Renaissance in Italy Volume V Part 14

[Footnote 285: In the chapter on Burlesque Poetry I shall have to justify this remark.]

[Footnote 286: See _Revival of Learning_, p. 488.]

[Footnote 287: The best Life of Molza is that written by Pierantonio Sera.s.si, Bergamo, 1747. It is republished, with Molza's Italian poems, in the series of _Cla.s.sici Italiani_, 1808.]

It would be difficult to choose between Molza's Latin and Italian poems, were it necessary to award the palm of elegance to either. Both are marked by the same _morbidezza_, the same pliancy, as of acanthus leaves that feather round the marble of some Roman ruin. Both are languid alike and somewhat tiresome, in spite of a peculiar fragrance.

I have sought through upwards of 350 sonnets contained in two collections of his Italian works, for one with the ring of true virility or for one sufficiently perfect in form to bear transplantation. It is not difficult to understand their popularity during the poet's lifetime. None are deficient in touches of delicate beauty, spontaneous images, and sentiments expressed with much lucidity. And their rhythms are invariably melodious. Reading them, we might seem to be hearing flutes a short way from us played beside a rippling stream. And yet--or rather, perhaps, for this very reason--our attention is not riveted. The most distinctly interesting note in them is sounded when the poet speaks of Rome. He felt the charm of the seven hills, and his melancholy was at home among their ruins. Yet even upon this congenial topic it would be difficult to select a single poem of commanding power.

The _Ninfa Tiberina_ is a monody of eighty-one octave stanzas, addressed by the poet, feigning himself a shepherd, to Faustina, whom he feigns a nymph. It has nothing real but the sense of beauty that inspired it, the beauty, exquisite but soulless, that informs its faultless pictures and mellifluous rhythms. We are in a dream-world of fict.i.tious feelings and conventional images, where only art remains sincere and unaffected. The proper point of view from which to judge these stanzas, is the simply aesthetic. He who would submit to their influence and comprehend the poet's aim, must come to the reading of them attuned by contemplation of contemporary art. The arabesques of the Loggie, the metal-work of Cellini, the stucchi of the Palazzo del Te, Sansovino's ba.s.s-reliefs of fruits and garlands, Albano's cupids, supply the necessary a.n.a.logues. Poliziano's _Giostra_ demanded a similar initiation. But between the _Giostra_ and the _Ninfa Tiberina_ Italian art had completed her cycle from early Florence to late Rome, from Botticelli and Donatello to Giulio Romano and Cellini. The freshness of the dawn has been lost in fervor of noonday. Faustina succeeds to the fair Simonetta. Molza cannot "recapture the first fine careless rapture" of Poliziano's morning song--so exuberant and yet so delicate, so full of movement, so tender in its sentiment of art. The _volutta idillica_, which opened like a rosebud in the _Giostra_, expands full petals in the _Ninfa Tiberina_; we dare not shake them, lest they fall. And these changes are indicated even by the verse. It was the glory of Poliziano to have discovered the various harmonies, of which the octave, artistically treated, is capable, and to have made each stanza a miniature masterpiece. Under Molza's treatment the verse is heavier and languid, not by reason of relapse into the negligence of Boccaccio, but because he aims at full development of its resources. He weaves intricate periods, and sustains a single sentence, with parentheses and involutions, from the opening of the stanza to its close. Given these conditions, the _Ninfa Tiberina_ is all nectar and all gold.

After an exordium, which introduces

La bella Ninfa mia, che al Tebro infiora Col pie le sponde,

Molza calls upon the shepherds to transfer their vows to her from Pales. She shall be made the G.o.ddess of the spring, and claim an altar by Pomona's. Here let the rustic folk play, dance, and strive in song. Hither let them bring their gifts.[288]

Io dieci pomi di fin oro eletto, Ch'a te pendevan con soave odore, Simil a quel, che dal tuo vago petto Spira sovente, onde si nutre amore, Ti sacro umil; e se n'avrai diletto, Doman col novo giorno uscendo fuore, Per soddisfar in parte al gran disio, Altrettanti cogliendo a te gl'invio.

E d'ulivo una tazza, ch'ancor serba Quel puro odor, che gia le diede il torno, Nel mezzo a cui si vede in vista acerba Portar smarrito un giovinetto il giorno, E s 'l carro guidar che accende l'erba, E sin al fondo i fiumi arde d'intorno, Stolto che mal tener seppe il viaggio, E il consiglio seguir fedele e saggio!

[Footnote 288:

Ten apples of fine gold, elect and rare, Which hung for thee, and softest perfume shed, Like unto that which from thy bosom fair Doth often breathe, whence Love is nourished, Humbly I offer; and if thou shalt care, To-morrow with the dawn yon fields I'll tread, My great desire some little to requite, Plucking another ten for thy delight.

Also an olive cup, where still doth cling That pure perfume it borrowed from the lathe, Where in the midst a fair youth ruining Conducts the day, and with such woeful scathe Doth guide his car, that to their deepest spring The rivers burn, and burn the gra.s.ses rathe; Ah fool, who knew not how to hold his way, Nor by that counsel leal and wise to stay!]

The description of the olive cup is carried over the next five stanzas, when the poet turns to complain that Faustina does not care for his piping. And yet Pan joined the rustic reeds; and Amphion breathed through them such melody as held the hills attentive; and Silenus taught how earth was made, and how the seasons come and go, with his sweet pipings. Even yet, perchance, she will incline and listen, if only he can find for her some powerful charm. Come forth, he cries, repeating the address to Galatea, leave Tiber to chafe within his banks and hurry toward the sea. Come to my fields and caves:[289]

A te di bei corimbi un antro ingombra, E folto indora d'elicrisi nembo L'edera bianca, e sparge s dolce ombra, Che tosto tolta a le verd'erbe in grembo D'ogni grave pensier te n'andrai s...o...b..a; E sparso in terra il bel ceruleo lembo, Potrai con l'aura, ch'ivi alberga il colle, Seguir securo sonno dolce e molle.

[Footnote 289:

White ivy with pale corymbs loads for thee That cave, and with thick folds of helichryse Gildeth the arch it shades so lovingly; Here lapped in the green gra.s.s which round it lies, Thou shalt dismiss grave thoughts, and fancy-free Spread wide thy skirt of fair cerulean dyes, And with the wholesome airs that haunt the hill, Welcome sweet soothing sleep, secure from ill.]

It is perilous for thee to roam the sh.o.r.es where Mars met Ilia. O Father Tiber, deal gently with so fair a maiden. It was thou who erewhile saved the infant hope of Rome, whom the she-wolf suckled near thine overflow! But such themes soar too high for shepherd's pipings.

I turn to Caro and to Varchi. Both are shepherds, who know how to stir the streams of Mincius and Arethuse. Even the G.o.ds have lived in forest wild, among the woods, and there Anchises by the side of Venus pressed the flowers. What gifts shall I find for my Faustina? Daphnis and Moeris are richer far than I. How can I contend with them in presents to the fair? And yet she heeds them not:

Tanto d'ogni altrui dono poco si cura Questa vaga angioletta umile e pura.

My pa.s.sion weighs upon me as love weighed on Aristaeus. He forgot his flocks, his herds, his gardens, even his beehives for Eurydice. His heartache made him mad, and he pursued her over field and forest. She fled before him, but he followed:[290]

La sottil gonna in preda a i venti resta, E col crine ondeggiando addietro torna: Ella piu ch'aura, o piu che strale, presta Per l'odorata selva non soggiorna; Tanto che il lito prende snella e mesta, Fatta per paura a.s.sai piu adorna: Fende Aristeo la vagha selva anch'egli, E la man parle aver entro i capegli.

Tre volte innanzi la man destra spinse Per pigliar de le chiome il largo invito; Tre volte il vento solamente strinse, E rest la.s.so senza fin schernito: Ne stanchezza per tardollo o vinse, Perche torna.s.se il pensier suo fallito; Anzi quanto mendico piu si sente, Tanto s'affretta, non che il corso allente.

[Footnote 290:

Her rippling raiment, to the winds a prey, Waves backward with her wavering tresses light; Faster than air or arrow, without stay She through the perfumed wood pursues her flight; Then takes the river-bed, nor heeds delay, Made even yet more beautiful by fright; Threads Aristaeus, too, the forest fair, And seems to have his hands within her hair.

Three times he thrust his right hand forth to clasp The abundance of her curls that lured him on; Three times the wind alone deceived his grasp, Leaving him scorned, with all his hopes undone; Yet not the toil that made him faint and gasp, Could turn him from his purpose still unwon; Nay, all the while, the more his strength is spent, The more he hurries on the course intent.]

The story of Eurydice occupies twenty-nine stanzas, and with it the poem ends abruptly. It is full of carefully-wrought pictures, excessively smooth and sugared, recalling the superficial manner of the later Roman painters. Even in the pa.s.sage that describes Eurydice's agony, just quoted, the forest is _odorata_ or _vagha_.

Fear and flight make the maiden more _adorna_. The ruffian Aristaeus gets tired in the chase. He, too, must be presented in a form of elegance. Not the action, but how the action might be made a groundwork for embroidery of beauty, is the poet's care. We quit the _Ninfa Tiberina_ with senses swooning under superfluity of sweetness--as though we had inhaled the breath of hyacinths in a heated chamber.

Closely allied to bucolic stands didactic poetry. The _Works and Days_ of Hesiod and the _Georgics_ of Virgil--the latter far more effectually, however, than the former--determined this style for the Italians. We have already seen to what extent the neo-Latin poets cultivated a form of verse that, more than any other, requires the skill of a great artist and the inspiration of true poetry, if it is to shun intolerable tedium.[291] The best didactic poems written in Latin by an Italian are undoubtedly Poliziano's _Sylvae_, and of these the most refined is the _Rusticus_.[292] But Poliziano, in composing them, struck out a new line. He did not follow his Virgilian models closely. He chose the form of declamation to an audience, in preference to the time-honored usage of apostrophizing a patron. This relieves the _Sylvae_ from the absurdity of the poet's feigning to instruct a Memmius or Augustus, a Francis I. or Charles V., in matters about which those warriors and rulers can have felt but a frigid interest. Pontano's _Urania_ and _De Hortis Hesperidum_ are almost free from the same blemish. The former is addressed to his son Lucius, but in words so brief and simple that we recognize the propriety of a father giving this instruction to his child.[293] The latter is dedicated to Francesco Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua, who receives complimentary panegyrics in the exordium and peroration, but does not interfere with the structure of the poem. Its chief honors are reserved, as is right and due, for Virgil:[294]--

Dryades dum munera vati Annua, dum magno texunt nova serta Maroni, E molli viola et ferrugineis hyacinthis, Quasque fovent teneras Sebethi flumina myrtos.

[Footnote 291: _Revival of Learning_, chap. viii.]

[Footnote 292: _Ibid._ pp. 453-463.]

[Footnote 293:

Tu vero nate ingentes accingere ad orsus Et mec.u.m ill.u.s.tres coeli spatiare per oras, Namque aderit tibi Mercurius, cui coelifer Atlas Est avus, et notas puerum puer instruet artes.

Ed. Aldus (1513), p. 2.]

[Footnote 294: _Ibid._ p. 138.]

Pontano's greatness, here as elsewhere, is shown in his mytho-poetic faculty. The lengthy dissertation on the heavens and the lighter discourse on orange-cultivation are adorned and enlivened with innumerable legends suggested to his fertile fancy by the beauty of Neapolitan scenery. When we reach the age of Vida and Fracastoro, we find ourselves in the full tide of Virgilian imitation[295]; and it is just at this point in our inquiry that the transition from Latin to Italian didactic poetry should be effected.

[Footnote 295: See _Revival of Learning_, pp. 471-481, for notices of the _Poetica_, _Bombyces_, _Scacchia_ and _Syphilis_.]

Giovanni Rucellai, the son of that Bernardo, who opened his famous Florentine Gardens to the Platonic Academy, was born in 1475. As the author of _Rosmunda_, he has already appeared in this book. When he died, in 1526, he bequeathed a little poem on Bees to his brother Palla and his friend Gian Giorgio Trissino. Trissino and Rucellai had been intimate at Florence and in Rome. They wrote the _Sofonisba_ and _Rosmunda_ in generous rivalry, meeting from time to time to compare notes of progress and to recite their verses. An eye-witness related to Scipione Ammirato how "these two dearest friends, when they were together in a room, would jump upon a bench and declaim pieces of their tragedies, calling upon the audience to decide between them on the merits of the plays."[296] Trissino received the MS. of his friend's posthumous poem at Padua, and undertook to see it through the press. The _Api_ was published at Venice in 1539.[297] What remained to be said or sung about bees after the Fourth Georgic? Very little indeed, it must be granted. Yet the _Api_ is no mere translation from Virgil; and though the higher qualities of variety invention and imagination were denied to Rucellai, though he can show no pa.s.sages of pathos to compete with the _Corycius senex_, of humor to approach the battle of the hives, no episode, it need be hardly said, to match with _Pastor Aristaeus_, still his modest poem is a monument of pure taste and cla.s.sical correctness. It is the work of a ripe scholar and melodious versifier, if not of a great singer; and its diction belongs to the best period of polite Italian.

[Footnote 296: See Morsolin's _Giangiorgio Trissino_ (Vicenza, 1878), p. 92.]

[Footnote 297: _Ibid._ p. 245.]

The same moderate praise might be awarded to the more ambitious poem of Luigi Alamanni, ent.i.tled _Coltivazione_, but for its immoderate prolixity.[298] Alamanni resolved to combine the precepts of Hesiod, Virgil and Varro, together with the pastoral pa.s.sages of Lucretius, in one work, adapting them to modern usage, and producing a comprehensive treatise upon farming. With this object he divided his poem into six books, the first four devoted to the labors of the several seasons, the fifth to gardens, and the sixth to lucky and unlucky days. On a rough computation, the whole six contain some 5,500 lines. _La Coltivazione_ is dedicated to Francis I., and is marred by inordinate flatteries of the French people and their king. Students who have the heart to peruse its always chaste and limpidly flowing blank verse, will be rewarded from time to time with pa.s.sages like the following, in which the sad circ.u.mstances of the poet and the pathos of his regrets for Italy raise the style to more than usual energy and dignity:[299]

Ma qual paese e quello ove oggi possa, Glorioso Francesco, in questa guisa Il rustico cultor G.o.derse in pace L'alte fatiche sue sicuro e lieto?

Non gia il bel nido ond'io mi sto lontano, Non gia l'Italia mia; che poiche lunge Ebbe, altissimo Re, le vostre insegne, Altro non ebbe mai che pianto e guerra.

I colti campi suoi son fatti boschi, Son fatti albergo di selvagge fere, Lasciati in abbandono a gente iniqua.

Il bifulco e 'l pastor non puote appena In mezzo alle citta viver sicuro Nel grembo al suo signor; che di lui stesso Che 'l devria vendicar, divien rapina ...

Fuggasi lunge omai dal seggio antico L'italico villan; trapa.s.si l'alpi; Truove il gallico sen; sicuro posi Sotto l'ali, signor, del vostro impero.

E se qu non avra, come ebbe altrove Cos tepido il sol, s chiaro il cielo, Se non vedra quei verdi colli toschi, Ove ha il nido piu bello Palla e Pomona; Se non vedra quei cetri, lauri e mirti, Che del Partenopeo veston le piagge; Se del Benaco e di mill'altri insieme Non sapra qu trovar le rive e l'onde; Se non l'ombra, gli odor, gli scogli ameni Che 'l bel liguro mar circonda e bagna; Se non l'ampie pianure e i verdi prati Che 'l Po, l'Adda e 'l Tesin rigando infiora, Qu vedra le campagne aperte e liete, Che senza fine aver vincon lo sguardo, etc.[300]

[Footnote 298: See _Versi e Prose di Luigi Alamanni_, 2 vols., Lemonnier, Firenze, 1859. This edition is prefaced by a Life written by Pietro Raffaelli.]

[Footnote 299: _Op. cit._ vol. ii p. 210. It is the opening of the peroration to Book i.]

[Footnote 300: "But what land is that where now, O glorious Francis, the husbandman may thus enjoy his labors with gladness and tranquillity in peace? Not the fair nest, from which I dwell so far away; nay, not my Italy! She since your ensigns, mighty king, withdrew from her, hath had naught else but tears and war. Her tilled fields have become wild woods, the haunts of beasts, abandoned to lawless men. Herdsman or shepherd can scarce dwell secure within the city beneath their master's mantle; for those who should defend them, make the country folk their prey.... Let Italy's husbandman fly far from his own home, pa.s.s the Alpine barrier, seek out the breast of Gaul, repose, great lord, beneath thy empire's pinions! And though he shall not have the sun so warm, the skies so clear, as he was wont to have; though he shall not gaze upon those green Tuscan hills, where Pallas and Pomona make their fairest dwelling; though he shall not see those groves of orange, laurel, myrtle, which clothe the slopes of Parthenope; though he shall seek in vain the banks and waves of Garda and a hundred other lakes; the shade, the perfume, and the pleasant crags, which Liguria's laughing sea surrounds and bathes; the ample plains and verdant meadows which flower beneath the waters of Po, Adda, and Ticino; yet shall he behold glad fields and open, spreading too far for eyes to follow!"]

Luigi Alamanni was the member of a n.o.ble Florentine family, who for several generations had been devoted to the Medicean cause. He was born in 1495, and early joined the band of patriots and scholars who a.s.sembled in the Rucellai gardens to hear Machiavelli read his notes on Livy. After the discovery of the conspiracy against Cardinal Giulio de' Medici, in which Machiavelli was implicated, and which cost his cousin Luigi di Tommaso Alamanni and his friend Jacopo del Diacceto their lives, Luigi escaped across the mountains by Borgo San Sepolcro to Urbino. Finally, after running many risks, and being imprisoned for a while at Brescia by Giulio's emissaries, he made good his flight to France. His wife and three children had been left at Florence. He was poor and miserable, suffering as only exiles suffer when their home is such a paradise as Italy. In 1527, after the expulsion of the Medici, Luigi returned to Florence, and took an active part in the preparations for the siege as well as in the diplomatic negotiations which followed the fall of the city. Alessandro de' Medici declared him a rebel; and he was forced to avail himself again of French protection. With the exception of a few years pa.s.sed in Italy between 1537 and 1540, the rest of his life was spent as a French courtier.

Both Francis I. and Henri II. treated him with distinction and bounty.

Catherine de Medicis made him her master of the household; and his son received the bishopric of Macon. In 1556 he died at Amboise following the Court.