as by a miracle from the common and confused burial place enforced by -the Cholera regulations, was interred in the suburban Church of San -Vitale on the road of Pozzuoli, where a plain slab indicates his memory -to the visitor." He was slight and short of stature, somewhat bent and -very pale, with a large forehead and blue eyes, an aquiline nose and -refined features, a soft voice and a most attractive smile. His father -survived him ten years; his mother, twenty years; his sister Paolina, -thirty-two years; and his brother Carlo, nearly forty-one years. His -youngest brother, Pierfrancesco, who died in 1851, also at the age of -thirty-eight, was alone destined to continue the family. Carlo was -twice married, but had only one daughter, who died young, by his first -wife. I am indebted to the kindness of the Count and Countess Leopardi -for several interesting works relating to the poet. - -Mr. Charles Edwardes has translated with great skill Leopardi's Prose -Works; I have translated his Poems, so that readers who may not be -acquainted with Italian, can now obtain an idea of his philosophy and -of his poetry. Equally as a thinker and as a poet, he is distinguished -by depth. As a Prose writer, he bears a striking resemblance to Pascal. -In both there is the same gloomy power of imagination, the same method -of profound meditation, and the same intensity of pessimism. As a poet -he displays the most marvellous variety of thought and of expression. -His mock-heroic poem, entitled _Paralipomeni della Batracomiomachia,_ -is, as the name indicates, a sort of continuation of the Greek Poem -describing the War of the Frogs and the Rats. The subject is wretchedly -chosen and it is obvious that the narrative serves only to introduce -the digressions, and it is in these digressions that the poet's -brilliant imagination and felicity of style are displayed. Indeed, -in the style alone can the work be said to have any merit. It is the -longest of his poetical productions, and it is greatly to be regretted -that he did not bestow the labour wasted on so frivolous a subject -upon a theme worthier of his genius. Still, there are some fine -passages, as, for instance, a most poetical description of Night, of -which I subjoin a translation: - - "The star of Venus in the Heavens high - Appeared before the other stars or moon; - Silent was all; no breath was heard, no cry, - Unless the murmur of a far lagoon, - And buzzing gnats who from the forest fly - When veiling shades replace the glare of noon; - The lovely face of Hesperus serene - Was in the lake in pure reflection seen. - -The poem also offers an exquisite description of the Cuckoo, which may -be compared to Wordsworth's poem on the same subject: - - In fragrant May, when love and life are bound - In closer links, we hear the Cuckoo far, - Mysterious bird, who in the woods profound - Gives vent to sighs that almost human are, - Who, like a ghost nocturnal, all around - Deludes the shepherd following from afar; - Nor long is heard the voice: it wanes and dies, - Though born in Spring, when Summer heats arise." - -But Leopardi's universal renown is founded upon the forty-one poems and -fragments of poems published under the collective title of _Canti._ -Thirty-four of the pieces are complete and original poems, seven are -either fragments or translations. - -We find in reading Petrarch's Odes and Sonnets a certain sameness, -whence it is difficult to keep the greater number of the poems distinct -from each other in the memory, beautiful though they may be. The same -cannot be said of Leopardi's _Canti._ There each poem has a distinct -individuality of its own, and makes an indelible impression upon the -reader. I will quote a few of the finest, and will begin with one of -his most admired masterpieces in which, under the disguise of Sappho -before taking the fatal leap from the promontory of Leucadia, he -deplores his own physical afflictions. - - - THE LAST SONG OF SAPPHO. - - (_Ultimo Canto di Saffo_). - - - Thou peaceful night, thou chaste and silver ray - Of the declining Moon; and thou, arising - Amid the quiet forest on the rocks, - Herald of day; O cherished and endeared, - Whilst Fate and Doom were to my knowledge closed, - Objects of sight! No lovely land or sky - Doth longer gladden my despairing mood. - By unaccustomed joy we are revived - When o'er the liquid spaces of the Heavens - And o'er the fields alarmed doth wildly whirl - The tempest of the winds, and when the car, - The ponderous car of Jove, above our heads - Thundering, divides the heavy air obscure. - O'er mountain peaks and o'er abysses deep - We love to float amid the swiftest clouds; - We love the terror of the herds dispersed, - The streams that flood the plain, - And the victorious, thunderous fury of the main. - - Fair is thy sight, O sky divine, and fair - Art thou, O dewy Earth! Alas! of all - This beauty infinite, no slightest part - To wretched Sappho did the Gods or Fate - Inexorable give. Unto thy reign - Superb, O Nature, an unwelcome guest - And a disprized adorer doth my heart - And do mine eyes implore thy lovely forms; - But all in vain. The sunny land around - Smiles not for me, nor from ethereal gates - The blush of early dawn; not me the songs - Of brilliant-feathered birds, not me the trees - Salute with murmuring leaves; and where in shade - Of drooping willows doth a liquid stream - Display its pure and crystal course, from my - Advancing foot the soft and flowing waves - Withdrawing with affright, - Disdainfully it takes through flowery dell its flight. - - What fault so great, what guiltiness so dire - Did blight me ere my birth, that adverse grew - To me the brow of fortune and the sky? - How did I sin, a child, when ignorant - Of wickedness is life, that from that time - Despoiled of youth and of its fairest flowers, - The cruel Fates wove with relentless wrath - The web of my existence? Reckless words - Rise on thy lips; the events that are to be, - A secret council guides. Secret is all, - Our agony excepted. We were born, - Neglected race, for tears; the reason lies - Amid the Gods on high. Oh cares and hopes - Of early years! To beauty did the Sire, - To glorious beauty an eternal reign - Give o'er this human kind; for warlike deed, - For learned lyre or song, - In unadornèd shape, no charms to fame belong. - - Ah! let us die. The unworthy garb divested, - The naked soul will take to Dis its flight - And expiate the cruel fault of blind - Dispensers of our lot. And thou for whom - Long love in vain, long faith and fruitless rage - Of unappeased desire assailed my heart, - Live happily, if happily on earth - A mortal yet hath lived. Not me did Jove - Sprinkle with the delightful liquor from - The niggard urn, since of my childhood died - The dreams and fond delusions. The glad days - Of our existence are the first to fly; - And then disease and age approach, and last, - The shade of frigid Death. Behold! of all - The palms I hoped for and the errors sweet, - Hades remains; and the transcendant mind - Sinks to the Stygian shore - Where sable Night doth reign, and silence evermore. - - - THE INFINITE. - - I always loved this solitary hill - And this green hedge that hides on every side - The last and dim horizon from our view. - But as I sit and gaze, a never-ending - Space far beyond it and unearthly silence - And deepest quiet in my thought I picture, - And as with terror is my heart o'ercast - With wondrous awe. And whilst I hear the wind - Amid the green leaves rustling, I compare - That silence infinite unto this sound, - And to my mind eternity occurs - And all the vanished ages, and the present - Whose sound doth meet mine ear. And so in this - Immensity my thought is drifted on, - And to be wrecked on such a sea is sweet. - - - To SYLVIA. - - Sylvia, rememberest thou - Yet that sweet time of thine abode on earth, - When beauty graced thy brow - And fired thine eyes so radiant and so gay, - And thou, so joyous, yet of pensive mood, - Didst pass on youth's fair way? - - The chambers calm and still, - The sunny paths around, - Did to thy song resound, - When thou, upon thy handiwork intent, - Wast seated, full of joy - At the fair future where thy hopes were bound. - It was the fragrant month of flowery May, - And thus went by thy day. - - I, leaving oft behind - The labours and the vigils of my mind - That did my life consume - And of my being far the best entomb, - Bade from the casement of my father's house - Mine ears give heed unto thy silver song - And to thy rapid hand - That swept with skill the spinning thread along; - I watched the sky serene, - The radiant paths and flowers, - And here the sea, the mountain there, expand. - - What thoughts divinely sweet, - What hopes, O Sylvia! and what souls were ours! - In what guise did we meet - Our destiny and life? - When I remember such aspiring flown, - Fierce pain invades my soul - Which nothing can console - And my misfortune I again bemoan. - O Nature, void of ruth! - Why not give some return - For those fair promises? Why full of fraud - Thy wretched offspring spurn? - - Thou, ere the herbs by Winter were destroyed, - Led to the grave by an unknown disease, - Did'st perish, tender blossom. Thy life's flower - Was not by thee enjoyed; - Nor heard, thy heart to please, - The admiration of thy raven hair - Or of the enamoured glances of thine eyes; - Nor thy companions in the festive hour - Spoke of the raptures of impassioned love - Or of its burning sighs. - - Ere long my hope as well - Was dead and gone. By cruel Fate's decree - Was youthfulness denied - Unto my years. Ah me! - How art thou past for aye, - Thou dear companion of my earlier day, - My hope so much bewailed! - Is this the world? Are these - The joys, the loves, the labours and the deeds - Whereof so often we together spoke? - Is this the doom to which mankind proceeds? - When dark reality before thee lay - Revealed, thou sankest, and thy dying hand - Pointed to death, a figure of cold gloom, - And to a distant tomb. - - - THE CALM AFTER THE TEMPEST. - - The storm hath passed away; the birds rejoice; - I hear the feathered songsters tune their notes - As they again come forth. Behold! the sky - Serenely breaks through regions of the West - Beyond the mountain-ridge; the country round - Emerges from the shadows, and below, - Within the vale, the river clearly shines. - - Each heart rejoices; everywhere the sound - Of life revives and the accustomed work; - The artizan to see the liquid sky, - With tools in hand and singing as he comes, - Before the door of his abode appears; - The maiden with her pitcher issues forth - To seize the waters of the recent rain, - And he who traffics in the flowers and herbs - Of Mother Earth, his daily cry renews - In roads and lanes as he again proceeds. - See how the Sun returns! See how he smiles - Upon the hills and houses! Busy hands - Are opening windows and withdrawing screens - From balconies and ample terraces; - And from the street where lively traffic runs - The tinkling bells in silver distance sound; - The wheels revolve as now the traveller - His lengthy journey on the road resumes. - - Each heart rejoices. When is life so sweet, - So welcome, as it now appears to all? - When with like joy doth man to studies bend, - To work return, or to new actions rise? - When doth he less remember all his ills? - Ah, truly, Pleasure is the child of Woe; - Joy, idle Joy, the fruit of recent Fear - Which roused with terror of immediate death - The heart of him who most abhorred this life; - And thus the nations in a torment long, - Cold, silent, withered with expectant fear, - Shuddered and trembled, seeing from Heaven's gate - The angry Powers in serried order march, - The clouds, the winds, the shafts of living fire, - To our annihilation and despair. - - Oh bounteous Nature! these thy present are, - These are the joys on mortals thou doth shower; - To escape from pain is happiness on earth. - Sorrows thou pourest with abundant hand; - Pain rises freely from a fertile seed; - The little pleasure that from endless woe - As by a miracle receives its birth, - Is held a mighty gain. Our human race - Dear to the eternal Rulers of the sky! - Ah! blest enough and fortunate indeed - Art thou if pain brief respite gives to thee - To breathe and live; favoured beyond compare - Art thou if cured of every grief by Death. - - - THE VILLAGERS' SATURDAY NIGHT. - - From copse and glade the maiden takes her way - When in the west the setting sun reposes; - She gathered flowers; her slender fingers bear - A fragrant wealth of violets and roses, - And with their beauty she will deck her hair, - Her lovely bosom with their leaves entwine; - Such is her wont on every festive day. - The aged matron sits upon the steps - And with her neighbours turns the spinning wheel, - Facing the heavens where the rays decline; - And she recalls the years, - The happy years when on the festive day - It was her wont her beauty to array, - And when amidst her lovers and compeers - In youth's effulgent pride - Her rapid feet through mazy dance did glide. - - The sky already darkens, and serene - The azure vault its loveliness reveals; - From hill and tower a lengthened shadow steals - In silvery whiteness of the crescent moon. - We hear the distant bell - Of festive morrow tell; - To weary hearts how generous a boon! - The happy children in the open space - In dancing numbers throng - With game and jest and song; - And to his quiet home and simple fare - The labourer doth repair - And whistles as he goes, - Glad of the morrow that shall bring repose. - - Then, when no other light around is seen, - No other sound or stir, - We hear the hammer strike, - The grating saw of busy carpenter; - He is about and doing, so unlike - His quiet neighbours; his nocturnal lamp - With helpful light the darkened workshop fills, - And he makes haste his business to complete - Ere break of dawn the heavenly regions greet. - - This of the seven is the happiest day, - With hope and joyaunce gay; - To-morrow grief and care - The unwelcome hours will in their progress bear; - To-morrow one and all - In thought their wonted labours will recall. - - O merry youth! Thy time of life so gay - Is like a joyous and delightful day, - A day clear and serene - That doth the approaching festival precede - Of thy fair life. Rejoice! Divine indeed - Is this fair day, I ween. - I'll say no more; but when it comes to thee, - Thy festival, may it not evil be. - - - ASPASIA. - - Again at times appeareth to my thought - Thy semblance, O Aspasia! either flashing - Across my path amid the haunts of men - In other forms; or 'mid deserted fields - When shines the sun or tranquil host of stars, - As by the sweetest harmony awoke, - Arising in my soul which seems once more - To yield unto that vision all superb, - How much adored, O Heaven! of yore how fully - The joyaunce and the halo of my life! - I never meet the perfume of the gardens - Or of the flowers that cities may display, - Without beholding thee as thou appearedst - Upon that day when in thy splendid rooms - Which gave the perfume of the sweetest flowers - Of recent Spring, arrayed in robes that bore - The violet's hue, first thine angelic form - Did meet my gaze as thou, reclining, layest - On strange, white furs, and deep, voluptuous charm - Seemed to be thine, whilst thou, a skilled enchantress - Of loving hearts, upon the rosy lips - Of thy fair children many a fervent kiss - Imprintedst, bending down to them thy neck - Of snowy beauty, and with lovely hand - Their guileless forms, unconscious of thy wile, - Clasping unto thy bosom, so desired, - Though hidden. To the vision of my soul - Another sky and more entrancing world - And radiance as from Heaven were revealed. - Thus in my heart, though not unarmed, thy power - infixed the arrow which I wounded bore - Until that day when the revolving earth - A second time her yearly course fulfilled. - - A ray divine unto my thought appeared, - Lady, thy beauty. Similar effects - Beauty and music's harmony produce, - Revealing both the mysteries sublime - Of unknown Eden. Thence the loving soul, - Though injured in his love, adores the birth - Of his fond mind, the amorous idea - That doth include Olympus in its range, - And seems in face, in manner and in speech - Like unto her whom the enchanted lover - Fancies alone to cherish and admire. - Not her, but that sweet image, he doth clasp - Even in the raptures of a fond embrace. - At last his error and the objects changed - Perceiving, wrath invades him, and he oft - Wrongly accuses her he thought he loved. - The mind of woman to that lofty height - Rarely ascends, and what her charms inspire - She little thinks and seldom understands. - So frail a mind can harbour no such thought. - In vain doth man, deluded by the light - Of those enthralling eyes, indulge in hope; - In vain he asks for deep and hidden thoughts, - Transcending mortal ken, of her to whom - Hath Nature's law a lesser rank assigned, - For as her form less strength than man's received, - So too her mind less energy and depth. - Nor thou as yet what inspirations vast - Within my thought thy loveliness aroused, - Aspasia, could'st conceive. Thou little knowest - What love unmeasured and what woes intense, - What frenzy wild and feelings without name, - Thou didst within me move, nor shall the time - Appear when thou canst know it. Equally - The skilled performer ignorant remains - Of what with hand or voice he doth arouse - Within his hearers. That Aspasia now - Is dead, whom I so worshipped. She lies low - For evermore, once idol of my life; - Unless at times, a cherished shade, she rises, - Ere long to vanish. Thou art still alive, - Not merely lovely, but of such perfection - That, as I think, thou dost eclipse the rest. - But now the ardour, born of thee, is spent; - Because I loved not thee, but that fair goddess - Who had her dwelling in me, now her grave. - Her long I worshipped, and so was I pleased - By her celestial loveliness, that I, - Even from the first full conscious and aware - Of what thou art, so wily and so false, - Beholding in thine eyes the light of hers, - Fondly pursued thee while she lived in me; - Not dazzled or deluded, but induced - By the enjoyment of that sweet resemblance, - A long and bitter slavery to bear. - - Now boast, for well thou may'st. Say that alone - Of all thy sex art thou to whom I bent - My haughty head, to whom I gladly gave - My heart in homage. Say that thou wert first - (And last, I truly hope), to see mine eyes' - Imploring gaze, and me before thee stand - Timid and fearful (as I write, I burn - With wrath and shame); me of myself deprived, - Each look of thine, each gesture and each word - Observing meekly; at thy haughty freaks - Pale and subdued; then radiant with delight - At any sign of favour, changing hue - At every glance of thine. The charm is gone; - And with it shattered, falls the heavy yoke, - Whence I rejoice. Though weariness be with me, - Yet after such delirium and long thraldom - Gladly my freedorh I again embrace - And my unshackled mind. For if a life - Void of affections and of errors sweet, - Be like a starless night in winter's depth, - Revenge sufficient and sufficient balm - It is to me that here upon the grass - Leisurely lying and unmoved, I gaze - On sky, earth, ocean, and serenely smile. - - - ON THE PORTRAIT OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN - - ENGRAVEN ON HER TOMB. - - Such was on earth thy form, - But the unpitying storm - Of Death resolved thy beauty into dust. - Dumb witness of the flight of ages here, - This image of thy perished loveliness - Stands all unmoved, as though it held in trust - The guardianship of memory and pain, - Above the ashes that alone remain - Of those sweet charms that did thy being bless. - That tender gaze, thrilling as though with fear - The eyes it pierced, as now it seems to do; - Those lips, abundant with the wealth of pleasure; - That neck, encircled by desire's fond arms; - That hand, Love's richest treasure, - Which when it clasped, responsive pressure knew; - And that fair bosom whose celestial charms - Gave those who saw a wan and pallid hue - From the excess of their adoring passion: - Once were as lovely as these sculptures fashion; - But all that now is left on earth of thee - Is dust and ashes which we may not see; - Thy monument to ages that ensue - Conceals the mournful vision from our view. - Thus Fate doth touch and crumble into dust - Whatever must unto our minds appear - Image of Heaven most precious and most dear. - Oh mystery eternal of the world! - Now fount and treasure of stupendous thought, - Beauty appears in majesty sublime, - Even as a Queen in regal robes empearled, - And seems on earth a heavenly splendour brought - From fairer realms beyond the bounds of time; - She seems to give us hope - Of fates that can with mortal sorrow cope, - Of happier homes and planets more divine - Where golden splendours shine; - But on the morrow, feeble though the blow - Which struck her so that she declines and dies, - Dreadful to see and abject in our eyes - Becomes that peerless beauty which before - Seemed like the Seraphs who in Heaven adore - The radiant throne of the celestial Sire; - And all the wondrous dreams she did inspire - Their colours lose and wane - And in our yielding souls no longer reign. - Strange, infinite desires - And visionary fires - Doth wondrous music in our fancy wake, - And we then take through a delightful sea - A wondrous voyage far - Like some undaunted sailor of the deep; - But if a discord crush - Our spirit's rapturous rush, - The spell is broken and our souls are free - A lonely vigil unrelieved to keep: - So slight a break that solemn bliss can mar. - O Nature, say, if thou art wholly vile, - If dust and ashes symbolise thy being, - How canst thou be so lofty and far-seeing? - And if thou art so fair - That sacred dreams thy children can beguile - With art and wisdom, their appointed share, - Why by a cause so slight - Are all thy fond aspirings put to flight? - -_Exquisite is the picture in_ "LA VITA SOLITARIA" _of silent -meditation._ - - At times I seat me in a lonely spot, - Upon a hill, or by a calm lake's bank, - Fringed and adorned with flowers taciturn. - There, when full mid-day heat informs the sky, - His peaceful image doth the sun depict, - And to the air moves neither leaf nor herb, - And neither ruffling wave nor cricket shrill, - Nor birds disporting in the boughs above, - Nor fluttering butterfly, nor voice nor step, - Afar or near, can sight or hearing find. - Those shores are held in deepest quietude: - Whence I the world and even myself forget, - Seated unmoved; and it appears to me - My body is released, no longer worn - With soul or feeling, and its old repose - Is blended with the silence all around. - -_Very noble is the conclusion of the_ "EPISTLE TO COUNT CARLO PEPOLI":-- - - Thou lovest song and poets charm thy mind; - Thy task it is that rarest gift to find, - That beauty of the soul, amid mankind - So seldom seen, so fugitive and frail, - That we its absence rather than its loss bewail. - Thrice happy he who never lost the flame - Of rich imagination when he came - To the autumnal tinting of his years, - In whom the freshness of the heart appears - For ever pure and tender! Blessed he - Whom Nature still in holy liberty - Preserves and keeps that he may deck her brow - With all the treasures that his thoughts allow. - Such be the gift by Heaven on thee conferred! - May sacred Poesy by thee be heard - When snowy age hath marked thee as her own - And on thy head her silvery signs are shown. - - I feel in me all blest illusions wane - That did my youth and dawn of life sustain; - I loved them much, and to the bitter end - I shall with tears their fond remembrance tend. - When comes the time that frozen quite and hard - My soul shall be, nor in the Heavens starred - The clustering splendours give my spirit joy, - My wondering thought in vague surmise employ; - Nor sunny hills and lonely places smile, - Nor warbling birds with early notes beguile - My weary heart; nor, sailing in the sky, - The queenly Moon be welcome to mine eye; - When Art and Nature shall to me be dumb, - And tender feelings like a stranger come: - Then other lore, though less endeared, I'll choose - That I the sense of bitter life may lose. - My weary mind the wonders shall embrace - That scholars seek and questioning sages trace, - The bitter truth and dark reality, - The goal of life that we so dimly see; - Why brought to light and why surcharged with woe - The countless generations here below; - What Fate and Nature have for us in store; - What laws ordain, what guides direct us o'er - The perilous gulfs of Nature and of Time; - These be the fountains of my thought sublime, - The lofty theme of many a pensive rhyme. - Thus I shall live; unhappy though it be, - There are some charms in sad reality. - But if my song unwelcome be or strange, - I shall not grieve; for in its boundless range - My spirit hath outsoared the love of Fame; - She is a goddess only in her name; - Than Fate and Love that rule our humankind - So vaguely, so unwisely, she is far more blind. - -These extracts will enable the reader to form an idea of the power -of thought and depth of feeling that characterise Leopardi's Poems, -although the beauty of his diction may not be reproduced in all its -purity and sweetness. Never was there a poet who knew how to handle -the Italian language with greater skill, or to give it more enchanting -melody or more varied cadences. If he has a fault, it is that he is -sometimes too indifferent to ornament, and that his simplicity now -and then degenerates into poverty and bareness. But when we remember -what Italian poetry had become in his time, how artificial, how -overladen with meretricious ornaments, we shall think him worthy of -praise, rather than deserving of censure. His earlier poems are the -most ornate, and it was only by degrees that he attained that crystal -clearness of style for which we find no parallel in the Italian -language. His frequent use of a capricious succession of rhymed and -unrhymed lines allows him to develop his thoughts with perfect freedom; -indeed, so easy is the metre, that were it not for his happy selection -of words and exquisite variety of cadence, it would border dangerously -on the slipshod; indeed, it does so in the works of his imitators, and -of recent years it has been, probably for that reason, abandoned by -poets in favour of systems more rigid and perhaps more epigrammatic. - -Leopardi had every characteristic of a great lyric poet. If his -pessimism is sometimes too pronounced for many readers, it must be -admitted that the evils of life are sufficiently numerous to justify -his elegies; and he atones for any excess of gloom by the most -exquisite pictures of nature and of love. The world appears more -beautiful, though more terribly and darkly beautiful, in his poems than -in reality. He has a rare power of musical diction which delights the -ear even in his most melancholy passages. Indeed, the secret of his -power lies in the unique and exquisite contrast between the gloom and -bitterness of his thoughts and the sweetness and radiant beauty of his -style. - -He has also the rare power of concentrating in a few lines a whole -world of thought and emotion. Thus, in the _Risorgimento_: - - "Meco ritorna a vivere - La piaggia, il bosco, il monte; - Parla al mio core il fonte, - Meco favella il mar. - -In the poem _To Sylvia_ quoted above, he calls her "his hope so much -bewailed," "mia lacrimata speme." In the _Ricordanze_ he calls Nerina -"his eternal sigh." Numerous other instances could be adduced. Take, -for example, the lovely passage in the _Canto Notturno,_ where the -shepherd apostrophizes the Moon: - - "Pur tu, solinga, eterna peregrina, - Che si pensosa sei, tu forse intendi, - Questo viver terreno, - Il patir nostro, il sospirar, che sia; - Che sia questo morir, questo supremo - Scolorar del sembiante, - E perir della terra, e venir meno - Ad ogni usata, amante compagnia." - -His pathos and tenderness, expressed in language of the most perfect -purity and sweetness, and adorned with the rainbow hues of his vivid -imagination, produce an effect more poetical than words can describe. -I know of no lyric poet who keeps the mind of his reader under a more -potent spell. Others, like Horace and Alfred de Musset, may be more -entertaining, others, again, like Keats and Shelley, may delight us -with airier and more brilliant flights of fancy, but Leopardi leads us -to the brink of abysses and shows us their unfathomable depth. - -He always writes from his heart, a rare quality, for we may find -twenty poets who write from the head for one who writes from the -heart. He never attempts a task for which he is unfitted. His powers -of reasoning in verse are very great, but his argument never becomes -unpoetical, never becomes dryly didactic. If his works have a fault, -it is that now and then the poems have a tendency to fall off towards -the end, and in his later works there is a certain languor of style, -probably the result of ill-health. He is a great master of blank verse, -and only in one of the poems in that metre, the _Palinodia,_ does he -become heavy and prolix. Sometimes, when he is not sustained by any -great thought, his extreme simplicity degenerates into poverty. Very -few poets could venture to be as simple as Leopardi. - -His works have the effect of growing upon the reader. The second -perusal pleases better than the first, and the more they are read, the -more they are admired. In quantity of verse produced, he is surpassed -by many writers; but in quality, by none. - -His prose works, like his poems, are few in number and short in -dimension. They comprise dialogues (a form of which he was very fond), -a few essays, and over one hundred detached fragmentary thoughts. They -make only a small volume of most unimposing bulk, but the beauties of -thought and style are so great that many critics have extolled them -as the most perfect production of Italian prose. They all set forth -his pessimism and his melancholy, but with so much art and variety, -that while they convince us of the world's misery, they also enchant -us with its beauty. Leopardi made a profound study of the great prose -writers of the Fourteenth Century, and he alone succeeds in reproducing -to perfection the freshness and harmony of their style. Some passages -are so magnificent that they cry out aloud to be put into verse. In his -prose we find less of his heart (that wonderful heart that embraced the -whole world in its sympathy) and more of the vivacity of his fancy than -in his verse. - -His _Operette Morali,_ as his Prose Works were not very appropriately -entitled, did not receive that cordial welcome which their -extraordinary beauties should have commanded. In his youth he was -extolled up to the skies for his laborious erudition, but when he -offered the public works of real originality and value, both in prose -and verse, his gift was appreciated only by very gradual degrees. This -may be partly explained by the fact that a great wave of Utilitarianism -was passing over the country, a tendency against which he exclaims -in a letter written to Giordani from Florence in 1828. "I am weary," -he says, "of the haughty contempt which people here profess for the -beautiful and for literature, especially as I do not think that the -summit of human wisdom consists in the knowledge of politics and of -statistics. On the contrary, when I consider philosophically the utter -uselessness of the endeavours to obtain perfection of governments and -happiness of nations, even from the days of Solon to our own, I cannot -help smiling at this mania for political and legislative schemes and -calculations, and I humbly ask how the happiness of nations can be -obtained without the happiness of individuals? We are condemned to -unhappiness by Nature, and not by our fellow-creatures or by Fate; -and to console us for this inevitable unhappiness, I think nothing -is better than the study of the beautiful, the cultivation of che -affections, the flights of imagination, and the pleasures of our -illusions. Therefore, I consider that all that pleases the mind is -useful beyond ordinary things of use, and that literature is more truly -useful than all those dry subjects which, even if they fulfilled their -objects, would little help the true felicity of human beings, who are -individuals, and not masses; but when do they really fulfil their -objects?. . . . . . I hold (and not accidentally) that human society -has inborn and necessary principles of imperfection, and that its -condition can be more or less bad, but never perfect. From every point -of view, to deprive men of that which is most delightful to the mind, -appears to me the infliction of a real injury upon the human race." - -These words may be taken to heart at the present day as much as at the -time when they were written. There are far too many people ready to cry -down the pursuits of art and poetry, and it would be well to answer -them with these arguments of one of the most powerful and original -intellects that the human race has ever produced. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -MANZONI. - - -ALESSANDRO MANZONI, the most popular writer of the first half of the -Nineteenth Century, was born at Milan on the seventh of March, 1785. -His mother was the daughter of Beccaria, whose philanthropic endeavours -to abolish the worst abuses of criminal procedure have received -recognition in a previous chapter. He received his education from the -Fathers of the Somaschi Order, and in 1805 he accompanied his mother to -Paris. There he had the advantage of mixing with the most brilliant and -intellectual Society that France could produce. At that epoch he seems -first to have attempted composition, and a poem he wrote on the death -of a friend obtained sufficient encomiums to encourage him in further -efforts. - -In 1808 he returned to Italy and married Mademoiselle Blondel, daughter -of a banker of Geneva. - -She was a Protestant, but soon joined the Church of Rome, and ere long -filled her husband, who had hitherto been indifferent to religion, -with the fervour that animated her soul. As in Paris, so in Milan, -he enjoyed the society of those most eminent for their intellectual -powers, and he was a frequent visitor in Monti's house. Silvio Pellico -and Tommaso Grossi were among his friends, and Luigi Tosi, afterwards -Bishop of Pavia, did much to confirm him in the ardent piety instilled -by his wife. Winter and Spring he passed in Milan, Summer and Autumn at -a beautiful villa of his at Brusiglio, four miles out of the town. - -In 1812 he began writing his Sacred Hymns, and if they do not rise -above a spirited, though somewhat conventional, piety, they are -nevertheless an enormous advance on the mythological platitudes that -formed so long the staple of Italian poetry. - -In 1819, he finished his tragedy, _Il Conte di Carmagnola,_ which had -occupied him for more than three years. Manzoni entirely abandoned the -trammels of the unities of time and place to which Alfieri rigidly -adhered; his play has consequently much of the picturesqueness and -variety of Shakespeare and the Elizabethans; and it is distinguished by -that thoroughness of historical study which marked everything he wrote; -but on the other hand, it must be admitted that he is not inspired by -the genuine spirit of tragedy in nearly so high a degree as Alfieri, -nor has he his predecessor's remarkable gift of writing sonorous and -impressive blank verse. His verse is clear and flowing, but rather -wanting in colour. His characters say what they ought to say, but they -do not say it in a striking manner. Even more than for its merits as a -play, it deserves to be read for the accurate picture it presents of -the Venice of the Fifteenth Century. - -In 1820 he wrote the most spirited verses he ever produced, _Il Quinto -Maggio,_ a poem on the death of Napoleon, full of fire and originality. - -In 1822 he published his tragedy _Adelchi._ As _Carmagnola_ gave a -picture of the Oligarchy of Venice, so does _Adelchi_ give us a picture -of the rule of the Lombard Kings. It is written with as much care as -its predecessor, and with more fire ind energy. But even here he is far -indeed from displaying Alfieri's mastery over blank verse. Appended to -this tragedy we find a long and valuable essay on the Lombards in Italy. - -Manzoni contemplated a third tragedy. It was to have been on the -subject of Spartacus, but not more was written than an introductory -Chorus. - -These works procured a high reputation for the poet, a reputation -which became even European when he published in 1826 his celebrated -historical romance, _I Promessi Sposi--The Betrothed._ No prose work -in the Italian language has been received with greater enthusiasm in -foreign countries than this. Translations appeared in every European -language; edition after edition was called for, both of the original -and of the renderings. The daily papers teemed with laudatory notices; -the author was overwhelmed with tokens of esteem and admiration, and -his countrymen hailed in him with rapture an Italian Scott. - -His reputation reached its zenith in 1830. But if his admirers expected -that he would display the fertility of his Caledonian prototype, they -were doomed to disappointment. He was renowned as the writer of two -able tragedies, of one of the most brilliant lyrics in any language, -and of the most successful novel that Italy had ever produced. He -was rich and comfortable, two strong incentives to indolence. He had -acquired fame so great that it would be impossible to add to it; what -need was there for him to labour and toil in producing works that -could not by any possibility approach the marvellous success of their -predecessors? Accordingly, we find that Manzoni wrote but little after -the appearance of the _Promessi Sposi,_ and that little is not of great -importance. In his _Storia della Colonna Infame,_ he protests, like a -true descendant of Beccaria, against the horrors of the rack; in his -_Morale Cottolica,_ he displays considerable powers of observation and -of argument. - -He had numerous children, but many of them predeceased him. His eldest -daughter married Massimo d'Azeglio. - -After the Italian victories of 1859, he was elected a member of the -Senate assembled at Turin, but he only attended its debates on two -occasions, probably owing to advancing age. He was offered high -dignities and the medals of many Orders; but he refused them all, and -lived in simple retirement, sufficiently distinguished by his renown, -and by the esteem accorded to his amiable and benevolent character. He -died on the 22nd of May, 1873, and Milan accompanied her poet to the -grave with magnificent obsequies. - -Turning from the man to his works, we find both his prose and his -poetry characterized by a noble spirit of repose. There is nothing -stormy or angry in his writings, for there was nothing to disturb or -to embitter his mind. He resemble Goethe in the cloudless serenity of -his intellect, though he may not equal him in the rarer attributes -of genius. It was probably this very repose that militated against -his success as a dramatist, for if they did not present so faithful a -picture of an historical epoch, his two tragedies would hardly deserve -the attention they received. - -This happy peace of mind enabled him to reproduce very clearly what he -observed and imagined. It is, therefore, no cause for wonder that when -he devoted the powers of his mind to the production of an historical -novel, he should have given a masterpiece to the world. The story is -interesting. We follow the vicissitudes of the lovers with breathless -attention. The subject is well fitted to the author's powers. He -writes of localities among which he lived, and of times, the history -of which he had profoundly studied. The descriptions never fail to be -vivid and accurate, and the skill with which he masses together great -events cannot be too highly extolled. Nothing could be finer than the -description of the plague of Milan, and of the popular disturbances. -Nor is he less admirable in the delineation of character. The portrait -of the Friar would be alone sufficient to show his mastery in that -line. The style has its beauties, but even in this most successful -work of the Nineteenth Century we notice the same peculiarities as in -his dramas; the characters say what they ought to say, but they do not -always say it in a striking manner. Little as he resembled Leopardi, -he was like him in a certain indifference to ornament which sometimes -degenerates into poverty. - -In reading Manzoni's works we become aware how much the romantic -movement benefited literature. A new life is infused into prose and -poetry; fresh thoughts arise in the writer's mind, and the wretched -conventionalities of phraseology are done away with for ever. - -Above praise though the _Promessi Sposi_ may be, it is not possible -to extol Manzoni very highly as a poet. With the exception of the -magnificent _Cinque Maggio,_ his lyrics do not glow with vivid -fire, nor do they haunt the reader with their melody. The extremely -comfortable circumstances of the poet's life prevented him from being -torn with passion and harrowed by despair. His genius had nothing wild -or impetuous about it to spur him on to a passionate outpour of song. -Nor had he the gaiety of convivial, or the acrimony of satirical, -verse. Therefore, it is not strange that he has left us nothing quite -worthy of his renown in the lyric line, always excepting the poem on -the death of Napoleon. - -His powers of versification are not very remarkable. He is deficient -in the delicate cadences of a truly great poet. His blank verse has -a tendency to become flat. His rhymes are stronger, but the metre, -though effective, is not modulated and varied with the consummate -skill that can alone satisfy a cultivated ear. But all his poems are -the emanation of a truly noble mind, and if we search the pages of -Manzoni, whether in his prose or in his verse, for lofty thoughts and -elevating influence, we can truly say that we never search in vain. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -SILVIO PELLICO. - - -A work hardly inferior in popularity to the _Promessi Sposi_ was _Le -Mie Prigioni,_ an account of all that he suffered in Austrian prisons, -by SILVIO PELLICO. - -The author of this celebrated book was born at Saluzzo, in Piedmont, in -1788. He spent his youth in France, but shortly after he came of age, -he returned to Italy and settled in Milan. He supported himself for a -while as a tutor, and then as a journalist. He wrote several tragedies, -the best of which is _Francesca da Rimini,_ and a spirited translation -of Byron's _Manfred._ - -In conjunction with a few friends, he published a paper, _Il -Conciliatore._ Some articles excited the displeasure of the Austrian -Government, and the paper was forbidden to appear. The disturbances -in Piedmont in 1820 aroused the fears of the Authorities, and he was -arrested with some of his companions and taken to Venice, where he was -first of all confined in the "Piombi" in the Doge's Palace, and then in -the prison on the Island of San Michele. He and his confederates were -sentenced to death, but the capital sentence was commuted to fifteen -years imprisonment in a fortress for Pellico and twenty years for his -friend Maroncelli. Both victims were removed in 1822 to the Spielberg, -near Brunn, in Moravia, and confined in subterranean dungeons. They -were treated with the utmost rigour. Heavy manacles were fastened -to their limbs; coarse and scanty fare alone was provided for them. -Pellico's health was never strong, and it broke down utterly under such -rigorous treatment. He fell dangerously ill, and a certain relaxation -was made in order to save his life. But no sooner was he on the way to -recovery, than the former severities were revived and even aggravated. -He was no longer allowed to beguile his wretched captivity with reading -and writing, and all that he could do was to brood in his wretched -dungeon over his sorrows and to wonder whether he would live until the -day appointed for his release. His wounded spirit took refuge in the -consolations of a somewhat mystic piety. In later years the demand for -a United Italy brought the patriots into collision with the Papacy, -whose adherence to the claim of temporal power for the Pope was -inflexibly maintained, and the collision resulted in bitter hostility -to Christianity; but for at least the first forty years of the -Century nearly every patriot was a fervent Catholic, whose religious -enthusiasm was fostered by the romantic movement, with its attendant -love and veneration for the Middle Ages. Pellico was emphatically the -incarnation of this type of patriot. He looked upon all free thought -with horror, and any doubts as to the tenets of his Church never seem -to have entered his mind. His cruel captivity made him cling all the -closer to the promises of the Church to her faithful, and after his -liberation his frame of mind continued the same. - -That liberation came sooner than was expected. Pellico and his friend -Maroncelli were released on the first of August, 1830. - -Count Pralormo, Envoy of the Court of Turin to Vienna, interceded -frequently for the unhappy poet, and it was probably in a large measure -owing to him that Pellico was released so soon. The Revolution of July -broke out on the very day the Emperor Francis signed the order for the -release. It was considered a fortunate circumstance for the prisoners -that the order was signed before the Emperor had heard of this event, -or he might not have been so inclined to clemency. - -The prisoners were conducted under escort to Vienna, but Silvio was -in so feeble a state of health that the exertion of travelling threw -him on a sick bed. He tells us that on his recovery he was taken drives -and excursions, and one day, when he and Maroncelli were walking in the -park at Schönbrunn, the approach of the Emperor was announced, and he -and his companion were ordered to go aside lest his Majesty should be -depressed by the sight of their pale and emaciated faces. - -When Pellico was allowed to return to Italy, he took refuge at Turin -with his sister. He beguiled his time by writing _Le Mie Prigioni_ and -numerous tragedies and poems; but his health was quite ruined by the -hardships he had endured, and he languished in much suffering. He died -unmarried in 1854. - -Why Silvio Pellico was treated with such rigour and cruelty by the -Austrian Government is inexplicable, for he was the very reverse of a -dangerous and turbulent spirit. Even his imprisonment did not rouse him -to frenzy, and _Le Mie Prigioni_ is less an outpouring of wrath than a -chronicle of all the tears he shed. Indeed, it would have been better -for his fame as an author if he had possessed something of the cruel -indignation that devoured the heart of Swift. His works are tender and -pensive, but they are sadly in want of fire. He gives us mild elegies -when we expect passionate invectives. - -It was hard to suffer so much, but had he suffered less, he would not -now be remembered among the authors of his country. A pure and noble -spirit he would always have been, but his star would not have shone -with sufficient brilliancy to be distinguishable from the galaxy around -it. - -"After writing twelve tragedies," he tells us, "eight of which alone -have been published, I ceased to write for the stage, as I felt that I -had not sufficient resources to enable me to depict a great variety of -characters. In my youth I had a wild hope that I might in time occupy -a place not distant from Alfieri, but with years I awoke from that -illusion in spite of the applause that was lavished upon me. Now I take -pleasure only in lyric and narrative poetry, in which I admit that I -do not rise to any great height; but those branches of poetry have a -strong attraction for me; I love to make of them the instruments to -express my sentiments, and especially my religious emotions. I often -feel the want of praying, as it were, in verse; and thus I produce -sometimes an ode, sometimes an elegy, in which I pour out my heart -to God, and that suffices to give me back my spiritual serenity. I -should like to see poets arise greater than myself, that they might -increase the number of sacred compositions, diffusing the love of God -and of virtue, and elevating their intellect and that of their fellow -creatures, with the holy union of noble thoughts and fervent religion. -We have a few such poets, but very limited in number, and too often -the divinest of arts is dedicated to frivolous, or what is worse, to -despicable subjects." - -These words give a clear idea of the spirit in which he wrote, and -it cannot be denied that he comes up to his noble conception, even -though a certain want of fire prevents him from occupying a high -rank in Italian literature. His two best tragedies are _Francesca da -Rimini_ and _Thomas More._ In both he rises to considerable dignity, -and nothing better can be found out of Alfieri. His _Francesca_ was -produced by the celebrated actress Carlotta Marchionni with brilliant -success. - -His lyric poems are a mirror of his tender and pensive soul, but the -fatal want of fire is more apparent than in his tragedies which are -sustained by the interest of the story. - -Far and away the most important of his works is _Le Mie Prigioni,_ -the record of his weary years of cruel captivity. The book was a -prodigious success, and was read wherever freedom was loved and -tyranny detested. No literary production of the age was more welcome -to Italian patriots, because it furnished them with so forcible a -justification for rising against their oppressors. Indeed, the marvel -is that a nation like the Italian bore the yoke of foreign invaders -so long. Italy was not like Poland, without natural frontiers to act -as a barrier against the aggression of powerful neighbours. Nor was -she, like Poland, distracted by internal faction and discord. Why, -therefore, did she submit so long? The only answer, in my opinion, is -that the system in the Middle Ages of hiring venal condottieri and -their followers to fight their battles demoralised the Italians until -they failed to realise their own inherent strength. When once the -nation resolved to be free, the task was not so stupendously difficult. -It was a fortunate circumstance for Italy that neither Spain nor -Austria ever attempted to effect settlements of their own subjects -on her soil, as England did in Ireland and as Russia is now doing in -Poland. Thus, when the hour of freedom struck, the Italians had only to -overcome hostile garrisons, they had not to uproot a settled population. - -The style of Silvio Pellico is eminently clear and direct, and his work -is on that account a great favourite with foreigners beginning the -study of the language. He has considerable powers of description, and -he succeeds admirably in reproducing the colouring and the atmosphere -of the scenes he went through. He is occasionally too sentimental, -and the tears he sheds are out of all proportion to the fortitude he -displays. But a great wave of sentimentality was passing over Italy at -that time, and it was perhaps wanted to bring men back to nature after -the artificiality of the past. - -His gaolers seem to have been as kind to him as they dared; but the -rules of the prison were terribly rigorous, and they were not relaxed -for Silvio and his confederates, blameless though their characters were -known to be. Maroncelli had to submit to the amputation of a leg owing -to the mortification resulting from the friction of his heavy fetters, -and Pellico himself was prostrated by illness from his excessive -hardships, so that for a while his life was in danger, and great -indeed would have been the loss to Literature had a fatal termination -prevented him from leaving to posterity the record of a cruel captivity -and of a lofty and unsullied patriotism. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. - - -The most conspicuous, though not in reality the most eminent, of the -Italian poets in the early part of the Nineteenth Century, was VINCENZO -MONTI. The inexhaustible fluency of his verses attracted universal -attention, and even Leopardi worshipped at his shrine. But he was -only an idol, not a divinity. The feet of clay soon became apparent. -He veered round with shameless apostacy from one political party to -another. Beginning his career by flattering Pius VI, he continued it by -extolling the French invaders, and concluded it by grovelling before -the Austrian tyrants. He wrote odes without enthusiasm, and tragedies -without dignity, and he translated Homer without knowing sufficient -Greek to read the original. An epigram was suggested for his portrait: - - "Questo è Monti, poeta e cavaliero, - Gran traduttor dei traduttor d'Omero." - -But it would be unjust to deny that he had great flexibility of style -and full command over all the resources of the language. He is always -elegant and flowing, and his works, such as they are, never sin against -the canons of good taste. Perhaps the most pleasing of his shorter -poems is a very beautiful sonnet on the portrait of his daughter. - -A far more masterful and daring spirit was UGO FOSCOLO. His poem _I -Sepolcri_ attracted universal attention, but it can hardly be said -that the promise of this poem was fulfilled by later works. He had -brilliant gifts, but he was inclined to fritter them away on learned -trifles. As a prose writer he exercised a wider influence. His _Lettere -di Jacopo Ortis,_ were to Italy much what Goethe's _Werther_ was to -Germany. He was an admirable critic, and his essays on Dante, Petrarch -and Boccaccio are valuable even at the present day. He took refuge in -England, and some of his best articles were written in English, being -subsequently translated into his mother-tongue. He died at Turnham -Green, near London, in 1827. - -MELCHIORRE CESAROTTI translated Macpherson's _Ossian,_ and was a -powerful promoter of the romantic movement. - -IPPOLITO PINDEMONTE wrote many poems distinguished by a gentle -pensiveness, and he translated the _Odyssey_ with considerable success. - -GIOVANNI BERCHET of Milan, contributed largely by his verses to kindle -the fire of patriotism, but vigorous and stirring though they be, they -have hardly sufficient finish and delicacy to rank as works of art. - -GIUSEPPE GIUSTI was a satirist of amazing raciness and originality. He -attacked the tyrannical Governments of his day, and he knew neither -fear nor discretion. Those who can form an idea of what Mr. Gilbert's -inexhaustible powers of grotesque versification would produce if -directed towards political satire, may conceive what Giusti's poems -are. He died of consumption in 1850. - -FELICE BELLOTTI, of Milan, rendered noble services to the literature of -his country by his magnificent translation of the _Lusiad_ of Camoens, -the _Argonautica_ of Apollonius Rhodius, and the tragedies of Æschylus, -Sophocles and Euripides. - -GIAMBATTISTA NICOLINI was the author of numerous tragedies, but his -tendencies were as much political as poetical, and his poetry suffers -in consequence. - -JACOPO VITTORELLI was musical and flowing in his verse, and some of his -best lines are worthy of the pen of Metastasio. - -The poems of GIUSEPPE PUZZONE have a tender sentimentality that is both -moving and pleasing, - -GIUSEPPE BORGHI translated Pindar, and wrote poems of his own with -considerable fire and originality. - -LUIGI CARRER, a Venetian, had the merit of opening up new sources of -ideas in his poems, and he has much pathos and command of language. - -GABRIELE ROSSETTI, the father of a celebrated family, was inspired by -patriotism in almost everything he wrote. Some of his patriotic hymns -have inimitable fire and energy. He took refuge in England, where he -died in 1854. - -The poems of ALEARDO ALEARDI are remarkable for strength of -imagination, but his powers of execution are not considerable. - -GIOSUE CARDUCCI ranks very high among the poets of the Nineteenth -Century, but his endeavours to revive the mythology of which the world -had become utterly weary were not very judicious, although in his case -they were redeemed by great learning and much force of imagination. He -tried to introduce the metres of Horace into Italian, but the result is -not very musical. - -ENRICO PANZACCHI is a true poet, and his imagery is always graceful and -in good taste. - -The same cannot be said of OLINDO GUERRINI who, under the pseudonym of -LORENZO STECHETTI, published poems remarkable for freshness and melody -of style, but also, unhappily, for coarseness and indecency. He is very -successful in the art of making the verses sing; they really come from -the heart of the poet and go straight to the heart of the reader. - -The Sicilian RAPISARDI produced some fine works, among others a long -poem on the afflictions of Job. It is full of imagination, but it would -be difficult to conceive a more unnecessary work; the book of Job is so -sublime in itself that any reproduction, not a literal translation, is -either a dilution or a "gilding of refinéd gold." - -GIOVANNI PRATI had great powers of thought and genuine inspiration. His -_Armando_ is a very noble work, but it is somewhat wanting in skilful -construction, and in everything he wrote his beauties are rather heaped -together than skilfully displayed. - -PIETRO COSSA produced some tragedies very unlike those of Alfieri, -full of crude colours and startling contrasts, by which he obtained an -immense vogue, but it is doubtful whether they will stand the test of -time. - -ADA NEGRI, of Milan, has published some lyrics full of the most -extraordinary fire and brilliancy, and if she continues as she has -begun, she cannot fail to produce something great. - -The ABBE ZANELLA has published poems which have been much admired. He -is reported to be the favourite poet of Leo XIII. - -Madame RACHELE BOTTI BINDA has written numerous poems, characterised -by strength and originality of thought; indeed, it is delightful to -find in almost all the poets enumerated in this chapter that the -old sameness and conventionality have utterly disappeared and that -freshness and versatility are everywhere apparent. This circumstance -cannot fail to be of good augury for the future and to infuse new life -into a literature which was sadly in need of freshness of thought and -unconventionality of style. If some writers have been indelicate and -others inartistic, these are faults that are immediately seen and -easily avoided, and in view of the greater interest and appreciation -bestowed by the public of late years on poetry, there is every reason -to hope that the next century will witness the appearance of poets in -no respect unworthy of the Country of Dante and Ariosto. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -PROSE WRITERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. - - -Pre-eminent among the historians of the Nineteenth Century are CESARE -BALBO and CESARE CANTU. They were both indefatigably laborious and they -both devoted themselves to the elucidation of the history of their -native land. MANIN'S _History of Venice_ has research and minuteness of -detail without wearisome prolixity to recommend it. - -TOMMASO GROSSI was highly successful with his historical romance _Marco -Visconti,_ but he has a tendency to become very tearful and sentimental. - -The plays of ALBERTO NOTA procured considerable reputation for their -author, but they are not quite amusing enough for comedies and not -quite Strong enough for dramas, so that they have fallen into neglect -in spite of their delicacy and refinement. The Italian Stage in this -Century depended too much on French importations, as did the average -fiction of the day. Even at the present time, the poorest rubbish of -the Boulevards has a better chance of attracting attention than the -best works of indigenous authors. Extreme concessions have been made of -late years to vulgar realism, but it cannot be denied that realism has -called forth life-like characters and accurate descriptions. MATILDE -SERAO has been particularly successful as a novelist. - -But the most brilliant novelist of the present day is undoubtedly -GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO. His poems are well-conceived, though not -particularly musical in diction, but as a novelist he is quite the -first. He excels in descriptions. Nowhere else can such word-painting -be found, with the possible exception of the books of travel of EDMONDO -DE AMICIS. TULLIO GIORDANA has written a most interesting monograph on -Gabriele d'Annunzio's _Trionfo della Morte,_ but perhaps the best works -he has produced as yet are _Il Piacere_ and _Giovanni Episcopo._ He -is not always particularly happy in his choice of subjects; but if he -exercises discretion in that respect, there is no saying to what height -he may not in future ascend. - -In Italy, as elsewhere, the extreme popularity of the novel has -overshadowed every other branch of literature. To enumerate the various -authors and their works would be like counting the sands of the -sea-shore and the stars of the Heavens, suffice it to observe that -everywhere skill and ingenuity are manifest, and if some authors become -repulsive from excess of realism, others, and those the most recent, -have, in emulation of Gabriele d'Annunzio, thrown over their realism -the garb of fancy and imagination, thus presenting a happy augury for -the future. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -CONCLUSION. - - -In this History of Italian Literature I have endeavoured, to the best -of my ability, to trace its progress and development. That it has -progressed, cannot, I think, be denied. Poetry has freed itself from -conventionality. Prose has given birth to works which former ages -could not even have conceived. Compare the magnificent creations of -Gabriele d'Annunzio to the stories of Bandello and the _Novelline_ of -MASACCIO. The advance is prodigious. Much, however, remains to be done. -Italy has not yet given the world a philosopher so profound as Kant or -Schopenhauer, or a tragic poet so great as Sophocles or Shakespeare. -There is still room for an Italian Burns, for a really original and -striking poet in dialect. The Sicilian GIOVANNI MELI is, perhaps, the -nearest approach to such a writer, indeed, he is the most genuine poet -that Sicily has ever produced. There is every reason to hope that the -free and united Italy of the present will see writers as brilliant as -those of the enslaved and divided Italy of the past. - -THE END. - - - - INDEX. - - A - - Addison - Adriani - Alamanni, Luigi - Aleardi - Alexander VII, Pope - Alfieri - Algarotti - Amaltei, the Brothers - Amicis, Edmondo de - Annunzio, Gabriele d' - Ariosto - - B - - Balbo, Cesare - Bandello - Barett - Bartoli, Daniele - Beccaria - Belcari - Bellotti - Bembo, Cardinal - Bentivoglio, Cardinal - Berchet, Giovanni - Berni, Francesco - Bertola - Bettinelli - Bevilacqua, Cardinal - Boccaccio, Giovanni - Boccalini, Trajano - Boileau - Bojardo - Boniface VIII, Pope - Borghi, Giuseppe - Botti Binda, Madame Rachele - Browning - Bruno, Giordano - Bunsen - Byron, Lord - - C - - Campanella - Campbell, Lord - Cantù, Cesare - Caro, Annibal - Carducci, Giosuè - Carlyle - Carrer, Luigi - Casa, Monsignor G. della - Castelvetro - Casti - Castiglione, Baldassarre - Catherine, Saint, of Siena - Cattignano, Giovanni, da - Catullus - Cavalcanti - Cavour - Cesari, Antonio - Cesarotti, Melchiorre - Chaucer - Chiabrera, Gabriele - Christina, Queen of Sweden - Claudian - Clement VII, Pope - Clement VIII, Pope - Clement XI, Pope - Clement XII, Pope - Colonna, Vittoria - Compagni, Dino - Corneille - Cossa, Pietro - Costanzo, Angelo di - Crescimbeni - Crudeli, Tommaso - - D - - Dante - Dati - Davanzati - Davila - Delfino, Cardinal - Dickens - Dryden - Duse, Eleonora - - E - - Edwardes, Charles - Eleonora, Princess of Ferrara - - F - - Fairfax - Filangieri - Filicaia - Firenzuola - Fortiguerra, Niccolò - Foscolo, Ugo - Fracastoro - Frederick the Great - Frugoni - - G - - Galilei, Galileo - Gambara, Veronica - Garibaldi - Giordana, Tullio - Giordani, Pietro - Giusti, Giuseppe - Goethe - Goldoni, Carlo - Gozzi, Carlo - Gozzi, Gasparo - Grossi, Tommaso - Guarnii, Battista - Guerrini, Olindo - Guicciardini - Guidi, Alessandro - Guinicelli - - H - - Hallam - Holderness, Lord - Homer - Horace - Huyghens - - J - - Julius II, Pope - - K - - Keats, John - - L - - Latini, Brunetto - Leo X, Pope - Leo XIII, Pope - Leopardi - Lippi, Lorenzo - Lucan - Lucretius - - M - - Macaulay, Lord - Machiavelli - Maffei, Alessandro - Maffei, Scipione - Magalotti - Maggi, Carlo Maria - Magliabecchi, Antonio - Malaspini, Celio - Malherbe - Manfredi, Eustachio - Manin - Manso - Manzoni, Alessandro - Marchetti - Marchionni, Carlotta - Marino - Maroncelli, Pietro - Mascheroni - Masaccio - Mazzini - Meli, Giovanni - Menzini - Metastasio - Milton - Molière - Montaigne - Montesquieu - Monti - Muratori - Murtola - - N - - Napoleon - Nardi, Jacopo - Negri, Ada - Nicolini - Niebuhr - Nota, Alberto - - P - - Pallavicino, Cardinal - Panzacchi, Enrico - Parini, Giuseppe - Pascal - Passavanti, Jacopo - Passeroni, Gian Carlo - Pellico, Silvio - Petrarch - Pindemonte, Ippolito - Pius VI, Pope - Pius VII, Pope - Pius IX, Pope - Platen - Pope, Alexander - Prati, Giovanni - Poliziano, Angelo da - Polo, Marco - Porzio, Camillo - Pulci - - R - - Kacan - Rapisardi - Redi, Francesco - Rienzi - Rinuccini - Ristori - Rolli, Paolo - Ronsard - Rosa, Salvator - Rossetti, Gabriele - Rota, Bernardino - Rucellai - - S - - Sacchetti, Franco - Salvini (Actor) - Salvini (Grammarian) - Sannazzaro - Sarpi, Fra Paolo - Savioli, Ludovico - Schopenhauer - Scott - Segneri, Father Paul - Segni, Bernardo - Serao, Matilde - Serrassi, Abbé - Shakespeare - Shelley - Sixtus V, Pope - Solerti, Angelo - Somers, Lord - Sophocles - Spolverini, Marquis - Stampa, Gaspara - Stella (Publisher) - Straparola - - T - - Tasso, Bernardo - Tasso, Torquato - Tassoni, Alessandro - Tennyson - Testi, Fulvio - Tiraboschi - Trissino - - V - - Vanini - Varano, Alfonso - Varchi, Benedetto - Vasari - Viani, Prospero - Victor Emmanuel - Vida - Villani, Filippo - Villani, Giovanni - Villani, Matteo - Vinci, Leonardo da - Virgil - Visconti, Galleazzo - Vittorelli - Viviani - Voltaire - - W - - Wordsworth - - Z - - Zanella, Abbé - Zappi, Faustina, daughter of the painter, Carlo Maratta - Zappi, Felice, husband of Faustina - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Manual of Italian Literature, by -Francis Henry Cliffe - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MANUAL OF ITALIAN LITERATURE *** - -***** This file should be named 53084-0.txt or 53084-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/8/53084/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version, also linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: A Manual of Italian Literature - -Author: Francis Henry Cliffe - -Release Date: September 18, 2016 [EBook #53084] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MANUAL OF ITALIAN LITERATURE *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version, also linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational materials,...) -Image generously made available by the Hathi Trust. - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 499px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="499" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h1><i>A Manual of</i></h1> - -<h1><i>Italian Literature</i></h1> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h2>FRANCIS HENRY CLIFFE</h2> - -<h5>LONDON: JOHN MACQUEEN</h5> - -<h5>1896</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - - -<h4>CONTENTS.</h4> - - -<div class="center" style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left"><a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a></td><td align="right">1</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">DANTE</a></td><td align="right">2</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">PETRARCH</a></td><td align="right">24</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">BOCCACCIO AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">33</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">WRITERS OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">40</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">ARIOSTO</a></td><td align="right">45</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">POETS CONTEMPORARY WITH ARIOSTO</a></td><td align="right">55</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">MACHIAVELLI AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">62</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">BERNARDO AND TORQUATO TASSO</a></td><td align="right">74</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">MARINO, CHIABRERA, FILICAIA, AND OTHER POETS OF<br /> -THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">110</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">GALILEO AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">133</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHARACTERISTICS OF THE WRITERS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">147</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">METASTASIO</a></td><td align="right">151</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XIV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">PARIMI</a></td><td align="right">167</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">ALFIERI</a></td><td align="right">174</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XVI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">OTHER POETS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">182</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XVII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">PROSE WRITERS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">190</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XVIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHARACTERISTICS OF THE WRITERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">201</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XIX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">LEOPARDI</a></td><td align="right">208</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">MANZONI</a></td><td align="right">258</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XXI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">SILVIO PELLICO</a></td><td align="right">266</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XXII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">274</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XXIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">PROSE WRITERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY</a></td><td align="right">280</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">XXIV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CONCLUSION</a></td><td align="right">283</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td> </td><td><a href="#INDEX">INDEX</a></td><td align="right">285</td></tr> -</table></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></h5> - - -<h4><a id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION.</h4> - - -<p>Whoever examines a map of Europe, and sees the position occupied by -Italy, must, even without knowledge of history, come to the conclusion -that a country situated in so central a position and favoured in so -many respects by Nature, cannot have failed to command an exalted -rank in the hierarchy of nations. But the most daring conjectures -would probably fall short of the brilliant reality. The rise and the -dominion of Rome would be regarded in a romance as too improbable for -the credulity of the simplest reader, but as a well-established fact in -the annals of mankind, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> becomes a phenomenon of the most striking -importance and interest. That a solitary city should produce brave and -distinguished men, and even, aided by wealth and courage, establish -settlements in remote countries, is not wonderful; Carthage and Tyre -did so at an earlier period, Venice and Genoa did so in times nearer -the present; but that a solitary city should play a part reserved -apparently only for a great nation, should draw to itself, as in a -magic circle, all Italy, should conquer Gaul, Greece, Africa, Spain, -Britain, Asia Minor, and even threaten Persia and India, is indeed -marvellous. Nor were the conquests of Rome transient conflagrations -whose fury was soon exhausted; they were as durable as they were -brilliant, and the subjugated races speedily learned the language and -the manners of their masters. Only one nation, though politically -enslaved, remained intellectually free. Greece had produced poets so -sublime, philosophers so profound, historians so brilliant, that even -in the darkest hour of degradation, even when Memmius was despoiling -Corinth of the works of the greatest of statuaries, even when Sulla -was slaughtering the helpless inhabitants of Athens, she had the -satisfaction of seeing the master minds of Rome coming as humble -disciples to the sources of art and wisdom that took their origin only -on her soil.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - -<p>Indeed, it is scarcely far-fetched to say that Greece was avenged -for her slavery by the not less complete slavery of Rome to her -intellectual supremacy. The Roman poets, dazzled by the brilliancy -of their Athenian prototypes, fancied that only by imitating, could -they hope to excel. A more unfortunate idea never took possession of a -nation. It destroyed everything in their writings that was spontaneous -and redolent of their native soil. Whatever is really endowed with -life and intrinsic value in their works, has had to struggle into -existence through the suffocating atmosphere of foreign fashions and -foreign trains of thought. This evil was apparent in other branches -of literature, but it was very far from injuring them as it injured -poetry. Virgil was assuredly one of the greatest poets that ever lived, -and yet how much of his poetry is second-hand, or, at best, adapted -from others. The adaptations are often executed with marvellous skill, -but this fact only enhances our regret that he should have made of his -<i>Æneid</i> but an echo of Homer; and of his <i>Eclogues</i> but a repetition of -Theocritus. His <i>Georgia,</i> indeed, escaped being only a decoction from -Greek herbs, because in them he wrote of what he had actually seen and -experienced, and they are, in truth, his masterpiece. Indeed, if we -deduct the extraordinary beauty of the style, which is above praise,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> -what is there of great value in the <i>Eclogues,</i> except some images of -rural beauty, and some outbursts of exquisite tenderness? Or in the -<i>Æneid,</i> except those passages where he praises the greatness of Italy -and Rome, expatiates on his philosophy, and depicts with tenderness -and fire, such as no other ancient poet could command, the passion of -love? Better, far better, would it have been for him if he had never -heard of Homer, and had never studied Theocritus. This great poet -would then have been compelled to rely on his own resources, and would -have produced works, different it may be, but far more striking and -profound, than those we now possess.</p> - -<p>The vigorous mind of Lucretius suffered but little from reliance on -Greek models. But this was partly owing to the nature of his subject. -A philosopher is assisted, his mind is enriched, by the speculations -of his predecessors; and the fact of his writing in verse is but an -accident which in no way detracts from the truth of this remark. His -strength of mind and matchless powers of description make his poem -one of the finest monuments in the Latin language. Catullus had so -much sweetness and tenderness, a cast of thought at once so fiery and -so natural, that even the study of the most laboured performances -of Alexandrian pedants could not rob him of his spontaneity and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> -freshness. With Horace the case is somewhat different. He was deeply -read in the poets of Greece, and that course of study is visible in -every line he wrote. But he had the wisdom to select as models only -the sublimest passages of the noblest writers, and he adapted what he -borrowed from them with such exquisite art to his Roman surroundings, -that we may well ask whether he did not positively gain by having -Pindar, Alcæus and Sappho constantly before him. Still, the result is -artificial in a high degree, and the emotions that greater poets really -feel, he too often only simulates.</p> - -<p>If we except many tender passages from Tibullus, many picturesque -passages from Ovid, and many vigorous passages from Lucan, Roman -Poetry presents us for centuries with nothing but feeble echoes of -Greek models, and those models too often the pedantic and lifeless -productions of Alexandria. A genuine Roman Drama may be said never to -have existed. Plautus and Terence are but pale reflections of the Attic -comedies; the tragedies attributed to Seneca, the only specimens that -have come down to us of Roman Tragedy, are but clumsy imitations, or -rather travesties, of Sophocles and Euripides. In the declining ages -of Roman Literature, Claudian was the only poet who showed genuine -originality and freshness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> thought, and he, strange to say, was an -Alexandrian by birth, to whom the Latin language was not natural, but -acquired.</p> - -<p>I know of no other instance of a great nation, victorious and dominant -over the whole civilised world, humbly sitting as a disciple at the -feet of one of her captives, and that not only for a short time, -but for the whole course of her intellectual development. Spain, in -the Sixteenth Century, borrowed many of her literary fashions from -Italy; England, in the Seventeenth Century, modelled her productions -in many respects on France, as did Germany somewhat later; but these -were merely transient fashions, not deep-rooted customs, and produced -no very lasting effect. Rome was alone, and has been since, in her -deference to a foreign model, nor can it be said in extenuation that -she had only the choice of having poetry on that model or no poetry at -all. She had plenty of indigenous material, and Niebuhr has well said -that the true poetry of Rome must be found in her history and in her -early legends rather than in the finished productions of her literary -poets.</p> - -<p>This is all the more remarkable, as her greatness was such that it -could not fail to inspire even the least susceptible of minds. It made -itself felt from the shores of the Baltic to the Persian Gulf, and is -attested by ruins more substantial than the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> uninjured structures of -feebler races. Such was its inherent strength, that it withstood the -bloodiest civil wars and the most crushing despotism; nor is it easy -to surmise what could have undermined it, had not the immigration of -barbarian tribes from the mysterious and unexplored regions of the -North given shock after shock to that stately system, the work of so -many warriors and legislators. It may truly be said that the walls of -Rome fell at the blast of the Gothic trumpet.</p> - -<p>When Constantine removed the seat of Empire to Constantinople, he broke -the spell that had for so many ages held the nations captive. The -partition of the Empire into East and West finished what the removal -began. Nor had Rome only the rivalry of Constantinople to dread. Milan, -and then Ravenna, became the scene of Imperial splendour ind the centre -of Imperial policy. Rome would, indeed, have been deserted but for her -Bishop, who was gradually establishing for himself and his successors a -dominion not less brilliant and more durable than that of the Cæsars.</p> - -<p>When at last the old order of things had so completely collapsed -that the phantom Emperor was no longer allowed to retain his phantom -title, it must have been obvious to all thinking men that changes -so far reaching had come over Italy as to make it almost another -world. The invaders had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> mingled largely with the conquered nation, -inter-marriages were frequent; and it must, in justice to the -barbarians, be admitted that they rapidly assumed the manners, and, -indeed, the thoughts, of civilisation. If we compare the Court of -Theodoric to that of Honorius, or even to that of Valentinian III, -the superiority of the Gothic ruler in statesmanship, and even in -superficial attainments, is manifest. But wars and invasions desolated -the unhappy country. Belisarius defeated the Goths and regained Sicily -and the South of Italy for the Emperors of the East. Although the -Byzantine dominion was not of long duration, traces of its existence -may still be found in those regions by the curious. It must not be -forgotten that the Goths introduced new blood into the country, and -that every new invasion tended to modify, if not to alter, the national -character of the Peninsula.</p> - -<p>But while Italy was suffering for ages from the invasions of the -Lombards, the Saracens, and the Normans, it must not be forgotten -that she was steadily increasing in wealth, until, in the Thirteenth -Century, she became the great money market of the world, and retained -that position until shortly after the discovery of America. Wealth -produced its usual effect of giving men ample leisure, and leisure -created the demand for intellectual and artistic gratifications. -Sicily was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> favourite abode of the Emperor Frederick II, and at -his brilliant Court poets were encouraged and minstrels rewarded. -The Troubadours of Provence offered to Italy in noble verse that -chivalric spirit of gallantry and love so congenial to the taste of -the age. What the Italians so much admired, they naturally desired to -emulate. But in order to do so they required a language capable of -expressing thoughts with accuracy and adorning them with splendour. -It is no exaggeration to say that from the decadence of the Latin -language arose, not one tongue, but many dialects. These dialects were -fostered by the division of the Peninsula into many principalities, -townships, republics, and kingdoms. It was, therefore, incumbent upon -the Italians to combine from existing materials a literary language. -By a fortunate coincidence, the most gifted writers arose in Tuscany, -where the most promising of these dialects was spoken. Thus it happened -that the Tuscan idiom became the standard for literary composition. It -was felt, even by the least discerning, that the Latin language, no -longer the living property of the nation, was not suited to express the -inspirations of contemporary poets, however advantageously it might be -retained for legal, theological, and historical works.</p> - -<p>At the end of the Thirteenth Century, <span class="mcap">Guinicelli</span> of Bologna and -<span class="mcap">Cavalcanti</span> of Florence gave greater<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> finish and regularity, more -scholarly perfection, and more literary merit to that style of amorous -poetry which they, in common with their contemporaries, so greatly -admired in the Troubadours. Even in prose, valuable works were -produced. The <i>Chronicle</i> of <span class="mcap"><span class="mcap">Dino Compagni</span></span> has many passages deserving -the highest praise. Those writers were worthy predecessors of the poet -who was to give the <i>Divine Comedy</i> to the world, and first among the -moderns was to equal, if, indeed, he did not in some respects excel, -the greatest poets of antiquity.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></h5> - - -<h4>DANTE.</h4> - - -<p><span class="mcap">Durante</span> (a name afterwards called for shortness <span class="mcap">Dante</span>) was born in -Florence in the month of May, 1265, the son of Aldighiero Aldighieri -and Bella, his wife. "Of his ancestors, this much is evident through -the mists of a very nebulous antiquity," says Symonds, in his -<i>Introduction to the Study of Dante,</i> "that they were well-placed -among the citizens of Florence, and it seems that their primitive name -was not Aldighieri, but Elisei. Tradition differs about the origin of -the Elisei. Some of Dante's biographers trace them to Roman colonists -of Florence in the time of Julius Cæsar. Others, and these are the -majority, derive them from one Eliseo, of the noble Roman house of -Frangipani, or bread-breakers—so called by reason of some eminent act -of public charity—who is said to have settled at Florence in the days -of Charlemagne, or soon after. In any case, the Elisei were honourable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> -in Florence, possessing castles in the country round and towered houses -in the city. They dwelt within the old Pomoerium, or primitive walled -circuit, in the Via degli Speziali, near the Mercato Vecchio; this -in itself was a sign of ancient blood. Dante prided himself upon his -descent from the purest blood of Florentine citizens. The change in -the name of Dante's family from Elisei to Aldighieri took place thus: -Cacciaguida degli Elisei, who was born in 1106, married Aldighiera -degli Aldigheri of Ferrara, and he had a son by her whom he called -Aldighiero. This son gave his Christian name to his descendants, whilst -a brother of Cacciaguida continued the line and name of the Elisei. -Cacciaguida followed Conrad III to the Crusades in 1147, was knighted -by him, and died, at the age of forty-two, in the Holy Land."</p> - -<p>The poet introduces this ancestor in one of the finest passages of the -<i>Paradiso.</i></p> - -<p>Dante was educated by <span class="mcap">Brunetto Latini</span>, the author of a curious poem, -entitled the <i>Tesoro,</i> in which the germ of many thoughts of the -<i>Divine Comedy</i> may be traced. He was subsequently placed by his -grateful pupil in the centre of Hell. Dante possessed a thorough -knowledge of the science of his day, and we may give his instructor -credit for having carefully developed the brilliant abilities of his -pupil. He is said to have studied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> music and to have shown decided -skill in painting.</p> - -<p>His father died when he was nine or ten years of age. Shortly before -his death, he introduced his son to Folco Portinari, a rich citizen -of Florence, and to his daughter, Beatrice, who was his first, and -probably his only, love. Although but a child, he was struck by -her beauty. "Her dress on that day," he says, "was of a most noble -colour, a subdued and goodly crimson, girdled and adorned as best -suited with her very tender age." Beatrice died when Dante was in his -twenty-sixth year, and the blow was so great that it was long before -he was comforted by philosophy and study. She became, in his mind, the -personification of everything great and noble. In the <i>Divine Comedy</i> -she appears as his guide from the summit of Purgatory to Paradise.</p> - -<p>In 1292, he married Gemma Donati, by whom he had seven children. Thus, -it can hardly have been an unhappy marriage; but as she did not follow -him into exile, and as he never mentions her in any of his extant -letters, we may suppose there was no very ardent affection on either -side.</p> - -<p>The latter part of Dante's life was destined to be marked with many -sorrows and disasters. He was dragged into the vortex of faction and -civil war, and was wrecked with many less noteworthy mariners.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - -<p>He was made Prior of Florence in 1300, and so eminent was he that -he was appointed one of the four ambassadors who were sent to Pope -Boniface Viii to complain of the French intervention under Charles of -Valois. Before they returned, Charles had entered Florence; Dante and -his companions were outlawed, his property was confiscated, his house -pillaged, and he never again was suffered to return to the city of his -birth.</p> - -<p>Tradition says, and I think it is supported by the internal evidence -of the poem, that he wrote the first seven cantos of the <i>Inferno</i> in -Florence before his exile, and that the beginning of the eighth canto:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Io dico, seguitando,"<br /> -</p> - -<p>is a proof that the poem was continued after having been laid aside -for a time, otherwise the word "seguitando" would be unnecessary to -the sense, and it is not in Dante's style to admit unnecessary words -into his lines. If this reasoning hold good, we can determine pretty -accurately the date of the <i>Divine Comedy.</i> The poet feigns that he -descended into the infernal regions on Good Friday of the year 1300; -his exile began in 1301; therefore, the latter part of 1300 very -probably saw him write the first seven cantos of the work. In the -sixth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> canto there is an allusion to his exile, and to the defeat of -his party; but that may have been inserted afterwards.</p> - -<p>Cruel was the blow that fell upon him, doubly cruel after so many years -of prosperity and honour. He had to consort with unworthy companions; -he had to eat the bitter bread of dependence; he was severed from those -whom he loved most dearly; and, as he makes Cacciaguida foretell in -Paradise, "this was the first arrow with which the bow of exile struck -him."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Tu lascerai ogni cosa diletta<br /> -Più caramente; e questo è quello strale<br /> -Che l'arco dell esilio pria saetta."<br /> -</p> - -<p>The reader may peruse in the seventeenth canto of the <i>Paradiso,</i> -his concise and pathetic account of the sorrows of his later years. -Clad in the form of prophecy, it constitutes one of the grandest -passages in the whole poem. Some letters, written during his exile, -are still extant and breathe a spirit so lofty that versification -alone is wanting to equal them to his sublimest inspirations. Amid all -the troubles of his eventful life, he still found leisure to study, -meditate, and write, and when he died in Ravenna in 1321, the first -great poem of modern times was completed.</p> - -<p>"Many volumes have been written," says<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> Carlyle, "by way of commentary -on Dante and his book; yet, on the whole, with no great result. His -biography is, as it were, irrecoverably lost for us. An unimportant, -wandering, sorrow-stricken man, not much note was taken of him while he -lived; and the most of that has vanished, in the long space that now -intervenes. It is five centuries since he ceased writing and living -here. After all commentaries, the Book itself is mainly what we know -of him. The Book, and one might add, that Portrait commonly attributed -to Giotto, which, looking on it, you cannot help inclining to think -genuine, whoever did it. To me it is a most touching face; perhaps -of all faces that I know, the most so. Lonely there, painted as on -vacancy, with the simple laurel wound round it; the deathless sorrow -and pain, the known victory which is also deathless; significant of -the whole history of Dante. I think it is the mournfullest face that -ever was painted from reality; an altogether tragic, heart-affecting -face. There is in it, as foundation of it, the softness, tenderness, -gentle affection as of a child; but all this is as if congealed into -sharp contradiction, into abnegation, isolation, proud, hopeless -pain. A soft, ethereal soul, looking out so stern, implacable, grim, -trenchant, as from imprisonment of thick-ribbed ice. Withal it is a -silent pain, too, a silent, scornful one; the lip is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> curled in a kind -of god-like disdain of the thing that is eating out his heart, as if -it were withal a mean insignificant thing, as if he whom it had power -to torture and strangle, were greater than it. The face of one wholly -in protest, and life-long unsurrendering battle against the world. -Affection all converted into indignation; slow, equable, silent, like -that of a god. The eye, too, it looks out as in a kind of <i>surprise,</i> a -kind of inquiry, why the world was of such a sort? This is Dante, so he -looks, this 'voice of ten silent centuries,' and sing us his 'mystic, -unfathomable song.'"</p> - -<p>Dante is one of those authors who concentrate all their greatness -in one stupendous work. The <i>Vita Nuova</i> has many beauties, the -<i>Convito</i> deserves to be read, the Latin Treatises offer numerous -points of interest, but it is only in the <i>Divina Commedia</i> that he -rises to the height of his sublimity. He was singularly judicious, -both in the choice of his subject and in the form of his verse. The -Terza Rima carries the reader onwards in its progress, calmly, nobly, -irresistibly. Had the work been written in prose, it would not have -commanded the attention of future ages, so great is the embalming power -of verse. A fine prose work may be neglected in the course of ages; a -fine poetical work, never. Had the work been written in Latin verse, as -indeed it was begun, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> would only be a study for the curious and not -a possession for all humanity.</p> - -<p>The vivid power of Dante's imagination, the intense and rugged strength -of his thoughts, and the graphic realism with which he presents the -scenes of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven to his readers, are above praise -and can find no parallel in the works of other poets. Milton surpasses -him in sustained grandeur, but in picturesqueness the English poet does -not attempt to rival the Florentine.</p> - -<p>Dante's Poem is so well known that it is needless to insist upon -particular beauties. All cultivated readers are familiar with them, if -not in the original, at least in translations. If any fault is to be -found in the poem, it is that it somewhat falls off; the <i>Purgatorio</i> -is not quite so fine as the <i>Inferno</i>; the <i>Paradiso,</i> not quite -so fine as the <i>Purgatorio.</i> The poet sometimes has an unfortunate -tendency only to hint at the histories of the spirits he meets, so that -we are indebted to his commentators rather than to himself for stories -worthy to be chronicled in immortal verse. His style is not always -free from coarseness on the one hand, and from obscurity on the other. -But in so noble an achievement it would be mean to dwell on occasional -blemishes, instead of being grateful to the poet who has presented us -with a work, perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> in many respects, the noblest production of the -human mind.</p> - -<p>As a specimen of Dante's Poem, I quote the last canto of the <i>Inferno,</i> -in Cary's translation. The reader will notice the curious passage that -seems to prove that Dante was aware, four hundred years before Newton, -of the law of gravitation:</p> - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -CANTO XXXIV.<br /> -<br /> -"The banners of Hell's Monarch do come forth<br /> -Towards us; therefore look," so spake my guide,<br /> -"If thou discern him." As when breathes a cloud<br /> -Heavy and dense, or when the shades of night<br /> -Fall on our hemisphere, seems view'd from far<br /> -A windmill, which the blast stirs briskly round,<br /> -Such was the fabric then methought I saw.<br /> -<br /> -To shield me from the wind, forthwith I drew<br /> -Behind my guide: no covert else was there.<br /> -<br /> -Now came I (and with fear I bid my strain<br /> -Record the marvel) where the souls were all<br /> -Whelmed underneath, transparent, as through glass<br /> -Pellucid the frail stem. Some prone were laid,<br /> -Others stood upright, this upon the soles,<br /> -That on his head, a third with face to feet<br /> -Arched like a bow. When to the point we came<br /> -Whereat my guide was pleas'd that I should see<br /> -The creature eminent in beauty once,<br /> -He from before me stepp'd and made me pause.<br /> -"Lo!" he exclaimed, "lo Dis! and lo the place<br /> -Where thou hast need to arm thy heart with<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>strength."<br /> -<br /> -How frozen and how faint I then became,<br /> -Ask me not, reader! for I write it not,<br /> -Since words would fail to tell thee of my state.<br /> -I was not dead nor living. Think thyself,<br /> -If quick conception work in thee at all,<br /> -How I did feel. That Emperor who sways<br /> -The Realm of Sorrow, at mid breast from th' ice<br /> -Stood forth; and I in stature am more like<br /> -A giant, than the giants are his arms.<br /> -Mark now how great that whole must be, which suits<br /> -With such a part. If he were beautiful<br /> -As he is hideous now, and yet did dare<br /> -To scowl upon his Maker, well from him<br /> -May all our misery flow. Oh what a sight!<br /> -How passing strange it seem'd when I did spy<br /> -Upon his head three faces: one in front<br /> -Of hue vermilion, th' other two with this<br /> -Midway each shoulder join'd and at the crest;<br /> -The right 'twixt wan and yellow seem'd: the left<br /> -To look on, such as come from whence old Nile<br /> -Stoops to the lowlands. Under each shot forth<br /> -Two mighty wings, enormous as became<br /> -A bird so vast. Sails never such I saw<br /> -Outstretch'd on the wide sea. No plumes had they,<br /> -But were in texture like a bat, and these<br /> -He flapp'd i' th' air, that from him issued still<br /> -Three winds, wherewith Cocytus to its depth<br /> -Was frozen. At six eyes he wept; the tears<br /> -Adown three chins distill'd with bloody foam.<br /> -At every mouth his teeth a sinner champ'd<br /> -Bruis'd as with pond'rous engine, so that three<br /> -Were in this guise tormented. But far more<br /> -Than from that gnawing, was the foremost pang'd<br /> -By the fierce rending, whence ofttimes the back<br /> -Was stript of all its skin. "That upper spirit,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>Who hath worse punishment," so spake my guide,<br /> -<br /> -"Is Judas, he that hath his head within<br /> -And plies the feet without. Of th' other two,<br /> -Whose heads are under, from the murky jaw<br /> -Who hangs, is Brutus: lo! how he doth writhe<br /> -And speaks not! Th' other Cassius, that appears<br /> -So large of limb. But night now re-ascends,<br /> -And it is time for parting. All is seen."<br /> -<br /> -I clipp'd him round the neck, for so he bade;<br /> -And noting time and place, he, when the wings<br /> -Enough were op'd, caught fast the shaggy sides,<br /> -And down from pile to pile descending stept<br /> -Between the thick fell and the jagged ice.<br /> -<br /> -Soon as he reached the point whereat the thigh<br /> -Upon the swelling of the haunches turns,<br /> -My leader there with pain and struggling hard<br /> -Turn'd round his head, where his feet stood before,<br /> -And grappled at the fell, as one who mounts,<br /> -That into hell methought we turned again.<br /> -<br /> -"Expect that by such stairs as these," thus spake<br /> -The teacher, panting like a man forespent,<br /> -"We must depart from evil so extreme."<br /> -Then at a rocky opening issued forth,<br /> -And placed me on a brink to sit, next join'd<br /> -With wary step my side. I raised mine eyes,<br /> -Believing that I Lucifer should see<br /> -Where he was lately left, but saw him now<br /> -With legs held upward. Let the grosser sort,<br /> -Who see not what the point was I had pass'd,<br /> -Bethink them if sore toil oppress'd me then.<br /> -<br /> -"Arise," my master cried, "upon thy feet.<br /> -The way is long, and much uncouth the road;<br /> -And now within one hour and half of noon<br /> -The sun returns." It was no palace hall<br /> -Lofty and luminous wherein we stood.<br /> -But natural dungeon where ill footing was<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>And scant supply of light. "Ere from th' abyss<br /> -I sep'rate," thus when risen I began,<br /> -"My guide! vouchsafe few words to set me free<br /> -From error's thraldom. Where is now the ice?<br /> -How standeth he in posture thus reversed?<br /> -And how from eve to morn in space so brief<br /> -Hath the sun made his transit?" He in few<br /> -Thus answering spake: "Thou deemest thou art still<br /> -On th' other side the centre, where I grasp'd<br /> -Th' abhorred worm, that boreth through the world.<br /> -Thou wast on th' other side so long as I<br /> -Descended; when I turn'd, thou didst o'erpass<br /> -That point, to which from every part is dragg'd<br /> -All heavy substance. Thou art now arriv'd<br /> -Under the hemisphere opposed to that,<br /> -Which the great continent doth overspread,<br /> -And underneath whose canopy expir'd<br /> -The Man, that was born sinless, and so liv'd.<br /> -Thy feet are planted on the smallest sphere,<br /> -Whose other aspect is Judecca. Morn<br /> -Here rises, when there evening sets: and he,<br /> -Whose shaggy pile was scal'd, yet standeth fix'd,<br /> -As at the first. On this part he fell down<br /> -From heav'n; and th' earth, here prominent before,<br /> -Through fear of him did veil her with the sea,<br /> -And to our hemisphere retir'd. Perchance<br /> -To shun him was the vacant space left here<br /> -By what of firm land on this side appears,<br /> -That sprang aloof." There is a place beneath,<br /> -From Belzebub as distant, as extends<br /> -The vaulted tomb, discover'd not by sight,<br /> -But by the sound of brooklet, that descends<br /> -This way along the hollow of a rock,<br /> -Which, as it winds with no impetuous course,<br /> -The wave hath eaten. By that hidden way<br /> -My guide and I did enter, to return<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>To the fair world: and heedless of repose<br /> -We climb'd, he first, I following his steps,<br /> -Till on our view the beauteous lights of heav'n<br /> -Dawn'd through a circular opening in the cave.<br /> -Thence issuing we again beheld the stars.<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></h5> - - -<h4>PETRARCH.</h4> - - -<p>Unlike the life of Dante, of which so few particulars have come down -to us that our curiosity is rather excited than satisfied by the -information we possess, the life of Petrarch is illustrated in its -minutest details by extracts from his works and correspondence.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Francesco Petrarca</span> was born at Arezzo on the twentieth of July, -1304. His family originally came from the little village of Ancisa, -fifteen miles from Florence, but for many years his ancestors had been -settled in that city. His father, Pietro di Parenzo, was familiarly -called Petracco, in Latin, Petracchus, whence his son was designated -"Petracchi filius," and thus the poet evolved the more euphonious name -of Petrarca. His father was a Notary Public, and seems to have held -some responsible posts, but he belonged to the party of the "Bianchi," -and was exiled in 1302 with Dante<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> and many others. His property was -confiscated, and he never returned to the city of his birth. In 1313, -he went with his wife and children to Avignon, where the Popes then -held their court. He sent his children to the quieter neighbourhood -of Carpentras, and there, under an able master, Petrarch studied -Latin, and the acquaintance of the ancient writers kindled him in an -enthusiasm that only ended with his life. He was destined for the study -of the law, and in 1318 he went to Montpellier, and in 1322 to Bologna, -but he felt little inclination for this science, and on the death -of his father in 1326 he returned to Avignon and devoted himself to -literature and society.</p> - -<p>His name is inseparably connected with that of Laura, and it was on -Good Friday of the year 1327 that he met her for the first time.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Era il giorno, ch'ai Sol si scoloraro<br /> -Per la pietà del suo Fattore i rai,<br /> -Quando i' fuipreso, e non me ne guardai,<br /> -Che i he' vostr' occhi, Donna, mi legaro."<br /> -<span class="mcap" style="margin-left: 40%;">Sonnet</span> 3.<br /> -</p> - - - -<p>From the researches of her descendant, the Abbé de Sade, there can be -no doubt that Laura was the wife of Hugo de Sade, and the daughter of -Audibert de Noves. She died in 1348 of the Black Death, which was then -devastating Europe, and her loss inspired the poet with some of his -noblest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> effusions. The attachment was perfectly platonic, nor does it -seem to have excited any adverse comments among his contemporaries, -for similar homage had been paid by poetry to beauty from the first -appearance of the Troubadours.</p> - -<p>Petrarch was fortunate in acquiring the friendship and favour of some -of the most eminent men of his time. Jacopo Colonna, Bishop of Lombés, -invited him to his palace at the foot of the Pyrenees. He gratified -his intense desire to see the world by travelling through France and -Germany, and subsequently visiting many cities of Italy. In Rome he -was welcomed by Stefano Colonna, the head of that illustrious family, -but Rome was then deserted and lonely, and Petrarch soon returned to -the more brilliant circles of Avignon. He found a delicious retreat -fifteen miles from Avignon, at Vaucluse, a pleasant valley, watered by -the river Sorga. Here he produced some of his loveliest Italian poems, -and some of his most elaborate Latin compositions. So uncertain are -the vicissitudes of literary taste, and so little do even great poets -know where their real strength lies, that Petrarch treated his sonnets -and canzoni, to which alone he is indebted for his immortality, as the -amusement of his leisure hours, and devoted all his care and study to -those Latin works which are now read only by the curious. He composed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -a ponderous epic poem in Latin hexameters, and gave it to the world -under the title of <i>Africa.</i> It procured for him an immense reputation. -The whole literary world read it with avidity, and all Europe resounded -with his praises. Paris and Rome simultaneously invited him to be -crowned with the laurel within their walls. He decided to accept the -invitation of Rome; but before the ceremony he went to Naples, where -he was received with enthusiasm by King Robert, who was so enraptured -with the <i>Africa</i> that he begged it should be dedicated to himself. -This request the poet gladly granted, and he left for Rome laden with -signs of Royal favour. He was crowned in the Capitol by the Senator -Orso dell' Anguillara, on the 8th of April, 1341, and the laurel wreath -bestowed upon him he hung up as a votive offering in the Church of St. -Peter.</p> - -<p>Petrarch was one of those who succeed in everything; and, as if the -distinctions already showered upon him were not enough, he was, when -visiting Parma, invited to the Court by Azzo da Correggio, and within a -short time sent as his envoy to Clement VI at Avignon. He wrote a Latin -poem advising the Pope to return to Rome, and his Holiness, though -he did not take the advice, was so delighted with the poem that he -bestowed a valuable benefice on its author.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> - -<p>From the end of May, 1342, until September, 1343, Petrarch resided -chiefly at Vaucluse, with occasional visits to Avignon. He was occupied -writing his work, <i>De Contemptu Mundi,</i> and studying Greek under -Barlaam, who was one of those emigrants from Greece willing to impart -their language to the few desirous of acquiring it. No more zealous -disciple could have been found than Petrarch. He spent large sums, like -his friend, Boccaccio, in collecting manuscripts, and he even copied -many rare works with his own hand. He seems to have been in possession -of some productions of classical writers, which were subsequently lost -during the interval between his death and the invention of printing.</p> - -<p>When Rome rose against the tyranny of the noble houses, Colonna -and Orsini, and when Cola di Rienzi proclaimed himself the Tribune -of the People, Petrarch's imagination took fire, and he hailed the -deliverer in prose and verse. Cardinal Colonna was deeply offended at -his taking the part of one whom he regarded as a rebel and a traitor. -This diversity of opinion seems to have induced him to leave the Papal -Court, and for some years he resided in various towns of Italy. He was -in Parma, where he had just received a valuable benefice attached to -the Cathedral, when he heard of the death of his beloved Laura. The -blow was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> terrible, and he long refused to be comforted. But if he lost -his love, he gained a friend, for in the year of Jubilee, 1350, on his -way to Rome, he made the acquaintance of Boccaccio at Florence. This -was his first visit to the Tuscan city, and the Florentines offered -to restore his father's confiscated property, on condition that he -should lecture at their newly-founded University. But this he refused, -and nothing came of the offer. For many years he lived in Milan, the -favoured guest of the Visconti. There is a pretty story of Galleazzo -Visconti telling his little son in jest, at a brilliant entertainment -he was giving, to find out the wisest man present, and to bring him -forward. The child looked at the assembled company, and then went up to -Petrarch and led him to his father, to the admiration of all beholders. -"So clearly," says Schopenhauer, who quotes the anecdote, "does Nature -stamp the greatness of the mind on the countenance, that even a child -can perceive it."</p> - -<p>Petrarch was sent by the Visconti to Prague, as envoy to the Emperor -Charles IV, and afterwards in the same capacity to King John of France. -He subsequently resided in Padua and Venice, and in 1370 he retired to -the village of Arqua, in the Euganean mountains, where he was destined -to pass the remainder of his days. He was found on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> the morning of the -18th of July, 1374, dead in his library, with his head resting on a -book.</p> - -<p>The host of imitators who, without a spark of Petrarch's genius, -mimicked his mannerisms for centuries, produced at last the inevitable -reaction, and of recent years many censors have insisted on his faults, -while ignoring his beauties. But Petrarch was assuredly one of the -greatest lyric poets that ever lived. The melody of his sonnets and the -splendour of his odes are unrivalled in the literature of his country, -nor did any Italian lyrist rise to an equal height until in the -Nineteenth Century Leopardi combined inspiration no less ardent with a -style more natural, simple and direct. Petrarch is one of those poets -who present nothing to their readers in a sharp and graphic style, but -everything involved in a rich haze of trope and metaphor. From this -tendency, it cannot be denied, he becomes occasionally artificial and -forced, but he is far more frequently soul-stirring and magnificent. -Unlike Dante, whose chief inspirers were hatred and indignation, he is -prompted by love and reverence: love for his country and for Laura, and -reverence for all that is noble and heroic. His sublime ode, <i>Spirto -gentil,</i> addressed to Rienzi, rouses the spirit like a trumpet, even -after the lapse of so many centuries. How noble is the invocation to -the heroes of ancient Rome:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> "O grandi Scipioni! O fedel Bruto!" And -the conclusion is superb:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Sopra il monte Tarpeo, Canzon, vedrai,<br /> -Un cavalier<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> ch' Italia tutta onora,<br /> -Pensoso più d'altrui che di sè stesso.<br /> -Digli: Un che non ti vide ancor da presso,<br /> -Se non come per fama uom s'innamora,<br /> -Dice che Roma ogni ora,<br /> -Con gli occhi di dolor bagnati e molli<br /> -Ti chier mercè da tutti sette i colli."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Magnificent is the Ode to Italy, <i>Italia Mia,</i> and even superior, if -possible, is the poem addressed to Giacomo Colonna in favour of another -Crusade. Marvellous in their delicate beauty are the Odes addressed -to Laura, <i>In quella parte dov' Amor mi sprona,</i> and, <i>Di pensier -in pensier, di monte in monte.</i> But to enumerate the poems in which -extraordinary beauties are to be found would be to enumerate nearly -the whole collection. The tenderness and fire, the melody and richness -of his style are equalled by no poet in any language unless it be by -Tennyson in his finest lyric effusions, especially in the <i>In Memoriam.</i></p> - -<p>That Petrarch brought the Sonnet to the highest point of perfection is -universally allowed, and to those readers who wish to enter into the -details of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> the subject, I can recommend <i>The Sonnet, its origin and -history,</i> by <span class="mcap">Charles Tomlinson</span>.</p> - -<p>Dante was altogether a man of the Middle Ages, dwelling upon the past, -and scarcely bestowing a thought upon the future; but Petrarch was in -many respects surprisingly modern, and both in his Latin Prose and in -his Italian Verse we can find many passages instinct with the fire of -hope and the belief in progress.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Rienzi.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></h5> - - -<h4>BOCCACCIO AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p><span class="mcap">Giovanni Boccaccio</span> was born in 1313 in Paris, the son of a Florentine -merchant and a French-woman. His father had property in the hamlet of -Certaldo, and the author always signed himself "Boccaccio da Certaldo." -He was destined, first for commerce, then for the study of the law, -but finding neither avocation congenial, he after his father's death, -devoted himself entirely to his favourite pursuits. He was honoured -with the favour of King Robert of Naples and with the love of the -King's daughter, Maria, whom he celebrates in his poems under the name -of Fiammetta. His zeal for the writers of antiquity was not inferior -to that of Petrarch. He sent for Leontius Pilatus to teach him Greek. -He devoted large sums to the purchase and reproduction of the works of -classical writers. He seems to have been an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> amiable and honourable -man, free alike from pride like that of Dante, and from vanity like -that of Petrarch. He repented in later years of the somewhat frivolous -character of many of his writings, took holy orders, and spent the -last days of his life at Certaldo. When Florence endowed a chair for -the explanation of the <i>Divine Comedy,</i> Boccaccio was the first to -be appointed. He wrote a life of Dante and began a commentary on the -<i>Inferno,</i> which, however, he did not live to finish, dying at Certaldo -on the 21st of December, 1375.</p> - -<p>Boccaccio was a most fertile writer, both in Latin and in Italian. His -Latin works have but little merit and are vastly inferior to those of -Petrarch in strength and originality of thought. His Italian poems -are heavy and uninteresting, but he has the credit of inventing the -"Ottava Rima," the stanza in which Ariosto and Tasso subsequently -wrote their immortal epics. Praise-worthy as these works were for the -time in which they were written, he would not occupy a high position -in the literature of his country, had he not proved himself in other -productions to be the first great writer of Italian prose. His romantic -stories, <i>Il Filocopo, La Fiammetta, l'Admeto,</i> are written in a -flowing and pleasing style; his <i>Life of Dante</i> and <i>Commentary on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> -Inferno</i> are valuable for the information they impart, but the crowning -glory of his literary career is the collection of stories published -under the title of <i>Il Decamerone.</i></p> - -<p>The terrible plague that swept over the earth in the middle of the -Thirteenth Century, known in history as the "Black Death,"<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> ravaged -Florence with peculiar malignity, and Boccaccio feigns that five -ladies and their cavaliers took refuge in a villa in the neighbourhood -and beguiled their leisure by telling stories to each other. Being a -collection of tales told by various characters, the <i>Decamerone</i> bears -a certain resemblance to another memorable work of the Fourteenth -Century, Chaucer's <i>Canterbury Tales,</i> but happier than his great -contemporary, Boccaccio lived to complete his design.</p> - -<p>The work opens with a noble description of the Plague of Florence, -but this gloomy and terrible introduction gives no forecast of the -light, festive and occasionally indecorous character of many of the -tales. Others, however, are highly picturesque and even poetical, -and some have a special interest for English readers as being the -sources whence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> Shakespeare drew <i>All's Well that Ends Well,</i> and -<i>Cymbeline,</i>—Dryden, <i>Theodore and Honoria</i> and <i>Sigismonda and -Guiscardo,</i> and Keats <i>Isabella, or the Pot of Basil.</i></p> - -<p>Boccaccio had every quality of a great novelist. His style is varied, -flexible and animated, and his idiom is so purely Tuscan that it was -held up as a standard by the <i>Accademia della Crusca,</i> and if any fault -can be found with it, it is that the copiousness of his vocabulary -sometimes leads him into florid and redundant amplifications. His -characters are drawn with considerable skill. His dialogue is -invariably natural and appropriate. His incidents, though sometimes -overstepping the limits of decorum, are ingenious and entertaining. The -work gives a brilliant panorama of the men and manners of Italy in the -Fourteenth Century.</p> - -<p>No writer has derived more advantage from the admiration of other -writers than Boccaccio. Great poets are indebted to him for the plots -of some of their most successful works. Great painters have vied with -each other in illustrating the brilliant scenes of his <i>Decamerone.</i> -Great philologians and grammarians have expressed their admiration for -the purity and elegance of his style. Brilliant as his services were -to the literature of his country, they have received a more than ample -measure of reward from the gratitude of posterity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> - -<p>Italy produced in the Fourteenth Century many other prose writers of -note, though none so eminent as Boccaccio.</p> - -<p>First and foremost we must mention the invaluable <i>Chronicle</i> of -<span class="mcap">Giovanni Villani</span>. This historian rose in the service of the Florentine -Republic until he became Prior. He was one of the many victims of the -Black Death, and his unfinished work was continued by his brother -<span class="mcap">Matteo</span>, and this continuation was completed by Matteo's son, <span class="mcap">Filippo</span>. -All these are quoted as classics by the Accademia della Crusca. -According to competent judges, Giovanni was the most brilliant, Matteo -the most noteworthy for the important events he narrates, and Filippo -remarkable rather for industry and research than for ability as a -writer.</p> - -<p>The <i>Travels</i> of <span class="mcap">Marco Polo</span>, a Venetian, were an inestimable -contribution to the knowledge of remote countries. For centuries he lay -very unjustly under the suspicion of falsehood and exaggeration, and -it was only at a comparatively recent date that his veracity, nay, his -scrupulous exactness, received a tardy vindication.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Jacopo Passavanti</span>, a Dominican. Friar, wrote a devotional book, -entitled, <i>Lo Specchio della Penitenza,</i> written in prose so musical -and flowing as to be preferred by some to the prose of Boccaccio, -because Passavanti never indulges in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> the over-elaboration sometimes to -be detected in the pages of the <i>Decamerone.</i></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giovanni Da Catignano</span> known in the Calendar as the Blessed John of the -Cells, after a dissolute youth was converted by the ardent exhortations -of the Abbot of Vallombrosa, and in deep contrition ended his days as a -hermit. Some letters from this interesting penitent are extant, written -in a style so exquisitely Tuscan that they are quoted by the Accademia -della Crusca as models of propriety and elegance.</p> - -<p>Another canonized celebrity, <span class="mcap">Saint Catherine of Siena</span>, is no less -remarkable for the beauty of her style than for the beauty of her -character.</p> - -<p>A Life of Saint Francis of Assisi, entitled <i>Fioretti di San -Francesco,</i> has been highly praised for the freshness and simplicity -of the language. The piety or the modesty of the author induced him to -conceal his identity.</p> - -<p>These religious writers, though treating of subjects so different, -almost equalled Boccaccio in perfection of style, but the two authors -who produced collections of stories somewhat similar to his, <span class="mcap">Franco -Sacchetti</span> and <span class="mcap">Ser Giovanni Fiorentino</span>, were very far indeed from -approaching his mastery.</p> - -<p>On reviewing the literary development of Italy in the Fourteenth -Century, we find that the language attained the fullest perfection -both in prose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> and verse, only the lighter kinds of poetry remaining -uncultivated. The appearance in one century of two such great poets as -Dante and Petrarch was quite phenomenal and threw a lustre over the age -which has attracted the whole world. But another fact, less universally -known, is equally worthy of attention, namely the extraordinary merit -of the prose writers of the period. It may well be doubted whether -any compositions in Italian prose of a later date exhibit the rare -qualities of those of the Fourteenth Century. Leopardi, indeed, -produced marvels of style, but they were the result of art and study, -whereas the writers of the Fourteenth Century display an ease and a -simplicity, a freshness and a graphic power, combined with the most -exquisite lightness and harmony in their phrases, that must ever -render them more admirable models than the artificial and laborious -productions of later ages.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> For details on the subject of this most terrible -pestilence, probably the worst that ever afflicted humanity, we may -refer the reader to Father Gasquet's valuable and interesting work on -the subject.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></h5> - - -<h4>WRITERS OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p>In striking contrast to the Fourteenth Century, the Fifteenth is -conspicuous for a great dearth of eminent authors. The same may be -noticed in the literary development of England. After the brilliant -apparition of Chaucer, more than a hundred years elapsed before an -eminent writer arose. This may be partly accounted for by the Civil -Wars which devastated the island and brought misery and anarchy in -their train. Widely different was the plight of Italy. There were wars -and disturbances, it is true, but the wealth of the country became more -enormous than ever, and great princes extended munificent patronage to -science and learning. But all intellectual energies were directed, not -to the cultivation of the Italian language, but to the study of the -writers of antiquity. Greek and Latin were alone held in estimation, -the vulgar tongue was contemptuously neglected.</p> - -<p>The only eminent prose writer was <span class="mcap">Feo Belcari</span>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> a Florentine -magistrate, who wrote the Lives of the Blessed Giovanni Colombini and -other Friars, and who reproduced the beauty and elegance of the best -authors of the Fourteenth Century. He died at an advanced age in 1484.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Leon Battista Alberti</span> was a universal genius. He distinguished himself -as painter, sculptor and architect, but his Italian writings would -hardly be of sufficient importance to mention, had not the dearth of -names in this barren century made historians of literature thankful for -any means of filling up the blank.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Leonardo Da Vinci</span> wrote a <i>Treatise on Painting,</i> and he impressed upon -all artists the necessity of being original, and of not copying their -predecessors. It would have been well if the writers of the age had -laid this injunction to heart as well as the painters, for as years -advanced, the servile imitation of conventional forms became more and -more the bane of Italian literature.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Pulci</span> is celebrated for his mock-heroic poem, the <i>Morgante Maggiore.</i> -The giant Morgante is the hero, but we also make the acquaintance of -Orlando, Rinaldo, Charlemagne, and many other characters that appear in -the more famous poems of Bojardo and Ariosto. It was unfortunate for -Pulci that he had such great successors. He had abundance of wit and -originality, but he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> neither the poetical imagination of Bojardo -nor the magic style of Ariosto, so that it is no cause for astonishment -that he fell into neglect.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Matteo Bojardo</span>, Count of Scandiano, was born in 1430 and died in 1494. -He was favoured by nature and fortune; a soldier and a statesman, he -had every opportunity of enriching his mind with varied experiences, -nor can we say that those opportunities were neglected. His <i>Orlando -Innamorato,</i> which he did not live to finish, long as it is, displays -great wealth of imagination and considerable creative power; but -unfortunately, his style is heavy and rough, and was completely -eclipsed by the extraordinary merits of Ariosto's <i>Orlando Furioso,</i> -which professes to be only a continuation of the earlier poem. Fifty -years later, Berni entirely re-wrote Bojardo's work and certainly -succeeded in giving it greater elegance, but he did not make it more -interesting to modern readers. In truth, the knights of the epic cycle -beginning with the <i>Morgante Maggiore</i> and ending in the Eighteenth -Century with the <i>Ricciardetto,</i> appear terribly uninteresting in the -present day, and it requires the picturesque and melodious style of a -really great poet like Ariosto to entice the reader through the account -of their numerous adventures.</p> - -<p>The celebrated scholar, <span class="mcap">Angelo Poliziano</span>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> shows a poetical mind in his -poems, and his <i>Orfeo</i> may claim the credit of being the first dramatic -work of any literary value in the Italian language. It has many lyric -beauties and the choruses are spirited.<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>His poem in Ottava Rima on a tournament given by Giniano de Medici, -was interrupted by the tragic death of his patron in the conspiracy -organised by the Pazzi family, nor was the loss of the remainder of the -poem the least deplorable consequence of that great crime. Politian -died in the prime of life in 1494. It is reasonable to suppose that if -his years had been prolonged, he might have enriched the literature of -his country with works of even greater beauty.</p> - -<p>A poet of true tenderness and fire, but more remarkable for the -extraordinary perfection of his Latin poems than for any other -productions of his muse, was <span class="mcap">Jacopo Sannazzaro</span>, a Neapolitan. He -survived until the year 1530, but his Italian poems are the productions -of his youth. His <i>Arcadia,</i> a pastoral romance in prose with poems -interspersed, acquired a great celebrity and undoubtedly served<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> as -model to Sir Philip Sydney's work of the same name. It is tender and -graceful, but the extreme unreality of the Nymphs and Shepherds makes -it rather cloying to a modern taste. His Italian poems have not nearly -so much melody and fire as those he wrote in Latin, which are, indeed, -so perfect that they cannot be distinguished, as far as rhythm is -concerned, from those of Virgil himself.</p> - -<p>These names practically exhaust the band of Italian writers of the -Fifteenth Century, truly a meagre list, and in striking contrast to the -countless painters who were an ornament to their country during the -same period.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_3" id="Footnote_1_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_3"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The Chorus from the <i>Orfeo</i>— -</p> -<p> -"Noi seguiamo, Bacco, te;<br /> -Bacco, Bacco, evoè, evoè!"<br /> -</p> -<p> -is quoted by George Eliot in <i>Romola.</i></p> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></h5> - - -<h4>ARIOSTO.</h4> - - -<p>The Sixteenth Century had not seen many years before the world was -presented with one of the most celebrated works in the Italian -Language, a poem destined to acquire a reputation hardly inferior to -that of Dante's great work, the <i>Orlando Furioso</i> of <span class="mcap">Ariosto</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Ludovico Ariosto</span> was born at Reggio in Lombardy on the eighth of -September, 1474. His father was attached to the Court of Ferrara, and -he himself entered the services of Cardinal Ippolito d'Esté, brother -to the Duke, but in what capacity is not accurately known. To the -Cardinal he dedicated his great work, but received no thanks for the -homage. He fell into complete disgrace by refusing to accompany his -patron to Hungary. He then tried his luck with the reigning Duke, who -was more generous than his kinsman, and who appointed the poet Governor -of Garfagnana,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> a remote province of the Duchy, infested by brigands. -He retained this post for three years, and brought the province into -such excellent order that he acquired the love and esteem of the whole -district.</p> - -<p>When he returned to Ferrara, he enjoyed the highest consideration and -favour of the Duke, who took great pleasure in the representation of -his comedies. He was clandestinely married to a Florentine lady, by -whom, however, he had no children. It is supposed that secrecy was -kept in order to preserve some ecclesiastical revenues assigned to his -share by the Cardinal. From previous connections he had two sons, on -whom the Duke conferred patents of legitimacy. His descendants acquired -considerable opulence, and became one of the first families of Ferrara. -His son Orazio made himself remarkable by declaring, when the question -of Torquato Tasso's superior genius roused the attention of Italy, -that both poets had their particular beauties, for which opinion he -was fiercely attacked by the zealots in his father's cause. In the -Eighteenth Century, a Marquis Ariosto was intimate with Voltaire at -Brussels. The last descendant of the poet, the Countess Ariosto, died -at Ferrara in 1878, at the age of ninety years.</p> - -<p>Ariosto gives us in his Satires with rare candour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> a picture of his -mind and of the vicissitudes of his life. He was of a buoyant and -open disposition, fond of pleasure and susceptible to the attractions -of love, but faithful and sincere to his friends, and very generous -to his numerous brothers and sisters. Titian was among his friends, -and the great painter has preserved for us the features of the great -poet. Curious anecdotes are told of his absence of mind when plunged -in thought. Once he went through the streets of Ferrara in his -dressing-gown, and was not aware of his apparel until an acquaintance -accosted him and told him of the fact. He built himself a little house, -and placed a Latin inscription over the entrance, and when someone -remarked that it was very small for one who had described such splendid -edifices in his verses, he made answer that fabrics of the imagination -are erected with little, and those of stone and mortar, with great, -cost. His death, the result of indigestion, owing to the rapidity with -which he took his meals in order to return to his studies, took place -in 1533.</p> - -<p>Fully to appreciate the genius of Ariosto we must understand the spirit -of his age, for in him were developed, more fully than in any other -writer of the period, the qualities, moral and intellectual, that gave -their stamp to the memorable epoch of the Renaissance. The taste, the -love of beauty, the classical simplicity, the vivid imagination, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> -ethereal lightness of touch characterising the productions of the great -contemporary painters, are united in as high perfection in the verse of -Ariosto as on their canvas and frescoes. He had, with the merits of his -age, also its shortcomings: the want of moral elevation, the frivolity, -and the absence of religious enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>He was, therefore, unfitted to be an heroic poet in the stiff old -conventional style, and it was not until he had tried and abandoned -many subjects chat he discovered himself to be something infinitely -more striking and original. At last he discovered in the subject that -inspired Pulci and Bojardo, an inexhaustible mine of poetry, and he -took up the thread of narrative where Bojardo's unfinished poem had -left it, and produced one of the greatest masterpieces in the whole -range of literature.</p> - -<p>He is matchless in the ease and clearness of his style, which never -flags for one moment in the forty-six cantos of the work. He is said -to have written with the greatest care, and to have corrected much and -erased not a little. The stanza in the first canto:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"La verginella è simile alla rosa,"<br /> -</p> - -<p>he wrote nine times before he was satisfied. Galileo confessed that he -owed the lucidity of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> style to the assiduous study of Ariosto, but -accused him of introducing verses for the sake of the rhyme; but we may -pardon an occasional blemish in a work of such immense length.</p> - -<p>He tells us himself that he saturated his mind with the spirit of the -Latin poets, especially with Catullus, and in his works we find the -urbanity of the Augustan age united to a strength and vivacity of -imagination unknown to the Romans. With great judgement he improved -on the hints they gave him, and the graceful manner in which he -occasionally introduces mythological allusions seems to have been -Milton's model when he did the same. Although he rates Virgil's -flattery of Augustus at its proper value when he says:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Non era cosi saggio e grande Augusto<br /> -Come la tromba di Virgilio suona,<br /> -E per avere in poesia buon gusto<br /> -Le proscrizioni inique gli perdona,"<br /> -</p> - -<p>he cannot himself be acquitted of the charge of gross flattery to -the House of Este, without having even the excuse of Virgil, for -it is well known with how little applause his patrons received his -masterpiece. Some critics have asserted that he chose his subject -merely because he could introduce the character of Ruggiero, ancestor -to his patrons, but, fortunately for the glory of one of the greatest -of human minds, there is no reason to believe this libel. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> subject -recommended itself by its own merits to the poet, as any candid reader, -after perusing the work, will confess. It is impossible to enter the -maze of incidents in the <i>Orlando Furioso</i> without being bewildered, -astonished, dazzled, and lost in all the wonders conjured up by the -poet's fancy. His genius was essentially narrative (as is proved by his -comedies being so vastly inferior to his Epic), and his subject allowed -him to heap story on story, and to develop adventure out of adventure.</p> - -<p>No finer compliment was ever paid by one poet to another, than by Byron -to Scott, when he called him the Northern Ariosto, and the Italian poet -the Southern Scott,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Who, like the Ariosto of the North, worth."<br /> -Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly<br /> -</p> - -<p>It was not a mere compliment, but a very just parallel, and it would -be difficult to decide which of the two poets was the greater. Scott -had certainly more power of delineating character; but Ariosto had, if -not the richer, the more vivid imagination. If we take only Scott's -poetical works into consideration, Ariosto would have the advantage; -but if the prose romances of Scott are thrown into the balance, they -incline the scales in his favour. Both poets were, as Byron called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> -them, bards of chivalry, but Scott's chivalry was that of the soul, -and Ariosto's too often only that of the sword. Perhaps we may come to -a satisfactory conclusion by saying that Ariosto was the greater, and -Scott the nobler, poet.</p> - -<p>Ariosto's rapidity of style is such that I know of no poem more concise -than this Epic, containing over forty thousand lines. One of his tricks -to arrest the attention, or to tantalize the curiosity of the reader, -is to break off a story in the middle, passing on to other incidents, -and concluding the interrupted episode in a later canto. The graceful -badinage with which he amuses us when the interest threatens to flag, -is most judiciously introduced, for such a subject treated with solemn -glumness and heavy pomp would become irksome in the extreme.</p> - -<p>Every canto has an introduction, as ingenious in thought as it is -beautiful in expression. The most interesting Introduction is probably -that of the last canto, where he represents his contemporaries -congratulating him on the completion of so arduous a work; but others -deserve scarcely less praise; for instance, that on jealousy, and that -in which he enumerates the great painters of the age, amongst others, -Michael Angelo:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Quel che a par sculpe e colora,<br /> -Michel, più che mortal, Angel divino."<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> - -<p>The rapidity of his transitions is truly amazing. He whirls the -reader in two lines from one end of the world to the other. When we -are harassed and wearied by the breathless speed of his Pegasus, he -pauses, lavishing all the riches of his mind on a description or an -incident. Here he reveals himself the wonderful poet he is. The maiden -chained to a rock and about to be devoured by the sea-monster; Zerbino -and Isabella, Ginevra and Ariodante; above all, Alcina and her magic -garden; and, not inferior to any passage in the greatest poets, the -frenzy of Orlando: these are only a few of the wonderful passages that -place his Epic among the noblest productions of the human mind.</p> - -<p>His style is, perhaps, if not the most lofty, yet the most perfect -of any Italian poet; it is so sweetly varied, so gracefully and -judiciously adorned with metaphors and tropes, so picturesque in -description, so vivid in narrative, so exquisitely graduated to impart -the suitable colouring to the poet's thoughts. Perhaps the only -quality it lacks, is the expression of deep emotion, which his joyous -and animated verse seldom attains. Nor can it be said that he ever -displays great depth of thought, so that we seek in vain in his works -for those marvellous flashes that irradiate the mystery of things. With -this want is connected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> the absence of striking individuality in many -of his characters; they are Knights and Saracens such as tradition -supplied. When he chooses, however, he can individualize his figures, -like Angelica, or Orlando and Alcina, with great success, and many -observations interspersed throughout the work, show keen insight into -human nature. Voltaire, an ardent admirer of this poet, said he had -more knowledge of the human heart than is to be found in all epics and -novels from Homer's <i>Iliad</i> down to Richardson's <i>Pamela.</i> He regretted -Madame du Deffand had not learnt Italian in order to read so admirable -a poet. He says in one of his last poems:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Je relis l'Arioste ou même la Pucelle."<br /> -</p> - -<p>The <i>Pucelle,</i> indeed, was written in emulation of the <i>Orlando -Furioso</i> which it resembles no more than a statue of Silenus resembles -the Jupiter of Otricoli.</p> - -<p>No one represented more truthfully the effect produced by Ariosto on -the mind than Leopardi in the following lines:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Nascevi ai dolci sogni intanto, e il primo<br /> -Sole splendeati in vista,<br /> -Cantor vago dell' arme e degl' amori,<br /> -Che in età della nostra assai men trista<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>Empièr la vita di felici errori,<br /> -Nova speme d'Italia. O torri, O celle,<br /> -O donne, O cavalieri,<br /> -O giardini, O palagi! a voi pensando,<br /> -In mille vane amenità si perde<br /> -La mente mia."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Ariosto began his great poem in 1505, at the age of thirty-one, and -finished it in 1516; but the year before his death he published an -edition with countless alterations and improvements, and with six -additional cantos, and it is in the latter form that it has descended -to posterity. At his death he left five cantos of an unfinished epic, -entitled <i>Rinaldo Ardito,</i> in which many characters of the <i>Orlando</i> -reappear; but the fragment is in a very imperfect state and by no means -approaches the beauty of the completed work.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></h5> - - -<h4>POETS CONTEMPORARY WITH ARIOSTO.</h4> - - -<p>The age of Ariosto is remarkable for the first appearance of blank -verse in the Italian language. The <i>Italia Liberata</i> of <span class="mcap">Trissino</span>, on -the subject of the victories of Belisarius over the Goths, is the -first work in that metre. Trissino thought himself a second Homer, and -his epic is full of injudicious imitations of the <i>Iliad.</i> The scene -between Jupiter and Juno on Mount Ida is transferred to Justinian -and Theodora, in the Palace of Constantinople, with very voluptuous -amplifications More than with this ponderous epic, Trissino did his -country service by writing the first Italian tragedy, <i>Sofonisba,</i> a -work containing passages almost worthy of Euripides. With a style less -languid and prosaic, Trissino might have achieved considerable success -in the drama.</p> - -<p>The poet who came nearest to Ariosto in elegance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> of style, though -far indeed from possessing equal fire and genius, was <span class="mcap">Francesco -Berni</span>, mentioned in a previous chapter, as having recast the <i>Orlando -Innamorato</i> of Bojardo. He cannot have had a very original mind, or he -would not have submitted to the drudgery of re-writing, line for line, -the work of another man, when he might have been employed on poems of -his own; but he had plenty of vivacity and raciness, as his Satires and -Sonnets attest. So popular did they become, that light and comic poetry -came to be called after him, <i>Poesia Bernesca.</i> His end was more tragic -than his works. Unfortunately for himself, he lived in Florence in the -intimacy of the Medici family. A bitter feud arose between the Duke -Alexander and Cardinal Ippolito. The Duke endeavoured to bribe Berni to -poison the Cardinal, and on his refusing to be a party to so terrible -a crime, Alexander had him poisoned in his turn, lest he should reveal -the secret of his guilt.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Luigi Alamanni</span> was an indefatigable writer of poetry. He wrote two -enormous epics, <i>Giron il Cortese</i> and the <i>Avarchide;</i> but it would -require the musical diction of Ariosto to make such productions live; -and, unfortunately, Alamanni, though a scholarly and painstaking -writer, had nothing like Ariosto's powers of versification. The work -by which he is most honourably remembered is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> didactic poem, <i>La -Coltivazione,</i> on the same subject as the <i>Georgics.</i></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giovanni Rucellai</span>, a nephew of Lorenzo the Magnificent, was also -indebted to the Georgics for his poem, <i>Le Api</i> (on Bees), in blank -verse, of which there is an excellent defence in the introductory -lines, quite the most original and pleasing passage in the poem.</p> - -<p>Monsignor <span class="mcap">Giovanni Della Casa</span> acquired an immense reputation in his -own age for his works in prose and verse, in Latin and Italian; -but as his merit consists exclusively in the finished style—his -thoughts not rising above conventionality—he has been neglected for -writers combining equal, if not greater, beauty of language with more -originality of thought.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Annibal Caro</span> rendered signal service to his country by giving it a -spirited translation of the <i>Æneid,</i> and his works in prose and verse -are all characterised by vigour of style. He rose from a humble origin -to considerable wealth and prominence, and he became notorious by -reason of a bitter feud with a contemporary critic of the name of -<span class="mcap">Castelvetro</span>. He had written a poem in praise of the House of Valois, -"Venite all'ombra de' gran gigli d'oro," and Castelvetro wrote a -sharp and acrimonious criticism upon it, to which he retorted in his -<i>Apologia</i> with almost insane<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> rancour. Castelvetro was not tardy in -replying, and Caro is suspected of having used all his influence to -ruin the career of his adversary. But it is painful to dwell upon these -ebullitions of spite, unfortunately too frequent in the annals of -literature.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Cardinal Bembo</span> was a writer fastidiously elegant. He is reported to -have possessed forty portfolios, in the first of which he put the first -draft of his works; in the second, the second; and so on until the -fortieth revision reached the fortieth receptacle, after which alone -would he suffer the work to see the light. His productions are such as -might be expected from a man so minutely laborious. He is more intent -upon words than upon realities. His poetry is modelled on Petrarch, his -prose on Boccaccio. He wrote a <i>History of Venice</i> in twelve books, -originally in Latin, translating it himself into Italian. A dialogue, -entitled <i>Gli Asolani,</i> is interesting to English readers from its -similarity of title to Browning's <i>Asolando.</i> The name is taken from -Asolo, a spot on the mainland not far from Venice, whither he loved -to retire, as Browning did three hundred years later. His letters are -esteemed his best production, being less over-elaborated in style than -his other works. His Latin works are entirely modelled on those of -Cicero.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Francesco Grazzini</span>, surnamed <span class="mcap">Il Lasca</span>, was a sort of inferior Berni -in his poems, but he is remarkable as one of the founders of the -Florentine Accademia della Crusca.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Bernardino Rota</span>, a Neapolitan, produced some really pathetic poems on -the death of his wife.</p> - -<p>The Sixteenth Century was remarkable for three poetesses of -considerable merit: <span class="mcap">Vittoria Colonna, Gaspara Stampa</span>, and <span class="mcap">Veronica -Gambara. Vittoria Colonna</span> was the widow of the Marquis of Pescara, and -dedicates many of her verses to his memory. <span class="mcap">Gaspara Stampa</span>, a native of -Padua, was deeply in love with Collatino Collalto, and gave utterance -to her passion in numerous Sonnets, some of which rise to considerable -beauty and dignity. <span class="mcap"><span class="mcap">Veronica Gambara</span></span>, of Brescia, produced some noble -verses, especially the fine Sonnet in which she implores, in the name -of Christ, Charles V and Francis I, to put an end to their hostilities.</p> - -<p>Although he lived until nearly the end of the century, we may for -convenience mention <span class="mcap">Angelo Di Costanzo</span> in this chapter. He was born in -Naples, in 1507, of a wealthy and noble family, but in spite of his -wealth he had many sorrows. Don Pedro de Toledo, Viceroy of Naples, -banished him from the city of his birth. His first wife died in youth; -his second wife caused him much unhappiness by her misconduct; and to -complete his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> misfortunes, he lived to deplore the loss of his two -sons. He appealed in vain to be allowed to return to his home. His -petitions were rejected, and he died in grief and exile in 1591. Some -of his poems are eminently beautiful; his Sonnet on Virgil, "Quella -cetra gentil," is justly celebrated. In prose he wrote a history of -Naples, frequently reprinted.</p> - -<p>On reviewing the poetry of this period, with the brilliant exception -of Ariosto, the result is, perhaps, a feeling of disappointment. -Certainly, the achievements are not commensurate with the undoubted -culture and intellect of the writers. There is nothing (always -excepting Ariosto) that has taken hold of the world's attention. How -different in this respect are the poets from the painters of the same -period! How obscure by the side of Michael Angelo, Raphael, Correggio, -Titian, Giorgione, Sebastian del Piombo, Tintoretto, and the whole -galaxy sparkling for ever in the heaven of Art! Some powerful minds, -such as Vida and Fracastoro, were diverted into the path of Latin -poetry; but I think the chief explanation of the inferiority of the -poets is their lack of really fine subjects; for how can a poet write -nobly if he has no adequate theme for his verse? Their amorous poetry -ran too much in the Petrarchan groove; their heroic poetry was too apt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> -to assume the form of ponderous epics, utterly unreadable without the -graces of Ariosto. Religious enthusiasm seems to have been remote from -their minds. Another generation had to arise before that fire was again -kindled on the shrine of Poetry.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h5> - - -<h4>MACHIAVELLI AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p><span class="mcap">Niccolò Machiavelli</span>, the profoundest thinker and the keenest politician -of his century, was born in Florence on the third of May, 1469. In 1498 -he was made Secretary of State of the Florentine Republic. But this -dignity was the cause of his subsequent adversity. When the Medici -family was restored to power in Florence, he was imprisoned, fined, and -even put to the torture. He profited by an amnesty issued by Leo X on -his accession, but he was relegated to poverty and obscurity. Impatient -of both, he curried favour with the reigning dynasty, but such was the -ill-luck that steadily pursued him through life, that no sooner had he -acquired a certain degree of favour than the Medici were again expelled -from Florence, and he, as one of their adherents, was regarded by the -triumphant party with suspicion and hostility.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> He did not long survive -the wreck of all his hopes, dying on the twenty-second of June, 1527.</p> - -<p>In his generation, Italy had fallen on evil days. The invasion -of Charles VIII of France opened the flood-gates of a deluge of -disasters; and the devastations of the King were succeeded by the -crushing despotism of the Emperor. The immense wealth, accumulated -during centuries of prosperity, was rapidly melting away. The -Republic of Venice lost much of her trade owing to the rivalry of -Holland and Portugal, and the stream of commerce was directed from -the Adriatic by the discovery of the new passage to India round the -Cape of Good Hope. The reckless extravagance of Leo X exhausted the -Papal Treasury; a great religious schism cut off abundant supplies -from distant countries; and the terrible sack of Rome, with the -ruinous ransom demanded from Clement VII, completed, in the year of -Machiavelli's death, a long series of disasters. Freedom was crushed -by native tyrants and foreign oppressors. The present was ghastly with -innumerable wounds, the future looked blacker than the grave. What -wonder was it, therefore, that men sought refuge from such horrors -in every finesse that diplomacy could suggest? This is the true -explanation and the one excuse of Machiavelli's tortuous policy. He is -utterly unscrupulous, but it is the unscrupulousness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> of a patriot at -bay who has exhausted all other means of self-defence.</p> - -<p>Still, it cannot be denied that Machiavelli is anything but a -sympathetic figure. We admire the keenness of his intellect as we -admire the keenness of a sharp-edged sword; but where is the love of -humanity, the enthusiasm for great ideals, the indignation of a noble -mind at the iniquities of an evil age? Wonderful is the penetration -of his remarks; unrivalled his insight; above praise the clearness -and precision of his thoughts. No historian has ever surpassed him in -unrolling a panorama of past events. No politician has ever laid down -more sagacious rules for attaining an object in view. No statesman has -ever discerned with a keener eye the symptoms of the times.</p> - -<p>But if we ask what profit has been derived from the exertions of this -most acute and logical of minds, what is the answer? His name has -become a byeword as the symbol of a heartless intriguer, and his works -glare like a meteor of evil in the dark and troubled sky of his century.</p> - -<p>Great praise is due to his <i>History of Florence.</i> In the first book, -with a concise lucidity which later historians have emulated without -surpassing, he surveys the events of ten centuries, and that noble -introduction is followed by a work which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> displays to the fullest -advantage the great powers of its author.</p> - -<p>The <i>Discourses on the First Decade of Livy</i> and <i>The Art of War</i> both -treat of the same subject; the necessity of a freedom-loving nation to -attain and preserve a high standard of military efficiency. The system -of hiring venal condottieri had profoundly demoralised the forces of -Italy, indeed, it had paved the way for the invasion of France and the -dominion of Spain, and its effects were felt even to the middle of the -present century, for no other explanation suffices to account for the -submission of a nation with such a history as Italy to the oppression -of foreign garrisons. So clear-sighted a patriot as Machiavelli could -not fail to see the evil and to point out the remedy. His despatches -and correspondence are also invaluable for the history of his times.</p> - -<p>But the work pre-eminently associated with his name is the treatise, -entitled <i>Il Principe,</i> a manual for a ruler who desires to keep an -unsteady throne and to outwit unscrupulous enemies. He advocates, it is -true, a policy regardless of all mercy and morality in the pursuit of -its object; but injustice to Machiavelli, we must bear in mind what his -object was. He had seen his country desolated for years by cruel and -rapacious invaders, and he thought, most justly, that the only chance -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> Italy against her enemies was the establishment of the dominion of -one powerful and politic prince over the whole Peninsula, and it was -to establish a standard of conduct for such a prince that he wrote his -book.</p> - -<p>His story, <i>Belphegor,</i> and his plays, among which the <i>Mandragora</i> -stands pre-eminent, are witty and lively, but they frequently overstep -the limits of decorum. All his works are interspersed with innumerable -proofs of the keenness of his observation, and the style is clear and -forcible, but somewhat wanting in colour. He wrote a few poems, but -they are of no great value or interest.</p> - -<p>Machiavelli is as undoubtedly the first prose writer of the age as -Ariosto is the first poet, Second to him as an historian, though at a -wide interval, we may place his friend and fellow-townsman, <span class="mcap">Francesco -Guicciardini</span>, born in 1480, died in 1540. He studied law to such good -purpose at Florence, Ferrara and Padua, that at the early age of -twenty-two he was chosen to lecture on the Institutes of Justinian, -and at the age of thirty-one he was sent as Ambassador to Ferdinand of -Aragon, which post he occupied for two years. With the help of that -King, Julius the Second forced the Florentines to submit again to the -rule of the Medici family. Guicciardini was suspected by the friends -of liberty of having a hand in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> negotiations between the Pope and -the King, and of being a tool of that ambitious dynasty. Such, in -truth, he proved himself; and harshness, rancour, and vindictiveness -characterised his conduct towards his political opponents. When Leo -X visited Florence in 1515, Guicciardini was sent by the Republic -to receive him at Cortona. No circumstance could have proved more -favourable to the historian's career. Leo X looked upon him with -the utmost favour, and nominated him to high and important offices, -which his successor, Adrian VI, continued, and to which Clement VII -subsequently added others. When the "Holy League," headed by the Duke -of Urbino, was formed against the Emperor Charles V, Guicciardini was -one of its leading spirits. But the Imperial arms prevailed; Clement -VII had to take refuge in the Castle of St. Angelo, and had the agony -of seeing Rome stormed and plundered under his very eyes. Atrocious -were the cruelties committed. St. Peter's itself was stained with -the blood of the slaughtered. Huge contributions were levied on the -citizens, and an enormous ransom exacted from the Pope. Seeing Clement, -himself a Medici, deprived of liberty and even in danger of his life, -the Florentines took to arms and expelled the obnoxious dynasty. But -the unexpected happened. The injured Pope and the tyrannical Emperor -became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> reconciled; and probably to atone for the atrocities committed -by his forces, Charles V lent effective aid to Alexander de Medici in -his endeavour to regain his lost dominion over Florence. Guicciardini -became the instrument of Alexander, a cruel and relentless tyrant, who -was subsequently assassinated by his kinsman Lorenzino. Guicciardini -was an active agent in the election of Cosimo I, and when he was -reproached for imposing another tyrant on his country, he answered that -the more princes were assassinated, the more would arise. But Cosimo -was ungrateful when Guicciardini demanded the reward of his services; -bitter disappointment was in store for him; he withdrew from public -affairs, and lived in retirement at Arcetri, where he died.</p> - -<p>It was in the leisure hours of this retirement that he wrote the -history on which his literary reputation is founded. It embraces the -period from the invasion of Charles VIII to the year 1532. It is a -valuable and important work; but, as may be gathered from the details -of his life, the author shows no elevation or purity of mind. His view -of human nature is low; his estimate of his fellow-creatures harsh and -cynical. But if the colours are unpleasing, the picture is valuable, -and it would have been a great loss had it not been preserved for -posterity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> - -<p>Guicciardini is often heavy and prolix, and many ludicrous stories -have been told of the sufferings of those readers who conscientiously -plodded through the entire work. Thus it is related of the jocular -Governor of a Province, that he promised a free pardon to a convict if -he would read Guicciardini's History from the first page to the last. -The prisoner gladly embraced this opportunity of regaining his liberty. -He little knew the task that was imposed upon him. As he turned over -page after page of the ponderous tomes, a deadly weariness overpowered -him, until at last the endless details of the Siege of Pisa exhausted -his patience. "Take me back to the galleys," he exclaimed. "Rather that -than the misery of toiling through this awful book."</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Agnolo Firenzuola</span> was a good prose writer, out a very inferior poet; -indeed, so great is the contrast between the two classes of his works, -that it is difficult to believe that they can emanate from the same -pen. The most striking of his works is a <i>Dialogue on the Beauty of -Women.</i></p> - -<p><span class="mcap"><span class="mcap">Pier Francesco Giambullari</span></span> wrote a <i>History of Europe</i> from the -accession of Charlemagne to the year 913. The history is unfinished, -the author dying in 1555. He was one of the founders of the Florentine -Accademia della Crusca. He has been highly praised for the dignity and -finish of his style.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> <span class="mcap"><span class="mcap">Vasari</span></span> and <span class="mcap">Cellini</span> are names renowned in the -annals of Art, the former for his invaluable biographies of painters, -and the latter as a sculptor and a worker in gold and bronze. His -biography is a striking memorial of the man and the age.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Benedetto Varchi</span> had many qualities of an able historian, but as he was -in the pay of the Grand Duke Cosimo I, his independence may be more -than suspected.</p> - -<p>In contrast to him, <span class="mcap">Jacopo Nardi</span> was a bitter opponent of the Medici -family, and in his <i>History of Florence</i> from 1494 to 1531 he paints -them in the blackest colours. So determined an adversary of the ruling -dynasty could not be suffered to remain in Florence. He was driven into -banishment, and took refuge in Venice, where he died after the middle -of the Century. As a biographer he distinguished himself by his life of -Antonio Giacomini.</p> - -<p>The Sixteenth Century was fertile in historians, for we have to -chronicle the name of another in <span class="mcap">Bernardo Segni</span>. He wrote the <i>History -of Italy</i> from 1527 to 1555, or three years before his death. Dealing -with contemporary events, he could not treat his subject with the -requisite independence, and living a quiet and studious life, it is -difficult to see how he could gather reliable information, or have -access to important documents.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Vincenzo Borghini</span> was a laborious antiquarian, who wrote a book on the -<i>Origin of the City of Florence.</i></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giambattista Adriani</span> professed to continue Guicciardini's work in his -<i>History of his Own Times,</i> but it is complete in itself, and has many -merits, both of style and subject. Adriani was celebrated in his day as -a public speaker, and his <i>Latin Orations</i> were so much admired that -they were translated into Italian as soon as they were held. He died in -1579.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Camillo Porzio</span> who survived until 1603, wrote several historical -monographs concerning the Kingdom of Naples.</p> - -<p>Skilful as they were in all the arts of composition, the writers of -the Sixteenth Century too frequently indulged in redundant prolixity. -Conscious of this defect, <span class="mcap">Bernardo Davanzati</span> determined to cultivate -the opposite quality of laconic conciseness. He was brilliantly -successful. He translated Tacitus, that great model of brevity, and -boasted that his rendering contained fewer words than the original -without sacrificing a particle of the sense. He wrote a book on the -Reformation in England, a Funeral Oration on Cosimo I, and several -treatises on finance and agriculture.</p> - -<p>In reviewing the writers of this Epoch, we are struck with the -number and merit of the historians.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> The other Prose Writers appeal -but faintly to modern readers. With the exception of <span class="mcap">Baldassare -Castiglione</span>, who, in his <i>Cortegiano</i> gives us a pleasing picture -of the more refined circles of Italian society, and of Vasari and -Benvenuto Cellini, they do not disclose much of the manners and customs -of their age. No Boccaccio arose to portray for future times the men -and women of his day.</p> - -<p>The stories of <span class="mcap">Bandello</span> and of <span class="mcap">Luigi Da Porto</span> have but little to -recommend them except the fact that they supplied Shakespeare with some -of his plots. Bandello, however, is by no means destitute of vivacity. -<span class="mcap">Straparola</span>, the author of <i>Tredici Piacevoli Notti,</i> and <span class="mcap">Fiorentini</span>, -the author of <i>Il Pecorone,</i> also had the honour of furnishing hints to -the great dramatist. Too often it happens that the extreme prolixity of -the writers of the Sixteenth Century drowns their thoughts in an ocean -of words. It is strange that the great convulsion of the Reformation -did not produce any theological work written in the Italian language. -The controversies were all carried on in Latin, but even in Latin -nothing was produced in the Peninsula that is now remembered. Indeed, -the great Catholic reaction had the effect of making writers fearful -of giving offence. It restricted them more and more within academic -grooves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> thus unhappily fostering that tendency to conventionality and -unreality which immersed Italian literature deeper and deeper into a -morass of mediocrity.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></h5> - - -<h4>BERNARDO AND TORQUATO TASSO.</h4> - - -<p>It is but seldom that poets are as romantic as their poems, or as -interesting as the offspring of their imagination. When, therefore, -a poet arises gifted with an interesting personality, the attention -he excites becomes universal. Such was the fate of <span class="mcap">Torquato Tasso</span>. It -would not be altogether unjust to say that had he not suffered so many -misfortunes, his name would not be a household word, for the merit of -his poems hardly sustains the dignity of his renown.</p> - -<p>His father, <span class="mcap">Bernardo</span>, a native of Bergamo, was born in 1493, and died -in 1569. He was a writer in prose and verse, his chief work being the -<i>Amadigi,</i> an epic of immense length, well and carefully written, but -without any spark of genius. He was attached to the Court of Ferrante -Sanseverino, Prince of Salerno, and when his master<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> was driven out -of his dominions by the Emperor Charles V, he followed his fortunes, -leaving his wife, Properzia de' Rossi, and three children, the youngest -of whom was Torquato, born in 1544, to the care of her relatives. -His devotion to the fallen fortunes of the Prince of Salerno was the -cause of many of the sorrows of his illustrious son. His patrimony -was sequestrated, and when he died, he had nothing to leave to his -children. Nor was this the greatest of his trials. He never saw his -wife again, and when he wished to have her with him in Rome, she was -in a dying condition. All she could do, was to send him the little -Torquato, whose training was henceforth confided to the father's care.</p> - -<p>The youth displayed as much love and more aptitude for poetical -composition. When he was eighteen, he published his epic, <i>Rinaldo,</i> a -wonderfully mature work for so young a writer. Torquato Tasso was one -of those poets who produce their finest works in the earlier portion -of their career. The works by which alone he is remembered, were all -produced before his thirty-second year. His mind attained full mastery -over its powers at a very early period, and when, like the voice of -a singer, it lost its freshness, it also lost its charm. Corneille -and Tennyson resemble him in this peculiarity of producing their -masterpieces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> in comparative youth, but in their case, the division -between the two periods is not quite so marked as in his. Corneille -produced no really great drama after <i>La Mort de Pompée,</i> but some -of his later tragedies have occasional flashes of his early fire. -Tennyson gave no memorable creation to the world after <i>Maud,</i> but his -<i>Idylls of the King</i> offer some poetical details, and a few lyrics are -not devoid of that perfection which characterised his previous poems. -But Tasso produced absolutely nothing that could, by any stretch of -indulgence, be said to add to his renown after the publication of -the <i>Gerusalemme Liberata.</i> On the contrary, he rather injured his -reputation by yielding to the cavils of his detractors, and re-writing -his great work under the title of <i>Gerusalemme Conquistata,</i> and -producing an epic so feeble and lifeless that it immediately sank into -utter neglect.</p> - -<p>Precocious as he was in the manifestation of brilliant genius, his -father was anxious that such powers should be cultivated to the utmost, -and Torquato was sent to study law at Padua. But the law was little -to his taste. His <i>Rinaldo</i> procured him immense renown, and he found -it more agreeable to bask in the sunshine of the brilliant society -that courted him in the dawn of his celebrity, than to spend laborious -hours in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> pursuit of a dry and distasteful science. No poet at so -early an age ever had so brilliant a prospect of renown and fortune -before him. But the very extent of the admiration he excited laid the -foundations of the terrible disasters that were to overtake him ere -many years had elapsed.</p> - -<p>Cardinal Luigi of Este, attracted by his brilliant reputation, offered -him a post in his household and an introduction to the Court of -Ferrara. The dazzling offer was accepted by the poet; but the kindness -of the Cardinal had results more fatal than could have attended the -machinations of his bitterest enemies.</p> - -<p>At first all went well. Tasso produced a favourable impression upon -the Duke Alfonso and upon his two sisters, Lucrezia and Eleonora. He -accompanied the Cardinal on a mission to the Court of Charles IX of -France, and after a year's sojourn in Paris, where he was fêted by the -leading authors, including Ronsard, then at the height of his fame, -he returned to Ferrara to receive new proofs of the favour of the -Duke. But the more he rose in the estimation of his master, the more -he excited the jealousy of those who were equally ambitious but less -successful. There is, indeed, no truth in the popular legend of his -love for the Princess Eleanora. The object of his affections appears -to have been a lady of the Court, Leonora<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> Scandiano. The poet Guarini -was also in love with this lady, and bitter hostility resulted from -the rivalry of the two poets. The malignant envy of his opponents -was excited by the brilliant success of his pastoral play, <i>Aminta,</i> -produced in 1573. So much was that poem talked of, that the Princess -Lucrezia, who had meanwhile married the Duke of Urbino, sent for Tasso -to read it to her at Pesaro. So pleased was she both with the work and -the writer, that she invited him to pass the summer at her palace of -Castel Durante. The exquisite beauty of the gardens and the grounds is -said to have been in his mind when he described the gardens of Armida -in the <i>Gerusalemme.</i></p> - -<p>This was the happiest time of Tasso's life. He was honoured with the -favour of the highest in the land, and with the admiration of the whole -of Italy. He was congenially employed on the completion of the great -epic which was to make his name immortal. Never was a poet placed in a -more brilliant position, nor more apparently certain of a splendid and -triumphant career.</p> - -<p>But the seeds of evil were already sown, and the mischief soon became -apparent. He completed the <i>Gerusalemme</i> in 1575, and from that moment -his peace of mind was gone. Whether he overworked himself in that great -task, or whether he had secret causes of annoyance and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> humiliation, of -which his biographers know nothing, it is difficult to conjecture, but -from that period his temper seems to have become morbidly suspicious -and irritable. He was painfully sensitive to criticism, and he harassed -himself and others by perpetually altering and correcting passages to -which objection had been taken. When at last the poem was published, -which was not until some time after its completion, it was attacked by -the Accademia della Crusca with considerable harshness and unfairness. -The great fault found by the Academy was that the idiom was not always -purely Tuscan. The very first line of the first Canto was singled out -for censure:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Canto l'arme pietose e il Capitano."<br /> -</p> - -<p>The poet uses the word "pietose" in the sense of 'pious," whereas the -Academy contended that it could never mean anything but "compassionate."</p> - -<p>Tasso was not only worried by these minute quibbles, but he was also -haunted by the dreadful apprehension that his religious orthodoxy -might be impugned, and he himself applied to the Fathers of the Holy -Inquisition for an examination and a vindication. In vain the Fathers -assured him with unanimous cordiality that such a process was utterly -superfluous, and that the purity of his faith had never for a moment -been held in doubt; he still professed himself dissatisfied, and he -long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> continued to torment himself with religious scruples.</p> - -<p>The Duke of Ferrara, doubtless highly gratified at the success of the -masterpiece of his Court Poet, appointed Tasso his private secretary -when that post became vacant through the death of Giambattista Pigna -in 1577. Probably the arduous duties and the heavy responsibilities of -this appointment weighed him down with a fresh load of anxiety, and he -may have felt that he had become more than ever the object of malice -and envy; whatever the cause, excitability verging on frenzy, and -suspicion verging on madness betrayed themselves more and more in his -speech and actions. He fancied, perhaps not without reason, that some -of his letters had been intercepted; he firmly believed, though with -less foundation, that there was a plot to poison him. He had also the -annoyance, peculiarly galling to an author, of knowing that spurious -copies of his great epic were being circulated throughout Italy, full -of mistakes and interpolated passages.</p> - -<p>All these causes of uneasiness culminated in frightful violence in -the month of June of that fatal year. One evening in the apartments -of the Princess Lucrezia, and even in her presence, he drew a dagger -and stabbed a manservant whom he suspected of being concerned in the -robbery of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> some missing documents. He was arrested, and the Duke -ordered him to be kept a close prisoner. When released from captivity, -he was so excited with grief and indignation, that all observers -pronounced him mad. He took refuge in a Franciscan Monastery; but when -the Duke refused to receive his letters, he dreaded the effects of his -master's anger, and fled from Ferrara in a pitiable condition, without -his manuscripts, without sufficient clothes, and without a particle -of money. He seems actually to have begged his way from Ferrara to -Sorrento, near Naples, where his sister was married to Marzio Sersale. -It would be difficult to find a more picturesque episode in the life -of any poet than that of Tasso presenting himself to his sister in the -garb of a mendicant. She received the unhappy wanderer with hospitality -and affection, welcomed him in her house, and when he was sufficiently -recovered from the fatigues of mind and body to discuss his affairs, -gave him the sensible advice never to return to the Court of Ferrara.</p> - -<p>Unhappily, this advice was rejected; but to be perfectly just in our -estimate of Tasso's conduct, we must bear in mind the position of men -of letters of the Sixteenth Century in Italy. The complete absence of -copyright law made it impossible for even the most popular writer to -derive emolument<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> from his books, for as soon as they acquired any -popularity, they were shamelessly pirated all over the Peninsula. -Enormously popular as they were, even during their lifetime, it does -not appear that either Ariosto or Tasso ever profited to the extent -of even one scudo by the sale of their poems. Thus a writer, unless -he possessed ample means, or held some lucrative office, was entirely -dependent for his bread on the fickle favour of the great. Tasso, -in consequence of the reverses experienced by his father and the -sequestration of his property, was absolutely devoid of anything he -could call his own, and owed even the barest necessaries of life to the -bounty of the Prince whom his violent conduct had, it must be admitted, -justly offended. Great as his reputation was, he might well doubt -whether any other sovereign in Italy would extend to him even a quarter -of similar favour after the reckless and violent conduct of which he -had been guilty.</p> - -<p>Whatever may have been his motives, he wrote again and again to Alfonso -and the Princesses for pardon for his errors and for permission to -return. Eleonora alone answered him, and her reply was not encouraging. -The mortification of being repulsed was doubtless intolerable to his -proud spirit. He deserted Sorrento and the sister whose affection he -should have valued above all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> favours of princes. He went straight -to Ferrara, but the doors of the Palace were barred against him, and to -add to his afflictions, the Duke refused to allow his manuscripts to -be given up to him. He was lonely and destitute, and the bitterness of -his fall was intensified by the jeers of those who, on the very spot of -his disgrace, had envied him the brilliancy of his triumph. Without a -morsel of bread to eat, or a roof under which to take shelter, he sold -some valuable trinkets which had been given to him in happier days by -the Princess Lucrezia, and with the proceeds he made his way through -Mantua and Padua to Venice.</p> - -<p>In these towns he seems to have been received with the consideration -due to his poetical renown; but still the painful question as to where -he should find a permanent home occurred to him in moments of anxiety -and gloom. Strange to say, help came to him from an unexpected quarter. -The Duke of Urbino's marriage with the Princess Lucrezia had turned out -most unhappily, and the couple were now separated. It probably occurred -to the Duke that the best way of annoying the House of Este would be -to show favour to the poet who had been expelled from Ferrara in such -deep disgrace, and Tasso owed to rancour and resentment that temporary -respite from misfortune which he might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> have implored in vain from -esteem and humanity.</p> - -<p>The Duke in time wearied of the capricious and irritable poet, and -Tasso found it expedient to remove to Turin. He received no countenance -from the House of Savoy, and again his evil star led him to the Court -of Ferrara.</p> - -<p>In the month of February, 1579, he returned to Ferrara when it was -at its gayest, on the occasion of the Duke's marriage to Margherita -Gonzaga, daughter of the Duke of Mantua. But Tasso was looked upon -with aversion as an intruder. He wearied those who did not want to see -him with long stories of his grievances, and with bitter invectives at -princely ingratitude. These invectives waxed fiercer, until, after a -culmination of insane violence, the Duke's patience was exhausted, and -he had the unhappy poet arrested and thrown into a cell in the madhouse -of Ferrara.</p> - -<p>Here Tasso languished for more than seven years, until July, 1586. -The most zealous admirers of the poet cannot deny that he brought -this terrible catastrophe upon himself. The Duke cannot be blamed for -having ordered his incarceration; indeed, in the frenzied condition -of his mind at the time of arrest, it was probably the best thing that -could have happened to him. If not placed under restraint, he might -have done himself an injury, or he might even have attacked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> others. -If he had been held in captivity for some weeks, or even months, until -the paroxysm of his frenzy had spent itself, the Duke would not have -incurred the odium which subsequently blackened his memory. But the -peculiar hardship of Tasso's imprisonment was its long duration. A -short period of restraint might actually have been beneficial, but -seven years of gloomy captivity aggravated the malady which they were -intended to cure, and it is no wonder that the patient subsided from -wild excitability into sullen despair.</p> - -<p>It is due to his gaolers to say that he was not treated with the -inhumanity popularly supposed. Visitors were admitted into his -presence, he was allowed occasionally to take walks in the town of -Ferrara and the neighbourhood; his manuscripts were restored to him; he -was at liberty to receive the letters of his friends, and to beguile -with composition the weary hours of captivity. But still the galling -fact remained that he was a prisoner, and a mind naturally prone to -melancholy was still more darkened by contrasting the stern reality -with the brilliant hopes fostered by the triumphs of his youth. He -wrote to many of the nobles and princes of Italy, imploring them to use -their influence to obtain his release. These letters do not seem to -have been either intercepted or delayed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> Strong representations were -undoubtedly made to the Court of Ferrara to obtain the liberation of -one so gifted and so unfortunate. Unhappily for his credit and honour, -Alfonso proved inflexible, and what was originally salutary discipline -became at last detestable tyranny.</p> - -<p>Many different opinions were expressed as to whether Tasso was really -insane. Montaigne, who was travelling in Italy at the time of his -incarceration, visited him in his cell and left a pitiable description -of the apathetic misery in which he found him, as if his powers of -endurance were exhausted by suffering, and nothing but the stupor of -despair remained. Others pointed to the poems, the essays, the letters -he wrote in captivity, and asked in indignant tones whether the author -of compositions so pregnant with thought and so perfect in diction -could possibly be insane? Peculiar, he undoubtedly was; but he had -expiated his errors by severe suffering, and was it not reasonable -to suppose that he had learnt a salutary lesson, and would not, if -restored to freedom, repeat the regrettable follies of the past?</p> - -<p>This consideration, doubtless, after the lapse of so many years, -inclined Alfonso to clemency, and when his brother-in-law, Vincenzo -Gonzaga, interceded for the luckless poet, he did not meet with the -harsh refusal given to others, but was able to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> boast that he alone of -so many petitioners had obtained Tasso's release.</p> - -<p>The door of the cell where the author of the <i>Gerusalemme</i> had -languished for so many years was opened, and he was free to go wherever -he liked. As may be imagined, he was cured of his wish to figure at -the Court of Ferrara, and he left the inhospitable dominions, never to -return.</p> - -<p>Vincenzo Gonzaga took him to Mantua, where he passed the time -immediately following his release. But the re-action, after so long -a period of wretchedness, was too trying for his enfeebled frame. -He forsook the brilliant circles of Mantua for a quieter retreat at -Bergamo with some of his relatives. Here he finished his tragedy of -<i>Torrismondo,</i> begun many years previously, but thrown aside, at first -because he was engaged on the arduous task of his great epic, and then -because his own life drifted into a tragedy far transcending the mimic -sorrows of the stage.</p> - -<p>At Bergamo, he learned that his liberator, Vincenzo Gonzaga, had -succeeded to the Duchy of Mantua. Something of his old hope of -courtly success revived in the wounded heart of Torquato. He left his -provincial abode and hurried to the palace of his benefactor to lay -the dedication of <i>Torrismondo</i> at his feet. He doubtless indulged -in dreams of rich appointments and gratifying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> distinctions. But, -alas! Vincenzo, kind and humane to the captive, seems to have turned -a deaf ear to the courtier. Tasso had an unfortunate knack of making -his presence irksome to his patrons. His ever keen sense of injury -was stung to the quick by the Duke's neglect, and he lost no time in -leaving Mantua to repair to Rome. But here new mortifications awaited -him. Cardinal Scipio Gonzaga lodged him in his Palace, but was neither -cordial nor gracious. Probably the dread that his insanity might burst -out again, made people desirous of keeping him at a distance. Sixtus -the Fifth, who then occupied the Papal Chair, took no interest in -literature, and did not show him any attention, and the example of the -Pope was followed by the Society of the capital.</p> - -<p>He left Rome with even greater disappointment than he had felt in -leaving Mantua. He hurried to Naples, where he had no cause to complain -of the reception that awaited him, for he was overwhelmed with -demonstrations of admiration and affection. But sorrow, captivity, -and anguish of mind had done their evil work; he was but the wreck of -himself, and he could no more endure the sweetness of praise than the -bitterness of neglect. He fled from the kindness of the Neapolitans and -flitted from place to place in a weary pilgrimage, without happiness -and without repose. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> wonder is, in his destitute condition, where -the money came from to enable him to travel. His mind and his health -were in a wretched condition. Distrustful and melancholy, he repelled -even those who most admired his genius and pitied his misfortunes, and -his ever-ready sense of injury magnified the slightest offence into -bitter unkindness. But in spite of agonising thoughts and disturbing -peregrinations, his pen never rested. He completed the <i>Gerusalemme -Conquistata,</i> that unfortunate "improvement" on his masterpiece, -which is never mentioned but to be regretted; he wrote a long poem in -blank verse on the Creation, and dialogues and essays in abundance -and letters innumerable. Indeed, he was throughout his life an -indefatigable correspondent, and he seemed never to doubt that the -outpourings of his mind about his wrongs and grievances would be as -interesting to the recipients as to himself. Some of these letters are -noble and affecting, but too many betray a mind sore and festering from -constant brooding over his calamities. But in the presence of such -misfortune, we can only pity, we cannot condemn.</p> - -<p>Great though his errors were, and wayward as was his temper, he was a -man of whom his country had reason to be proud, and it is pleasing to -be able to narrate that he was destined to receive a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> tardy recognition -for all the works with which he had enriched the literature of Italy. -Cardinal Aldobrandini had been raised to the Papal Chair and had -assumed the name of Clement VIII, and he and his nephews were anxious -to signalise his Pontificate by reviving the Coronation of Petrarch -in the Capitol in favour of a poet not less illustrious and more -unfortunate. Accordingly, Tasso was summoned to Rome, and he was met -outside the gates by an immense concourse of people and a brilliant -galaxy of Cardinals, Prelates, and Nobles. But his frame was worn out, -and the excitement of this great reception hardly infused sufficient -animation to conceal from the bystanders the rapid approach of death. -He was lodged in a noble suite of apartments in the Vatican; the poet -who for so many years had been doomed to a madman's cell, found himself -an honoured guest in the Palace of the Popes.</p> - -<p>But the state and ceremony with which he was surrounded were more than -his ebbing strength could bear. Religious feelings had always held -powerful sway over his sensitive mind, and now, when he felt his end -drawing near, he retired to the Monastery of Sant' Onofrio, situated -on an eminence outside the town. Here, in prayer and meditation, he -devoutly awaited release from all his sorrows. The monks tended him -with care<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> and assiduity; but it is recorded of him that his old -suspicions revived by fits and starts, and on one occasion he made his -attendant swallow the medicine he was directed to take in order to have -ocular proof that it was not poisoned.</p> - -<p>Worn out by his many sufferings, he passed away peacefully on the -twenty-fifth of April, 1595, the day before he was to receive the -laurel in the Capitol. But he probably did not regret that death -prevented him from enjoying this symbol of greatness. As Leopardi, -himself no less familiar with sorrow, beautifully says:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 20%;">"Morte domanda</span><br /> -Chi nostro mal conobbe, e non ghirlanda."<br /> -</p> - -<p>There is a peculiar fitness in the circumstance that a poet, so singled -out for misfortune, was not destined to wear the wreath of a conqueror. -Peaceful after so much agitation, calm after such bitter resentment, -he sank to rest in that secluded monastery, and for thirteen years he -lay in the Church adjoining the quiet cloisters without a stone to mark -his resting-place, until Cardinal Bonifazio Bevilacqua raised a noble -monument to his memory, which may still be seen by the visitor who -wends his way to Sant' Onofrio to pay the tribute of a sigh to so much -glory linked to so much misfortune.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<p>Tasso was tall and active; his countenance was handsome, though in -later years much clouded by melancholy. In his younger days he was an -expert swordsman, and skilled in all bodily exercises.</p> - -<p>The vicissitudes of his life afford such picturesque material for -narration and description that we cannot wonder that it became a -favourite theme with poets and biographers. The noble play of Goethe is -familiar to all lovers of poetry. Of his biographers the earliest was -Manso, a Neapolitan nobleman, who had the singular fortune of being, in -the course of his long life, the friend of three renowned epic poets, -of Tasso himself, of Marino, and of the greatest of all, Milton, whose -acquaintance he made during the travels of the English poet in Italy. -Tasso mentions him in the <i>Gerusalemme Conquistata</i>:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Fra cavalier magnanimi e cortesi<br /> -Risplende il Manso."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Marino did not leave his praises unsung, and Milton addressed him in -one of his finest Latin poems. He must have had striking qualities -to endear him to men so eminent and so different; but his biography, -probably because it was the first, gave rise to many legends which have -been repeated down to the present day. He seems to have been somewhat -credulous, and to have relied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> too much on the statements made to him -by Tasso himself, without distrusting his informant's wild and heated -imagination.</p> - -<p>The Abbé Serassi, in his biography published in 1785, did what Manso -had neglected to do. He sifted the evidence and examined the documents; -and gave to the world a picture much nearer the truth than had yet been -presented; but it was reserved for the indefatigable labours of Angelo -Solerti to produce a really exhaustive history of the poet.</p> - -<p>It must be confessed that in turning from Tasso's life, so full of -passion and romance, to his poetry, we experience a certain sense of -disappointment. Had he not been so striking an object of sympathy and -interest, it may be doubted whether his works would have arrested quite -so much attention as they actually did. Considering the varied panorama -of life that had been unfolded before him and the mental sufferings he -underwent, he does not sound those depths of impassioned meditation -that might be expected. What traces there are of them, will be found -rather in his letters than in his poems. This fact is very strange -and points to the limitations of his talent. He had materials in his -life sufficient to inspire him with great lyric poems, and yet we find -nothing in his odes, sonnets and madrigals to compare to the finest -passages of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> Petrarch, or of Leopardi, or even of Filicaia. None of his -shorter poems impress themselves indelibly on the reader: none glow -with the intensity of lyric fire.</p> - -<p>Not being able to give him the title of a great lyric poet, we proceed -to enquire whether he was a great epic or a great dramatic poet.</p> - -<p>His narrative poems are four in number; the <i>Rinaldo,</i> the <i>Gerusalemme -Liberata,</i> the <i>Gerusalemme Conquistata,</i> and the <i>Sette Giornate -del Mondo Creato,</i> a long work in blank verse on the subject of the -Creation. His <i>Rinaldo</i> is remarkable because it was written in such -early youth; his <i>Gerusalemme Conquistata</i> was admitted even by his -admirers to be an utter failure. It has only one striking passage, -a prophecy of evil to the house of Bourbon, which seems clearly to -foretell the crimes and horrors of the French Revolution, and which -deserves to rank among poetical prophecies next to the celebrated -prediction of the discovery of America in the tragedy of <i>Medea</i> -attributed to Seneca. The <i>Sette Giornate</i> furnished some hints to -Milton when he came to the description of the Creation of the World in -<i>Paradise Lost.</i> It has, however, no intrinsic merit to recommend it, -being heavy and uninteresting to the last degree. These three poems -had hardly vitality enough to keep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> them alive until the close of the -Century in which they were written, and to modern readers they are -quite dead. And yet the subjects were of sufficient interest to afford -brilliant opportunities of displaying the powers of a great writer. We -cannot help asking the question, can he be a great poet who allowed -such brilliant opportunities to escape?</p> - -<p>His pastoral play, <i>Aminta,</i> has much sweetness and freshness of style; -his tragedy, <i>Torrismondo,</i> has some touches that lead us to think -that under happier circumstances and with a mind less pre-occupied with -his own distresses, he might have become a fine dramatist; but the -shepherds and nymphs of the <i>Aminta</i> seem vapid and mawkish to readers -of the present day; and the <i>Torrismondo</i> has not that convincing power -that a tragedy ought to possess.</p> - -<p>In all these works, lyric, epic, and dramatic, Tasso's style, though -sweet and flowing in the earlier productions, is strangely devoid of -originality, and, therefore, of colour; and no writer was more deeply -imbued with the conventional phraseology of the poetry of his age. -Thought and style are alike devoid of those vivid touches that command -admiration and ensure immortality. We are left under the impression -that the poet is not fixing all his powers of mind on his verse, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> -that his attention is largely engaged elsewhere. This absence of full -power is the only trace in his poems of the disordered state of his -mind. Many poets, whose sanity has never been questioned, have passages -far more morbid and eccentric than any that can be found in Tasso's -pages. He never indulges in wild flights of fancy, the order of his -thoughts is lucidity itself; and there are no incoherent and very few -exaggerated metaphors. On the contrary, they would rather gain by a -little more irregularity. They are so logically thought out as to -become occasionally almost exasperating.</p> - -<p>Thus it will be seen that his claims to rank as a great poet rest -entirely on the <i>Gerusalemme Liberata.</i></p> - -<p>In considering that celebrated poem, the first thought that must -occur to the reader is the extremely happy choice of the subject. It -was unhackneyed; it was picturesque; it was noble. We cannot help -feeling that Ariosto is sometimes dragged down by the frivolous -stories he tells; we cannot help feeling that Tasso is sustained and -inspired by the magnificent episodes it is his duty to narrate. He is -rather too fond of imitating passages from Homer and Virgil, but such -imitation was universal in his day, and in his case it is skilfully -executed. The Oriental colouring of the scenes laid in Palestine and -Syria is, perhaps,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> not very vivid, but it is quite as vivid as his -contemporaries expected. On the whole it would be harsh to deny that -he has done justice to his subject, and in one respect he deserves the -highest praise: he imparts a human interest and an air of reality to -his characters that cannot be too highly extolled. Ariosto often treats -his characters merely as puppets, and is himself the first to laugh at -them. Very different is the attitude of Tasso towards his creations. -He believes in them with unshaken sincerity, and he loves them because -he believes in them. Erminia, Sophronia, Armida, Rinaldo, Goffredo, -Tancredi, all stand before us in the life, moving and breathing. As -Goethe says, in his play on the subject of Tasso:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Es sind nicht Schatten die der Wahn erzeugte;<br /> -Ich weiss es, sie sind ewig, denn sie sind.<br /> -<br /> -["They are not shadows by illusion made;<br /> -I know they live for ever, for they live."]<br /> -</p> - -<p>This great quality undoubtedly explains the universal popularity of the -<i>Gerusalemme.</i> That poem even penetrated to classes of the community to -whom, as a rule, literary poets appeal in vain. Detached passages were -set to music, and sung by the people like ballads. For two centuries -the gondoliers beguiled their work with the musical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> stanzas of the -unhappy poet. Who does not remember Byron's lines?—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more,<br /> -And silent rows the songless gondolier."<br /> -</p> - -<p>When they first began to be neglected is not recorded. They seem only -to have been handed down orally. Alterations would inevitably creep in, -and losing their accuracy, they lost also their charm.</p> - -<p>Writing in the same stanza as Ariosto, Tasso could not fail to resemble -him in some respects. They are both clear, rapid, and musical. But the -style of the earlier poet is richer, stronger, more original, and, -I think, in spite of an occasional want of tenderness, more truly -poetical. Tasso too often indulges in conventions and common-places, -hence he becomes feeble and unimpressive. To give samples of the two -poets, I will quote a passage from each.</p> - -<p class="mcap" style="margin-top: 2em;">Ariosto.</p> - -<p><i>A ship of the enemy approaches incautiously the fleet of Charlemagne.</i></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 5%;"> -"Quivi il nocchier, eh' ancor non s'era accorto<br /> -Degl' inimici, entrò con la galea,<br /> -Lasciando molte miglia addietro il porto<br /> -D'Algieri, ove calar prima volea,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>Per un vento gagliardo ch' era sorto,<br /> -E spinto oltre il dover la poppa avea.<br /> -Venir tra i suoi credette, e in loco fido,<br /> -Come vien Progne al suo loquace nido.<br /> -<br /> -Ma come poi l'imperiale augello,<br /> -I gigli d'oro, e i pardi vide appresso,<br /> -Restò pallido in faccia, come quello<br /> -Che 'l piede incauto d'improvviso ha messo<br /> -Sopra 'l serpente venenoso e fello,<br /> -Dal pigro sonno in mezzo l'erbe oppresso;<br /> -Che spaventato e smorto si ritira,<br /> -Fuggendo quel ch'è pien di tosco e d'ira."<br /> -<br /> -<i>"<span class="mcap">Orlando Furioso</span>,"</i> c. xxxìx, st. 31 ani 32.<br /> -</p> - - -<p class="mcap" style="margin-top: 2em;">Tasso.</p> - -<p><i>The Saracens hearing from the walls of Jerusalem the chorus of the -Crusaders in the distance.</i></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 5%;"> -"Colà s'invia l'esercito canoro,<br /> -E ne suonan le valli ime e profonde,<br /> -E gli alti colli e le spelonche loro;<br /> -E da ben mille parti Eco risponde;<br /> -E quasi par che boschereccio coro<br /> -Fra quegli antri si celi e quelle fronde,<br /> -Si chiaramente replicar s'udia<br /> -Or di Cristo il gran nome, or di Maria.<br /> -<br /> -D'in sulle mura ad ammirar frattanto<br /> -Cheti si stanno e attoniti i Pagani<br /> -Que' tardi avvolgimenti, e l'umil canto,<br /> -E l'insolite pompe e i riti estrani.<br /> -Poi che cessò dello spettacol santo<br /> -La novitate, i miseri profani<br /> -Alzâr le strida; e di bestemmie e d'onte<br /> -Mugì il torrente e la gran valle e 'l monte."<br /> -<br /> -"<i><span class="mcap">Gerusalemme Liberata</span></i>," c. xv, st. 11 ani 12.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-top: 2em;">Tasso's style has a pathetic air which is very taking at first sight; -but when we examine it minutely, we find certain weaknesses which -cannot be detected in the style of Ariosto. The magnificent passage -from the <i>Orlando Furioso</i> is without a flaw and could not be improved. -The same cannot be said of the stanzas from the <i>Gerusalemme,</i> musical -as they are. We may be sure that Ariosto would never have been guilty -of the feeble repetition of the feeble epithet, <i>"gran nome, gran -valle."</i></p> - -<p>It is owing to his pathos that Tasso loses so much less in translation -than Ariosto. All the renderings of the <i>Orlando Furioso</i> that I have -seen, are somewhat colourless, even the Elizabethan translation of -Harrington, and even the careful and accurate translation of Rose. The -German translations of Griess and Donner are as admirable as they can -possibly be, considering the great difficulties of the task, but even -they do not quite succeed in reproducing the exquisite flexibility -of Ariosto's style. Tasso, in many respects the most unfortunate of -poets, was singularly lucky in the translators who introduced him to -foreign nations. He has been translated into many languages with signal -success, and with remarkably little loss of spirit and beauty. The -earliest English rendering, that of Fairfax, is the best. It is not -always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> scrupulously accurate, but it is delightfully fresh, vigorous, -and musical. I will subjoin one of the most successful passages which -will give the reader a favourable idea of the skill of Fairfax, and -of the thoughts and conceptions of the illustrious Italian poet, -illustrious in spite of the shortcomings which occasionally detract -from his qualities.</p> - -<p><i>The Christian Knights in search of Rinaldo, find him in the enchanted -Palace of Armida.</i></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 5%;"> -(<span class="mcap">Gerusalemme Liberata, Canto</span> XVI.)<br /> -<br /> -I.<br /> -<br /> -The palace great is builded rich and round,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the centre of the inmost hold</span><br /> -There lies a garden sweet on fertile ground,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fairer than that where grew the trees of gold.</span><br /> -The cunning sprites had buildings reared around,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With doors and entries false a thousandfold.</span><br /> -A labyrinth they made that fortress brave,<br /> -Like Daedal's prison or Porsenna's grave.<br /> -<br /> -II.<br /> -<br /> -The Knights passed through the castle's largest gate.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Though round about a hundred ports there shine),</span><br /> -The door leaves framed of carved silver plate<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon their golden hinges turn and twine;</span><br /> -They stayed to view this work of wit and state,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The workmanship excelled the substance fine,</span><br /> -For all the shapes in that rich metal wrought,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>Save speech, of living bodies wanted nought.<br /> -<br /> -III.<br /> -<br /> -Alcides there sat telling tales, and spun<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among the feeble troups of damsels mild;</span><br /> -(He that the fiery gates of Hell had won,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Heaven upheld); false love stood by and smiled.</span><br /> -Armed with his club, fair Iole forth run,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His club with blood of monsters foul denied;</span><br /> -And on her back his lion's skin had she,<br /> -Too rough a bark for such a tender tree.<br /> -<br /> -IV.<br /> -<br /> -Beyond was made a sea, whose azure flood<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hoary froth crushed from the surges blue,</span><br /> -Wherein two navies great well-rangéd stood<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of warlike ships, fire from their arms out flew;</span><br /> -The waters burnt about their vessels good,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such flames the gold therein enchased threw;</span><br /> -Cæsar his Romans hence, the Asian Kings<br /> -Thence Anthony and Indian Princes, brings;<br /> -<br /> -V.<br /> -<br /> -The Cyclads seemed to swim amid the main,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hill 'gainst hill, and mount 'gainst mountain smote;</span><br /> -With such great fury met those armies twain,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here burnt a ship, there sank a bark or boat;</span><br /> -Here darts and wildfire flew, there drowned or slain<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Princes dead the bodies fleet and float;</span><br /> -Here Cæsar wins, and yonder conquered been<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>The eastern ships, there fled the Egyptian Queen.<br /> -<br /> -VI.<br /> -<br /> -Antonius eke himself to flight betook,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Empire lost to which he would aspire;</span><br /> -Yet fled not he, nor flight for fear forsook,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But followed her, drawn on by fond desire.</span><br /> -Well might you see, within his troubled look,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strive and contend love, courage, shame and ire;</span><br /> -Oft looked he back, oft gazed he on the fight,<br /> -But oftener on his mistress and her flight.<br /> -<br /> -VII.<br /> -<br /> -Then in the secret creeks of fruitful Nile,<br /> -Cast in her lap he would sad Death await.<br /> -And in the pleasure of her lovely smile<br /> -Sweeten the bitter stroke of cursed Fate.<br /> -All this did art with curious hand compile<br /> -In the rich metal of that princely gate.<br /> -The Knights these stories viewed, first and last;<br /> -Which seen, they forward pressed, and in they passed.<br /> -<br /> -VIII.<br /> -<br /> -As through his channel crook'd Meander glides<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With turns and twines, and rolls now to and fro,</span><br /> -Whose streams run forth there to the salt sea-sides,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here back return, and to their spring-ward go;</span><br /> -Such crooked paths, such ways this palace hides;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet all the maze their map described so</span><br /> -That through the labyrinth they go in fine<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>As Theseus did by Ariadne's line.<br /> -<br /> -IX.<br /> -<br /> -When they had passed all those troubled ways,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The garden sweet spread forth her green to shew;</span><br /> -The moving crystal from the fountains plays,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair trees, high plants, strange herbs, and flowers new,</span><br /> -Sun-shiny hills, dales hid from Phœbus' rays,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Groves, arbours, mossy caves at orice they view;</span><br /> -And that which beauty most, most wonder brought,<br /> -Nowhere appeared the art which all this wrought.<br /> -<br /> -X.<br /> -<br /> -So with the rude, the polished mingled was,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That natural seemed all, and every part.</span><br /> -Nature would craft in counterfeiting pass,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And imitate her imitator art.</span><br /> -Mild was the air, the clouds were clear as glass,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The trees no whirlwind felt nor tempest's smart,</span><br /> -But ere their fruit drop off, the blossom comes,<br /> -This springs, that falls, that ripeneth, and this blooms.<br /> -<br /> -XI.<br /> -<br /> -The leaves upon the self-same bough did hide,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the young, the old and ripened fig.</span><br /> -Here fruit was green, there ripe with vermeil side,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The apples new and old grew on one twig.</span><br /> -The fruitful vine her arms spread high and wide,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bended underneath their clusters big;</span><br /> -The grapes were tender here, hard, young and sour,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>There, purple, ripe and nectar sweet forth pour.<br /> -<br /> -XII.<br /> -<br /> -The joyous birds, hid under greenwood shade,<br /> -Sung many notes on every branch and bough;<br /> -The wind that in the leaves and waters played,<br /> -With murmur sweet now sang, and whistled now;<br /> -Ceased the birds, the wind loud answer made,<br /> -And while they sang, it rumbled soft and low;<br /> -Thus, were it hap or cunning, chance or art,<br /> -The wind in this strange music bore his part.<br /> -<br /> -XIII.<br /> -<br /> -With party-coloured plumes and purple bill<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wondrous bird among the rest there flew,</span><br /> -That in plain speech sung lovelays loud and shrill,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her leden<a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> was like human language true;</span><br /> -So much she talked, and with such wit and skill<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That strange it seemed how much good she knew;</span><br /> -Her feathered fellows all stood hushed to hear,<br /> -Dumb was the wind, the waters silent were.<br /> -<br /> -XIV.<br /> -<br /> -"The gently-budding rose (quoth she) behold,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The first scent peeping forth with virgin beams,</span><br /> -Half ope, half shut, her beauties doth upfold<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In their dear leaves, and less seen fairer seems;</span><br /> -And after, spreads them forth more broad and bold,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then languisheth and dies in last extremes;</span><br /> -Nor seems the same that decked bed and bower<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>Of many a lady late and paramour;<br /> -<br /> -XV.<br /> -<br /> -"So in the passing of a day doth pass<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bud and blossom of the life of man,</span><br /> -Nor e'er doth flourish more, but like the gratis<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cut down, becometh withered, pale and wan;</span><br /> -Oh, gather then the rose while time thou has:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Short is the day, done when it scant began;</span><br /> -Gather the rose of love which yet thou may'st;<br /> -Loving be loved; embracing, be embraced."<br /> -<br /> -XVI.<br /> -<br /> -She ceased; and as approving all she spoke,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The choir of birds their heavenly tune renew;</span><br /> -The turtles sighed, and sighs with kisses broke;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fowls to shades unseen by pairs withdrew;</span><br /> -It seemed the laurel chaste and stubborn oak,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the gentle trees on earth that grew,</span><br /> -It seemed the land, the sea and heaven above<br /> -All breathed out fancy sweet and sighed out love.<br /> -<br /> -XVII.<br /> -<br /> -Through all this music rare and strong consent<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of strange allurements, sweet 'bove mean and measure,</span><br /> -Severe, firm, constant, still the Knights forth went,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hardening their hearts 'gainst false, enticing pleasure;</span><br /> -'Twixt leaf and leaf their sight before they sent,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And after crept themselves at ease and leisure</span><br /> -Till they beheld the Queen sit with their knight<br /> -Beside the lake, shaded with boughs from sight.<br /> -<br /> - * * * * - * * * -<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>XXVII.<br /> -<br /> -The twain that hidden in the bushes, were,<br /> -Before the Prince in glittering arms appear.<br /> -<br /> -XXVIII.<br /> -<br /> -As the fierce steed for age withdrawn from war,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherein the glorious beast had always won,</span><br /> -That in vile rest, from fright sequestered far,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Feeds with the mares at large, his service done:</span><br /> -If arms he sees or hears the trumpet's jar,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He neigheth loud, and thither fast doth run,</span><br /> -And wisheth on his back the armed knight,<br /> -Longing for jousts, for tournaments and fight:<br /> -<br /> -XXIX.<br /> -<br /> -So fared Rinaldo when the glorious light<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of their bright harness glistered in his eyes;</span><br /> -His noble spirit awaked at that sight.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His blood began to warm, his heart to rise;</span><br /> -Though drunk with ease, devoid of wonted might,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On sleep till then his weakened virtue lies.</span><br /> -Ubaldo forward stepped and to him held<br /> -Of diamonds clear that pure and precious shield.<br /> -<br /> -XXX.<br /> -<br /> -Upon the targe his looks amazed he bent,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And therein all his wanton habit spied,</span><br /> -His civet, balm, and perfumes redolent,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">How from his locks they smoked and mantle wide</span><br /> -His sword that many a Pagan stout had shent,<a name="FNanchor_2_5" id="FNanchor_2_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_5" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bewrapped with flowers, hung idly by his side,</span><br /> -So nicely decked that it seemed the knight<br /> -Wore it for fashion sake, but not for fight.<br /> -<br /> -XXXI.<br /> -<br /> -As when from sleep and idle dreams abrayed<a name="FNanchor_3_6" id="FNanchor_3_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_6" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A man awaked calls home his wits again,</span><br /> -So in beholding his attire he played,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But yet to view himself could not sustain;</span><br /> -His looks he downward cast and nought he said,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grieved, shamèd, sad, he would have diéd fain;</span><br /> -And oft he wished the earth or ocean wide<br /> -Would swallow him, and so his errors hide.<br /> -<br /> -XXXII.<br /> -<br /> -Ubaldo took the time, and thus began—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"All Europe now, and Asia be in war</span><br /> -And all that Christ adore and fame have won<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In battaille strong, in Syria fighting are;</span><br /> -But thee alone, Bertoldo's noble son,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This little corner keeps, exiled far</span><br /> -From all the world, buried in sloth and shame,<br /> -A carpet champion for a wanton dame!<br /> -<br /> -XXXIII.<br /> -<br /> -"What letharge hath in drowsiness append<a name="FNanchor_4_7" id="FNanchor_4_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_7" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy courage thus? What sloth doth thee infect?</span><br /> -Up! up! Our camp and Godfrey for thee send,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thee fortune, praise and victory expect;</span><br /> -Come fatal champion; bring to happy end<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This enterprise begun, and all that sect</span><br /> -(Which oft thou shaken hast) to earth full low<br /> -With thy sharp brand strike down, kill, overthrow."<br /> -<br /> -XXXIV.<br /> -<br /> -This said, the noble infant stood a space<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Confused, speechless, senseless, ill, ashamed,</span><br /> -But when that shame to just disdain gave place,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To fierce disdain, from courage sprung untamed,</span><br /> -Another redness blushèd through his face,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whence worthy anger shone, displeasure flamed;</span><br /> -His nice attire in scorn he rent and tore,<br /> -For of his bondage vile that witness bore;<br /> -<br /> -XXXV.<br /> -<br /> -That done he hastèd from the charmed fort,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And through the maze passed with his searchers twain.</span><br /> -Armida of her mount and chiefest port<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wondered to find the furious keeper slain;</span><br /> -Awhile she feared, but she knew in short<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That her dear lord was fled; then saw she plain</span><br /> -(Ah! woeful sight!) how from her gates the man<br /> -In haste and fear, in wrath and anger ran.<br /> -</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_4" id="Footnote_1_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_4"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Leden—<i>language.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_5" id="Footnote_2_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_5"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Shent—<i>Iniured.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_6" id="Footnote_3_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_6"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Abrayed—<i>Awaked.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_7" id="Footnote_4_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_7"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Append—<i>Tied-up.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></h5> - - -<h4>MARINO, CHIABRERA, FILICAIA AND OTHER POETS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p>The Annals of Italy during the Seventeenth Century were not signalised -by disasters as terrible as those of the Sixteenth Century. The country -was not desolated by the invasion of foreign conquerors. Rome was -not sacked for a second time. Florence was not convulsed with civil -dissensions. But the nation was sick at heart, and the tyranny of her -rulers gave only the choice of submission or death. Lombardy, Naples -and Sicily were groaning under the iron yoke of Spain. The petty -sovereigns ruled with irresponsible despotism over their dominions. -Venice and Genoa boasted that they were free; but the freedom of Venice -consisted in the rule of a suspicious oligarchy, guiltless, indeed, -of wanton oppression, but upholding its rule by merciless punishment -of the slightest disaffection. The Papal States were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> exhausted in -their endeavour to minister to the splendour of the families of a -rapid succession of Popes, for never was nepotism more rampant than -in the Seventeenth Century, and the illustrious houses of Rome, the -Aldobrandini, the Borghese, the Pamphili, the Barberini, the Chigi, the -Altieri, the Odescalchi, the Albani, date their greatness from that -epoch. The Catholic reaction subsequent to the Reformation established -a rigid code of theology, from which it was fatal to dissent. Leo X had -underrated the importance of the Reformation, but his successors made -up for the error by exercising unceasing vigilance over their spiritual -subjects. The only rising in favour of freedom was that of Masaniello -in Naples, which was rather a riot than a rebellion. Still, some great -minds pined for happier things, and the finest flashes of poetry in the -Century were kindled by the fire of patriotism.</p> - -<p>It has always been the policy of despots to supply their subjects with -plenty of amusements. Accordingly we find in the Seventeenth Century -records of gorgeous pageants and brilliant theatrical entertainments, -and the already waning wealth of the nation was further exhausted by -reckless prodigality of governments and individuals. Italian Opera -took its origin early in the Century, and <span class="mcap">Rinuccini</span> was the first -Librettist.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> The theatre more and more engaged the attention of -writers, but nothing remarkable was produced, with the exception, -perhaps, of the tragedies of <span class="mcap">Cardinal Delfino</span>, Patriarch of Aquilea, -which present here and there touches worthy of a fine poet. The -death-scene of his <i>Cleopatra</i> bears a striking resemblance to the -corresponding scene in <i>Anthony and Cleopatra,</i> although he doubtless -never so much as heard of Shakespeare's name.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Battista Guarini</span>, who died in 1612, was pre-eminent, by reason of his -<i>Pastor Fido,</i> among writers of Pastoral Plays; but these insipid and -unreal creations have no attraction for modern readers. The <i>Pastor -Fido</i> is a work of much skill and ingenuity; but it is tainted with -that fondness for quibbles and conceits which disfigures so much of the -literature of the Seventeenth Century, not only in Italy, but also in -other countries. If Italy had her Marino, Spain had her Gongora, France -her Benserade, and England her Lyly, Donne, and Cowley. It is curious -to remark how a literary fashion spreads from one country to another, -and in that age of scanty travel and difficult communication, it is -doubly curious. Thus, in the early part of the Nineteenth Century, -Byronism became a universal epidemic.</p> - -<p>The love of far-fetched conceits originated in the latter half of the -Sixteenth Century. We see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> much of it in Shakespeare's early comedies, -and the traces of it in Tasso gave ground to Boileau one hundred years -later to sneer at those who preferred "the tinsel of Tasso to the gold -of Virgil."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"A Racan, à Malherbe, préférer Théophile,<br /> -Et le clinquant du Tasse à tout l'or de Virgile."<br /> -</p> - -<p>It is, however, unjust to blame Tasso for an inordinate profusion of -conceits. He presents some, it is true, but they are almost always -ingenious and imaginative, and not so far-fetched as to be unnatural.</p> - -<p>The poet who really set the fashion of fantastic ingenuity, was -<span class="mcap">Giambattista Marino</span> (or <span class="mcap">Marini</span>, for both forms of the name seem to -have been used by his contemporaries), a Neapolitan, born in 1569, -died in 1625. His chief work is the <i>Adone</i> an epic poem in twenty -enormous cantos on the loves of Venus and Adonis. If it were not for -its appalling length, the poem would have much to recommend it. He also -wrote other epics, not quite so voluminous: <i>La Gerusalemme Distrutta, -La Strage degl' Innocenti,</i> on the Massacre of the Innocents, and -numerous lyric effusions. When he was at Turin, he had a vulgar dispute -with a rival poet of the name of Murtola, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> numerous satires and -pasquinades were the result. Murtola was so incensed at the biting -sarcasms of Marino, that he waylaid him one evening and fired a -pistol. The shot killed, not Marino, but a favourite courtier of the -Duke of Savoy, who was walking with the poet. Murtola was thrown into -a dungeon, but Marino interceded for his fallen rival, and it is a -curious illustration of the absolute power of the Princes of those -days, that all proceedings against Murtola were stopped, and he was -granted a free pardon. Marino had reason to regret his intercession for -so unworthy an object. Murtola accidentally discovered a copy of verses -written by Marino many years previously, reflecting on the Duke. He -lost no time in forwarding them to the Duke, who was so incensed that -he would doubtless have inflicted upon Marino the punishment from which -he had saved the treacherous Murtola, had not Marino prudently taken -refuge in flight.</p> - -<p>He repaired to Paris, where he was enthusiastically received, and -Marie de Medici, the second wife of Henry IV, and Regent during the -minority of Louis XIII, gave him a large pension and many other tokens -of Royal favour. He enjoyed full leisure to complete his <i>Adone,</i> and -when it was published in 1623, it fully satisfied the expectations -of his admirers. He returned to his native city of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> Naples, where a -magnificent ovation awaited him. He did not, however, live long to -enjoy his triumph, and Italy had to mourn his loss in 1625.</p> - -<p>Marino exactly hit the taste of his contemporaries, and the praises -lavished upon him are almost incredible in their exaggeration. The poet -Claudio Achillini wrote to him from Bologna: "There is not a doubt -in my mind that you are the greatest poet the world has ever seen." -Cardinal Bentivoglio, one of the most brilliant intellects of the age, -addressed him in terms hardly less rapturous.</p> - -<p>There must assuredly have been something remarkable in Marino's works -to produce such a dazzling effect on his contemporaries.</p> - -<p>In early youth Marino formed a theory that a poet in order to succeed -ought to astonish his readers. In every line he wrote, it was his -object to excite astonishment. He fully succeeded. The most ingenious -thoughts, the most dazzling metaphors, the most vivid descriptions, are -crowded together in his pages to such an extent that it is impossible -to deny that he was prodigally gifted by Nature with some of the rarest -attributes of thought and imagination. But his works present no human -interest, no patriotic fire, and no religious inspiration. They are -fantastic and unreal, but then they do not pretend to be anything else. -His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> imagination presented him with an inexhaustible succession of -brilliant and striking images, and provided they glittered and sparkled -in his verse, he was careless whether they were true to nature or -consistent with each other. He is a delightful poet to read in detached -passages when the mind wants to indulge in the refreshing vagaries of -fancy. He is very even in his style; possessing consummate mastery -over his language, the most elaborate difficulties of rhyme and metre -present no obstacles to him. I do not think that he is in any respect -inferior to Spenser in strength of poetical inspiration, and he is -certainly less heavy and slow. But the subject of his principal work -is frivolous, and it is, in truth, a mere bubble of the imagination, -made to expand, glitter, and burst. But for that purpose it is much -too long. Heroic thoughts alone should assume heroic proportions. Even -in Ariosto, we have the same effect too often. Much more so in the -<i>Adone.</i> Marino had nothing of the classical simplicity of Ariosto. -He probably disdained it as insipid. But high seasoning involves -rapid satiety, and the mind derives no nourishment from condiments so -artificial. This circumstance alone solves the problem why Marino has -fallen into such neglect. Take each stanza of his poems and consider it -separately, and it appears a marvel of fancy, ingenuity, and musical -diction. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> take his productions as a whole, and it cannot be denied -that they are wanting in sustained interest, in human pathos, and in -philosophic intention. Indeed, he had nothing of a philosopher. No -great problems occupy his mind; no sublime aspirations raise him above -sublunary things. He spends the wealth of his intellect, not on noble -monuments, but on filigree trinkets. Hence, probably, his popularity. -His contemporaries did not want to be shaken with tempestuous -sublimity, or led to an abyss of profound meditation. They wanted to -be lulled into voluptuous repose by a singer skilful enough to delight -their fancy with strains sufficiently beautiful to compensate the -absence of higher qualities, and yet not too elevated to soar beyond -the range of the limited horizon to which they confined themselves. -Hence Marino's brilliant success. But he sacrificed to immediate -popularity the admiration and gratitude of future ages, which with his -prodigal gifts of song and imagination he might possibly have acquired.</p> - -<p>As a sample of Marino's style, I subjoin the beautiful opening stanza -of the seventh canto of the <i>Adone.</i></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Musica e Poesia son due sorelle,<br /> -Ristoratrici delle afflitte genti,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>De' rei pensier le torbide procelle<br /> -Con liete rime a serenar possenti.<br /> -Non ha di queste il mondo arti più belle,<br /> -O più salubri all' affannate menti,<br /> -Nè cor la Scizia ha barbaro cotanto,<br /> -Se non è tigre, a cui non piaccia il canto."<br /> -</p> - -<p>As Marino aspired to be the first epic poet of his age, <span class="mcap">Gabriello -Chiabrera</span>, of Savona, aspired to be its first lyric poet, and he -took Pindar for his model. He obtained much applause, but it may be -doubted whether he was quite so successful as his contemporary. He -has nothing like Marino's teeming wealth of imagination, and his more -ambitious Odes are often turgid and heavy. On the other hand, it must -be allowed that his most successful passages are splendid and sonorous. -The <i>Adone</i> is the best of the long-winded Italian epics with the -exception of the two unapproachable masterpieces, the <i>Orlando Furioso</i> -and the <i>Gerusalemme Liberata.</i> But it cannot be said that Chiabrera -comes as near to Petrarch as Marino does to his two illustrious -predecessors. He is full of those hackneyed mythological allusions -which encumbered poetry up to the end of the Eighteenth Century, nor -has he the excuse of indulging in them for the purpose of conjuring -up gorgeous and romantic visions. His powers of description are but -slight, a remarkable circumstance, as his powers of versification were -beyond doubt very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> extensive. Some of his lighter poems are gay and -vivacious, and he wrote a series of epitaphs known to English readers -by Wordsworth's noble translation. Not often did Chiabrera indulge in a -strain so natural and impassioned as the following:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Not without heavy grief of heart did he<br /> -On whom the duty fell (for at that time<br /> -The father sojourned in a distant land)<br /> -Deposit in the hollow of this tomb<br /> -A brother's child most tenderly beloved!<br /> -Francesco was the name the youth had borne,<br /> -Pozzobonelli his illustrious house;<br /> -And when beneath this stone the corse was laid,<br /> -The eyes of all Savona streamed with tears.<br /> -Alas! the twentieth April of his life<br /> -Had scarcely flowered; and at this early time<br /> -By genuine virtue he inspired a hope<br /> -That greatly cheered his country; to his kin<br /> -He promised comfort; and the flattering thoughts<br /> -His friends had in their fondness entertained,<br /> -He suffered not to languish or decay.<br /> -Now is there not great reason to break forth<br /> -Into a passionate lament? O Soul!<br /> -Short while a Pilgrim in our nether world,<br /> -Do thou enjoy the calm empyreal air;<br /> -And round this earthly tomb let roses rise,<br /> -An everlasting spring! in memory<br /> -Of that delightful fragrance which was once<br /> -From thy mild manners quietly exhaled."<br /> -</p> - -<p>The following epitaph on an Admiral is also fine:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"There never breathed a man who, when his life<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>Was closing, might not of that life relate<br /> -Toils long and hard. The warrior will report<br /> -Of wounds, and bright swords flashing in the field,<br /> -And blast of trumpets. He who hath been doomed<br /> -To bow his forehead in the Courts of Kings<br /> -Will tell of fraud and never-ceasing hate,<br /> -Envy and heart-inquietude, derived<br /> -From intricate cabals of treacherous friends.<br /> -I, who on shipboard lived from earliest youth,<br /> -Could represent the countenance horrible<br /> -Of the vexed waters, and the indignant rage<br /> -Of Auster and Bootes. Fifty years<br /> -Over the well-steered galleys did I rule.<br /> -From huge Pelorus to the Atlantic pillars,<br /> -Rises no mountain to mine eyes unknown;<br /> -And the broad gulfs I traversed oft and oft.<br /> -Of every cloud which in the heavens might stir<br /> -I knew the force; and hence the rough sea's pride<br /> -Availed not to my Vessel's overthrow.<br /> -What noble pomp and frequent have not I<br /> -On regal decks beheld! yet in the end<br /> -I learned that one poor moment can suffice<br /> -To equalise the lofty and the low.<br /> -We sail the sea of life—a Calm one finds,<br /> -And one a Tempest—and, the voyage o'er,<br /> -Death is the quiet haven of us all.<br /> -If more of my condition ye would know,<br /> -Savona was my birthplace, and I sprang<br /> -Of noble parents; seventy years and three<br /> -Lived I—then yielded to a slow desease."<br /> -</p> - -<p>A poet who may not have equalled Chiabrera in the general excellence of -his work, but who far surpassed him in sudden and brilliant flashes of -inspiration, was <span class="mcap">Vincenzio Da Filicaia</span>, a Florentine,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> born in 1642, -died in 1707.<a name="FNanchor_1_8" id="FNanchor_1_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_8" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> A few of his very finest verses are so renowned, that -when we turn to an edition of his complete works, we are disagreeably -surprised to find that the bulk of his poetry is far from coming up -to his most striking passages. He is often conventional and turgid, -sometimes heavy and awkward. He has not Chiabrera's technical skill, -nor has he the vivacity of lighter poets. Hallam complained of a want -of sunshine in his verse, and in truth his elegies are occasionally -doleful where they ought to be tragic. The man seems to have been -greater than his works; but when a chord of his lyre touches his heart, -he breaks forth into song so noble and impassioned that he fully -deserves to be acclaimed the greatest Italian poet in the Seventeenth -Century. First and foremost stands his celebrated Sonnet on Italy, -especially the four opening lines:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Italia! Italia! O tu cui feo la sorte<br /> -Dono infelice di bellezza, ond'hai<br /> -Funesta dote d'infiniti guai<br /> -Che in fronte scritti per gran doglia porte."<br /> -</p> - -<p>But there is something heavy and slow in the continuation and -conclusion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> - -<p>Superior in general excellence, though not possessing the inimitable -pathos of the passage just quoted, is the sonnet beginning:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Dov'è, Italia, il tuo braccio? e a che ti servi<br /> -Tu dell' altrui? non è, s'io scorgo il vero,<br /> -Da chi t'offende, il difensor men fero,<br /> -Ambo nemici son, ambo fur servi."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Another sonnet on the same subject opens very impressively:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Vanno a un termine sol, con passi eguali,<br /> -Del verno, Italia, e di tua vita l'ore;<br /> -Nè ancor sai quante di sua man lavore<br /> -A tuo danno il Destin saette e strali."<br /> -</p> - -<p>So does a fourth:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Sono, Italia, per te discordia e morte<br /> -In due nomi una cosa; e a si gran male<br /> -Un mal s'aggiunge non minor, che frale<br /> -Non se' abbastanza, nè abbastanza forte."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Christina, Queen of Sweden, took up her residence in Rome after her -abdication, and delighted in attracting a brilliant circle to her -Court. Filicaia does not seem to have left his native city, but she -extended her patronage to his sons, and he celebrated her munificence -in many odes, and wrote a noble Sonnet on her death. In one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> of his -poems he exhorts Rome to rejoice in Christina's presence:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Non lungi là dal gelido Boöte<br /> -Sorse indi a poco imperiosa Stella,<br /> -Ma fausta si, che se mentir non vuoi,<br /> -Dire a ragion tu puoi:<br /> -Antica Roma, a par di te son bella."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Filicaia received immense praise and universal renown for a series -of Odes on the Liberation of Vienna from the Turks by John Sobiesky, -King of Poland, in 1683. No lyric poems in the Italian language are -more universally known. They are undoubtedly splendid and effective -compositions. They inspired Wordsworth with the following Sonnet:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -'Oh, for a kindling touch from that pure flame<br /> -Which ministered, erewhile, to a sacrifice<br /> -Of gratitude, beneath Italian skies,<br /> -In words like these: 'Up, Voice of Song! proclaim<br /> -'Thy saintly rapture with celestial aim;<br /> -'For lo! the Imperial City stands released<br /> -'From bondage threatened by the embattled East,<br /> -'And Christendom respires, from guilt and shame<br /> -'Redeemed, from miserable fear set free<br /> -'By one day's feat, one mighty victory.<br /> -'Chant the deliverer's praise in every tongue;<br /> -'The Cross shall spread, the Crescent hath waxed dim,<br /> -'He conquering, as in joyful Heaven is sung;<br /> -'He conquering through God, and God through Him.'"<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> - -<p>The poems rise to the occasion, but at times they are more rhetorical -than poetical, and the constant apostrophes to God to wake up from His -sleep are not in the best taste. Filicaia unfortunately devotes almost -as much eulogy to the ungrateful Leopold as to the heroic Sobiesky, and -the grovelling adulation with which he addresses Royal and Imperial -personages, detracts from the loftiness of the whole.</p> - -<p>Filicaia was remarkable for tenderness. One of the finest of his -sonnets is on Divine Providence:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Qual madre i figli con pietoso affetto,"<br /> -</p> - -<p>in which thought and pathos are blended with admirable art. Some of -his sonnets are strikingly ingenious. Very beautiful is that on the -earth-quake of Sicily, in 1683:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Quì pur foste, o Città; nè in voi quì resta<br /> -Testimon di voi stesse un sasso solo,<br /> -In cui si scriva: Quì s'aperse il suolo,<br /> -Qui fu Catania, e Siracusa è questa!"<br /> -</p> - -<p>Very beautiful are some of his religious verses:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Avess' io scritto meno, e assai più pianto;<br /> -E stil men terso avessi, alma più bella,<br /> -Men chiaro ingegno, e cor più puro e santo!"<br /> -</p> - -<p>The final impression left by Filicaia's poems is that he was a great -nature rather than a perfect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> poet, and that it is owing to the -loftiness of his spirit rather than to the mastery of his art, that his -pages, too often cumbrous and conventional, are irradiated with flashes -so brilliant and striking that they leave an indelible impression on -the reader and place the poet on a pedestal more lofty and honourable -than many writers, gifted with keener wit and more vivid imagination, -can ever hope to ascend.</p> - -<p>As Chiabrera took Pindar for his model, so did <span class="mcap">Fulvio Testi</span> endeavour -to appear in the character of an Italian Horace. And, in truth, he -had many qualities to justify his undertaking the task. He has wit, -ingenuity, clear and pointed expression, and a mind genuinely poetical. -He seems to have developed early, and some of his best pieces were -written before he was twenty-five. He dedicated an edition of his poems -to Charles Emmanuel, Duke of Savoy, and thereby incurred the wrath of -the Spanish Governor of Lombardy, and had to take refuge in flight. -The Duke of Modena became his patron and gave him a pension, and his -successor, Francis I, was even more favourable to the poet, and took -him in his suite to Madrid in 1638, when Philip IV of Spain conferred -upon him a lucrative office. Testi resembled Ariosto in being made -Governor of the Province of Garfagnana, and Tasso in exciting the most -intense<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> hatred and jealousy. For some unexplained reason, he was -arrested early in 1646 and thrown into prison, where he met his death -on the twenty-eighth of August. It is suspected that he was executed -within the precincts of the prison, but nothing certain is known; all -is suspicion and mystery. If he has not left anything very memorable, -his poems are at least spirited and elegant, and, unlike many of his -contemporaries, he is never dull and ponderous. Some of his letters are -witty and vivacious.</p> - -<p>The great painter, <span class="mcap">Salvator Rosa</span>, often amused his leisure with writing -verses, and if his attention had not been so strongly directed to -the sister art of painting, he might have achieved notable success -in poetry. Some of his ballads are spontaneous and natural, and his -satires show genuine powers of observation and ridicule. That on the -painters of his day is, perhaps, the best, and is well worth reading.</p> - -<p>Another satirist of merit was <span class="mcap">Benedetto Menzini</span>. Like Filicaia, he -enjoyed the patronage of Christina of Sweden. Never, since the terrible -catastrophe of the sack of Rome under Clement VII, did the Eternal -City present such a magnificent aspect as in the latter part of the -Seventeenth Century. The stately days of Leo X seemed to be revived. -Alexander VII signalised his Pontificate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> by extraordinary splendour. -The colonnade enclosing the square before St. Peter's was erected by -Bernini in his reign. Christina vied with the Pope in the magnificence -of her Court. The Ambassadors to the Vatican endeavoured to out-shine -each other in pomp and luxury. If Menzini who lived in the heart of -this splendid society, did not transfer more than a dim reflection of -its brilliancy to his pages, he writes at least as a man who has seen -and observed much, and he is neither a pedant nor an empty declaimer. -He wrote an Art of Poetry—in verse, almost as good as that written in -France at the same period by Boileau. His sonnets and serious poems are -much more conventional. He was a good Latinist, but the great series of -Italian writers of Latin poems closed with the sparkling epigrams of -the brothers Amaltei.</p> - -<p>Another lyric poet attracted to Rome by the liberality of the Queen -of Sweden was <span class="mcap">Alessandro Guidi</span>. He found a patron not only in that -Princess, but also, early in the Eighteenth Century, in Pope Clement -XI, whose Latin homilies he turned into Italian verse. Previous writers -had, in the composition of their Odes, observed the most rigid rules -of metre and rhyme. The same stanza, the same order of rhymes, was -maintained throughout each poem. Guidi, whether from want of skill, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> -from indolence, or from love of originality, was thé first to discard -this iron regularity, and to write Odes in irregular stanzas, even -occasionally leaving verses without giving them a succeeding rhyme. -This was followed at intervals by other writers, until it culminated -in the boundless freedom of Leopardi, who, in his last productions, -introduces rhymes so sparingly as to make his metre little more than -a modification of blank verse. After Leopardi's imitators had tired -the public ear with their slipshod effusions, a reaction set in, -and regular stanzas are now more than ever in favour, the long and -elaborate stanzas of Filicaia being, however, neglected for the lighter -and more pointed quatrains.</p> - -<p>By this license, strongly censured at the time, Guidi undoubtedly -gained greater freedom of movement, and he is never obliged to force -his thoughts and twist his phrases. But it cannot be said that his -conceptions are more natural and unconventional than those of his -predecessors. He has no great glow of imagination, no rainbow hues -of fancy, no depth of thought, nor has he any powers of pathos or -tenderness. But he is always tasteful and scholarly, and his works are -perfectly free from any taint of coarseness or vulgarity.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Alessandro Marchetti</span> was remarkable rather for his magnificent -translation of Lucretius than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> for any of his original productions. The -book was considered in Italy of a tendency too dangerous to be allowed -to pass the censorship, and it had to be printed in London and smuggled -surreptitiously into the country of its origin.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Francesco Redi</span> wrote one very celebrated work, <i>Bacco in Toscana,</i> a -dithyramb, full of fire and enthusiasm, a species of poem of which -there are few examples in the Italian language. He was a physician by -profession, and greatly advanced the science of his time. He died in -1698.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Carlo Maria Maggi</span> wrote some pleasing poems in the Milanese dialect, -and some of his Sonnets addressed to Italy have the patriotic fire so -much extolled in Filicaia.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Felice Zappi</span> and <span class="mcap">Faustina Maratti</span>, his wife, wrote some noble and -spirited Sonnets. One by Zappi on the Moses of Michael Angelo, has most -striking beauty and originality.</p> - -<p>The Seventeenth Century was not rich in comic poets. The versifiers of -the age are mostly distinguished by a rather monotonous seriousness. -Two poets, however, are remarkable for their comic inventions, <span class="mcap">Lorenzo -Lippi</span> and <span class="mcap">Alessandro Tassoni</span>.</p> - -<p>The former, a Florentine, was painter as well as poet. He wrote a -burlesque poem in Ottava Rima called the <i>Malmantile.</i> It is valued<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> -as a storehouse of Tuscan phrase, and is, indeed, so full of the slang -of the Mercato Vecchio as to be almost unintelligible to Italians -themselves, much more to foreigners, without the copious annotations of -the commentators.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Alessandro Tassoni</span> was a native of Modena, born in 1565, died in -1635. He distinguished himself as a Commentator on Petrarch, but more -especially by his mock-heroic poem, <i>La Secchia Rapita,</i> which may be -translated <i>The Rape of the Bucket.</i> Like so many other writers of -the day, he passed his life in the service of Cardinals md Princes, -and he suffered much from the caprice of his masters and the envy -of his rivals. But he ended his days peacefully as a pensioner of -Francis I, Duke of Modena. His principal work, <i>La Secchia Rapita,</i> has -much ingenuity of thought to recommend it, but his style is somewhat -deficient in colour, and his subject is not very interesting in itself, -nor is it made so by its author. Misled by the similarity of the names, -Dickens, in his <i>Pictures from Italy,</i> attributes the <i>Secchia Rapita</i> -to Tasso. Among mock-heroic poems of modern times, Boileau's <i>Lutrin</i> -may be said to be slightly inferior to the <i>Secchia Rapita,</i> but Pope's -<i>Rape of the Lock</i> and Leopardi's <i>Paralipomeni</i> vastly superior, both -in brilliancy of thought and perfection of style.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> - -<p>In comparing the poetry of the Seventeenth Century with that of the -Sixteenth, we are struck by the curious fact that its authors have -a more old-fashioned air than their predecessors. This is partly to -be-accounted for by their search for ingenious conceits, which prevents -them from being as flowing and natural as the contemporaries of Ariosto -and Tasso. Their style, too, is more cumbrous. They are fonder of -long and complicated periods than the poets of the Sixteenth Century. -But they have many compensating qualities. Their very fault of being -too artificial in thought and imagery argues the possession of no -little imagination and fertility. A man cannot pervert into strange -and fantastic forms his thoughts and conceptions without being at -considerable pains to do so. None of these writers spare themselves -any trouble, and they often choose the most difficult metres which -the language can present. Their great defect is conventionality of -phraseology, which began with Tasso and only ended in the Nineteenth -Century with Monti. They bedeck themselves with the rags of Ancient -Mythology, and do not seem for a moment to suspect that they would -look much better in unborrowed garments. Instead of talking of the -wind, they talk of Boreas. Instead of mentioning the sea, they mention -Neptune and Thetis. All<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> this makes even the best of them unnatural and -pedantic to a degree, and it is only in their very finest passages that -they are enjoyable to the modern reader. The intense love for Classical -Antiquity had died out with the Renaissance, and the allusions to the -Gods of Greece and Rome were but the outcome of habit and convention. -Instead of adorning their works, these allusions positively make them -dry, for it is only Marino who uses them as they should be used: for -the display of brilliant pageants of description and imagery. He -conjures up a fairyland of his own as Keats did two hundred years later.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_8" id="Footnote_1_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_8"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Lord Somers was a great admirer of Filicaia. See Lord -Campbell's <i>Lives of the Chancellors,</i> and Macaulay's <i>History.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h5> - - -<h4>GALILEO AND THE PROSE WRITERS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p>In enumerating the Prose Writers of the Seventeenth Century, we are -confronted with the illustrious name of <span class="mcap">Galileo Galilei</span>, which will -continue to be remembered as long as Science is cultivated.</p> - -<p>This celebrated man was born at Pisa in 1564, and died at Arcetri, near -Florence, in 1642. He was Professor of Mathematics at the University -of Pisa, and there would be absolutely nothing of note to tell of his -life, had he not happened to come into collision with the Inquisition, -for maintaining, or rather for his method of maintaining, that the -earth revolved round the sun. He was cited to appear before the -Tribunal of the Inquisition, but when he arrived in Rome he was treated -with consideration, and even with distinction. His place of arrest was -the magnificent palace of the Tuscan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> Ambassador, near the Trinità de' -Monti. But it will be more satisfactory to quote his own statement in a -letter to a priest of his acquaintance, Father Vincenzo Renieri.</p> - -<p>"From a youth upwards," he writes, "I meditated the composition of -a Dialogue on the Two Systems of Ptolemy and Copernicus. My chief -inducement was to explain the ebb and flow of the tides by the movement -of the earth. That which first acquainted Rome with my opinions on the -movement of the earth was a long dissertation which I addressed to -Cardinal Orsini, and then I was denounced as a scandalous and impudent -writer. After the publication of my Dialogues, I was summoned to Rome -by the Congregation of the Holy Office I arrived in Rome on the tenth -of February, 1633, and was confined to the delightful palace of the -Tuscan Ambassador on the Trinità de' Monti. Next day I was visited by -Father Lancio, Commissary of the Holy Inquisition. He took me with him -in his carriage. On the way he asked me numerous questions. He was most -zealous in his endeavour to make me repair the scandal I had given to -the whole of Italy by maintaining the shocking doctrine that the earth -revolved round the sun. To all my arguments, drawn from physics and -mathematics, he answered in the words of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> Scripture: '<i>Terra autem in -æternum stabit, quia Terra autem in æternum stat.</i>' Occupied in this -conversation, we arrived at the Palace of the Holy Office, situated -to the west of the magnificent Church of St. Peter. I was immediately -presented by the Commissary to Monsignor Vitrici, the Assessor. Two -Dominican Monks were with him. They politely requested me to produce -my arguments before the full Congregation, so that in case I should -be condemned my defence might be heard. The following Thursday I was -presented to the Congregation. I produced my proofs, but unhappily -they were not appreciated, and all my endeavours failed to make them -acceptable. They zealously endeavoured to convince me of the scandal I -had given, and the passage of Scripture was always quoted as a proof of -my guilt. I remembered opportunely an argument drawn from Scripture. -I alleged it, but with little success. I said that it appeared to me -that there were passages in the Bible worded in accordance with the -popular views of Astronomy current in antiquity, and that the passage -which was quoted against me might be conceived in that spirit. I added -that in the Book of Job, chapter xxxvii, v. 18, it is said that the -heavens are as if they were made of metal and bronze. Elihu it is who -utters these words. Thus we clearly see that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> speaks according to -the system of Ptolemy, and that system has been proved to be absurd by -modern philosophy and common sense. If, therefore, so much stress is -laid on Joshua stopping the sun, we ought also to consider that passage -where it is said that the heavens are composed of so many skies like -mirrors. The inference seemed to me to be perfectly logical. Still, it -was always slurred over, and I could extract no reply except a shrug of -the shoulders, the usual refuge of those who have made up their minds, -and who are deaf to argument from excess of prejudice.</p> - -<p>"Finally, I was obliged, as a good Catholic, to retract my opinion, -and my Dialogue was placed on the Index of forbidden books. After -five months I received permission to leave Rome. Florence was then -visited by the Plague, and as the place of my arrest, I was sent, as -a great favour, to the abode of the dearest friend I had at Siena, -the Archbishop Piccolomini. His company gave me so much pleasure and -contributed so much to my peace of mind, that I resumed my studies, -and after another five months, when the Plague had lost its virulence -in Florence, I was, by the kindness of his Holiness the Pope, allowed -to exchange the confinement of that house for the liberty of a country -retreat which I so vastly enjoy. Towards the beginning of December of -this year, 1633,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> I returned to the Villa of Belriguardo, and then to -Arcetri, where I am now, enjoying salubrious air in the neighbourhood -of my cherished Florence."</p> - -<p>This letter, dated Arcetri, December, 1633, gives a plain unvarnished -account of what took place. It is obvious, from the expressions used -by Galileo, that he thought he was let off with considerable leniency. -We cannot fail to agree with him when we think of Bruno and Vanini, -who, not long before, had been burnt alive by the same Tribunal, and of -Campanella, confined in a dungeon for twenty-seven years.</p> - -<p>Thus we see that there is no truth in the popular legend that he was -put to the torture, and there is probably as little in the anecdote -that on rising to his feet after his retractation, he exclaimed, -<i>"Eppur si muove!"</i> Doubtless, if he had uttered those words, he would -have paid heavily for his temerity.</p> - -<p>In his retirement at Arcetri he was at liberty to continue unmolested -those researches which have made his name immortal. His invention -of the telescope revealed to him many wonders of the Heavens. He -discovered the Satellites of Jupiter and the Ring of Saturn, although -he did not realise the annular nature of the latter object, a triumph -reserved for Huyghens. He observed the spots on the Sun and the -Mountains of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> Moon. His researches in Chemistry enhanced his renown -with many memorable results.</p> - -<p>Nor was it only as a man of science that he claimed the admiration of -the world. As a writer, he stands foremost in his age. His prose is -clear, unaffected, graceful, and occasionally eloquent and impressive. -His scientific treatises are models of lucidity. He himself, when -praised for that quality, attributed it in a large measure to his -constant perusal of the works of Ariosto. Clearness, indeed, is the -especial merit of that great poet. In his youth he wrote an essay -to prove the superiority of Ariosto to Tasso. He said Tasso gave us -words, and Ariosto, realities. This assertion may be somewhat sweeping, -but it has a foundation of truth. Still, he admitted that Tasso had -many qualities that please the reader, and that it was only the sharp -scrutiny of criticism which he could not sustain.</p> - -<p>The works of Galileo are not very voluminous. First and foremost -in importance, comes the <i>Dialogue on the Two Systems of Ptolemy -and Copernicus.</i> His <i>Saggiatore</i> is hardly less important. His -<i>Problems</i> contain descriptions of many experiments, and his Letters -are as remarkable for wit and vivacity as for strength and boldness -of thought. His Essay on the comparative merits of Ariosto and Tasso -has already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> been mentioned. He took great delight in poetry, and we -are assured by his biographers that he knew by heart many passages -from Virgil, Ovid, Horace, and the Tragedies attributed to Seneca. In -Italian, he derived the greatest pleasure from Ariosto, and next to -him, from Petrarch and Berni. Dante is not mentioned, but it would be -extraordinary if the most profound and graphic of all poets did not -appeal to him, although the vagaries of taste are incalculable. It must -be remembered that in the Seventeenth Century the appreciation of Dante -had sunk to its lowest ebb.</p> - -<p>Among those who signed the decree condemning the errors of the -illustrious Galileo, was Cardinal <span class="mcap">Guido Bentivoglio</span>, who, in spite -of that unfortunate circumstance, deserves honourable mention as an -historian and writer of Memoirs. He was employed as Nuncio by several -Popes in Flanders and in France. Gregory XV raised him to the Roman -purple, and when the Conclave met in 1644, after the death of Urban -VIII, there is every reason to believe that he would have been elected -Pope, had he not fallen ill and died on the seventeenth of September. -There is a magnificent portrait of him by Vandyke at Bologna.</p> - -<p>He had many qualities of an able, though not of a great, writer. He had -the advantage of seeing and observing much, and the impress of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -experience is discernible in all he wrote. Ranke extols his Memoirs -as giving an attractive picture of his age, and, in truth, he is one -of the few authors, not of French nationality, who approach in merit -the great memoir-writers of France. He also wrote an account of his -missions as Nuncio, numerous Letters, and a History of the War of -Independence of the Netherlands against the despotism of Spain. The -<i>History</i> is a readable and spirited narrative, and the historian is -seldom prejudiced or bitter. Having himself lived so long in Flanders, -he is able to give graphic descriptions of the localities he mentions. -Ambrosoli censures his style for its monotony, but I cannot say I ever -detected that defect. On the contrary, it seems to me to be as flowing -and animated as can be desired. A writer on historical subjects cannot -be expected to indulge in the fanciful digressions of novelists or -essayists. If Bentivoglio had lived to be Pope, he would doubtless have -distinguished his Pontificate in a manner worthy of his abilities.</p> - -<p>A greater historian than Bentivoglio appeared in <span class="mcap"><span class="mcap">Davila</span></span>, a native of -Padua. In his youth he served in the French army, and then in that -of the Republic of Venice. He was of noble origin, and his ancestors -occupied the post of Grand Constable of the Island of Cyprus when it -was still under the dominion of Venice. They had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> privilege of -taking their seat next to the Doge when they appeared in the Grand -Council, and this privilege was accorded to Davila himself, in such -high esteem was he held. In 1630, he published his <i>History of the -Civil Wars of France,</i> the work to which he is indebted for his -literary fame. He was appointed in the following year Commandant of -the garrison of Crema, but on his way from Venice to that town he was -foully murdered in a village named San Michele.</p> - -<p>Davila was a man of action rather than of letters, and it is therefore -not surprising if his style is less purely Tuscan than that of -more elegant scholars. But he had great strength of thought, keen -penetration, and no contemptible knowledge of affairs. These qualities, -added to the interesting events he narrates, secured great attention -and applause for his work. He has, however, some defects. He is not -always very skilful in presenting vivid pictures to the imagination and -he sometimes Italianizes the names of persons and places until they -become hardly recognisable. Thus Elboeuf is metamorphosed into Ellebove.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Fra Paolo Sarpi</span> obtained immense reputation, especially in Protestant -countries, for his <i>History of the Council of Trent</i> and his bitter -pamphlets against the Court of the Vatican. In the great contest -between the Republic of Venice and Pope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> Paul V, he took the part of -his native city with intrepidity not unalloyed by ferocity. He was -undoubtedly a man of great abilities, but his abilities were sharpened -by his rancour and malignity.</p> - -<p>Another historian of the Council of Trent, but one who regarded it from -the point of view of the Papal party, was Cardinal <span class="mcap">Sforza Pallavicino</span>, -one of the most brilliant men that ever entered the Society of Jesus. -He was so amiable and benevolent that Pope Alexander VII used to say of -him "Il Cardinal Pallavicino é tutto amore." He died in 1667. His works -comprise, besides the <i>History of the Council of Trent,</i> a <i>Treatise -on Christian Perfection,</i> an <i>Essay on Style</i> and a <i>Biography of -Alexander VII.</i> All these works are remarkable for distinction of -style, although he sometimes indulges too much in pointed antitheses. -He was very unlike Davila in the care and polish he bestowed upon his -compositions.</p> - -<p>Another Jesuit, <span class="mcap">Daniel Bartoli</span>, wrote the <i>History of his Order</i> and -the <i>Lives of Eminent Jesuits</i> in a style little short of perfection. -He has indeed been accused of elaborating his phrases until they -ceased to be natural; and yet in spite of his elaboration, he had his -cavillers who pointed out idioms of doubtful correctness, and said -<i>Questo non si può dire, (this cannot be said.)</i> He replied to them in -a witty pamphlet: <i>The Right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> and Wrong of the Non Si Può.</i> "A clever -work," says Fontanini; "but the Author's cleverness would have been -better displayed in avoiding the errors than in defending them with -obstinate ingenuity."</p> - -<p>An eminent preacher and divine of the age was <span class="mcap">Father Paul Segneri</span> -whose books of devotion are still used in Catholic countries. He, too, -was a Jesuit, but his style is not quite so good as that of his two -predecessors. It is occasionally too pompous and declamatory; but he -had a fertile and vigorous mind and preached and wrote from his heart.</p> - -<p>Another writer, less orthodox, but more celebrated, was <span class="mcap">Giordano -Bruno</span>. His works, however, although published on the threshold of the -Seventeenth Century, were conceived and written in the Sixteenth. He -was burnt alive for his heresies in the year 1601. For some years -he took refuge in England, and it would have been well for his -prosperity had he stayed there. In these days of greater latitude of -speculation, there appears to be little in his works to bring down -upon him so terrible a penalty, but the provocation hardly given by -the works, seems to have been afforded by the author. He was irritable -and vainglorious, and he knew neither prudence nor discretion. His -great treatise, <i>Della Causa, Principio ed Uno,</i> is an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> exposition of -Pantheism, but his vague reveries have little foundation in science to -recommend them. He also wrote a Comedy, rather more indelicate than -should emanate from the pen of a philosopher.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Campanella</span>, a somewhat kindred spirit, though without the latent -Atheism of Giordano Bruno, was a Dominican Friar, a native of Cosenza. -He was suspected of disaffection, perhaps of heresy, and was cooped -up for twenty-seven years in a narrow dungeon. He beguiled his weary -captivity by writing long philosophical works. They are, however, all -in Latin,<a name="FNanchor_1_9" id="FNanchor_1_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_9" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> and therefore do not come within the scope of this volume. -I mention them as a sign of the revival of the long dormant spirit -of science and speculation. Campanella wrote in defence of Galileo's -theory of the rotation of the earth round the sun. Campanella obtained -his liberty in 1629 and retired to France, where he met with some -kindness from Cardinal Richelieu.</p> - -<p>The first Edition of the celebrated <i>Dictionary of the Accademia della -Crusca</i> was published in 1613. It is curious that with the universal -attention it aroused, it did not raise the standard of taste and -scholarship, for truth to tell, the average run of inferior writers -produced works incredibly bad.</p> - -<p>There was a dearth of really good writers of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> stories in prose in the -Seventeenth Century. The <i>Stories</i> of <span class="mcap">Celio Malaspini</span> are racy and -amusing, and give a graphic idea of the manners and customs of the -early part of the Century, but they are often indelicate and have -few graces of style to recommend them. <span class="mcap"><span class="mcap">Trajano Boccalini</span></span> wrote some -vivacious political and literary squibs which had a wide circulation in -an age long before the introduction of newspapers, where alone writings -on such ephemeral topics now appear.</p> - -<p>Florence could boast of a select band of philosophers, <span class="mcap">Magalotti</span>, -<span class="mcap">Viviani, Redi</span> and <span class="mcap">Dati</span>, but their influence does not seem to have -extended beyond Tuscany. <span class="mcap">Auton Maria Salvini</span> was a laborious grammarian -and one of the chief compilers of the Dictionary above named.</p> - -<p>Probably the most eminent man of letters of the last ten years of the -Seventeenth Century was <span class="mcap">Crescimbeni</span>, the historian of Italian poetry, -and the founder of the Arcadian Academy, still flourishing in Rome. -He was a writer of great talent and judgment, and he was more alive -than his contemporaries to the evils resulting from the exaggerated -metaphors and wild hyperboles introduced by the followers of Marino. He -looked out for a perfect model of poetry, and he found it in the works -of Angelo di Costanzo, and certainly that writer's equable sweetness -and refinement are unruffled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> by tempestuous passion or towering -sublimity. Crescimbeni might, we think, with greater propriety have -selected Dante, Petrarch, and Ariosto to reform the degraded taste of -the age; but still, the beauties of Costanzo are of a high order, and -the recommendation bore good fruit.</p> - -<p>If it cannot be said of any writer of the Seventeenth Century that he -rises to the highest pinnacle of Art, yet, on a review of the whole -period, there remains an impression of much ingenuity and much vigour -of thought.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_9" id="Footnote_1_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_9"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> His poems, chiefly Sonnets, are in Italian.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></h5> - - -<h4>CHARACTERISTICS OF THE WRITERS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p>The precepts of Crescimbeni bore good fruit, and both prose and poetry -gradually freed themselves from the faults of taste so obvious in the -preceding generation. Verse became lighter and more flowing, although -there was, unhappily, no diminution of conventional phraseology or -of mythological allusion. The comic poets were numerous and gifted. -But, on the other hand, there was less seriousness and perhaps less -originality. The influence of French Literature began to prevail, and -it has not been shaken off even to the present day. The tyranny of -governments was not quite so oppressive. Public opinion began to revolt -against the most flagrant abuses, and a succession of enlightened -sovereigns and statesmen carried into practice the enlightened -philanthropy of Voltaire and the sentimental philanthrophy of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> -Rousseau. Indeed, all over Europe, there was a desire, in the second -half of the Eighteenth Century, to promote the welfare of the people, -such as was never evinced in the age of Davila or of Filicaia. Louis -XVI and Turgot in France, Charles III and Aranda in Spain, Pombal in -Portugal, the Grand Duke Leopold in Tuscany, were all zealous in the -cause of humanity and enlightenment. It seemed even to acute observers -that a golden age was awaiting the human race. Unhappily, the horrors -and crimes of the French Revolution rudely dispelled these pleasing -visions and produced a reaction, the effects of which threw back the -progress of humanity for many generations. It is heart-breaking to -think how different the development of Europe might have been, had the -extreme section of the French Republicans been kept in subordination -and had Roland guided the destinies of France instead of Robespierre.</p> - -<p>The conquests of Napoleon completed what the Reign of Terror had begun. -Old abuses were swept away, but only to make way for tyranny more -hopeless and relentless. The loss of life and treasure was enormous, -and the decline in the wealth of Italy became more conspicuous than -ever.</p> - -<p>Authors fared somewhat badly during this century. Princes, probably -following the example of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> the frivolous Court of Louis XV, no longer -even pretended to encourage science and literature. We hear of no poet -receiving even the precarious and capricious patronage bestowed upon -Tasso and Ariosto. Metastasio was the only poet who basked in the -sunshine of Royal favour, and he owed his prosperity to the Court of -Vienna, and not to the Court of Sardinia, or of Naples. The patronage -of the great was withdrawn, and that of the public had hardly begun. -Thus writers, unless possessed of ample means, had bitter struggles -with poverty and obscurity. Some, like Muratori and Parini, entered the -Church and became monks or abbés. Others, like Baretti and Algarotti, -sought their fortune in foreign lands. The impudent piracy of books, -and the unauthorised performance of plays deprived even popular authors -of the reward of their labours. Goldoni, after spending many years in -producing comedies that deserved and obtained applause, was glad to -find an asylum in France as reader of Italian to the three daughters of -Louis XV.</p> - -<p>The great merit of the Eighteenth Century, in Italy as elsewhere, was -its light-heartedness and humanity; the great defect, its materialism -and frivolity. Indeed, it would be hard to conceive a more enervating -atmosphere than surrounded many Italian poets, especially in the -earlier part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> the Century; and unhappily, the numerous literary -Academies, instituted all over the Peninsula, instead of arresting -the evil, positively aggravated it, as they devoted their attention, -with few exceptions, to subjects and thoughts of the most trifling -description. This frivolity is not wholly absent even from the works of -Metastasio, one of the most delightful poets that Italy ever produced.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h5> - - -<h4>METASTASIO.</h4> - - -<p><span class="mcap">Pietro Trapassi</span> was born in Rome on the third of January, 1698. His -parents were of humble origin, and he was apprenticed to a goldsmith. -He was gifted by nature with a musical voice, and he soon attracted -attention, not only by repeating the verses of others, but by -improvising verses of his own. A literary man of those days, Gian -Vincenzo Gravina, was among those who were interested in the infant -prodigy, and so high an opinion did he form of the youth's natural -abilities, that he decided to educate him and to start him in life. -Never did a benefactor bestow his kindness on a worthier object. -Gravina changed the boy's name from Trapassi to <span class="mcap">Metastasio</span>, and not -only taught him Greek and Latin, but also introduced him to the study -of the law, in which he himself was a proficient. In his will, he left -his protégé<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> fifteen thousand scudi, that he might have leisure to -cultivate his intellectual gifts.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, Metastasio was but young, and his sudden accession to -fortune turned his head. The fifteen thousand scudi were soon spent -in the company of friends who deserted him the moment they discovered -that he was no longer able to entertain them as before. He awoke from -his dream of prosperity, and found himself solitary and neglected in -the vast wilderness of Rome. To add to his misfortunes, Pope Clement XI -had become prejudiced against him by the extravagance of his conduct. -He saw that there was no opening for him in Rome, and he determined to -fall back upon his legal knowledge and to enter the office of a notary -at Naples.</p> - -<p>Italian Opera was beginning its brilliant career at that epoch, and -Metastasio had, when in Rome, written a drama for music which had -obtained much applause. A Neapolitan manager, on the look out for -a libretto, heard that the young Roman poet was in the town, and -commissioned him to write a work for his theatre. Metastasio produced -<i>Gli Orti Esperidi.</i> It was brilliantly successful. The celebrated -singer, Marianna Bulgarelli, surnamed "La Romanina," appeared as Venus, -and a life-long friendship was begun between her and the poet. His next -work, <i>Didom Abbandonata,</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> was an even greater triumph, and, wonderful -for chose days, the poet derived handsome pecuniary profit from his -success. He was able in time to pay off his debts and to return to -Rome. Here he took Holy Orders, and was henceforth known as the Abbé -Metastasio.</p> - -<p>The Emperor Charles VI was a passionate lover of music, and kept not -only an Italian company in Vienna, but also an Italian poet to write -the words of the operas which his favourite composers received orders -to set to music. The poet was entitled "Poeta Cesareo," and enjoyed a -liberal stipend. The post was occupied by Apostolo Zeno, a Venetian, -who, on retiring by reason of advancing years, recommended the -brilliant Metastasio as his successor. Accordingly, in 1730, Metastasio -set out for Vienna, and although he lived for fifty-two years longer, -he never returned to his native country.</p> - -<p>His old friend, Marianna Bulgarelli, died some years after he had gone -to Austria, and she left him a large part of her considerable fortune. -But he refused to accept it, as he was of opinion that it ought to have -gone to her husband, to whom, accordingly, it was handed over.</p> - -<p>Metastasio is the only writer of librettos whose works have risen to -the dignity of a classic. Indeed, they are still remembered when the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> -composers who set them to music have sunk into oblivion. Some of his -dramas seem to have been used by several composers in succession, and -one, <i>La Clemenza di Tito,</i> produced in Vienna for the first time with -the music of Caldara on the fourth of November, 1734, was many years -afterwards used by the illustrious Mozart.</p> - -<p>The highest favour of the Imperial family was bestowed upon Metastasio -during the reign of Charles VI, and was continued by the Empress Maria -Theresa and her son, Joseph II. It was only natural that he should feel -the most intense loyalty in return, and when the House of Hapsburg -suffered cruel reverses in the War of the Austrian Succession, and -later on, in the Seven Years' War, he sympathised acutely with his -Imperial mistress.</p> - -<p>Alfieri tells us in his <i>Memoirs</i> that he might have had an -introduction to Metastasio during his stay in Vienna, but that he saw -him one day in the park at Schönbrunn making the customary obeisance to -Maria Theresa with an air of such cheerful adulation, that he conceived -the most supreme contempt for so servile a poet. But surely this is -carrying independence to the verge of churlishness. If Metastasio had -not reason to show his gratitude, who had? And the most ardent opponent -of tyranny must own that Maria<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> Theresa had qualities that give her -a lofty rank among the monarchs, not only of her own century, but of -those past and to come.</p> - -<p>Metastasio lived in uninterrupted prosperity in Vienna for half a -century, and when he died on the twelfth of April, 1782, he was -universally regretted in the country of his adoption and in that of his -birth. He amassed a handsome fortune of one hundred thousand florins, -which he left to the family of the Councillor Martinez, with whom he -had resided since he first came to Vienna.</p> - -<p>The popularity of Metastasio's works during his lifetime was unbounded. -He is of all Italian poets the easiest for a foreigner to understand. -In consideration for the composers, he only selected those words that -most readily lent themselves to the purpose of singing. Thus his -vocabulary is somewhat limited, and he has a tendency to repeat the -same imagery. The construction of his phrases is simplicity itself, and -he offers no obscure passages for the reader to solve. He is neither -very profound nor very picturesque; he is essentially musical. But he -had a beautiful mind, and his tenderness and pathos have the qualities -of freshness and purity. The dialogue of his dramas, though musical -in versification, is not striking in substance, but every character -of importance, before leaving the stage, or at the end of an act, -is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> given a song, and it is by virtue of these glorious songs that -Metastasio continues to charm us even at the present day. They are so -musical that they positively sing themselves. They are so clear and -pointed in expression, that they easily impress themselves upon the -memory. He takes his plots from Ancient History and from Mythology, -and for his Oratorios, from the Bible. The local colouring is not -always very vivid, and we see too often the powdered hair and the red -heels of the age of Rococo. But the stories have plenty of spirit -and human interest, and if heroes like Titus and Cæsar sigh too much -in the manner of love-lorn swains, they do so in lines so melodious -that pardon cannot be withheld. An exquisite selection could be made -from the songs in Metastasio's operas, in which we find thoughts -tender, beautiful and ingenious, expressed in language delightfully -spontaneous, fresh and emphatic. The meaning is so linked with the -music of the verse, and that music is so peculiar to the Italian -language, that the subtle charm of the original would evaporate in -translation.</p> - -<p>I will quote a few of the finest.</p> - -<p>In the <i>Didone Abbandonata,</i> Dido charges her sister Selene, who -herself is in love with Æneas, to assure him that she will ever love -him. Selene leaves the stage after singing the following<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> song. The -passages in brackets are supposed to be asides:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Dirò che fida sei,<br /> -Su la mia fè riposa;<br /> -Sarò per te pietosa;<br /> -(Per me crudel sarò.)<br /> -<br /> -Sapranno i labbri miei<br /> -Scoprirgli il tuo desio.<br /> -(Ma la mia pena, oh Dio!<br /> -Come nasconderò?)<br /> -</p> - -<p>Dido vindicates her Royal dignity:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Son regina, e sono amante;<br /> -E l' impero io sola voglio<br /> -Del mio soglio e del mio cor.<br /> -<br /> -Darmi legge in van pretende<br /> -Chi l' arbitrio a me contende<br /> -Della gloria e dell' amor.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Selene says that every lover fancies that beauty alone makes him -fall in love; but it is not beauty, it is a fond desire that rises -unexpectedly, that delights us, and we know not why:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Ogni amator suppone<br /> -Che della sua ferita<br /> -Sia la beltà cagione,<br /> -Ma la beltà non è.<br /> -<br /> -È un bel desio, che nasce<br /> -Allor che men s'aspetta;<br /> -Si sente che diletta,<br /> -Ma non si sa perchè.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the <i>Artaserse,</i> Mandane implores of Arbace not to forget her, as -she will not forget him:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Conservati fedele;<br /> -Pensa ch' io resto e peno;<br /> -E qualche volta almeno<br /> -Ricordati di me.<br /> -<br /> -Ch' io per virtù d'amore,<br /> -Parlando col mio core,<br /> -Ragionerò con te.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the Oratorio of <i>Gioas,</i> Ismaele says that the race of David is not -exterminated as was supposed, and compares it to a flower that revives -from a languishing condition, and to a torch giving out new light when -it seemed to be dying:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Pianta così, che pare<br /> -Estinta, inaridita,<br /> -Torna più bella in vita<br /> -Talvolta a germogliar.<br /> -<br /> -Face così talora,<br /> -Che par che manchi e mora,<br /> -Di maggior lume adorna<br /> -Ritorna a scintillar.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the <i>Olimpiade,</i> Argene, disguised as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> Shepherdess, sings with a -Chorus of Maidens the praises of the forest:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -<i>Coro.</i><br /> -<br /> -Oh care selve, oh cara<br /> -Felice libertà!<br /> -<br /> -<i>Argene.</i><br /> -<br /> -Qui se un piacer si gode,<br /> -Parte non v'ha la frode,<br /> -Ma lo condisce a gara<br /> -Amore e fedeltà.<br /> -<br /> -<i>Coro.</i><br /> -<br /> -Oh care selve, oh cara<br /> -Felice libertà!<br /> -<br /> -<i>Argene.</i><br /> -<br /> -Qui poco ognun possiede,<br /> -E ricco ognun si crede;<br /> -Ne, più bramando, impara<br /> -Che cosa è povertà.<br /> -<br /> -<i>Coro.</i><br /> -<br /> -Oh care selve, oh cara<br /> -Felice libertà!<br /> -<br /> -<i>Argene.</i><br /> -<br /> -Senza custode o mura<br /> -La pace è qui sicura,<br /> -Che l'altrui voglia avara<br /> -Onde allettar non ha.<br /> -<br /> -<i>Coro.</i><br /> -<br /> -Oh care selve, oh cara<br /> -Felice libertà!<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> - -<p>Megacle declares that as he followed his friend in prosperity, so will -he stand by him in adversity:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Lo seguitai felice<br /> -Quand' era il ciel sereno;<br /> -Alle tempeste in seno<br /> -Voglio seguirlo ancor.<br /> -<br /> -Come dell' oro il foco<br /> -Scopre le masse impure,<br /> -Scoprono le sventure<br /> -De' falsi amici il cor.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Aminta compares himself in his misfortune to a ship-wrecked mariner who -gives up all hope and abandons himself to his fate:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Son qual per mare ignoto<br /> -Naufrago passegiero,<br /> -Già con la morte a nuoto<br /> -Ridotto a contrastar.<br /> -<br /> -Ora un sostegno, ed ora<br /> -Perde una stella; al fine<br /> -Perde la speme ancora,<br /> -E s' abbandona al mar.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The Chorus and Semi-chorus implore Jove to pardon a sacrilege:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -<i>Coro.</i><br /> -<br /> -I tuoi strali, terror de mortali,<br /> -Ah! sospendi, gran padre de Numi,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>Ah! deponi, gran Nume de' re.<br /> -<br /> -<i>Parte del Coro.</i><br /> -<br /> -Fumi il tempio del sangue d'un empio<br /> -Che oltraggiò con insano furore,<br /> -Sommo Giove, un imago di te.<br /> -<br /> -<i>Coro.</i><br /> -<br /> -I tuoi strali, terror de' mortali,<br /> -Ah! sospendi, gran padre de' Numi,<br /> -Ah! deponi, gran Nume de' re.<br /> -<br /> -<i>Parte del Coro.</i><br /> -<br /> -L'onde chete del pallido Lete<br /> -L'empio varchi; ma il nostro timore,<br /> -Ma il suo fallo portando con se.<br /> -<br /> -<i>Covo.</i><br /> -<br /> -I tuoi strali, terror de' mortali,<br /> -Ah! sospendi, gran padre de' Numi,<br /> -Ah! deponi, gran Nume de' re.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the Opera of <i>Demofoonte</i> Dircea declares her constancy to Timante:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -In te spero, o sposo amato,<br /> -Fido a te la sorte mia;<br /> -E per te, qualunque sia,<br /> -Sempre cara a me sarà.<br /> -<br /> -Pur che a me nel morir mio<br /> -Il piacer non sia negato<br /> -Di vantar che tua son io,<br /> -Il morir mi piacerà.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> - -<p>Creusa contrasts the happiness of primitive ages with the artificiality -of the present:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Felice età dell' oro,<br /> -Bella innocenza antica,<br /> -Quando al piacer nemica<br /> -Non era la virtù!<br /> -<br /> -Dal fasto e dal decoro<br /> -Noi ci troviamo oppressi;<br /> -E ci formiam noi stessi<br /> -La nostra servitù.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the <i>Isola Disabitata,</i> Costanza deplores her forsaken condition:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Se non piange un' infelice,<br /> -Da' viventi separata,<br /> -Dallo sposo abbandonata,<br /> -Dimmi, oh Dio, chi piangerà?<br /> -<br /> -Chi può dir ch'io pianga a torto,<br /> -Se nè men sperar mi lice<br /> -Questo misero conforto<br /> -D'ottener l' altrui pietà?<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the <i>Clemenza di Tito,</i> Titus declares that if he cannot reign by -love, he will not reign by fear:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Se al impero, amici Dei!<br /> -Necessario è un cor severo,<br /> -O togliete a me l' impero,<br /> -O a me date un altro cor.<br /> -<br /> -Se la fe de' regni miei<br /> -Con l' amor non assicuro,<br /> -D'una fede io non mi curo<br /> -Che sia frutto del timor.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Chorus declares that it is not to be wondered at that the Gods -protect a Prince as noble as themselves:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Che del Ciel, che degli Dei<br /> -Tu il pensier, l'amor tu sei,<br /> -Grand' eroe, nel giro angusto<br /> -Si mostrò di questo dì.<br /> -<br /> -Ma cagion di meraviglia<br /> -Non è già, felice Augusto,<br /> -Che gli Dei chi lor somiglia<br /> -Custodiscano così.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the <i>Temistocle,</i> Rossane admits that she is distracted by jealousy:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Basta dir ch' io sono amante,<br /> -Per saper che ho già nel petto<br /> -Questo barbaro sospetto,<br /> -Che avvelena ogni piacer;<br /> -<br /> -Che ha cent' occhi, e pur travede,<br /> -Che il mal finge, il ben non crede;<br /> -Che dipinge nel sembiante<br /> -I deliri del pensier.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Serse declares that silence is more eloquent than words:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Quando parto, e non rispondo,<br /> -Si comprendermi pur sai,<br /> -Tutto dico il mio pensier.<br /> -<br /> -Il silenzio è ancor facondo,<br /> -E talor si spiega assai<br /> -Chi risponde col tacer.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> - -<p>Temistocle fears no tortures, and is proud of dying:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Serberò fra ceppi ancora<br /> -Questa fronte ognor serena;<br /> -E la colpa, e non la pena,<br /> -Che può farmi impallidir.<br /> -<br /> -Reo son io; convien ch' io mora,<br /> -Se la fede error s'appella;<br /> -Ma per colpa così bella<br /> -Son superbo di morir.<br /> -</p> - -<p>It is a law of nature that we feel for that sorrow which we have felt -ourselves:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -È legge di natura<br /> -Che a compatir ci move<br /> -Chi prova una sventura<br /> -Che noi provammo ancor;<br /> -<br /> -O sia che amore in noi<br /> -La somiglianza accenda;<br /> -O sia che più s'intenda<br /> -Nel suo l'altrui dolor.<br /> -</p> - -<p>A noble prisoner feels himself superior to his cruel oppressor:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Guardami prima in volto,<br /> -Anima vile, e poi<br /> -Giudica pur di noi<br /> -Il vincitor qual è.<br /> -<br /> -Tu libero e disciolto,<br /> -Sei di pallor dipinto;<br /> -Io di catene avvinto,<br /> -Sento pietà di te.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> - -<p>Adoration of Divinity:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Te solo adoro,<br /> -Mente infinita,<br /> -Fonte di vita,<br /> -Di verità;<br /> -<br /> -In cui si move,<br /> -Da cui dipende<br /> -Quanto comprende<br /> -L'eternità.<br /> -</p> - -<p>A faithless friend will never make a faithful lover:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Avran le serpi, O cara,<br /> -Con le colombe il nido,<br /> -Quando un amico infido<br /> -Fido amator sarà.<br /> -<br /> -Nell' anime innocenti,<br /> -Varie non son fra loro<br /> -Le limpide sorgenti<br /> -D'Amore e d'amistà.<br /> -</p> - -<p>If the sorrows of everybody could be known, how few would be envied:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Se a ciascun l'interno affanno<br /> -Si vedesse in fronte scritto,<br /> -Quanti mai ch' invidia fanno,<br /> -Ci farebbero pietà!<br /> -<br /> -Si vedria che i lor nemici<br /> -Hanno in seno; e si riduce<br /> -Nel parere a noi felici<br /> -Ogni lor felicità.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> - -<p>The age of gold still lives in the hearts of the innocent:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Ah! ritorna, età dell'oro,<br /> -Alla terra abbandonata,<br /> -Se non fosti immaginata<br /> -Nel sognar felicità.<br /> -<br /> -Non è ver; quel dolce stato<br /> -Non fuggì, non fu sognato;<br /> -Ben lo sente ogn' innocente<br /> -Nella sua tranquillità.<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h5> - - -<h4>PARINI.</h4> - - -<p>If the Eighteenth Century was frivolous and luxurious, it was also -picturesque and elegant. The age of Dresden china, the age of Watteau -and Liotard in painting, must also have left its impress of refined -gaiety on poetry. We find that impress in the satires of Pope, in the -lighter poems of Voltaire, and in the musical verse of Parini.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giuseppe Parini</span> was born of humble parents at Bosisio, a hamlet in the -district of Milan, near the lake of Pusiano, on the twenty-second of -May, 1729. He was educated in Milan at the Arcimboldi Gymnasium, under -the direction of the Barnabite Fathers. He showed marked ability and -strong inclination for literature. But he had his parents to support, -and necessity forced him to become a law-writer. This occupation -furnished him with the means of studying Theology, and he entered the -priesthood. In 1752 he published his first volume<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> of poems, which, -immature as it was, contained sufficient elements of promise to gain -for him many friends and admirers, and he was elected a member of the -Academy of the Trasformati of Milan and of the Arcadia of Rome.</p> - -<p>Still, he was in great distress, and he was compelled by poverty to -become a tutor in private families, and when his father died, he sold -the bit of land that came to him in order to supply his mother with -the necessaries of life. But, in spite of misfortune, his ambition was -not dormant, and he determined that nothing from his pen should see -the light until it was brought to the utmost height of perfection. He -conceived the plan of his great work, <i>Il Giorno,</i> and the first part, -entitled <i>Il Mattino,</i> was published in 1763, and the second part, -entitled <i>Meriggio,</i> two years later.</p> - -<p>Count Firmian, the Austrian Governor of Lombardy, was induced by -Parini's reputation to entrust him with the editorship of an official -Gazette, and later on gave him the post of Professor of Literature at -the Palatine School at Milan, and after the suppression of the Jesuits -he was appointed in the same capacity at the College of the Brera. -These appointments made his circumstances a little more comfortable, -but his health gradually deteriorated. An affection of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> muscles of -the legs seems to have deprived him of che free use of his limbs, and -it became so much worse with years, that he ended by being hardly able -to walk at all. To add to his misfortunes, his spirit was independent, -and his judgment on men and books sharp and even acrimonious. Thus -he made many enemies, and when Count Firmian died, he lost his -appointments just at the time when he wanted support for his declining -years. His sight failed him from overstudy, and at last death came to -him as a release on the fifteenth of August, 1799.</p> - -<p>His fame as a great poet rests entirely on <i>Giorno.</i> The third part, -<i>Il Vespro,</i> and the fourth, <i>La Notte,</i> were not published until after -his decease. Although the work occupied him for nearly forty years, it -remained incomplete after all, a few lines being wanted to conclude <i>La -Notte.</i> He was one of those poets who write and re-write their works -until they reach the last point of elaboration. His mind was not very -fertile, and when a thought occurred to him, it was too precious to be -dismissed until it had been adorned with all the resources of his art.</p> - -<p>That art, at its best, is brilliantly successful. His blank verse -attained a perfection which had never yet been witnessed in the -Italian language. Indeed, his blank verse is immeasurably superior<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> -to his rhymes. His sonnets and odes are hardly preferable to the -better class of similar productions in his day, but the moment he -returns to blank verse, he regains all the powers of his mind and -is seen to the greatest advantage. The only defect of his style is -that it occasionally becomes stiff and heavy, probably the result -of over-elaboration. Its peculiar merit is its picturesqueness. It -is impossible to read fifteen or twenty consecutive lines in his -compositions without coming across a picture which a painter might -reproduce on his canvas.</p> - -<p>This quality of picturesqueness is peculiarly observable in his best -work <i>Il Giorno,</i> a mock-heroic poem in blank verse, describing a -day in the life of a Milanese nobleman. It must have had some truth -as a satire of manners, for one leader of Milanese Society, Prince -Belgiojoso, was so struck with the resemblance of its hero to himself, -that he hired some ruffians to waylay the author one evening and beat -him severely.</p> - -<p>Parini's experiences as a tutor in noble families do not appear to -have been very happy, and his bile was excited against a class which, -even at its best, is apt to be frivolous and self-indulgent. The great -merit of the poem is its picturesqueness and its originality; the great -defect, its monotony of style, though not of thought or imagery. It -is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> all on one note, that of elaborate irony. He pretends to venerate -profoundly things which he most utterly despises. The difficulty of -sustaining this tone is often painfully apparent. Another defect is -that the poem, unlike the <i>Rape of the Lock,</i> offers no connected -story. It accompanies the hero from the morning toilet to the midnight -ball. Never leaving this one character, a certain monotony is the -result, which the author has modified, though not removed, by a few -happy digressions. If the irony were not always so obviously insisted -upon, it would be at once more effective and more artistic.</p> - -<p>As a sample of Parini's style, we may quote the exquisite passage -from the first part of the <i>Giorno,</i> where the hero, after taking his -snuff-box, adorns himself with his rings, his watches (for in the -age of Parini it was the fashion to wear two of everything), and the -crystal locket containing the portrait of his love.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Ecco a molti colori oro distinto,<br /> -Ecco nobil testuggine, su cui<br /> -Voluttuosi immagini lo sguardo<br /> -Invitan degli eroi. Copia squisita<br /> -Di fumido Rapè quivi è serbata,<br /> -E di Spagna oleoso, onde lontana,<br /> -Pur come suol fastidioso insetto,<br /> -Da te fugga la noia. Ecco che smaglia,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>Cupido a te di circondar le dita,<br /> -Vivo splendor di preziosa anella.<br /> -Ami la pietra ove si stanno ignude<br /> -Sculte le Grazie, e che il giudeo ti fece<br /> -Creder opra d' Argivi, allor ch'ei chiese<br /> -Tanto tesoro, e d' erudito il nome<br /> -Ti compartì, prostrandosi a tuoi piedi?<br /> -Vuoi tu i lieti rubini? O più t' aggrada<br /> -Sceglier quest' oggi l'indico adamante<br /> -Là dove il lusso incantata costrinse<br /> -La fatica e il sudor di cento buoi<br /> -Che pria vagando per le tue campagne<br /> -Faccean sotto a i lor piè nascere i beni?<br /> -Prendi o tutti o qual vuoi; ma l'aureo cerchio<br /> -Che sculto intorno è d'amorosi motti<br /> -Ognor teco si vegga, il minor dito<br /> -Prémati alquanto, e sovvenir ti faccia<br /> -Dell' altrui fida sposa a cui se' caro.<br /> -Vengane alfin de gli oriuoi gemmati,<br /> -Venga il duplice pondo; e a te dell' óro<br /> -Che al alte imprese dispensar conviene<br /> -Faccia rigida prova. Ohimè che vago<br /> -Arsenal minutissimo di cose<br /> -Ciondola quindi e ripercosso insieme<br /> -Molce con soavissimo tintinno!<br /> -Ma v' hai tu il meglio? Ah sì; che i miei precetti<br /> -Sagace prevenisti. Ecco risplende,<br /> -Chiuso in breve cristallo, il dolce pegno<br /> -Di fortunato amor: lunge, o profani!<br /> -Chè a voi tant 'oltre penetrar non lice."<br /> -</p> - -<p>This is a style chiselled and finished to the last degree of -perfection; but it is somewhat wanting in ease, and its stiffness is -perceptible even in this quotation, much more in the extent of the -whole poem. Parini was somewhat deficient<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> in tenderness, and that want -casts a dryness over portions of his work.</p> - -<p>In this lack of tenderness he was very unlike Pope, with whom he had -otherwise many points of resemblance. Both were poets of the highly -elaborate civilization of their century. Both were intensely satirical -by nature. Both lived in cities, Pope seldom deserting London and its -neighbourhood, Parini seldom being seen beyond the precincts of Milan. -Both suffered from delicate health and deformity. Both were intensely -admired by their contemporaries, and regarded as masters of the Art -of Poetry. Pope, however, was singularly prosperous in the course of -his life, and Parini singularly unfortunate. The Italian poet had a -mind far less fiery and impetuous. He was also far less prolific and -versatile. Pope produced eight or ten masterpieces, each of which alone -would perpetuate his fame; Parini only one. Pope's mind often seems -as it were on fire, so ardent and brilliant are the emanations of his -genius. The light of Parini's verse is softer and mellower, and if he -does not dazzle us with the blinding splendour of Pope at his best, -he fills the ear with musical lines, and gratifies the imagination by -conjuring up pictures, finished like the finest miniatures, infinitely -pleasing and precious to a cultivated taste.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></h5> - - -<h4>ALFIERI.</h4> - - -<p>Italy had produced splendid epics, noble lyrics and spirited satires, -but up to the middle of the Eighteenth Century she had not produced a -single tragedy which could be placed beside the tragic masterpieces of -other nations. At last, in 1749, at Asti in Piedmont, the poet was born -who was destined in a certain measure to supply the want.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Vittorio Alfieri</span> was born of noble and wealthy parents. His father -died soon after his birth, and his mother married again and survived -until 1792. He has left us in his Autobiography a complete picture -of his life and times. His relatives looked down upon learning and -science, and he was taught to feel thankful that he had no need to -study. He learnt a little Latin and a good deal of French, and that was -practically all that he took away with him from college. He entered -the Piedmontese Army, but he found the routine of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> military duties -so irksome that he asked and obtained leave from the King to travel -in foreign countries. He was presented to Louis XV at Versailles and -to Frederick the Great at Potsdam. He visited Sweden and Russia, -Holland and England, Spain and Portugal. He liked the Dutch and the -English best, and found in their countries the beneficial effects of -that liberty which he loved and to which he consecrated the fruits of -his genius. The development of his intellectual powers was, however, -phenomenally slow. He had practically forgotten his own language and -had to acquire it all over again. He was gifted with a fiery and -impetuous nature and intense vigour of thought, but the fertility of -his imagination was not commensurate with his other powers, Thus he had -to wait until study and observation had furnished him with sufficient -materials to enable him to write. This is the true explanation of the -torpid condition of his intellect for so many years.</p> - -<p>A lady of Turin to whom he was much attached, fell dangerously -ill, and whilst he was sitting with her during the tedious hours -of convalescence, his eye fell upon some tapestries in her room, -representing the history of Anthony and Cleopatra. It occurred to him -that a fine tragedy could be written on the subject of their loves, -and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> endeavoured to make the attempt. He liked the occupation, and -his ambitious spirit was fired by the hope that he might at last prove -to the world that Italy could produce a great tragic poet as well as -Greece, France, and England. He persevered, and by dint of labour and -study he overcame the difficulties of his task, not the least of which -was his inability to express himself in his native language, so that -he was at first obliged to write down his ideas in French, then to -translate them into Italian prose, and finally to alter the prose until -it became verse. His heroic industry was crowned with a measure of -success, and if he did not become an Italian Shakespeare or Sophocles, -he enjoys, at least, the distinction of being the first Italian writer -of tragedies who deserves serious consideration from the literary -historian.</p> - -<p>His ample wealth enabled him to indulge in pleasures and pursuits -which often diverted his attention from his poetical labours. He was -especially fond of riding and horses, and he made several pilgrimages -to England to replenish his stud. English literature does not seem to -have occupied much of his attention. In his Autobiography he mentions -the works of Pope, and he says that he looked into Shakespeare and -became fully aware of his faults. It would have been well if he had -been equally alive to his beauties, and if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> he could have caught a -reflection of their rainbow hues to irradiate his own statuesque -tragedies.</p> - -<p>In later years he made the acquaintance of Louisa Stolberg, Countess -of Albany, wife of Charles Edward, the Young Pretender, and she took -refuge with him from the brutality of her drunken husband. They went -together to Paris, and there he published his tragedies in four -volumes, in 1789. They remained in Paris, convulsed as it was with the -frenzy of the Great Revolution, up to the very last moment compatible -with safety; and in 1792 they returned to Italy, just in time to escape -the massacres of September. They took up their abode in Florence, where -he amused himself with learning Greek and translating some of the -tragedies of Euripides. He died in 1803, and the Countess of Albany had -a magnificent monument by Canova erected to his memory in the Church of -Santa Croce.</p> - -<p>Alfieri was a fertile writer, as was to be expected from the unwearied -industry which was one of his most salient characteristics. He -wrote numerous poems and satires, nearly thirty tragedies, several -comedies, translations from the Greek and Latin, political tracts, -and his Autobiography. His fame rests entirely on his Tragedies, his -Autobiography, and, I think, his Satires, some of which are very -racy and original, especially the piece descriptive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> of his travels -in foreign countries. His Autobiography gives us a vivid picture of -the Italy of the Eighteenth Century, of its torpor and frivolity. He -reveals himself with a complete absence of reserve, and his Life is -the only work in which he gives us vivid descriptions, all his other -productions being rather colourless from the lack of descriptions.</p> - -<p>Want of colour is, indeed, the great defect of his poetry, as well as -of his prose. He had little eye for the beauties of Nature, and less -for the beauties of Art. He has nothing of the sweetness of Metastasio; -he has none of the exquisite details of Parini. Indeed, the details of -his works are singularly devoid of charm. To do them justice, we must -consider them as a whole, and not dwell on detached passages.</p> - -<p>The best of his Tragedies, to my mind, is one of the earliest, the -<i>Filippo,</i> on the subject of Philip the Second of Spain and Don Carlos. -One of the most striking passages in Alfieri is the laconic dialogue, -terrible in its fierce abruptness, between Philip and his confidant -Gomez, after they have overheard the interview between the lovers.</p> - -<p> -<i>Filippo—</i> Udisti?<br /> -<i>Gomez—</i><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Udii.</span><br /> -<i>Filippo—</i><span style="margin-left: 7em;">Vedesti?</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span><i> -Gomez—</i><span style="margin-left: 11em;">Io vidi.</span><br /> -<i>Filippo—</i><span style="margin-left: 12em;">Oh rabbia!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Dunque il sospetto?...</span><br /> -<i>Gomez—</i><span style="margin-left: 11em;">E' omai certezza.</span><br /> -<i>Filippo—</i><span style="margin-left: 13em;">E inulto</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Filippo è ancor?</span><br /> -<i>Gomez—</i><span style="margin-left: 9em;">Pensa...</span><br /> -<i>Filippo—</i><span style="margin-left: 11em;">Pensai ... Mi segui.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Nothing could be more spirited and effective, and had Alfieri often -written like that, very few tragic poets would have surpassed him. But -unfortunately, he is seldom seen to such advantage, and his inability -to cast the charm of imagination over his works makes them dry and -stony. He is a strict adherent of the French school in so far as -scrupulous observation of the three unities of time, place, and action -is concerned. But unlike the French dramatists, freedom, and not love, -is the mainspring of his tragedies. He brings as few actors on the -stage as possible. Some of his tragedies have only four characters. -It would be impossible for even the most skilful dramatist to make so -few persons fill up five acts without monotony and repetition, and -unfortunately Alfieri is anything but a skilful dramatist. His powers -of construction are but slight, and in many of his plays it is curious -to observe that the first act and the last are by far the best, the -three intervening acts being filled up with conversations that do not -greatly advance the action. He had, however,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> some power of delineating -character and some power of expressing passion, and his blank verse -has often a stern and rugged ring, impressive in its noble severity. -Thus it happens that some of his creations have proved effective in -the hands of great actors. Ristori achieved a brilliant triumph in his -<i>Mirra.</i> Salvini often appeared in <i>Saul</i> and <i>Timoleon.</i> His <i>Saul</i> -has been extolled above all his other works, but I think <i>Virginia,</i> -the <i>Congiura de' Pazzi,</i> and <i>Filippo</i> are quite as fine. The -<i>Antigone</i> and the <i>Agamemnon</i> are terribly dry and colourless compared -to the creations of Æschylus and Sophocles. The <i>Abele,</i> on the subject -of Cain and Abel, endeavours to enchant the reader with lyrical beauty, -but the poet's want of imagination is more painfully apparent than ever.</p> - -<p>The great qualities of the poet are vigour of thought and tenacity of -purpose, thus he is seen to the greatest advantage in those plays that -deal with the aspirations of freedom and the downfall of tyrants. But, -unfortunately, these subjects do not admit of much variety, and when we -have read four or five of Alfieri's tragedies, we have practically read -them all. In perusing his plays, we have the impression as if we were -standing in a temple, bare and stern, adorned with only a few statues. -But, assuredly, the rigid grandeur of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> Alfieri's genius is better and -more worthy of praise and honour, than the meretricious ornaments of -too many of his contemporaries. He sounds an heroic note, and arouses -his hearers to noble deed and to magnanimous desire. There is nothing -low, nothing vile, in his works. He bids us ascend, not grovel. Every -line in his Tragedies was written with the desire of inspiring freedom -and patriotism. He hated oppression and he loved justice, and for that -he deserves honour and glory, and for that his Tragedies will ever hold -their own in the annals of literature, even though their creator does -not give us characters as human and varied as those of Shakespeare, or -compositions as perfect and splendid as those of Sophocles.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h5> - - -<h4>OTHER POETS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p>The three great writers whose works we have just examined, tower above -their contemporaries at an immeasurable height. Still, many able poems -were produced, and many authors are worthy of mention.</p> - -<p>The first of these in point of time is <span class="mcap">Eustachio Manfredi</span>, of Bologna, -who died in 1739. He was a mathematician and an astronomer, and he -added poetry to his other accomplishments. He was in love with a lady -of the name of Giulia Vandi, but she became a nun, and she was as much -lost to him as if they had been severed by death. He expressed his -sorrow in many sonnets and odes. He laboured sedulously to do justice -to his noble subject, but he had not the magic gift of genius which -alone confers immortality. His lines are not particularly melodious, -and though everything is good, nothing is enchanting.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Niccolò Fortiguerra</span> occupied many high posts in the Roman Curia. He -rose to great dignities, but it is said that he wished to rise higher, -and that his death in 1736 was caused by grief at not being made a -Cardinal. He amused his leisure hours with the composition of poetry, -and he gained the distinction of being the last poet to produce a long -epic in the style of Ariosto. This poem, called the <i>Ricciardetto,</i> -although the last in point of time, is by no means the last in point of -merit. He had a truly poetical mind and a genial disposition, and there -is a pleasing gaiety about his work that only wants to be expressed in -a style more rich and vigorous to achieve absolute greatness. It is -said that he made a wager that he would write his epic in as many days -as it contained cantos, and that he won his bet. The cantos are so long -that it is scarcely credible that he could have written each in a day. -Pope Clement XII took great interest in the work, and probably that -interest inspired the poet with the ambition of being raised to the -Roman purple. He published the <i>Ricciardetto</i> under the pseudonym of -"Carteromaco."</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Carlo Innocenzo Frugoni</span> was born in Genoa in 1692, and died at Parma -as Court Poet in 1768. <i>Frugonian</i> poetry has become a bye-word to -indicate abundance of so-called eloquence, poverty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> of thought, and -cheap and hackneyed imagery. But Frugoni himself was by no means -a man devoid of talent. He had wit, he had imagination, he had -fertility. But he was without austerity of judgment. Whatever he wrote -delighted him, and he thought it would delight his readers. He did -.not stop to correct or to condense. He gave everything with perfect -self-satisfaction to the world. His verse is often most flowing and -musical, such as Metastasio might have written in his boyhood. He is -successful in his sonnets, chiefly because the strict symmetry of -that kind of composition prevents him from indulging in his favourite -foible of prolixity. Some of his lyric poems have fancy and elegance -to recommend them, but these good qualities are drowned in an ocean -of verbiage. He delighted in blank verse, and one of his funniest -compositions in that metre is entitled <i>L'Ombra di Pope,</i> written -on the birth of a son of Lord Holderness, British Ambassador to the -Venetian Republic. The Ghost of Pope, in answer to Frugoni's prayers, -arises and prophecies the future of the noble infant and sings the -praises of its lovely mother. After paying many compliments to -Frugoni's poetical talents the ghost finally vanishes at break of day.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Alfonso Varano</span> was a more earnest and impassioned spirit than Frugoni, -and he deserves the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> credit of having, both by precept and example, -drawn attention to the neglected beauties of Dante. His principal work -is his <i>Book of Visions,</i> written in the metre of Dante and redolent -of his style. Varano resolutely discarded the hackneyed mythological -allusions that disfigure the works of his contemporaries. He is -strictly Christian, and he endeavours to be medieval. But he has hardly -sufficient foundation to go upon, his Visions are about nothing in -particular, and his style is not sufficiently flexible and picturesque -to delight readers who cannot help being reminded of Dante.</p> - -<p>The Marquis <span class="mcap">Giambattista Spolverini</span>, of Verona, born in 1695, died -in 1763, is remarkable for one extremely well-written poem in blank -verse on the cultivation of rice. The subject, as may be imagined, had -not previously been treated in poetry, and the author made himself -complete master of the technicalities of his theme. He devoted himself -to the perusal of the great models of poetry, and to writing verses -himself in order to acquire the necessary flexibility of style. He -laboured for many years over the details of the one work by which he -hoped to be remembered, and at last, in the memorable year 1758, he -gave <i>La Coltivazione del Riso</i> to the world. But, alas! the world -paid no heed to the slender volume and went its way as usual. Deep was -the mortification<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> of Spolverini. He could not realise that a poem so -important to himself, should appear so insignificant to the public. His -health and spirits gave way, and he died, unnoticed and unlamented, in -1763. The utter neglect of his contemporaries was neither discerning -nor creditable, and later years did justice to the numerous, though -unobtrusive, beauties of the poem. He has the merit, rare in his age, -of going straight to life and nature, and what he observes he is able -to record in spirited verse. But the subject does not appeal to the -general reader, and hence probably the utter indifference with which it -was received.<a name="FNanchor_1_10" id="FNanchor_1_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_10" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giambattista Pastorini</span>, a native of Genoa, wrote a noble sonnet on the -city of his birth.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Tommaso Crudeli</span> wrote some pretty fables. He languished for years in -the dungeons of the Inquisition, and died at the age of forty-two in -1745.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Paolo Rolli</span> is remarkable for having translated <i>Paradise Lost</i> into -Italian. He lived for many years as teacher of Italian in London where -he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> seems to have been well received. He returned to Italy in 1747 and -chose Todi in Umbria as his residence, where he died twenty years later -aged eighty.</p> - -<p>Cassiani of Modena, produced some spirited Sonnets; so did <span class="mcap">Onofrio -Minzoni</span> of Ferrara, and <span class="mcap">Prospero Manara</span> may be mentioned for the same -reason.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap"><span class="mcap">Pignotti</span></span> and <span class="mcap">Bertola</span> were good fabulists, and Bertola enjoyed the -further distinction of being the first to introduce German Literature -into Italy.</p> - -<p>Some of <span class="mcap">Ludovico Savioli's</span> poems are musical in diction, but no poet of -the age revels more in the threadbare mythology of poetasters.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Gian Carlo Passeroni</span> wrote a burlesque <i>Life of Cicero</i> in one -hundred and one Cantos and in Ottava Rima, full of comic digressions, -by no means without wit and sprightliness, but quite spoilt by the -preposterous length to which the poem is spun out. His career bears -much similarity to that of Parini. Like the greater poet, he was a -priest, he lived in Milan, and he suffered many privations owing to -poverty. He seems to have carried not only disinterestedness, but utter -indifference to his affairs, to a culpable extent.</p> - -<p>The <span class="mcap">Abbe Casti</span> was another poet who spoilt his wit by his prolixity. -He wrote the <i>Animali Parlanti</i> and a collection of stories in verse, -less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> poetical and more indelicate than the prose of Boccaccio, and -finally a bitter satire on Catherine the Second of Russia. He had wit -in abundance and a coarse and ready style. His feuds with rival poets -were frequent and bitter, and Parini wrote some stinging verses against -him. In spite of his disreputable character he was nominated by the -Court of Vienna "Poeta Cesareo" after Metastasio's death, and the -appointment caused universal surprise and reprobation. After Casti the -post was discontinued. He died in Paris in 1503.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giovanni Fantoni</span> was an elegant, but somewhat conventional, imitator -of Horace. At the outbreak of the French Revolution, he nearly lost -his reason from excessive zeal for liberty, and his advanced opinions -brought down upon him many persecutions.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Lorenzo Mascheroni</span>, a mathematician and a man of science, is remarkable -for a pleasing poem called <i>L'Invito a Lesbia Cidonia.</i> A lady of -Bergamo, the Countess Paolina Secco Suardo Grismondi, was known in the -Arcadian Academy as "Lesbia Cidonia." She was invited to visit Rome -when Mascheroni wished her to come to Pavia where he was living, and he -tried to induce her to do so by writing his poem full of descriptions -of the beauties of Pavia and of the treasures of its Museum. This -pleasing and original poem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> was much admired in its day. Mascheroni -wrote other poems in Italian and Latin, but nothing to equal this -little masterpiece. He was born in 1750 at Castagnetta, a small village -near Bergamo, and died in 1800 in Paris, whither he had retired during -the political storms that convulsed his country.</p> - -<p>In reviewing the poetry of the Eighteenth Century the most striking -fact is the remarkable advance in the art of writing blank verse. -Spolverini, Parini and Alfieri produced works in that metre more -masterly than those of former ages. These poets know how to vary their -cadences, how to sustain the melody, how to produce an impressive -close; and if Spolverini is at times a trifle prolix and Parini a -trifle heavy, Alfieri skilfully Avoids both faults, and as far as -rhythm is concerned, his verse is absolutely perfect; but only his -blank verse; his rhymes, like those of Parini, are vastly inferior and -not nearly so gratifying to the ear.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_10" id="Footnote_1_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_10"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The work was dedicated to Elizabeth Farnese, widow of -Philip V of Spain. The fact of her accepting the dedication must -have given it some importance in the eyes of the world. Ambrosoli is -my authority for its cold reception. A copy of the second edition, -published 1764, is in my possession. The editor says the poem was -received with universal admiration, but perhaps his motive was to -induce the public by that statement to buy his edition. Probably the -fact of the author's death, as is so often the case, drew attention to -his poem.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h5> - - -<h4>PROSE WRITERS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p>The Prose Writers of the Eighteenth Century need not detain us long, -for with the exception of the Comedies of Goldoni, few works have any -sort of vitality. Some authors, especially writers of Memoirs, wrote in -French, like Casanova and Goldoni himself, whose Autobiography is in -that language. Indeed, for some years, the danger seemed to be imminent -that French would be as much used as Latin had been in former ages.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Goldoni</span> is a delightful writer, and some of his best comedies still -keep the stage. Those who have read Goldsmith's <i>Good-natured Man</i> and -<i>She Stoops to Conquer,</i> can form an accurate idea of what Goldoni was. -There is the same geniality, the same broad humour, the same light, -but effective delineation of character, and the same sparkling and -ingenious dialogue. If Goldoni has a fault, it is that his plots are -sometimes too thin,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> and that his comedies occasionally betray the -haste in which they were written. A few of his plays are in verse, -and some are in the Venetian dialect in which he is always racy and -spirited. He was a very fertile writer, and if many of his works are -inferior to his best, they all bear testimony to the fertility and -originality of his mind, and he deserves to be celebrated as the best -writer of comedy that his country has produced.</p> - -<p>The performance of Goldoni's Comedies may still be witnessed with -pleasure, and his masterpiece, <i>La Locandiera,</i> has recently been -seen in London with the celebrated Eleonora Duse as Mirandolina. The -character of the heroine and the art with which she keeps her forward -lovers at bay, are admirably conceived. <i>Il Burbero Benefico</i> is -hardly inferior. It deals with a man who, under a rough surface, hides -a tender heart.<a name="FNanchor_1_11" id="FNanchor_1_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_11" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> <i>Le Donne Curiose</i> has many amusing situations, -brought about by the prying curiosity of some women. <i>Il Poeta -Fanatico,</i> gives a laughable idea of the third-rate literary academies -of his day, and the character of the poet who is always at a loss for -a rhyme, is amusingly drawn. <i>La Famiglia dell' Antiquario,</i> offers a -ludicrous exposure of the gullibility of collectors and amateurs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> who -have neither taste nor knowledge. <i>Le Smanie per la Villeggiatura</i> -takes for its theme the passion of Venetian families for spending some -months of the year in villas on the mainland. <i>L'Impresario</i> has some -delightfully comic scenes between an Operatic Manager and his company. -<i>L'Avaro</i> treats the same topic as Molière in one of his comedies, -and with hardly less success. <i>Il Ventaglio</i> is ingenious in plot and -vivacious in dialogue. <i>I Rusteghi, Le Baruffe Chiozzotte, Sior Todero -Brontolon,</i> and several other Comedies, are in the Venetian dialect, -in which he is quite it home, and in which he shows a vivacity and -originality worthy of all praise. As his works contain nothing immoral -or in any way indelicate they have always been in use at educational -establishments for theatricals in those classes where Italian is -taught. Goldoni is neither a philosophical nor a very profound writer, -but he is delightfully vivacious, and there is hardly one of his -comedies that the reader would not like to peruse a second time.</p> - -<p>The brothers <span class="mcap">Gasparo</span> and <span class="mcap">Carlo Gozzi</span> were Venetians, like Goldoni, -but they were his rivals, and not his friends. Gasparo was a good -literary essayist, and he wrote the <i>Osservatore,</i> a sort of imitation -of Addison's <i>Spectator.</i> He also defended Dante against Bettinelli's -attacks. Carlo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> produced some fantastic and imaginative plays, one -of which Schiller adapted for the German Stage, under the title of -<i>Turandot, Princess of China.</i> He has plenty of imagination, but his -poetical talents are hardly powerful enough to give adequate expression -to his really brilliant and original ideas.</p> - -<p>A very different writer from these vivacious Venetians was the learned -<span class="mcap">Muratori</span>, for many years Librarian to the Duke of Modena. He was a man -of immense erudition and indefatigable industry. His works in Latin -and Italian fill more than one hundred volumes. His <i>Annali d'Italia</i> -constitute his most valuable work. He also wrote a treatise, <i>Della -Perfetta Poesia.</i> He died in 1750.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Saverio Bettinelli</span>, a Jesuit, may, perhaps, be taken as the most -perfect embodiment of the Italian literary man of the Eighteenth -Century. He had the light and easy style, the narrow canons of taste -and judgement, and the humane and benevolent spirit that characterised -his contemporaries. Although a Priest, he was a correspondent of -Voltaire, and the Italian Jesuit joined with the French Philosopher in -condemning the extravagant conceptions of those dreadful barbarians, -Dante and Shakespeare. In Dante he could discover absolutely no merit, -and he wrote long essays to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> convert his countrymen to his views. As -a poet, he is not without fluency and elegance, qualities which are -also conspicuous in his prose, which may still be read with pleasure, -though hardly with profit. His Tragedies appear very poor by the side -of those of Alfieri. He had plenty of learning and some acuteness, and -the tone of his mind is eminently judicious, but he could hardly rise -to the appreciation of conceptions greater than his own, and the shrine -at which he worshipped was that of academic elegance and delicate -refinement. He was inspired with genuine patriotism which led him to -write not only his chief historical work, <i>Risorgimento d'Italia,</i> but -also some of his most spirited poems. His death took place in 1808, at -the great age of ninety.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Antonio Magliabecchi</span> was one of the greatest marvels of erudition -that ever lived. He was a goldsmith by trade, but his heart was in -his books, and through the patronage of Michael Ermini, Librarian to -Cardinal Medici, he obtained access to a library extensive enough to -quench even his thirst for knowledge. When his friend Ermini died, he -became his successor as Librarian. All day long he locked himself up -in his house, reading from morning till night, and only after dark did -he open his door, and then only to admit men of taste and learning in -order to indulge in erudite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> conversation. His habits were almost those -of a hermit. He wore an old coat which served him as an apparel by day -and a blanket by night. A straw-bottomed chair acted as table for his -frugal meals, and another chair, hardly more comfortable, was his bed -in which he sat up at night reading, reading, reading until he fell -asleep from sheer fatigue. The marvel is that such industry, coupled -with such privations, did not undermine his health, but we hear nothing -of injurious results. He was very kind and benevolent in character, -always ready to assist the inquiring with his knowledge and the needy -with his money. He died in 1714. He was a Florentine by birth, and -he left his library to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and also a sum of -money, the interest of which was to be used for the purpose of making -valuable additions to the volumes already collected. This library is -still open to the public in Florence. Magliabecchi both by precept and -example, gave an impetus to learning and research, but he did not offer -to the world any works of his own, contenting himself with editing -the lucubrations of others. Although he never travelled, he was well -acquainted, by catalogues and descriptions, with the libraries of other -cities. There is an anecdote of an acquaintance asking him how many -copies were known to be extant of a book noted for its rarity. "Only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> -three," was Magliabecchi's reply. "One belongs to me; one is in the -Vatican, and the third at Constantinople in the library of the Grand -Turk; you will find it in the third room, on the bottom shelf to the -right as you enter, where it is the seventh volume."</p> - -<p>A noble family of Verona, the Maffei, gave two eminent men to the -Italy of the Eighteenth Century. The Marquis <span class="mcap">Alessandro Maffei</span> entered -the services of the Elector of Bavaria, and rose to be Field Marshal. -He was instrumental in gaining the great victory over the Turks at -Belgrade in 1717. He died in Munich in 1730, and left <i>Memoirs</i> which -are both well-written and valuable as illustrating the history of -his times. His brother, <span class="mcap">Scipione Maffei</span>, was born on the first of -June, 1675. Scipione entered the Army and served under his brother -during the War of the Spanish Succession. His first work was a book -against the practice of duelling. When he returned to his native city, -he published a literary journal in conjunction with Apostolo Zeno -and Vallisnieri. He wrote a comedy, <i>La Ceremonia,</i> and a tragedy, -<i>Merope,</i> which became widely celebrated throughout Europe as the -prototype of Voltaire's tragedy on the same subject. Voltaire dedicated -his <i>Merope</i> to Maffei, but he was in reality jealous of the reputation -the Italian work had acquired, and under a thin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> disguise he published -letters laying bare its foibles and defects. The task was not very -difficult, for Maffei's <i>Merope,</i> beyond the fact of emanating from the -pen of an elegant scholar, has little to recommend it. The characters -are not very vividly drawn, and the blank verse is rather languid -and unimpressive. His best and most enduring work is the <i>Verona -Illustrata,</i> a magnificent contribution to the history of his native -town. He died in 1755.</p> - -<p>The Jesuit <span class="mcap">Tiraboschi</span> produced a voluminous <i>History of Literature</i> and -his work has both judgement and research to give it permanent value.</p> - -<p>The humanitarian tendencies of the Eighteenth Century found an eloquent -exponent in the Marquis <span class="mcap">Beccaria</span>, a native of Milan. From a youth he -was inclined to the study of Philosophy, and he was much influenced -in his intellectual development by the contemporary French writers, -especially by Montesquieu. The first work with which he appeared -before the public was a pamphlet on the state of the Currency. In -conjunction with some friends, he published a journal called <i>Il -Caffé</i> which advocated the humane and enlightened principles to which -he was devoted. But the great work by which he is remembered is the -treatise <i>Dei Delitti e delle Pene,</i> published in 1764. In this book he -ventured to proclaim the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> doctrine that the penalty should not exceed -the offence. Barbarous sentences were passed in that age, not only in -Italy, but all over the world, for misdemeanours which do not call for -greater rigour than a few months' imprisonment. Criminals were broken -on the wheel, prisoners were tortured on the rack. All these frightful -abuses were attacked by Beccaria with the eloquence of burning -indignation, and he had the satisfaction of finding an abundant harvest -follow the sowing of the seed. Torture was abolished in France shortly -after the accession of Louis XVI, and even in the worst excesses of -the Reign of Terror nobody dared to suggest its revival. Many judicial -murders were committed, but none of the victims were tortured. It is -frightful to think what atrocities might have been perpetrated if that -odious and irrational practice had still been in force. Beccaria died -in 1793.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap"><span class="mcap">Gaetano Filangieri</span></span> resembled Beccaria in his ambition to improve the -laws, and his great work, <i>La Scienza della Legislazione,</i> obtained -an immense reputation for its author. He was the scion of a noble -Neapolitan family, and the Minister Tannucci showed some inclination to -carry out his ideas. But he died when he was only thirty-six in 1788. -Perhaps he was fortunate in not living to see the evil times in store -for his country.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Francesco Algarotti</span> may be described as a sort of diluted Bettinelli, -but he had the merit of introducing Foreign writers to the Italian -public and of spreading the knowledge of Italian in Foreign countries. -Frederick the Great, who took delight in patronising the literature -of every nation except his own, received Algarotti hospitably at -Potsdam and conferred upon him the title of Count. He was a most -fertile writer and he took pleasure, not only in literary criticism, -but also in scientific investigation, and he was the first to make the -discoveries of Newton familiar in the Peninsula. His poems make but a -faint impression upon the modern reader, but they were such as the age -of Frugoni admired. In character he was discreet and amiable, hence his -personal popularity. His health gradually failed him and he died of -consumption at Pisa, in 1764, at the age of 51. Frederick the Great had -a handsome monument erected to his memory.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Antonio Cocchi</span> was a fertile writer on scientific and miscellaneous -subjects, but it is the melancholy fate of scientific writers to be -superseded by their successors, however well they may have written. He -was born in 1695, and died in 1758.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Girolamo Tagliazucchi</span> was Professor of Greek at the University of -Turin, and did much to spread the study of good literature.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giovenale Sacchi</span>, a Barnabite Monk, wrote books on music, dancing, -and poetry in a style of great purity and elegance. He was, however, -charged by the more austere spirits of his Order with devoting his -attention to subjects too frivolous and profane, and he had to endure -many persecutions. He died in 1789.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Antonio Cesari</span>, a Priest of the Oratory, was born at Verona on the -sixteenth of January, 1760. He was an ardent admirer of the prose -writers of the Fourteenth Century, and it was his constant endeavour -to purify the Italian language from the Frenchified idioms it had -contracted in his day. Unlike Bettinelli, he was a devoted adherent of -Dante, and he wrote a book to point out his beauties, but he dwells -more upon the merits of the poet's style than upon the grandeur of his -conceptions. Cesari was a good translator, and he was particularly -successful in his rendering of the Comedies of Terence. In all his -works we find a deep and fervent spirit of patriotism, a fore-runner of -the wave of independence and devotion to their fatherland that swept -over the Italians of the Century that must now engage our attention.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_11" id="Footnote_1_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_11"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Burbero Benefico</i> was originally written in French and -afterwards translated into Italian.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h5> - - -<h4>CHARACTERISTICS OF THE WRITERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p>The tremendous cataclysm of the French Revolution produced vibrations -and convulsions throughout the civilized world, nor is it a subject of -surprise that Italy responded more vehemently than any other country -to the voice of France. In its inception, the French Revolution was, -undoubtedly, a necessity, and not an evil. Nobody can tax Necker, -Mirabeau, and the Girondins with any other desire than the amelioration -of France and of humanity. But when, owing to the utter inability -of the leading statesmen to control the legislative assemblies they -had convened, the direction of affairs slipped out of their hands -into those of men to the last degree vindictive and unscrupulous, -and when the great movement became stained with crimes so appalling -and atrocities so inhuman as to find no parallel in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> history, it -is no wonder that the Sovereigns of Europe combined to stamp out -a devastating conflagration. But an event which no sagacity could -foresee, destroyed all their plans and made them powerless even in -their own dominions. One of the greatest generals the world has ever -seen, rose to supreme power in France, and the Sovereigns who hoped to -overawe Robespierre had in time to tremble before Napoleon. If, after -the Peace of Amiens, the great soldier had known how to moderate his -ambition, Europe might have been spared many sorrows and calamities; -but unhappily, he did not rest content with the glory he had acquired; -he soared in hope to universal dominion, and Europe was convulsed for -more than a decade with struggles such as the world has never yet -witnessed, and the loss of blood and treasure was immense. At last -he was defeated, but not until he had practically defeated himself; -for the greatest generals of his opponents were powerless against him -for many years, and they only prevailed when he had exhausted the -resources at his disposal. He fell from power never to rise again, and -the triumphant Allies inaugurated a reaction, the effects of which -were felt throughout the Nineteenth Century. The demons returned to -their dwellings, and the second habitation was worse than the first. -The one great Bastille had indeed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> been pulled down, but each country -had innumerable little Bastilles of its own. Austria seized Venice and -recovered Lombardy, and the mild and philanthropic rule of Firmian -was replaced by the iron despotism of Metternich. In Naples the -philanthropy of Filangieri had to make way for the ferocity of Bomba. -But the nations had tasted liberty, and the old spirit of submission, -more or less unwilling, had died out for ever. Secret societies sprang -up all over the Peninsula, and the Carbonari continued what the -Philosophers had begun. The old clemency of Joseph II and Leopold II -was replaced by angry suspicion and ruthless severity. Men of stainless -character were suspected of disaffection and subjected to rigours -which should be reserved only for the worst of criminals. Shameless -tyranny aroused the indignation of an enlightened age, and a dynasty, -remarkable for the politic and steadfast character of its Princes, with -rare sagacity took advantage of the situation to achieve at once the -liberation of Italy and its own supremacy in the Peninsula. The House -of Savoy triumphed, not only over the Vatican and the Bourbons, but -also over Mazzini and Garibaldi and their visionary and enthusiastic -followers.</p> - -<p>It is not for the literary historian to enter into the details of -that great struggle. But one remark must be made. No statesmen were -more thoroughly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> imbued than Victor Emmanuel and Cavour with the -conviction of the folly committed by those victorious factions who -make martyrs of their political opponents. If Charles I had not been -beheaded, Charles II would probably never have ascended the throne -of his ancestors. If Louis XVI had not been guillotined, Louis XVIII -would probably never have been able to return to France. If Napoleon -had not shed the blood of the Due d'Enghien, he would probably never -have aroused the relentless enmity of his opponents. These examples -seem always to have been present to the minds of the Councillors of the -House of Savoy. And, in truth, if they had made a Louis XVI of the King -of Naples, if they had made a Marie Antoinette of his Queen, if they -had made a Boniface VIII of Pius IX, such a reaction would have swept -over the Peninsula as would have destroyed the fruits of the labours -of two generations of patriots. Fortunately for Italy and themselves, -they knew how to use their victory with moderation. Doubtless there -were some fierce and vindictive spirits who would have clamoured for -a Reign of Terror if they had dared; but they were firmly kept in -check, and the country is now reaping the benefit of the policy or of -the humanity of its liberators. Disappointments there have undoubtedly -been, especially is the grinding weight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> of taxation to be deplored -that is requisite to keep up a huge Army and a powerful Navy; but -the discontented spirits who clamour for a return to the old state -of things, are so few and far between, that they can be treated with -contemptuous forbearance. Such symptoms of reaction as may appear, -are so mild as to be positively beneficial in keeping up a spirit of -criticism and control over the Executive, which would else, owing -to the easy-going character of the populace, be allowed to slumber. -Indeed, it may be laid down as an axiom, that the more light-hearted -a nation is, the greater is its liability to acquiesce, perhaps -unconsciously, in the misgovernment of its rulers.</p> - -<p>The Eighteenth Century was remarkable for the paucity of eminent Prose -Writers; the Nineteenth Century, on the contrary, can show a brilliant -array of philosophers, historians, and novelists; and it would probably -be more extensive had not the rapid development of journalistic -enterprise drawn many able men to the daily Press, who would in former -ages have devoted themselves to the writing of books. Their articles -in newspapers ind magazines perished after the day of appearance, with -the exception of those rare cases where a writer, or his friends, -made a collection to be published in book form. Thus, many keen and -powerful minds laboured for the enlightenment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> of their generation, -but no record remains of their productions. The unbounded popularity -of fiction caused greater attention to be bestowed on that branch of -Literature, and memorable works were given to the world. For nearly -seventy years the chief inspirer was patriotism, as was only natural -in the Century that witnessed the liberation of the Peninsula from -foreign oppression. The Literature of England and Germany began to be -studied, and the romantic movement introduced an entirely new style of -subject and treatment. The old conventions of mythological allusions -are at last consigned to merited oblivion, and we find poets expressing -themselves in a direct and natural manner. The former timidity of -philosophical and religious speculation is exchanged for boundless -liberty, often coupled with intense hatred of Christianity. Strong -originality marks the writers of the Nineteenth Century, but that -originality is often purchased at the price of harmonious development -and serenity of mind. They have reason to envy the intellectual -complacency of Ariosto and Metastasio. This discord of the mind is more -marked in Leopardi than in any other writer, although he was almost -the first to display it. In truth, the Nineteenth Century was for -Italy a period of transition. The old forms of thought, as well as the -old forms of government, were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> gradually overcome and destroyed, and -perhaps it would be premature to say what definite form they are likely -to assume. One thing is certain; the old methods can never be revived, -and the efforts of pedants to infuse new life into their effete -decrepitude can only result in ignominious failure. Self-reliance and -originality must be the watch-words of the future, and it is gratifying -to observe that the best and most promising of the younger generation -of writers are, consciously or unconsciously, opening out new forms -of art and fresh vistas of ideas. That some mistakes have been made, -cannot be denied. Extreme realism has claimed its victims in Italy as -elsewhere. From excessive desire to be exact, some writers have ceased -to be natural. In their endeavour to avoid superstition, other writers -have advocated gross and vulgar materialism. Some have shewn repulsive -want of decency; others, utter disregard for beauty and purity of -style. There has been a tendency to indulge in glaring, tawdry effects, -from which the Eighteenth Century was commendably free. But, on the -whole, it would be unjust to deny that the Nineteenth Century offers a -striking panorama of stirring events and great and memorable authors.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h5> - - -<h4>LEOPARDI.</h4> - - -<p>It is not often that a writer towers so immeasurably above his -contemporaries, that we can point him out, without fear of -contradiction, as the greatest of his century. We can, however, -unhesitatingly do so in the case of Leopardi. The works to which he -owes his immortality are, indeed, few in number and short in extent, -but their perfection gives them a dignity which more voluminous -productions might emulate in vain.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giacomo Leopardi</span> was born at Recanati, a town of the March of Ancona, -on the 29th of June, 1798, the eldest son of Count Monaldo Leopardi -and Adelaide, his wife, daughter of the Marquis Antici. He had three -brothers, Carlo, Luigi, and Pierfrancesco, and one sister, Paolina. -His father was a man of literary tastes and had a magnificent library, -in which the future poet quenched his thirst for knowledge with as -much ardour as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> did Magliabecchi, in a former age, in the library of -Cardinal Medici. He soon outstripped in learning the priests who were -entrusted with his education. His eager and independent mind spurned -direction and disdained moderation. He acquired many languages, and -he soon endeavoured to put on paper the result of his studies. Some -of his injudicious admirers tried to make an infant prodigy of him, -and the stimulus of vanity was added to his passion for knowledge. He -toiled day after day in his intellectual quarry, with no relaxation -except the absolute necessities of food and sleep. The result may be -imagined. His sight failed him from the merciless strain put upon it -by reading till late hours of night, often by a flickering candle -burnt down to its socket. His spine became curved from constantly -bending over the huge folios that formed the staple of his reading. -His lungs craved in vain for dilation in his cramped chest and for the -freshness of the open air. His nerves gave way, his food failed to -nourish him, and his strength at last collapsed so completely that he -could neither read nor write, nor even think or speak. From the age of -sixteen to twenty-one the mischief was done. The duty of his parents -was plain. They should from the beginning have sternly forbidden the -overwork, and have compelled him to take requisite exercise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> and -rational amusement. Unhappily, they seem rather to have encouraged the -overwork, and actually to have discountenanced all amusement and all -intercourse with the outer world. They cannot be acquitted of grave -errors of judgment, but it would be harsh to charge them with cruelty. -Monaldo was devotedly attached to his children, but it would have been -better if he had sent them to school and college, where they would have -knocked about with companions of their own age, instead of being left -to solitary brooding with their minds preying upon themselves. They -would then have returned home, fresh and buoyant, and happy to be again -with their parents.</p> - -<p>Monaldo had been extravagant in his youth, his estates were -considerably encumbered; motives of economy probably made him rejoice -that his children were actually learning more at home than could be -expected from pupils of the most famous seminaries. In later life, -whilst willing and happy to keep them in a handsome style in his -ancestral home at Recanati, he found it impossible to supply them with -sufficient funds to live in Rome or Florence or Naples in the style to -which they had always been accustomed. Therefore, he strongly opposed -their desire to see the world. He was perfectly contented with his own -surroundings, and he neither understood nor sympathised with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> Giacomo's -longing to widen his sphere of experience.</p> - -<p>Painful misunderstandings were the result. Giacomo, owing to the -utter prostration into which he had fallen, was obliged to remain a -whole year without reading or writing, and he was thrown back upon -his melancholy thoughts. He had already received sufficient praise to -fire his youthful ambition and he chafed at the bondage in which he -was kept. Pietro Giordani was the first literary man of eminence whose -acquaintance he made, and long letters passed between the friends, -letters full of admiration on the part of Giordani, full of impatience -and despair on the part of Leopardi. That he exaggerated the horrors -of his condition cannot for a moment be doubted. Many youths would -have been thankful to take his place in a handsome and dignified home; -but then few youths could possibly have been tormented by such bitter -melancholy and such overweening ambition.</p> - -<p>At last a desperate resolve occurred to him. Permission to leave home -was denied him; he would act on his own responsibility and take refuge -in flight. He made preparations for secret departure, and wrote a long -letter to his father explaining the motives of his desperate measure. -Happily, the insane project was abandoned, but the letter was preserved -by his brother Carlo, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> it is deeply to be regretted that it was -published some years ago. Far better would it have been to draw a veil -across the eccentricities of a great mind and the misunderstandings -between natures noble and upright, but painfully divergent in thought -and action. However, the letter exists and must be dealt with. There is -nothing discreditable in it either to the poet or to his father, but -much that is inexpressibly painful.</p> - -<p>The letter was written in the month of July, 1819. He begins by saying -with perfect sincerity that he always loved his father, that he always -would love him, and that he deeply grieved at being the cause of giving -him pain. "You know me," he continues, "and you know what my conduct -has been up to now. You will see that in all Italy, and I may say in -all Europe, no other person of my rank and even younger than I am, and -perhaps with intellectual gifts inferior to mine, could be found who -would show one-half of the circumspection, abstinence from all the -pleasures of youth, obedience and submission to his parents that I have -shown. However poor your opinion may be of the few talents that Heaven -has bestowed upon me, you cannot altogether refuse to credit the many -estimable and famous men who have passed the judgement upon me which -you know and which it is not for me to repeat. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> the marvel of -everybody who knew me that I should still be buried in this town, and -that you alone should be of an opposite opinion, and should inflexibly -persist therein. It is certainly not unknown to you, that there is not -a youth of barely seventeen years of age who is not taken in hand by -his parents to be placed in a position for his future advantage. I say -nothing about the liberty accorded to all young people of that age in -our position in life—liberty of which not one-third was accorded to -me at the age of twenty-one. It was only recently that I began to ask -you to provide for my future in the manner indicated by the opinion of -all who knew me. I noticed several families of this town, probably less -well off than we are, making heavy sacrifices in order to start their -sons in life, however faint the indications of promising talent might -be.</p> - -<p>"Many people were of opinion that my intellect showed much more than -a faint indication; but you were of opinion that I was quite unworthy -of a father's solicitude or of any sacrifice on his part, nor did you -think that my present or future welfare was of sufficient importance -for you to make any alteration in your domestic arrangements.</p> - -<p>"I saw my parents make light of the posts which they obtained for -others from the Sovereign Pontiff, and hoping that they would take -the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> trouble for me, I asked that at least some means of living -might be obtained that would enable me to live in a manner suitable to -my position without being a drag upon my family. I was answered with -derision, and you did not think that your influence should be used -to obtain a decent competence for your son. I was well aware of the -projects you were forming for us, and how, to secure the prosperity of -what you call our '<i>house</i>' and <i>'family,'</i> you exacted from Carlo and -from me the sacrifice of our inclinations, of our youth, and of our -whole life. Being quite certain that neither Carlo nor I would ever -humour you in that, I could not possibly entertain the idea of those -projects. You know only too well the most wretched life I have led -through the effects of my horrible melancholy, and the torments I have -endured from my strange imagination. You cannot have been blind to the -fact that there was no other remedy for my suffering health since I -fell into this wretched debility, but powerful distractions, and, in -short, everything that could not be had in Recanati.</p> - -<p>"In spite of all this, you suffered a man of my character, either to -consume the remnant of his strength in suicidal studies, or to bury -himself in the most terrible ennui with its attendant melancholy. These -evils were aggravated by the surrounding solitude, and by the empty -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> unoccupied tenour of my life, especially in the last months.</p> - -<p>"It did not take me long to find that no arguments could move you, and -that the extraordinary firmness of your character, disguised under -a mild exterior, was such that I could not entertain even a shadow -of hope. All these circumstances and my reflections on human nature -persuaded me that I should rely upon nobody but myself, although I was -destitute of everything. And now that by law I am my own master, I will -no longer delay to take upon myself the load of my destiny. I know that -human felicity consists in contentment, and that I could more easily be -happy begging for bread like a mendicant, than surrounded in this abode -by all the material luxuries it may present. I hate that vile prudence -that freezes and binds us and makes us incapable of every great action, -reducing us to the level of the animals who apply themselves placidly -to the preservation of this unhappy life without any other thought. -I know that I shall be held to be insane, as all great men have been -held before me. And even as the career of almost every great genius has -begun with despair, I am not dismayed at mine beginning so too. I would -rather be unhappy than obscure; I would rather suffer than languish -in miserable ennui which to me is the fruitful mother of deadly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> -melancholy and black thoughts of wretchedness, more agonising than all -discomforts of the body. Parents, as a rule, judge their children more -favourably than others, but you, on the contrary, judge your children -more harshly, and therefore you never would believe that we were born -for anything great; perhaps no greatness appeals to you that cannot be -measured with geometrical precision.</p> - -<p>"Having, to the best of my ability, given you my reasons for the step -I am about to take, it only remains for me to ask your pardon for the -distress it may cause you. If my health were less uncertain, I would -rather beg from house to house that touch a pin that belonged to you. -But feeble as I am, and hopeless of getting anything from you, I -have been obliged, in order not to die on the road, to take what is -absolutely necessary for my existence. I am deeply grieved, and it -almost makes me waver in my resolution when I think of the sorrow I -shall cause you, knowing your kindness of heart and all your endeavours -to make us contented with our lot. For those endeavours I am grateful -from the bottom of my heart, and it is agony to me to think that I -shall appear infected with the vice of ingratitude which I abhor more -than anything else. Only the difference in our principles which was in -no way to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> overcome, and which would necessarily end either in my -dying here of desperation, or in my taking to flight as I am doing, -has been the cause of all my unhappiness. It has pleased Heaven for -our punishment that the only young men in this town who had thoughts -above the ordinary level of Recanati, should be born to you to try -your patience and that the only father who looked upon such sons as a -misfortune, should be allotted to us. That which consoles me is the -thought that this is the last annoyance I give you, and that it will -free you from my unwelcome presence. My dear father, if you will allow -me to call you by that name, I kneel down before you, and pray you to -pardon one so unhappy by nature and by circumstances. I would that my -unhappiness were my exclusive property and that nobody might share it -with me, and so I trust it will be in the future. If fortune ever makes -me the possessor of anything my first thought shall be to replace what -I have now taken from you. The last favour that I ask of you is that -if ever you recall to your memory your wretched son who has always -venerated and loved you, you will not curse him; and that if you cannot -praise him, you will, at least, bestow upon him that compassion which -is granted even to malefactors."</p> - -<p>Such, abridged in a few passages, is the memorable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> letter which -reveals the troubles of Leopardi's mind. It is a curious medley of -wounded vanity, of imaginary wrongs and of genuine grievances. It is -passing strange that Leopardi should have been so anxious about his -future. He was his father's eldest son, and as such, heir to ample, if -somewhat encumbered, estates. I think he mistook his own feelings, and -what he thought solicitude for his livelihood, was in reality the agony -of unsatisfied ambition. The fatal mistake that his father made was to -coop up so ardent and aspiring a young man in the restricted routine -of a somewhat cloistral home. Monaldo and Adelaide had a genuine fear -of their children becoming contaminated by undesirable associates; and -to avert this evil, neither the poet nor his brothers were allowed -to go out unaccompanied. The young prisoners naturally resented this -surveillance, especially Leopardi who, at a time when his literary -renown was spreading all over Italy, was still under the restrictions -of the nursery. "Everybody treats me as a child," he writes, "except -my parents who treat me as a baby." No wonder that flight had its -romance and its attractions; but where would he have gone to if he had -run away? Doubtless, the utter inability to answer this question made -him abandon the idea. Carlo and Paolina noticed something peculiar in -his demeanour; they watched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> him, and we may safely assume that their -affection extorted from him his secret, that he showed them the letter -intended for his father and that they persuaded him to abandon the -wild and desperate scheme. It would have been well if the letter had -been burnt, and the whole unhappy episode consigned to oblivion. It -makes the poet appear wild and visionary and the father a more obdurate -tyrant than he really was. He utterly failed to enter into the ideas of -his illustrious son, and posterity has censured him with a harshness he -was far from deserving.</p> - -<p>Leopardi abandoned the idea of flight and resigned himself as best he -could to the melancholy life he was compelled to lead. His home was -dull, but it was not, it could not have been, the Hell upon earth that -Montefredini, one of his biographers, would have us believe. There was -no domestic discord; not a trace of strife is discernible. The style -of living in Monaldo's house was handsome and even luxurious, but -neither his father nor his mother seem to have encouraged visitors or -to have entertained as might be expected from their rank. Of Leopardi's -acquaintance with Pietro Giordani they were undoubtedly apprehensive. -Giordani, although a Priest, had the reputation of being a freethinker -at heart, and they trembled lest he should infect the poet with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> -opinions. It is even suspected that many letters between the friends -were intercepted. But others not only reached their destination, but -have been preserved and published, and they now form a noble memorial -of confidence and friendship. Leopardi was able at intervals to devote -himself to his favourite pursuit of literature and he published some -of his earlier poems; but their patriotic character frightened the -apprehensive Monaldo. He was afraid his son would be regarded as a -sympathiser with the Carbonari, and Leopardi had to distribute the -copies surreptitiously and to speak of them as little as possible.</p> - -<p>He was abandoning his labours in the field of Classical Antiquity and -turning his attention to original and stirring themes, full of life and -actuality. But, unhappily, the more his intellect expanded, the more -his health deteriorated. The blackest melancholy never left him, and it -became daily intensified by his persistent habits of introspection. He -complains in a letter to Giordani of utter weakness of his whole body -and especially of the nerves. We hear nothing of doctors being called -in to arrest the evil, nor does the patient himself seem to have asked -for them. Things were allowed to drift until it was too late. "I am -lying," he says in one of his letters to Giordani, "under a mountain of -sorrows, and not a ray of hope can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> be seen." "I speak from my heart -and I do not pretend," he exclaims. The great poet is already a great -pessimist.</p> - -<p>In 1821 the tone of his letters became a trifle more cheerful and he -was interested in the engagement of his sister Paolina, and he wrote -a poem on her marriage. But the negotiations were broken off and the -wedding never took place.</p> - -<p>Conscious of the immense reputation he already possessed of vast -erudition, his parents formed the hope that he would embrace the -ecclesiastical career and rise to high dignities in the Roman Curia. -When at last their consent was obtained for his departure from home -in the hope that change would benefit his shattered nerves, it was to -Rome that he was sent, doubtless with the desire that he should make -acquaintances useful to him in the future. He resided with his maternal -uncle, the Marquis Carlo Antici. But no sooner had he arrived in Rome -than he regretted Recanati, and it became apparent that wherever he -went, one of his most striking oddities was an intense horror of his -place of residence, an utter loathing which he neither moderated -nor concealed. If he called Recanati a dungeon, he called Rome a -gigantic sepulchre. His shattered nerves could ill bear the concourse -of people around him, and he saw in society, not its vivacity and -animation, but its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> frivolity and emptiness. For the literary men of -Rome he entertained immeasurable contempt. He despised them for their -devotion to Antiquarian minutiæ. But this reproach came with ill-grace -from Leopardi, who had himself devoted years of laborious study, who -had even squandered the precious possession of health in laborious -elucidation of grammatical and philological problems, hardly more -important than the coins and inscriptions of Roman Antiquarians.</p> - -<p>He made, however, some agreeable acquaintances, pre-eminent among whom -was the historian Niebuhr, at that time Prussian Ambassador to the -Vatican. Niebuhr conceived the most intense admiration for his genius -and spoke of him in the highest terms to Cardinal Consalvi, Secretary -of State to Pius VII. The Cardinal offered him the prospect of -valuable preferment, but only on condition that he should embrace the -ecclesiastical career. To this, however, Leopardi offered invincible -repugnance. Neither his own interests nor the persuasion of friends -could induce him to yield. Pius VII died in 1823, and Consalvi retired -from the direction of public affairs. So favourable an opportunity -never returned. Niebuhr offered Leopardi an appointment in Prussia, -but he refused, dreading the long journey and the severe climate of -Berlin. Great as his reputation was, no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> other opening offered itself. -It is curious to reflect on the vicissitudes of literary fame. Leopardi -is now valued for his lyric poems and for his dialogues and thoughts -in prose; but his laborious studies in philology, studies to which he -sacrificed health and happiness, are rapidly sinking into oblivion. -When he first went to Rome, he had hardly written a line of that -which has conferred immortality upon him. All the esteem he enjoyed -was lavished upon him for the fruits of his juvenile industry. The -grammarian who could solve the most difficult passages in the ancient -writers of Greece and Rome, who was as well versed in the Talmud as in -the Bible, who knew the obscurest Italian writers of the Fourteenth -Century as intimately as his contempories knew Petrarch, was valued -and extolled; the melodious poet and the profound philosopher was not -ignored or despised, because he was not even suspected to exist.</p> - -<p>In 1823, after five months sojourn in Rome, he returned to Recanati. -He had seen the world he so longed to explore, and disenchantment -was the result. His health was not improved, on the contrary, it was -rather injured, by the inevitable exertions of travel, sight-seeing and -society. He remained at Recanati for two years, and during part of this -period he was occupied in publishing a volume of poems. They were well -received, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> they were published secretly, without the knowledge of -his parents. The passion for overwork did not desert him even after the -warning already given to him by his shattered health. "I work day and -night as much as my strength will allow. When I break down, I walk up -and down my room daily for months." He would have done better to walk -up and down in the open air.</p> - -<p>Having seen so much in Rome of the incompetence and frivolity of -literary people, he despaired of finding due appreciation for the -elaborate finish which it was his ambition to bestow upon his -productions and without which he did not care to write. But still his -ambitious spirit commanded him to persevere, and among the signs of -encouragement he received was the homage paid him by Niebuhr of the -dedication of one of his works. When Niebuhr left Rome he enjoined upon -his successor Bunsen to value the great merit of Leopardi, and Bunsen -proved himself the poet's friend through life.</p> - -<p>In 1825 he received an offer from the Milanese publisher Stella to -superintend an edition of the complete works of Cicero and to reside -with him while the sheets were passing through the press. He gladly -accepted. He set out for Milan in July, staying at Bologna for a month -to avoid the fatigue of travelling during the great heat. Bologna was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> -one of the few places that he really liked. He enjoyed the company of -Giordani and other friends, and he was loth to part with them. When he -reached Milan, he pined to return to Bologna; everything seemed to him -repulsive and even hostile; he made no friends; his duties with regard -to the edition of Cicero seemed to him intolerably irksome; and he even -disliked the gaieties of Milan, gaieties in which he was at times too -unwell and at other times too melancholy to join.</p> - -<p>"He carried with him his misfortune wherever he went," says Ambrosoli, -who met him at this epoch; "and he could not remain happy for long in -any place. He could not obtain any suitable post in Italy, and out -of Italy he would not accept one. When in 1825 he came to Milan to -stay some months with the publisher Stella, he was already an object -of compassion, so young, and with such a reputation for genius and -learning, and yet visibly hastening to his end. In his conversation, -as well as in his writings, he was so simple, so remote from any -ostentation, that few might suspect that he was an extraordinary -man; but by degrees the flashes of his wit and the treasures of his -knowledge revealed the powers within him."</p> - -<p>At last he carried out his intention of returning to Bologna, but -the second visit was not so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> pleasant as the first. When the winter -came, it was bitterly cold, and his health suffered in proportion. -He would willingly have returned to Milan, but he did not receive -another invitation. He was occupied with a Commentary on Petrarch, a -labour which he did not undertake very readily, but which was pressed -upon him by Stella. It was a great success, and Stella had reason to -congratulate himself upon his acumen in getting the work done by so -gifted a writer. He entrusted Leopardi with the editing of a selection -from the best works of the best authors, and this task was still -occupying him when he returned to Recanati, in November, 1826.</p> - -<p>It would appear that during his sojourn at Bologna he had not been -insensible to the attractions of love; but love could be for him -nothing but a source of torment; and as his first return home was -signalised by the wreck of hope, so was his second by the blighting of -affection. He seemed, like the hero of the <i>Pilgrim's Progress,</i> to be -writhing in the grasp of Giant Despair; and from the day of his arrival -to that of his departure, in the following April, he was not once seen -in the streets of Recanati.</p> - -<p>He sought a remedy for his sorrows by returning to Bologna, but in -vain; and on the 20th of June, 1827, he removed to Florence where he -enjoyed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> the society of Giordani; but an acute inflammation of the -eyes confined him to the house and long prevented him from inspecting -the treasures of art that overflow the Tuscan city. At this epoch he -published his <i>Operette Morali,</i> a series of dialogues and essays, -offering, according to the best critics of his country, the most -perfect specimen of prose in the Italian language.</p> - -<p>In the autumn he somewhat recovered, and wishing to continue the -improvement, he avoided the cold of Florence by wintering at Pisa. -Florence, as a residence, he did not like, but with Pisa he was -enchanted. The improvement, however, was but slight, and his nerves -were in such a weak state that any sort of application or study was out -of the question. In April, 1828, he was able to apply himself again -to composition, and he seemed to be reviving, when the death of his -brother Luigi afflicted him profoundly. From June to November he was -again at Florence, but his yearning for home made itself felt after the -recent bereavement.</p> - -<p>He started on the 12th of November for Recanati in the company of a -young man afterwards known to fame as Vincenzo Gioberti. He found his -birthplace darkened by the shadow of death, which seemed to him the -herald of his own. His former gloom returned, but in a more terrible -shape; he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> saw only annihilation before him; and he took the last -glance of life in his superb <i>Ricordanze,</i> the most richly coloured, -the most deeply pathetic, the most unfathomably profound of all his -poems.</p> - -<p>In 1830, his Florentine friends, wishing to have him once more in -their midst, urged his return to their city. Accordingly, in May he -took leave of his family, little thinking he should never see them -again. It would be curious to enquire what made him so wretched when -at home, and yet, when absent, always longing to be there. His brother -Carlo said many years later to Prospero Viani, the editor of his -correspondence, that none of his poems written elsewhere had the beauty -of those composed at Recanati; and when Viani mentioned the <i>Ginestra,</i> -Carlo replied that in substance even the <i>Ginestra</i> was conceived -at Recanati. Some biographers say the <i>Risorgimento</i> was written at -Pisa; but Ranieri, who was probably well-informed, says it was written -at Recanati, and this assertion is, I think, borne out by internal -evidence. The <i>Canto Notturno</i> seems also to have been written in his -birthplace. Thus, Carlo's statement would be correct. It is observable -that the poems subsequent to the <i>Canto Notturno,</i> with the exception -of <i>Aspasia</i> and the little poem <i>To Himself,</i> have an air of languor, -foreign to his earlier productions. This languor is perceptible even -in the sublime <i>Ginestra,</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> and it is not absent from passages of -the <i>Pensiero Dominante, Amore e Morte,</i> and the long, mock-heroic -<i>Paralipomeni.</i> The repose, sepulchral as it may have seemed to him, -of Recanati, and the exquisite beauty of its scenery, bordered in the -distance by the blue waters of the Adriatic, were conducive to the -exercise of the imagination. Nor must we forget that he spoke of other -places (except Pisa and Bologna) with equal bitterness. The climate -seems really to have worked havoc on his delicate frame. He allowed its -inhabitants only one merit, that of speaking Italian with purity and -elegance.</p> - -<p>His stay in Florence, which extended from May, 1830, to October of -the following year, was made memorable by the publication of another -edition of his Poems, with many pieces added and with a dedicatory -epistle to his Tuscan friends. At this period, he made the acquaintance -of Ranieri, a Neapolitan with literary talents, who was to be his -intimate friend and future biographer.</p> - -<p>In October, 1831, he suddenly vanished from Florence and appeared -in Rome, why, none could tell. He wrote to his brother Carlo on the -subject, begging him not to ask for the details of a long romance, -full of pain and anguish. It has been conjectured that he fixed his -affections upon an unworthy object and was bitterly undeceived. -Whatever the circumstances may have been, it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> certain that in Rome -his mental misery, always great, rose to an intolerable height, and -that for a time he harboured thoughts of self-destruction. But the -strength of his character overcame the strength of his affliction, and -he gradually softened to a serener mood. At this time the Florentine -Accademia della Crusca elected him a member, a worthy tribute to his -genius and eloquence. After five months sojourn in Rome, he returned to -Florence, where he fell so dangerously ill that the rumour was spread -of his decease. The doctors urged him to try a milder climate, and in -September, 1833, he set out for Naples, accompanied by Ranieri.</p> - -<p>In Naples and its vicinity the remainder of his life was destined to be -passed.</p> - -<p>The natural beauties of the surrounding country were delightful to -one so appreciative of their charm. His health improved after a time, -and he was able to display the riches of his intellect by writing the -<i>Paralipomeni,</i> many detached thoughts in prose, like the <i>Pensées</i> -of Pascal and the <i>Maxims</i> of La Rochefoucauld; and above all, his -philosophic and immortal poem, the <i>Ginestra,</i> of which it may be said -that had he written nothing else his fame would be perpetuated by that -production alone.</p> - -<p>In March, 1836, he who had formerly sighed so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> deeply for death and -who had invoked it in such exquisite verse, felt so greatly improved -in health that he imagined he had many years before him. But this was -only the last flickering of the flame before it went out for ever. The -Cholera was raging in 1837, and the prospect of falling a victim to -a mysterious and terrible disease, filled him with horror. The great -German poet Platen who had resided in Naples previous to his departure -for Sicily, where he died, was the first to instil him with alarm on -the subject.</p> - -<p>Leopardi was thoroughly unhappy, and his strange aversion to the places -where he lived revived with unreasonable violence. He wrote of Naples -as a den of barbarous African savagery. He yearned for home and pined -for his family, and the last letter he sent to his father (three weeks -before his decease), was full of plans for returning to Recanati as -soon as his infirmities and the Quarantine would allow. He had not been -able to write his letters for some years, owing to failing sight, and -was obliged to dictate them to an amanuensis.</p> - -<p>"If I escape from the Cholera," he says in this letter which was to -be his last, "and as soon as my health allows, I will do my utmost to -rejoin you, whatever time of year it may be; because I must hasten, -persuaded as I am that the term prescribed by God to my days, cannot -now be distant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> My physical sufferings, incessant and incurable, have -in course of time attained such a degree that they cannot get worse, -and I hope that when at last the feeble resistance of my dying body -is exhausted, they may conduct me to that eternal rest which I pray -for daily, not from heroism, but from the intensity of the agonies I -suffer."</p> - -<p>His earthly sorrows were indeed drawing to a close, and he died -suddenly at Capo di Monte, when preparing to go out for a drive, at -five o'clock in the afternoon on the fourteenth of June, 1837, aged -thirty-nine years all but a fortnight. "His body," says Ranieri, "saved -as by a miracle from the common and confused burial place enforced by -the Cholera regulations, was interred in the suburban Church of San -Vitale on the road of Pozzuoli, where a plain slab indicates his memory -to the visitor." He was slight and short of stature, somewhat bent and -very pale, with a large forehead and blue eyes, an aquiline nose and -refined features, a soft voice and a most attractive smile. His father -survived him ten years; his mother, twenty years; his sister Paolina, -thirty-two years; and his brother Carlo, nearly forty-one years. His -youngest brother, Pierfrancesco, who died in 1851, also at the age of -thirty-eight, was alone destined to continue the family. Carlo was -twice married,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> but had only one daughter, who died young, by his first -wife. I am indebted to the kindness of the Count and Countess Leopardi -for several interesting works relating to the poet.</p> - -<p>Mr. Charles Edwardes has translated with great skill Leopardi's Prose -Works; I have translated his Poems, so that readers who may not be -acquainted with Italian, can now obtain an idea of his philosophy and -of his poetry. Equally as a thinker and as a poet, he is distinguished -by depth. As a Prose writer, he bears a striking resemblance to Pascal. -In both there is the same gloomy power of imagination, the same method -of profound meditation, and the same intensity of pessimism. As a poet -he displays the most marvellous variety of thought and of expression. -His mock-heroic poem, entitled <i>Paralipomeni della Batracomiomachia,</i> -is, as the name indicates, a sort of continuation of the Greek Poem -describing the War of the Frogs and the Rats. The subject is wretchedly -chosen and it is obvious that the narrative serves only to introduce -the digressions, and it is in these digressions that the poet's -brilliant imagination and felicity of style are displayed. Indeed, -in the style alone can the work be said to have any merit. It is the -longest of his poetical productions, and it is greatly to be regretted -that he did not bestow the labour wasted on so frivolous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> a subject -upon a theme worthier of his genius. Still, there are some fine -passages, as, for instance, a most poetical description of Night, of -which I subjoin a translation:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"The star of Venus in the Heavens high<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Appeared before the other stars or moon;</span><br /> -Silent was all; no breath was heard, no cry,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unless the murmur of a far lagoon,</span><br /> -And buzzing gnats who from the forest fly<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When veiling shades replace the glare of noon;</span><br /> -The lovely face of Hesperus serene<br /> -Was in the lake in pure reflection seen.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The poem also offers an exquisite description of the Cuckoo, which may -be compared to Wordsworth's poem on the same subject:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -In fragrant May, when love and life are bound<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In closer links, we hear the Cuckoo far,</span><br /> -Mysterious bird, who in the woods profound<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gives vent to sighs that almost human are,</span><br /> -Who, like a ghost nocturnal, all around<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deludes the shepherd following from afar;</span><br /> -Nor long is heard the voice: it wanes and dies,<br /> -Though born in Spring, when Summer heats arise."<br /> -</p> - -<p>But Leopardi's universal renown is founded upon the forty-one poems and -fragments of poems published under the collective title of <i>Canti.</i> -Thirty-four of the pieces are complete and original poems, seven are -either fragments or translations.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> - -<p>We find in reading Petrarch's Odes and Sonnets a certain sameness, -whence it is difficult to keep the greater number of the poems distinct -from each other in the memory, beautiful though they may be. The same -cannot be said of Leopardi's <i>Canti.</i> There each poem has a distinct -individuality of its own, and makes an indelible impression upon the -reader. I will quote a few of the finest, and will begin with one of -his most admired masterpieces in which, under the disguise of Sappho -before taking the fatal leap from the promontory of Leucadia, he -deplores his own physical afflictions.</p> - - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span class="mcap">The Last Song of Sappho.</span><br /> -<br /> -(<i>Ultimo Canto di Saffo</i>).<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou peaceful night, thou chaste and silver ray</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the declining Moon; and thou, arising</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid the quiet forest on the rocks,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Herald of day; O cherished and endeared,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whilst Fate and Doom were to my knowledge closed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Objects of sight! No lovely land or sky</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doth longer gladden my despairing mood.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By unaccustomed joy we are revived</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When o'er the liquid spaces of the Heavens</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And o'er the fields alarmed doth wildly whirl</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tempest of the winds, and when the car,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ponderous car of Jove, above our heads</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thundering, divides the heavy air obscure.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er mountain peaks and o'er abysses deep</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We love to float amid the swiftest clouds;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We love the terror of the herds dispersed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The streams that flood the plain,</span><br /> -And the victorious, thunderous fury of the main.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair is thy sight, O sky divine, and fair</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Art thou, O dewy Earth! Alas! of all</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This beauty infinite, no slightest part</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To wretched Sappho did the Gods or Fate</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inexorable give. Unto thy reign</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Superb, O Nature, an unwelcome guest</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a disprized adorer doth my heart</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And do mine eyes implore thy lovely forms;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But all in vain. The sunny land around</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smiles not for me, nor from ethereal gates</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blush of early dawn; not me the songs</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of brilliant-feathered birds, not me the trees</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Salute with murmuring leaves; and where in shade</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of drooping willows doth a liquid stream</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Display its pure and crystal course, from my</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Advancing foot the soft and flowing waves</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Withdrawing with affright,</span><br /> -Disdainfully it takes through flowery dell its flight.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What fault so great, what guiltiness so dire</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did blight me ere my birth, that adverse grew</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me the brow of fortune and the sky?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How did I sin, a child, when ignorant</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of wickedness is life, that from that time</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Despoiled of youth and of its fairest flowers,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cruel Fates wove with relentless wrath</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The web of my existence? Reckless words</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rise on thy lips; the events that are to be,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A secret council guides. Secret is all,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our agony excepted. We were born,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Neglected race, for tears; the reason lies</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid the Gods on high. Oh cares and hopes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of early years! To beauty did the Sire,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To glorious beauty an eternal reign</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give o'er this human kind; for warlike deed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For learned lyre or song,</span><br /> -In unadornèd shape, no charms to fame belong.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah! let us die. The unworthy garb divested,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The naked soul will take to Dis its flight</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And expiate the cruel fault of blind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dispensers of our lot. And thou for whom</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long love in vain, long faith and fruitless rage</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of unappeased desire assailed my heart,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Live happily, if happily on earth</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A mortal yet hath lived. Not me did Jove</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sprinkle with the delightful liquor from</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The niggard urn, since of my childhood died</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dreams and fond delusions. The glad days</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of our existence are the first to fly;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then disease and age approach, and last,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shade of frigid Death. Behold! of all</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The palms I hoped for and the errors sweet,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hades remains; and the transcendant mind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sinks to the Stygian shore</span><br /> -Where sable Night doth reign, and silence evermore.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="mcap">The Infinite.</span><br /> -<br /> -I always loved this solitary hill<br /> -And this green hedge that hides on every side<br /> -The last and dim horizon from our view.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>But as I sit and gaze, a never-ending<br /> -Space far beyond it and unearthly silence<br /> -And deepest quiet in my thought I picture,<br /> -And as with terror is my heart o'ercast<br /> -With wondrous awe. And whilst I hear the wind<br /> -Amid the green leaves rustling, I compare<br /> -That silence infinite unto this sound,<br /> -And to my mind eternity occurs<br /> -And all the vanished ages, and the present<br /> -Whose sound doth meet mine ear. And so in this<br /> -Immensity my thought is drifted on,<br /> -And to be wrecked on such a sea is sweet.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="mcap">To Sylvia.</span><br /> -<br /> -Sylvia, rememberest thou<br /> -Yet that sweet time of thine abode on earth,<br /> -When beauty graced thy brow<br /> -And fired thine eyes so radiant and so gay,<br /> -And thou, so joyous, yet of pensive mood,<br /> -Didst pass on youth's fair way?<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The chambers calm and still,</span><br /> -The sunny paths around,<br /> -Did to thy song resound,<br /> -When thou, upon thy handiwork intent,<br /> -Wast seated, full of joy<br /> -At the fair future where thy hopes were bound.<br /> -It was the fragrant month of flowery May,<br /> -And thus went by thy day.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I, leaving oft behind</span><br /> -The labours and the vigils of my mind<br /> -That did my life consume<br /> -And of my being far the best entomb,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>Bade from the casement of my father's house<br /> -Mine ears give heed unto thy silver song<br /> -And to thy rapid hand<br /> -That swept with skill the spinning thread along;<br /> -I watched the sky serene,<br /> -The radiant paths and flowers,<br /> -And here the sea, the mountain there, expand.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What thoughts divinely sweet,</span><br /> -What hopes, O Sylvia! and what souls were ours!<br /> -In what guise did we meet<br /> -Our destiny and life?<br /> -When I remember such aspiring flown,<br /> -Fierce pain invades my soul<br /> -Which nothing can console<br /> -And my misfortune I again bemoan.<br /> -O Nature, void of ruth!<br /> -Why not give some return<br /> -For those fair promises? Why full of fraud<br /> -Thy wretched offspring spurn?<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thou, ere the herbs by Winter were destroyed,</span><br /> -Led to the grave by an unknown disease,<br /> -Did'st perish, tender blossom. Thy life's flower<br /> -Was not by thee enjoyed;<br /> -Nor heard, thy heart to please,<br /> -The admiration of thy raven hair<br /> -Or of the enamoured glances of thine eyes;<br /> -Nor thy companions in the festive hour<br /> -Spoke of the raptures of impassioned love<br /> -Or of its burning sighs.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ere long my hope as well</span><br /> -Was dead and gone. By cruel Fate's decree<br /> -Was youthfulness denied<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>Unto my years. Ah me!<br /> -How art thou past for aye,<br /> -Thou dear companion of my earlier day,<br /> -My hope so much bewailed!<br /> -Is this the world? Are these<br /> -The joys, the loves, the labours and the deeds<br /> -Whereof so often we together spoke?<br /> -Is this the doom to which mankind proceeds?<br /> -When dark reality before thee lay<br /> -Revealed, thou sankest, and thy dying hand<br /> -Pointed to death, a figure of cold gloom,<br /> -And to a distant tomb.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="mcap">The Calm After the Tempest.</span><br /> -<br /> -The storm hath passed away; the birds rejoice;<br /> -I hear the feathered songsters tune their notes<br /> -As they again come forth. Behold! the sky<br /> -Serenely breaks through regions of the West<br /> -Beyond the mountain-ridge; the country round<br /> -Emerges from the shadows, and below,<br /> -Within the vale, the river clearly shines.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Each heart rejoices; everywhere the sound</span><br /> -Of life revives and the accustomed work;<br /> -The artizan to see the liquid sky,<br /> -With tools in hand and singing as he comes,<br /> -Before the door of his abode appears;<br /> -The maiden with her pitcher issues forth<br /> -To seize the waters of the recent rain,<br /> -And he who traffics in the flowers and herbs<br /> -Of Mother Earth, his daily cry renews<br /> -In roads and lanes as he again proceeds.<br /> -See how the Sun returns! See how he smiles<br /> -Upon the hills and houses! Busy hands<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>Are opening windows and withdrawing screens<br /> -From balconies and ample terraces;<br /> -And from the street where lively traffic runs<br /> -The tinkling bells in silver distance sound;<br /> -The wheels revolve as now the traveller<br /> -His lengthy journey on the road resumes.<br /> -<br /> -Each heart rejoices. When is life so sweet,<br /> -So welcome, as it now appears to all?<br /> -When with like joy doth man to studies bend,<br /> -To work return, or to new actions rise?<br /> -When doth he less remember all his ills?<br /> -Ah, truly, Pleasure is the child of Woe;<br /> -Joy, idle Joy, the fruit of recent Fear<br /> -Which roused with terror of immediate death<br /> -The heart of him who most abhorred this life;<br /> -And thus the nations in a torment long,<br /> -Cold, silent, withered with expectant fear,<br /> -Shuddered and trembled, seeing from Heaven's gate<br /> -The angry Powers in serried order march,<br /> -The clouds, the winds, the shafts of living fire,<br /> -To our annihilation and despair.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh bounteous Nature! these thy present are,</span><br /> -These are the joys on mortals thou doth shower;<br /> -To escape from pain is happiness on earth.<br /> -Sorrows thou pourest with abundant hand;<br /> -Pain rises freely from a fertile seed;<br /> -The little pleasure that from endless woe<br /> -As by a miracle receives its birth,<br /> -Is held a mighty gain. Our human race<br /> -Dear to the eternal Rulers of the sky!<br /> -Ah! blest enough and fortunate indeed<br /> -Art thou if pain brief respite gives to thee<br /> -To breathe and live; favoured beyond compare<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>Art thou if cured of every grief by Death.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="mcap">The Villagers' Saturday Night.</span><br /> -<br /> -From copse and glade the maiden takes her way<br /> -When in the west the setting sun reposes;<br /> -She gathered flowers; her slender fingers bear<br /> -A fragrant wealth of violets and roses,<br /> -And with their beauty she will deck her hair,<br /> -Her lovely bosom with their leaves entwine;<br /> -Such is her wont on every festive day.<br /> -The aged matron sits upon the steps<br /> -And with her neighbours turns the spinning wheel,<br /> -Facing the heavens where the rays decline;<br /> -And she recalls the years,<br /> -The happy years when on the festive day<br /> -It was her wont her beauty to array,<br /> -And when amidst her lovers and compeers<br /> -In youth's effulgent pride<br /> -Her rapid feet through mazy dance did glide.<br /> -<br /> -The sky already darkens, and serene<br /> -The azure vault its loveliness reveals;<br /> -From hill and tower a lengthened shadow steals<br /> -In silvery whiteness of the crescent moon.<br /> -We hear the distant bell<br /> -Of festive morrow tell;<br /> -To weary hearts how generous a boon!<br /> -The happy children in the open space<br /> -In dancing numbers throng<br /> -With game and jest and song;<br /> -And to his quiet home and simple fare<br /> -The labourer doth repair<br /> -And whistles as he goes,<br /> -Glad of the morrow that shall bring repose.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then, when no other light around is seen,</span><br /> -No other sound or stir,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>We hear the hammer strike,<br /> -The grating saw of busy carpenter;<br /> -He is about and doing, so unlike<br /> -His quiet neighbours; his nocturnal lamp<br /> -With helpful light the darkened workshop fills,<br /> -And he makes haste his business to complete<br /> -Ere break of dawn the heavenly regions greet.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This of the seven is the happiest day,</span><br /> -With hope and joyaunce gay;<br /> -To-morrow grief and care<br /> -The unwelcome hours will in their progress bear;<br /> -To-morrow one and all<br /> -In thought their wonted labours will recall.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O merry youth! Thy time of life so gay</span><br /> -Is like a joyous and delightful day,<br /> -A day clear and serene<br /> -That doth the approaching festival precede<br /> -Of thy fair life. Rejoice! Divine indeed<br /> -Is this fair day, I ween.<br /> -I'll say no more; but when it comes to thee,<br /> -Thy festival, may it not evil be.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="mcap"><span class="mcap">Aspasia.</span></span><br /> -<br /> -Again at times appeareth to my thought<br /> -Thy semblance, O Aspasia! either flashing<br /> -Across my path amid the haunts of men<br /> -In other forms; or 'mid deserted fields<br /> -When shines the sun or tranquil host of stars,<br /> -As by the sweetest harmony awoke,<br /> -Arising in my soul which seems once more<br /> -To yield unto that vision all superb,<br /> -How much adored, O Heaven! of yore how fully<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>The joyaunce and the halo of my life!<br /> -I never meet the perfume of the gardens<br /> -Or of the flowers that cities may display,<br /> -Without beholding thee as thou appearedst<br /> -Upon that day when in thy splendid rooms<br /> -Which gave the perfume of the sweetest flowers<br /> -Of recent Spring, arrayed in robes that bore<br /> -The violet's hue, first thine angelic form<br /> -Did meet my gaze as thou, reclining, layest<br /> -On strange, white furs, and deep, voluptuous charm<br /> -Seemed to be thine, whilst thou, a skilled enchantress<br /> -Of loving hearts, upon the rosy lips<br /> -Of thy fair children many a fervent kiss<br /> -Imprintedst, bending down to them thy neck<br /> -Of snowy beauty, and with lovely hand<br /> -Their guileless forms, unconscious of thy wile,<br /> -Clasping unto thy bosom, so desired,<br /> -Though hidden. To the vision of my soul<br /> -Another sky and more entrancing world<br /> -And radiance as from Heaven were revealed.<br /> -Thus in my heart, though not unarmed, thy power<br /> -infixed the arrow which I wounded bore<br /> -Until that day when the revolving earth<br /> -A second time her yearly course fulfilled.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A ray divine unto my thought appeared,</span><br /> -Lady, thy beauty. Similar effects<br /> -Beauty and music's harmony produce,<br /> -Revealing both the mysteries sublime<br /> -Of unknown Eden. Thence the loving soul,<br /> -Though injured in his love, adores the birth<br /> -Of his fond mind, the amorous idea<br /> -That doth include Olympus in its range,<br /> -And seems in face, in manner and in speech<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>Like unto her whom the enchanted lover<br /> -Fancies alone to cherish and admire.<br /> -Not her, but that sweet image, he doth clasp<br /> -Even in the raptures of a fond embrace.<br /> -At last his error and the objects changed<br /> -Perceiving, wrath invades him, and he oft<br /> -Wrongly accuses her he thought he loved.<br /> -The mind of woman to that lofty height<br /> -Rarely ascends, and what her charms inspire<br /> -She little thinks and seldom understands.<br /> -So frail a mind can harbour no such thought.<br /> -In vain doth man, deluded by the light<br /> -Of those enthralling eyes, indulge in hope;<br /> -In vain he asks for deep and hidden thoughts,<br /> -Transcending mortal ken, of her to whom<br /> -Hath Nature's law a lesser rank assigned,<br /> -For as her form less strength than man's received,<br /> -So too her mind less energy and depth.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor thou as yet what inspirations vast</span><br /> -Within my thought thy loveliness aroused,<br /> -Aspasia, could'st conceive. Thou little knowest<br /> -What love unmeasured and what woes intense,<br /> -What frenzy wild and feelings without name,<br /> -Thou didst within me move, nor shall the time<br /> -Appear when thou canst know it. Equally<br /> -The skilled performer ignorant remains<br /> -Of what with hand or voice he doth arouse<br /> -Within his hearers. That Aspasia now<br /> -Is dead, whom I so worshipped. She lies low<br /> -For evermore, once idol of my life;<br /> -Unless at times, a cherished shade, she rises,<br /> -Ere long to vanish. Thou art still alive,<br /> -Not merely lovely, but of such perfection<br /> -That, as I think, thou dost eclipse the rest.<br /> -But now the ardour, born of thee, is spent;<br /> -Because I loved not thee, but that fair goddess<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>Who had her dwelling in me, now her grave.<br /> -Her long I worshipped, and so was I pleased<br /> -By her celestial loveliness, that I,<br /> -Even from the first full conscious and aware<br /> -Of what thou art, so wily and so false,<br /> -Beholding in thine eyes the light of hers,<br /> -Fondly pursued thee while she lived in me;<br /> -Not dazzled or deluded, but induced<br /> -By the enjoyment of that sweet resemblance,<br /> -A long and bitter slavery to bear.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now boast, for well thou may'st. Say that alone</span><br /> -Of all thy sex art thou to whom I bent<br /> -My haughty head, to whom I gladly gave<br /> -My heart in homage. Say that thou wert first<br /> -(And last, I truly hope), to see mine eyes'<br /> -Imploring gaze, and me before thee stand<br /> -Timid and fearful (as I write, I burn<br /> -With wrath and shame); me of myself deprived,<br /> -Each look of thine, each gesture and each word<br /> -Observing meekly; at thy haughty freaks<br /> -Pale and subdued; then radiant with delight<br /> -At any sign of favour, changing hue<br /> -At every glance of thine. The charm is gone;<br /> -And with it shattered, falls the heavy yoke,<br /> -Whence I rejoice. Though weariness be with me,<br /> -Yet after such delirium and long thraldom<br /> -Gladly my freedorh I again embrace<br /> -And my unshackled mind. For if a life<br /> -Void of affections and of errors sweet,<br /> -Be like a starless night in winter's depth,<br /> -Revenge sufficient and sufficient balm<br /> -It is to me that here upon the grass<br /> -Leisurely lying and unmoved, I gaze<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>On sky, earth, ocean, and serenely smile.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="mcap">On the Portrait of a Beautiful Woman</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="mcap">Engraven on Her Tomb.</span><br /> -<br /> -Such was on earth thy form,<br /> -But the unpitying storm<br /> -Of Death resolved thy beauty into dust.<br /> -Dumb witness of the flight of ages here,<br /> -This image of thy perished loveliness<br /> -Stands all unmoved, as though it held in trust<br /> -The guardianship of memory and pain,<br /> -Above the ashes that alone remain<br /> -Of those sweet charms that did thy being bless.<br /> -That tender gaze, thrilling as though with fear<br /> -The eyes it pierced, as now it seems to do;<br /> -Those lips, abundant with the wealth of pleasure;<br /> -That neck, encircled by desire's fond arms;<br /> -That hand, Love's richest treasure,<br /> -Which when it clasped, responsive pressure knew;<br /> -And that fair bosom whose celestial charms<br /> -Gave those who saw a wan and pallid hue<br /> -From the excess of their adoring passion:<br /> -Once were as lovely as these sculptures fashion;<br /> -But all that now is left on earth of thee<br /> -Is dust and ashes which we may not see;<br /> -Thy monument to ages that ensue<br /> -Conceals the mournful vision from our view.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thus Fate doth touch and crumble into dust</span><br /> -Whatever must unto our minds appear<br /> -Image of Heaven most precious and most dear.<br /> -Oh mystery eternal of the world!<br /> -Now fount and treasure of stupendous thought,<br /> -Beauty appears in majesty sublime,<br /> -Even as a Queen in regal robes empearled,<br /> -And seems on earth a heavenly splendour brought<br /> -From fairer realms beyond the bounds of time;<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>She seems to give us hope<br /> -Of fates that can with mortal sorrow cope,<br /> -Of happier homes and planets more divine<br /> -Where golden splendours shine;<br /> -But on the morrow, feeble though the blow<br /> -Which struck her so that she declines and dies,<br /> -Dreadful to see and abject in our eyes<br /> -Becomes that peerless beauty which before<br /> -Seemed like the Seraphs who in Heaven adore<br /> -The radiant throne of the celestial Sire;<br /> -And all the wondrous dreams she did inspire<br /> -Their colours lose and wane<br /> -And in our yielding souls no longer reign.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Strange, infinite desires</span><br /> -And visionary fires<br /> -Doth wondrous music in our fancy wake,<br /> -And we then take through a delightful sea<br /> -A wondrous voyage far<br /> -Like some undaunted sailor of the deep;<br /> -But if a discord crush<br /> -Our spirit's rapturous rush,<br /> -The spell is broken and our souls are free<br /> -A lonely vigil unrelieved to keep:<br /> -So slight a break that solemn bliss can mar.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O Nature, say, if thou art wholly vile,</span><br /> -If dust and ashes symbolise thy being,<br /> -How canst thou be so lofty and far-seeing?<br /> -And if thou art so fair<br /> -That sacred dreams thy children can beguile<br /> -With art and wisdom, their appointed share,<br /> -Why by a cause so slight<br /> -Are all thy fond aspirings put to flight?<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p2"><i>Exquisite is the picture in</i> "<span class="mcap">La Vita Solitaria</span>" <i>of silent -meditation.</i></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At times I seat me in a lonely spot,</span><br /> -Upon a hill, or by a calm lake's bank,<br /> -Fringed and adorned with flowers taciturn.<br /> -There, when full mid-day heat informs the sky,<br /> -His peaceful image doth the sun depict,<br /> -And to the air moves neither leaf nor herb,<br /> -And neither ruffling wave nor cricket shrill,<br /> -Nor birds disporting in the boughs above,<br /> -Nor fluttering butterfly, nor voice nor step,<br /> -Afar or near, can sight or hearing find.<br /> -Those shores are held in deepest quietude:<br /> -Whence I the world and even myself forget,<br /> -Seated unmoved; and it appears to me<br /> -My body is released, no longer worn<br /> -With soul or feeling, and its old repose<br /> -Is blended with the silence all around.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="p2"><i>Very noble is the conclusion of the</i> "<span class="mcap">Epistle to Count Carlo Pepoli</span>":—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Thou lovest song and poets charm thy mind;<br /> -Thy task it is that rarest gift to find,<br /> -That beauty of the soul, amid mankind<br /> -So seldom seen, so fugitive and frail,<br /> -That we its absence rather than its loss bewail.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thrice happy he who never lost the flame</span><br /> -Of rich imagination when he came<br /> -To the autumnal tinting of his years,<br /> -In whom the freshness of the heart appears<br /> -For ever pure and tender! Blessed he<br /> -Whom Nature still in holy liberty<br /> -Preserves and keeps that he may deck her brow<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>With all the treasures that his thoughts allow.<br /> -Such be the gift by Heaven on thee conferred!<br /> -May sacred Poesy by thee be heard<br /> -When snowy age hath marked thee as her own<br /> -And on thy head her silvery signs are shown.<br /> -<br /> -I feel in me all blest illusions wane<br /> -That did my youth and dawn of life sustain;<br /> -I loved them much, and to the bitter end<br /> -I shall with tears their fond remembrance tend.<br /> -When comes the time that frozen quite and hard<br /> -My soul shall be, nor in the Heavens starred<br /> -The clustering splendours give my spirit joy,<br /> -My wondering thought in vague surmise employ;<br /> -Nor sunny hills and lonely places smile,<br /> -Nor warbling birds with early notes beguile<br /> -My weary heart; nor, sailing in the sky,<br /> -The queenly Moon be welcome to mine eye;<br /> -When Art and Nature shall to me be dumb,<br /> -And tender feelings like a stranger come:<br /> -Then other lore, though less endeared, I'll choose<br /> -That I the sense of bitter life may lose.<br /> -My weary mind the wonders shall embrace<br /> -That scholars seek and questioning sages trace,<br /> -The bitter truth and dark reality,<br /> -The goal of life that we so dimly see;<br /> -Why brought to light and why surcharged with woe<br /> -The countless generations here below;<br /> -What Fate and Nature have for us in store;<br /> -What laws ordain, what guides direct us o'er<br /> -The perilous gulfs of Nature and of Time;<br /> -These be the fountains of my thought sublime,<br /> -The lofty theme of many a pensive rhyme.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thus I shall live; unhappy though it be,</span><br /> -There are some charms in sad reality.<br /> -But if my song unwelcome be or strange,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>I shall not grieve; for in its boundless range<br /> -My spirit hath outsoared the love of Fame;<br /> -She is a goddess only in her name;<br /> -Than Fate and Love that rule our humankind<br /> -So vaguely, so unwisely, she is far more blind.<br /> -</p> - -<p>These extracts will enable the reader to form an idea of the power -of thought and depth of feeling that characterise Leopardi's Poems, -although the beauty of his diction may not be reproduced in all its -purity and sweetness. Never was there a poet who knew how to handle -the Italian language with greater skill, or to give it more enchanting -melody or more varied cadences. If he has a fault, it is that he is -sometimes too indifferent to ornament, and that his simplicity now -and then degenerates into poverty and bareness. But when we remember -what Italian poetry had become in his time, how artificial, how -overladen with meretricious ornaments, we shall think him worthy of -praise, rather than deserving of censure. His earlier poems are the -most ornate, and it was only by degrees that he attained that crystal -clearness of style for which we find no parallel in the Italian -language. His frequent use of a capricious succession of rhymed and -unrhymed lines allows him to develop his thoughts with perfect freedom; -indeed, so easy is the metre, that were it not for his happy selection -of words and exquisite variety of cadence, it would border dangerously -on the slipshod;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> indeed, it does so in the works of his imitators, and -of recent years it has been, probably for that reason, abandoned by -poets in favour of systems more rigid and perhaps more epigrammatic.</p> - -<p>Leopardi had every characteristic of a great lyric poet. If his -pessimism is sometimes too pronounced for many readers, it must be -admitted that the evils of life are sufficiently numerous to justify -his elegies; and he atones for any excess of gloom by the most -exquisite pictures of nature and of love. The world appears more -beautiful, though more terribly and darkly beautiful, in his poems than -in reality. He has a rare power of musical diction which delights the -ear even in his most melancholy passages. Indeed, the secret of his -power lies in the unique and exquisite contrast between the gloom and -bitterness of his thoughts and the sweetness and radiant beauty of his -style.</p> - -<p>He has also the rare power of concentrating in a few lines a whole -world of thought and emotion. Thus, in the <i>Risorgimento</i>:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Meco ritorna a vivere<br /> -La piaggia, il bosco, il monte;<br /> -Parla al mio core il fonte,<br /> -Meco favella il mar.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the poem <i>To Sylvia</i> quoted above, he calls her "his hope so much -bewailed," "mia lacrimata<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> speme." In the <i>Ricordanze</i> he calls Nerina -"his eternal sigh." Numerous other instances could be adduced. Take, -for example, the lovely passage in the <i>Canto Notturno,</i> where the -shepherd apostrophizes the Moon:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Pur tu, solinga, eterna peregrina,<br /> -Che si pensosa sei, tu forse intendi,<br /> -Questo viver terreno,<br /> -Il patir nostro, il sospirar, che sia;<br /> -Che sia questo morir, questo supremo<br /> -Scolorar del sembiante,<br /> -E perir della terra, e venir meno<br /> -Ad ogni usata, amante compagnia."<br /> -</p> - -<p>His pathos and tenderness, expressed in language of the most perfect -purity and sweetness, and adorned with the rainbow hues of his vivid -imagination, produce an effect more poetical than words can describe. -I know of no lyric poet who keeps the mind of his reader under a more -potent spell. Others, like Horace and Alfred de Musset, may be more -entertaining, others, again, like Keats and Shelley, may delight us -with airier and more brilliant flights of fancy, but Leopardi leads us -to the brink of abysses and shows us their unfathomable depth.</p> - -<p>He always writes from his heart, a rare quality, for we may find -twenty poets who write from the head for one who writes from the -heart. He never attempts a task for which he is unfitted. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> powers -of reasoning in verse are very great, but his argument never becomes -unpoetical, never becomes dryly didactic. If his works have a fault, -it is that now and then the poems have a tendency to fall off towards -the end, and in his later works there is a certain languor of style, -probably the result of ill-health. He is a great master of blank verse, -and only in one of the poems in that metre, the <i>Palinodia,</i> does he -become heavy and prolix. Sometimes, when he is not sustained by any -great thought, his extreme simplicity degenerates into poverty. Very -few poets could venture to be as simple as Leopardi.</p> - -<p>His works have the effect of growing upon the reader. The second -perusal pleases better than the first, and the more they are read, the -more they are admired. In quantity of verse produced, he is surpassed -by many writers; but in quality, by none.</p> - -<p>His prose works, like his poems, are few in number and short in -dimension. They comprise dialogues (a form of which he was very fond), -a few essays, and over one hundred detached fragmentary thoughts. They -make only a small volume of most unimposing bulk, but the beauties of -thought and style are so great that many critics have extolled them -as the most perfect production of Italian prose. They all set forth -his pessimism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> and his melancholy, but with so much art and variety, -that while they convince us of the world's misery, they also enchant -us with its beauty. Leopardi made a profound study of the great prose -writers of the Fourteenth Century, and he alone succeeds in reproducing -to perfection the freshness and harmony of their style. Some passages -are so magnificent that they cry out aloud to be put into verse. In his -prose we find less of his heart (that wonderful heart that embraced the -whole world in its sympathy) and more of the vivacity of his fancy than -in his verse.</p> - -<p>His <i>Operette Morali,</i> as his Prose Works were not very appropriately -entitled, did not receive that cordial welcome which their -extraordinary beauties should have commanded. In his youth he was -extolled up to the skies for his laborious erudition, but when he -offered the public works of real originality and value, both in prose -and verse, his gift was appreciated only by very gradual degrees. This -may be partly explained by the fact that a great wave of Utilitarianism -was passing over the country, a tendency against which he exclaims -in a letter written to Giordani from Florence in 1828. "I am weary," -he says, "of the haughty contempt which people here profess for the -beautiful and for literature, especially as I do not think that the -summit of human wisdom consists in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> knowledge of politics and of -statistics. On the contrary, when I consider philosophically the utter -uselessness of the endeavours to obtain perfection of governments and -happiness of nations, even from the days of Solon to our own, I cannot -help smiling at this mania for political and legislative schemes and -calculations, and I humbly ask how the happiness of nations can be -obtained without the happiness of individuals? We are condemned to -unhappiness by Nature, and not by our fellow-creatures or by Fate; -and to console us for this inevitable unhappiness, I think nothing -is better than the study of the beautiful, the cultivation of che -affections, the flights of imagination, and the pleasures of our -illusions. Therefore, I consider that all that pleases the mind is -useful beyond ordinary things of use, and that literature is more truly -useful than all those dry subjects which, even if they fulfilled their -objects, would little help the true felicity of human beings, who are -individuals, and not masses; but when do they really fulfil their -objects?. . . . . . I hold (and not accidentally) that human society -has inborn and necessary principles of imperfection, and that its -condition can be more or less bad, but never perfect. From every point -of view, to deprive men of that which is most delightful to the mind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> -appears to me the infliction of a real injury upon the human race."</p> - -<p>These words may be taken to heart at the present day as much as at the -time when they were written. There are far too many people ready to cry -down the pursuits of art and poetry, and it would be well to answer -them with these arguments of one of the most powerful and original -intellects that the human race has ever produced.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></h5> - - -<h4>MANZONI.</h4> - - -<p><span class="mcap">Alessandro Manzoni</span>, the most popular writer of the first half of the -Nineteenth Century, was born at Milan on the seventh of March, 1785. -His mother was the daughter of Beccaria, whose philanthropic endeavours -to abolish the worst abuses of criminal procedure have received -recognition in a previous chapter. He received his education from the -Fathers of the Somaschi Order, and in 1805 he accompanied his mother to -Paris. There he had the advantage of mixing with the most brilliant and -intellectual Society that France could produce. At that epoch he seems -first to have attempted composition, and a poem he wrote on the death -of a friend obtained sufficient encomiums to encourage him in further -efforts.</p> - -<p>In 1808 he returned to Italy and married Mademoiselle Blondel, daughter -of a banker of Geneva.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> - -<p>She was a Protestant, but soon joined the Church of Rome, and ere long -filled her husband, who had hitherto been indifferent to religion, -with the fervour that animated her soul. As in Paris, so in Milan, -he enjoyed the society of those most eminent for their intellectual -powers, and he was a frequent visitor in Monti's house. Silvio Pellico -and Tommaso Grossi were among his friends, and Luigi Tosi, afterwards -Bishop of Pavia, did much to confirm him in the ardent piety instilled -by his wife. Winter and Spring he passed in Milan, Summer and Autumn at -a beautiful villa of his at Brusiglio, four miles out of the town.</p> - -<p>In 1812 he began writing his Sacred Hymns, and if they do not rise -above a spirited, though somewhat conventional, piety, they are -nevertheless an enormous advance on the mythological platitudes that -formed so long the staple of Italian poetry.</p> - -<p>In 1819, he finished his tragedy, <i>Il Conte di Carmagnola,</i> which had -occupied him for more than three years. Manzoni entirely abandoned the -trammels of the unities of time and place to which Alfieri rigidly -adhered; his play has consequently much of the picturesqueness and -variety of Shakespeare and the Elizabethans; and it is distinguished by -that thoroughness of historical study which marked everything he wrote; -but on the other hand, it must be admitted that he is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> not inspired by -the genuine spirit of tragedy in nearly so high a degree as Alfieri, -nor has he his predecessor's remarkable gift of writing sonorous and -impressive blank verse. His verse is clear and flowing, but rather -wanting in colour. His characters say what they ought to say, but they -do not say it in a striking manner. Even more than for its merits as a -play, it deserves to be read for the accurate picture it presents of -the Venice of the Fifteenth Century.</p> - -<p>In 1820 he wrote the most spirited verses he ever produced, <i>Il Quinto -Maggio,</i> a poem on the death of Napoleon, full of fire and originality.</p> - -<p>In 1822 he published his tragedy <i>Adelchi.</i> As <i>Carmagnola</i> gave a -picture of the Oligarchy of Venice, so does <i>Adelchi</i> give us a picture -of the rule of the Lombard Kings. It is written with as much care as -its predecessor, and with more fire ind energy. But even here he is far -indeed from displaying Alfieri's mastery over blank verse. Appended to -this tragedy we find a long and valuable essay on the Lombards in Italy.</p> - -<p>Manzoni contemplated a third tragedy. It was to have been on the -subject of Spartacus, but not more was written than an introductory -Chorus.</p> - -<p>These works procured a high reputation for the poet, a reputation -which became even European when he published in 1826 his celebrated -historical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> romance, <i>I Promessi Sposi—The Betrothed.</i> No prose work -in the Italian language has been received with greater enthusiasm in -foreign countries than this. Translations appeared in every European -language; edition after edition was called for, both of the original -and of the renderings. The daily papers teemed with laudatory notices; -the author was overwhelmed with tokens of esteem and admiration, and -his countrymen hailed in him with rapture an Italian Scott.</p> - -<p>His reputation reached its zenith in 1830. But if his admirers expected -that he would display the fertility of his Caledonian prototype, they -were doomed to disappointment. He was renowned as the writer of two -able tragedies, of one of the most brilliant lyrics in any language, -and of the most successful novel that Italy had ever produced. He -was rich and comfortable, two strong incentives to indolence. He had -acquired fame so great that it would be impossible to add to it; what -need was there for him to labour and toil in producing works that -could not by any possibility approach the marvellous success of their -predecessors? Accordingly, we find that Manzoni wrote but little after -the appearance of the <i>Promessi Sposi,</i> and that little is not of great -importance. In his <i>Storia della Colonna Infame,</i> he protests, like a -true descendant of Beccaria, against the horrors of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> rack; in his -<i>Morale Cottolica,</i> he displays considerable powers of observation and -of argument.</p> - -<p>He had numerous children, but many of them predeceased him. His eldest -daughter married Massimo d'Azeglio.</p> - -<p>After the Italian victories of 1859, he was elected a member of the -Senate assembled at Turin, but he only attended its debates on two -occasions, probably owing to advancing age. He was offered high -dignities and the medals of many Orders; but he refused them all, and -lived in simple retirement, sufficiently distinguished by his renown, -and by the esteem accorded to his amiable and benevolent character. He -died on the 22nd of May, 1873, and Milan accompanied her poet to the -grave with magnificent obsequies.</p> - -<p>Turning from the man to his works, we find both his prose and his -poetry characterized by a noble spirit of repose. There is nothing -stormy or angry in his writings, for there was nothing to disturb or -to embitter his mind. He resemble Goethe in the cloudless serenity of -his intellect, though he may not equal him in the rarer attributes -of genius. It was probably this very repose that militated against -his success as a dramatist, for if they did not present so faithful a -picture of an historical epoch, his two tragedies would hardly deserve -the attention they received.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> - -<p>This happy peace of mind enabled him to reproduce very clearly what he -observed and imagined. It is, therefore, no cause for wonder that when -he devoted the powers of his mind to the production of an historical -novel, he should have given a masterpiece to the world. The story is -interesting. We follow the vicissitudes of the lovers with breathless -attention. The subject is well fitted to the author's powers. He -writes of localities among which he lived, and of times, the history -of which he had profoundly studied. The descriptions never fail to be -vivid and accurate, and the skill with which he masses together great -events cannot be too highly extolled. Nothing could be finer than the -description of the plague of Milan, and of the popular disturbances. -Nor is he less admirable in the delineation of character. The portrait -of the Friar would be alone sufficient to show his mastery in that -line. The style has its beauties, but even in this most successful -work of the Nineteenth Century we notice the same peculiarities as in -his dramas; the characters say what they ought to say, but they do not -always say it in a striking manner. Little as he resembled Leopardi, -he was like him in a certain indifference to ornament which sometimes -degenerates into poverty.</p> - -<p>In reading Manzoni's works we become aware how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> much the romantic -movement benefited literature. A new life is infused into prose and -poetry; fresh thoughts arise in the writer's mind, and the wretched -conventionalities of phraseology are done away with for ever.</p> - -<p>Above praise though the <i>Promessi Sposi</i> may be, it is not possible -to extol Manzoni very highly as a poet. With the exception of the -magnificent <i>Cinque Maggio,</i> his lyrics do not glow with vivid -fire, nor do they haunt the reader with their melody. The extremely -comfortable circumstances of the poet's life prevented him from being -torn with passion and harrowed by despair. His genius had nothing wild -or impetuous about it to spur him on to a passionate outpour of song. -Nor had he the gaiety of convivial, or the acrimony of satirical, -verse. Therefore, it is not strange that he has left us nothing quite -worthy of his renown in the lyric line, always excepting the poem on -the death of Napoleon.</p> - -<p>His powers of versification are not very remarkable. He is deficient -in the delicate cadences of a truly great poet. His blank verse has -a tendency to become flat. His rhymes are stronger, but the metre, -though effective, is not modulated and varied with the consummate -skill that can alone satisfy a cultivated ear. But all his poems are -the emanation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> of a truly noble mind, and if we search the pages of -Manzoni, whether in his prose or in his verse, for lofty thoughts and -elevating influence, we can truly say that we never search in vain.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h5> - - -<h4>SILVIO PELLICO.</h4> - - -<p>A work hardly inferior in popularity to the <i>Promessi Sposi</i> was <i>Le -Mie Prigioni,</i> an account of all that he suffered in Austrian prisons, -by <span class="mcap">Silvio Pellico</span>.</p> - -<p>The author of this celebrated book was born at Saluzzo, in Piedmont, in -1788. He spent his youth in France, but shortly after he came of age, -he returned to Italy and settled in Milan. He supported himself for a -while as a tutor, and then as a journalist. He wrote several tragedies, -the best of which is <i>Francesca da Rimini,</i> and a spirited translation -of Byron's <i>Manfred.</i></p> - -<p>In conjunction with a few friends, he published a paper, <i>Il -Conciliatore.</i> Some articles excited the displeasure of the Austrian -Government, and the paper was forbidden to appear. The disturbances -in Piedmont in 1820 aroused the fears of the Authorities, and he was -arrested with some of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> companions and taken to Venice, where he was -first of all confined in the "Piombi" in the Doge's Palace, and then in -the prison on the Island of San Michele. He and his confederates were -sentenced to death, but the capital sentence was commuted to fifteen -years imprisonment in a fortress for Pellico and twenty years for his -friend Maroncelli. Both victims were removed in 1822 to the Spielberg, -near Brunn, in Moravia, and confined in subterranean dungeons. They -were treated with the utmost rigour. Heavy manacles were fastened -to their limbs; coarse and scanty fare alone was provided for them. -Pellico's health was never strong, and it broke down utterly under such -rigorous treatment. He fell dangerously ill, and a certain relaxation -was made in order to save his life. But no sooner was he on the way to -recovery, than the former severities were revived and even aggravated. -He was no longer allowed to beguile his wretched captivity with reading -and writing, and all that he could do was to brood in his wretched -dungeon over his sorrows and to wonder whether he would live until the -day appointed for his release. His wounded spirit took refuge in the -consolations of a somewhat mystic piety. In later years the demand for -a United Italy brought the patriots into collision with the Papacy, -whose adherence to the claim of temporal power<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> for the Pope was -inflexibly maintained, and the collision resulted in bitter hostility -to Christianity; but for at least the first forty years of the -Century nearly every patriot was a fervent Catholic, whose religious -enthusiasm was fostered by the romantic movement, with its attendant -love and veneration for the Middle Ages. Pellico was emphatically the -incarnation of this type of patriot. He looked upon all free thought -with horror, and any doubts as to the tenets of his Church never seem -to have entered his mind. His cruel captivity made him cling all the -closer to the promises of the Church to her faithful, and after his -liberation his frame of mind continued the same.</p> - -<p>That liberation came sooner than was expected. Pellico and his friend -Maroncelli were released on the first of August, 1830.</p> - -<p>Count Pralormo, Envoy of the Court of Turin to Vienna, interceded -frequently for the unhappy poet, and it was probably in a large measure -owing to him that Pellico was released so soon. The Revolution of July -broke out on the very day the Emperor Francis signed the order for the -release. It was considered a fortunate circumstance for the prisoners -that the order was signed before the Emperor had heard of this event, -or he might not have been so inclined to clemency.</p> - -<p>The prisoners were conducted under escort to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> Vienna, but Silvio was -in so feeble a state of health that the exertion of travelling threw -him on a sick bed. He tells us that on his recovery he was taken drives -and excursions, and one day, when he and Maroncelli were walking in the -park at Schönbrunn, the approach of the Emperor was announced, and he -and his companion were ordered to go aside lest his Majesty should be -depressed by the sight of their pale and emaciated faces.</p> - -<p>When Pellico was allowed to return to Italy, he took refuge at Turin -with his sister. He beguiled his time by writing <i>Le Mie Prigioni</i> and -numerous tragedies and poems; but his health was quite ruined by the -hardships he had endured, and he languished in much suffering. He died -unmarried in 1854.</p> - -<p>Why Silvio Pellico was treated with such rigour and cruelty by the -Austrian Government is inexplicable, for he was the very reverse of a -dangerous and turbulent spirit. Even his imprisonment did not rouse him -to frenzy, and <i>Le Mie Prigioni</i> is less an outpouring of wrath than a -chronicle of all the tears he shed. Indeed, it would have been better -for his fame as an author if he had possessed something of the cruel -indignation that devoured the heart of Swift. His works are tender and -pensive, but they are sadly in want of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> fire. He gives us mild elegies -when we expect passionate invectives.</p> - -<p>It was hard to suffer so much, but had he suffered less, he would not -now be remembered among the authors of his country. A pure and noble -spirit he would always have been, but his star would not have shone -with sufficient brilliancy to be distinguishable from the galaxy around -it.</p> - -<p>"After writing twelve tragedies," he tells us, "eight of which alone -have been published, I ceased to write for the stage, as I felt that I -had not sufficient resources to enable me to depict a great variety of -characters. In my youth I had a wild hope that I might in time occupy -a place not distant from Alfieri, but with years I awoke from that -illusion in spite of the applause that was lavished upon me. Now I take -pleasure only in lyric and narrative poetry, in which I admit that I -do not rise to any great height; but those branches of poetry have a -strong attraction for me; I love to make of them the instruments to -express my sentiments, and especially my religious emotions. I often -feel the want of praying, as it were, in verse; and thus I produce -sometimes an ode, sometimes an elegy, in which I pour out my heart -to God, and that suffices to give me back my spiritual serenity. I -should like to see poets arise greater than myself, that they might -increase the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> number of sacred compositions, diffusing the love of God -and of virtue, and elevating their intellect and that of their fellow -creatures, with the holy union of noble thoughts and fervent religion. -We have a few such poets, but very limited in number, and too often -the divinest of arts is dedicated to frivolous, or what is worse, to -despicable subjects."</p> - -<p>These words give a clear idea of the spirit in which he wrote, and -it cannot be denied that he comes up to his noble conception, even -though a certain want of fire prevents him from occupying a high -rank in Italian literature. His two best tragedies are <i>Francesca da -Rimini</i> and <i>Thomas More.</i> In both he rises to considerable dignity, -and nothing better can be found out of Alfieri. His <i>Francesca</i> was -produced by the celebrated actress Carlotta Marchionni with brilliant -success.</p> - -<p>His lyric poems are a mirror of his tender and pensive soul, but the -fatal want of fire is more apparent than in his tragedies which are -sustained by the interest of the story.</p> - -<p>Far and away the most important of his works is <i>Le Mie Prigioni,</i> -the record of his weary years of cruel captivity. The book was a -prodigious success, and was read wherever freedom was loved and -tyranny detested. No literary production of the age was more welcome -to Italian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> patriots, because it furnished them with so forcible a -justification for rising against their oppressors. Indeed, the marvel -is that a nation like the Italian bore the yoke of foreign invaders -so long. Italy was not like Poland, without natural frontiers to act -as a barrier against the aggression of powerful neighbours. Nor was -she, like Poland, distracted by internal faction and discord. Why, -therefore, did she submit so long? The only answer, in my opinion, is -that the system in the Middle Ages of hiring venal condottieri and -their followers to fight their battles demoralised the Italians until -they failed to realise their own inherent strength. When once the -nation resolved to be free, the task was not so stupendously difficult. -It was a fortunate circumstance for Italy that neither Spain nor -Austria ever attempted to effect settlements of their own subjects -on her soil, as England did in Ireland and as Russia is now doing in -Poland. Thus, when the hour of freedom struck, the Italians had only to -overcome hostile garrisons, they had not to uproot a settled population.</p> - -<p>The style of Silvio Pellico is eminently clear and direct, and his work -is on that account a great favourite with foreigners beginning the -study of the language. He has considerable powers of description, and -he succeeds admirably in reproducing the colouring and the atmosphere -of the scenes he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> went through. He is occasionally too sentimental, -and the tears he sheds are out of all proportion to the fortitude he -displays. But a great wave of sentimentality was passing over Italy at -that time, and it was perhaps wanted to bring men back to nature after -the artificiality of the past.</p> - -<p>His gaolers seem to have been as kind to him as they dared; but the -rules of the prison were terribly rigorous, and they were not relaxed -for Silvio and his confederates, blameless though their characters were -known to be. Maroncelli had to submit to the amputation of a leg owing -to the mortification resulting from the friction of his heavy fetters, -and Pellico himself was prostrated by illness from his excessive -hardships, so that for a while his life was in danger, and great -indeed would have been the loss to Literature had a fatal termination -prevented him from leaving to posterity the record of a cruel captivity -and of a lofty and unsullied patriotism.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h5> - - -<h4>POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p>The most conspicuous, though not in reality the most eminent, of the -Italian poets in the early part of the Nineteenth Century, was <span class="mcap">Vincenzo -Monti</span>. The inexhaustible fluency of his verses attracted universal -attention, and even Leopardi worshipped at his shrine. But he was -only an idol, not a divinity. The feet of clay soon became apparent. -He veered round with shameless apostacy from one political party to -another. Beginning his career by flattering Pius VI, he continued it by -extolling the French invaders, and concluded it by grovelling before -the Austrian tyrants. He wrote odes without enthusiasm, and tragedies -without dignity, and he translated Homer without knowing sufficient<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> -Greek to read the original. An epigram was suggested for his portrait:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -"Questo è Monti, poeta e cavaliero,<br /> -Gran traduttor dei traduttor d'Omero."<br /> -</p> - -<p>But it would be unjust to deny that he had great flexibility of style -and full command over all the resources of the language. He is always -elegant and flowing, and his works, such as they are, never sin against -the canons of good taste. Perhaps the most pleasing of his shorter -poems is a very beautiful sonnet on the portrait of his daughter.</p> - -<p>A far more masterful and daring spirit was UGO FOSCOLO. His poem <i>I -Sepolcri</i> attracted universal attention, but it can hardly be said -that the promise of this poem was fulfilled by later works. He had -brilliant gifts, but he was inclined to fritter them away on learned -trifles. As a prose writer he exercised a wider influence. His <i>Lettere -di Jacopo Ortis,</i> were to Italy much what Goethe's <i>Werther</i> was to -Germany. He was an admirable critic, and his essays on Dante, Petrarch -and Boccaccio are valuable even at the present day. He took refuge in -England, and some of his best articles were written in English, being -subsequently translated into his mother-tongue. He died at Turnham -Green, near London, in 1827.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Melchiorre Cesarotti</span> translated Macpherson's <i>Ossian,</i> and was a -powerful promoter of the romantic movement.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Ippolito Pindemonte</span> wrote many poems distinguished by a gentle -pensiveness, and he translated the <i>Odyssey</i> with considerable success.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giovanni Berchet</span> of Milan, contributed largely by his verses to kindle -the fire of patriotism, but vigorous and stirring though they be, they -have hardly sufficient finish and delicacy to rank as works of art.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giuseppe Giusti</span> was a satirist of amazing raciness and originality. He -attacked the tyrannical Governments of his day, and he knew neither -fear nor discretion. Those who can form an idea of what Mr. Gilbert's -inexhaustible powers of grotesque versification would produce if -directed towards political satire, may conceive what Giusti's poems -are. He died of consumption in 1850.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Felice Bellotti</span>, of Milan, rendered noble services to the literature of -his country by his magnificent translation of the <i>Lusiad</i> of Camoens, -the <i>Argonautica</i> of Apollonius Rhodius, and the tragedies of Æschylus, -Sophocles and Euripides.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giambattista Nicolini</span> was the author of numerous tragedies, but his -tendencies were as much political as poetical, and his poetry suffers -in consequence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Jacopo Vittorelli</span> was musical and flowing in his verse, and some of his -best lines are worthy of the pen of Metastasio.</p> - -<p>The poems of <span class="mcap">Giuseppe Puzzone</span> have a tender sentimentality that is both -moving and pleasing,</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giuseppe Borghi</span> translated Pindar, and wrote poems of his own with -considerable fire and originality.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Luigi Carrer</span>, a Venetian, had the merit of opening up new sources of -ideas in his poems, and he has much pathos and command of language.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Gabriele Rossetti</span>, the father of a celebrated family, was inspired by -patriotism in almost everything he wrote. Some of his patriotic hymns -have inimitable fire and energy. He took refuge in England, where he -died in 1854.</p> - -<p>The poems of <span class="mcap">Aleardo Aleardi</span> are remarkable for strength of -imagination, but his powers of execution are not considerable.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giosue Carducci</span> ranks very high among the poets of the Nineteenth -Century, but his endeavours to revive the mythology of which the world -had become utterly weary were not very judicious, although in his case -they were redeemed by great learning and much force of imagination. He -tried to introduce the metres of Horace into Italian, but the result is -not very musical.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Enrico Panzacchi</span> is a true poet, and his imagery is always graceful and -in good taste.</p> - -<p>The same cannot be said of <span class="mcap">Olindo Guerrini</span> who, under the pseudonym of -<span class="mcap">Lorenzo Stechetti</span>, published poems remarkable for freshness and melody -of style, but also, unhappily, for coarseness and indecency. He is very -successful in the art of making the verses sing; they really come from -the heart of the poet and go straight to the heart of the reader.</p> - -<p>The Sicilian <span class="mcap">Rapisardi</span> produced some fine works, among others a long -poem on the afflictions of Job. It is full of imagination, but it would -be difficult to conceive a more unnecessary work; the book of Job is so -sublime in itself that any reproduction, not a literal translation, is -either a dilution or a "gilding of refinéd gold."</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Giovanni Prati</span> had great powers of thought and genuine inspiration. His -<i>Armando</i> is a very noble work, but it is somewhat wanting in skilful -construction, and in everything he wrote his beauties are rather heaped -together than skilfully displayed.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Pietro Cossa</span> produced some tragedies very unlike those of Alfieri, -full of crude colours and startling contrasts, by which he obtained an -immense vogue, but it is doubtful whether they will stand the test of -time.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Ada Negri</span>, of Milan, has published some lyrics full of the most -extraordinary fire and brilliancy, and if she continues as she has -begun, she cannot fail to produce something great.</p> - -<p>The <span class="mcap">Abbe Zanella</span> has published poems which have been much admired. He -is reported to be the favourite poet of Leo XIII.</p> - -<p>Madame <span class="mcap">Rachele Botti Binda</span> has written numerous poems, characterised -by strength and originality of thought; indeed, it is delightful to -find in almost all the poets enumerated in this chapter that the -old sameness and conventionality have utterly disappeared and that -freshness and versatility are everywhere apparent. This circumstance -cannot fail to be of good augury for the future and to infuse new life -into a literature which was sadly in need of freshness of thought and -unconventionality of style. If some writers have been indelicate and -others inartistic, these are faults that are immediately seen and -easily avoided, and in view of the greater interest and appreciation -bestowed by the public of late years on poetry, there is every reason -to hope that the next century will witness the appearance of poets in -no respect unworthy of the Country of Dante and Ariosto.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></h5> - - -<h4>PROSE WRITERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.</h4> - - -<p>Pre-eminent among the historians of the Nineteenth Century are <span class="mcap">Cesare -Balbo</span> and <span class="mcap">Cesare Cantu</span>. They were both indefatigably laborious and they -both devoted themselves to the elucidation of the history of their -native land. <span class="mcap">Manin's</span> <i>History of Venice</i> has research and minuteness of -detail without wearisome prolixity to recommend it.</p> - -<p><span class="mcap">Tommaso Grossi</span> was highly successful with his historical romance <i>Marco -Visconti,</i> but he has a tendency to become very tearful and sentimental.</p> - -<p>The plays of Alberto Nota procured considerable reputation for their -author, but they are not quite amusing enough for comedies and not -quite Strong enough for dramas, so that they have fallen into neglect -in spite of their delicacy and refinement. The Italian Stage in this -Century depended too much on French importations, as did the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> average -fiction of the day. Even at the present time, the poorest rubbish of -the Boulevards has a better chance of attracting attention than the -best works of indigenous authors. Extreme concessions have been made of -late years to vulgar realism, but it cannot be denied that realism has -called forth life-like characters and accurate descriptions. <span class="mcap">Matilde -Serao</span> has been particularly successful as a novelist.</p> - -<p>But the most brilliant novelist of the present day is undoubtedly -<span class="mcap">Gabriele D'annunzio</span>. His poems are well-conceived, though not -particularly musical in diction, but as a novelist he is quite the -first. He excels in descriptions. Nowhere else can such word-painting -be found, with the possible exception of the books of travel of <span class="mcap">Edmondo -De Amicis. Tullio Giordana</span> has written a most interesting monograph on -Gabriele d'Annunzio's <i>Trionfo della Morte,</i> but perhaps the best works -he has produced as yet are <i>Il Piacere</i> and <i>Giovanni Episcopo.</i> He -is not always particularly happy in his choice of subjects; but if he -exercises discretion in that respect, there is no saying to what height -he may not in future ascend.</p> - -<p>In Italy, as elsewhere, the extreme popularity of the novel has -overshadowed every other branch of literature. To enumerate the various -authors and their works would be like counting the sands of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> the -sea-shore and the stars of the Heavens, suffice it to observe that -everywhere skill and ingenuity are manifest, and if some authors become -repulsive from excess of realism, others, and those the most recent, -have, in emulation of Gabriele d'Annunzio, thrown over their realism -the garb of fancy and imagination, thus presenting a happy augury for -the future.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></h5> - - -<h4>CONCLUSION.</h4> - - -<p>In this History of Italian Literature I have endeavoured, to the best -of my ability, to trace its progress and development. That it has -progressed, cannot, I think, be denied. Poetry has freed itself from -conventionality. Prose has given birth to works which former ages -could not even have conceived. Compare the magnificent creations of -Gabriele d'Annunzio to the stories of Bandello and the <i>Novelline</i> of -<span class="mcap">Masaccio</span>. The advance is prodigious. Much, however, remains to be done. -Italy has not yet given the world a philosopher so profound as Kant or -Schopenhauer, or a tragic poet so great as Sophocles or Shakespeare. -There is still room for an Italian Burns, for a really original and -striking poet in dialect. The Sicilian <span class="mcap">Giovanni Meli</span> is, perhaps, the -nearest approach to such a writer, indeed, he is the most genuine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> poet -that Sicily has ever produced. There is every reason to hope that the -free and united Italy of the present will see writers as brilliant as -those of the enslaved and divided Italy of the past.</p> - -<h4>THE END.</h4> -<hr class="full" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> - - - -<p> -<a id="INDEX"></a>INDEX.<br /> -<br /> -A<br /> -<br /> -Addison, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> -Adriani, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br /> -Alamanni, Luigi, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br /> -Aleardi, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.<br /> -Alexander VII, Pope, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> -Alfieri, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>-<a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.<br /> -Algarotti, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br /> -Amaltei, the Brothers, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> -Amicis, Edmondo de, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>.<br /> -Annunzio, Gabriele d', <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.<br /> -Ariosto, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>-<a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>,<br /> -<a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>,<br /> -<a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.<br /> -<br /> -B<br /> -<br /> -Balbo, Cesare, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br /> -Bandello, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.<br /> -Baretti, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.<br /> -Bartoli, Daniele, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.<br /> -Beccaria, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.<br /> -Belcari, Feo, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.<br /> -Bellotti, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br /> -Bembo, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br /> -Bentivoglio, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.<br /> -Berchet, Giovanni, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br /> -Berni, Francesco, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> -Bertola, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br /> -Bettinelli, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br /> -Bevilacqua, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br /> -Boccaccio, Giovanni, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>-<a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br /> -Boccalini, Trajano, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br /> -Boileau, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.<br /> -Bojardo, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> -Boniface VIII, Pope, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br /> -Borghi, Giuseppe, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.<br /> -Botti Binda, Madame Rachele, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.<br /> -Browning, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br /> -Bruno, Giordano, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.<br /> -Bunsen, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> -Byron, Lord, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>.<br /> -<br /> -C<br /> -<br /> -Campanella, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.<br /> -Campbell, Lord, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.<br /> -Cantù, Cesare, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br /> -Caro, Annibal, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br /> -Carducci, Giosuè, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.<br /> -Carlyle, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.<br /> -Carrer, Luigi, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.<br /> -Casa, Monsignor G. della, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>Castelvetro, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br /> -Casti, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.<br /> -Castiglione, Baldassarre, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.<br /> -Catherine, Saint, of Siena, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.<br /> -Cattignano, Giovanni, da, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.<br /> -Catullus, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.<br /> -Cavalcanti, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.<br /> -Cavour, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br /> -Cesari, Antonio, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.<br /> -Cesarotti, Melchiorre, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br /> -Chaucer, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.<br /> -Chiabrera, Gabriele, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>-<a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>.<br /> -Christina, Queen of Sweden, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> -Claudian, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.<br /> -Clement VII, Pope, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.<br /> -Clement VIII, Pope, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br /> -Clement XI, Pope, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.<br /> -Clement XII, Pope, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.<br /> -Colonna, Vittoria, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.<br /> -Compagni, Dino, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.<br /> -Corneille, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.<br /> -Cossa, Pietro, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.<br /> -Costanzo, Angelo di, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.<br /> -Crescimbeni, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.<br /> -Crudeli, Tommaso, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.<br /> -<br /> -D<br /> -<br /> -Dante, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>-<a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>,<br /> -<a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.<br /> -Dati, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br /> -Davanzati, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br /> -Davila, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> -Delfino, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.<br /> -Dickens, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.<br /> -Dryden, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.<br /> -Duse, Eleonora, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.<br /> -<br /> -E<br /> -<br /> -Edwardes, Charles, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.<br /> -Eleonora, Princess of Ferrara, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.<br /> -<br /> -F<br /> -<br /> -Fairfax, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.<br /> -Filangieri, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br /> -Filicaia, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>-<a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.<br /> -Firenzuola, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.<br /> -Fortiguerra, Niccolò, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.<br /> -Foscolo, Ugo, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br /> -Fracastoro, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.<br /> -Frederick the Great, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br /> -Frugoni, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.<br /> -<br /> -G<br /> -<br /> -Galilei, Galileo, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>-<a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<br /> -Gambara, Veronica, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.<br /> -Garibaldi, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>.<br /> -Giordana, Tullio, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>.<br /> -Giordani, Pietro, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.<br /> -Giusti, Giuseppe, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br /> -Goethe, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br /> -Goldoni, Carlo, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>-<a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> -Gozzi, Carlo, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> -Gozzi, Gasparo, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> -Grossi, Tommaso, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br /> -Guarnii, Battista, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.<br /> -Guerrini, Olindo, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.<br /> -Guicciardini, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>-<a href="#Page_69">69</a>.<br /> -Guidi, Alessandro, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.<br /> -Guinicelli, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.<br /> -<br /> -H<br /> -<br /> -Hallam, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.<br /> -Holderness, Lord, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.<br /> -Homer, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br /> -Horace, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.<br /> -Huyghens, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.<br /> -<br /> -J<br /> -<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>Julius II, Pope, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.<br /> -<br /> -K<br /> -<br /> -Keats, John, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> -<br /> -L<br /> -<br /> -Latini, Brunetto, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.<br /> -Leo X, Pope, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.<br /> -Leo XIII, Pope, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.<br /> -Leopardi, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>,<br /> -<a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>-<a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.<br /> -Lippi, Lorenzo, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.<br /> -Lucan, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Lucretius, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br /> -<br /> -M<br /> -<br /> -Macaulay, Lord, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.<br /> -Machiavelli, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>-<a href="#Page_67">67</a>.<br /> -Maffei, Alessandro, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> -Maffei, Scipione, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.<br /> -Magalotti, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br /> -Maggi, Carlo Maria, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br /> -Magliabecchi, Antonio, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.<br /> -Malaspini, Celio, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br /> -Malherbe, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.<br /> -Manfredi, Eustachio, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>.<br /> -Manin, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br /> -Manso, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.<br /> -Manzoni, Alessandro, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>-<a href="#Page_265">265</a>.<br /> -Marchetti, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br /> -Marchionni, Carlotta, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.<br /> -Marino, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>-<a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.<br /> -Maroncelli, Pietro, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> -Mascheroni, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> -Masaccio, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.<br /> -Mazzini, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>.<br /> -Meli, Giovanni, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.<br /> -Menzini, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> -Metastasio, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>-<a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.<br /> -Milton, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.<br /> -Molière, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> -Montaigne, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.<br /> -Montesquieu, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.<br /> -Monti, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br /> -Muratori, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> -Murtola, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.<br /> -<br /> -N<br /> -<br /> -Napoleon, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>.<br /> -Nardi, Jacopo, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> -Negri, Ada, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.<br /> -Nicolini, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br /> -Niebuhr, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br /> -Nota, Alberto, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br /> -<br /> -P<br /> -<br /> -Pallavicino, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> -Panzacchi, Enrico, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.<br /> -Parini, Giuseppe, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>-<a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> -Pascal, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.<br /> -Passavanti, Jacopo, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br /> -Passeroni, Gian Carlo, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br /> -Pellico, Silvio, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>-<a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> -Petrarch, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>-<a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br /> -Pindemonte, Ippolito, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br /> -Pius VI, Pope, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.<br /> -Pius VII, Pope, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.<br /> -Pius IX, Pope, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br /> -Platen, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> -Pope, Alexander, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.<br /> -Prati, Giovanni, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.<br /> -Poliziano, Angelo da, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br /> -Polo, Marco, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br /> -Porzio, Camillo, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>Pulci, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br /> -<br /> -R<br /> -<br /> -Kacan, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.<br /> -Rapisardi, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.<br /> -Redi, Francesco, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br /> -Rienzi, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.<br /> -Rinuccini, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.<br /> -Ristori, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.<br /> -Rolli, Paolo, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br /> -Ronsard, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>,<br /> -Rosa, Salvator, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.<br /> -Rossetti, Gabriele, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.<br /> -Rota, Bernardino, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.<br /> -Rucellai, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br /> -<br /> -S<br /> -<br /> -Sacchetti, Franco, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.<br /> -Salvini (Actor), <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.<br /> -Salvini (Grammarian), <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br /> -Sannazzaro, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>.<br /> -Sarpi, Fra Paolo, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> -Savioli, Ludovico, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br /> -Schopenhauer, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.<br /> -Scott, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br /> -Segneri, Father Paul, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.<br /> -Segni, Bernardo, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> -Serao, Matilde, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>.<br /> -Serrassi, Abbé, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.<br /> -Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.<br /> -Shelley, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> -Sixtus V, Pope, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.<br /> -Solerti, Angelo, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.<br /> -Somers, Lord, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.<br /> -Sophocles, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.<br /> -Spolverini, Marquis, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> -Stampa, Gaspara, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.<br /> -Stella (Publisher), <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.<br /> -Straparola, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.<br /> -<br /> -T<br /> -<br /> -Tasso, Bernardo, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br /> -Tasso, Torquato, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>-<a href="#Page_109">109</a>,<br /> -<a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.<br /> -Tassoni, Alessandro, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.<br /> -Tennyson, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.<br /> -Testi, Fulvio, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.<br /> -Tiraboschi, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.<br /> -Trissino, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.<br /> -<br /> -V<br /> -<br /> -Vanini, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.<br /> -Varano, Alfonso, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.<br /> -Varchi, Benedetto, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> -Vasari, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> -Viani, Prospero, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.<br /> -Victor Emmanuel, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br /> -Vida, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.<br /> -Villani, Filippo, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br /> -Villani, Giovanni, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br /> -Villani, Matteo, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br /> -Vinci, Leonardo da, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.<br /> -Virgil, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<br /> -Visconti, Galleazzo, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.<br /> -Vittorelli, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.<br /> -Viviani, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br /> -Voltaire, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> -<br /> -W<br /> -<br /> -Wordsworth, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.<br /> -<br /> -Z<br /> -<br /> -Zanella, Abbé, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.<br /> -Zappi, Faustina, daughter of the painter, Carlo Maratta, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br /> -Zappi, Felice, husband of Faustina, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br /> -</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Manual of Italian Literature, by -Francis Henry Cliffe - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MANUAL OF ITALIAN LITERATURE *** - -***** This file should be named 53084-h.htm or 53084-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/8/53084/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version, also linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... 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