Renaissance in Italy Volume IV Part 20

But here the voices of the Chorus, representing the Jewish mult.i.tude, are heard:

Crucifige, crucifige!

Omo che se fa rege, Secondo nostra lege, Contradice al Senato.

Christ is removed to the place of suffering, and Mary cries:

O figlio, figlio, figlio, Figlio, amoroso figlio, Figlio, chi da consiglio Al cor mio angustiato!

Figlio, occhi giocondi, Figlio, co' non rispondi?

Figlio, perche t'ascondi Dal petto o' se' lattato?

They show her the cross:

Madonna, ecco la cruce Che la gente l'adduce, Ove la vera luce De' essere levato.

They tell her how Jesus is being nailed to it, sparing none of the agonizing details. Then she exclaims:

E io comencio el corrotto; Figliolo, mio deporto, Figlio, chi mi t'a morto, Figlio mio delicato!

Meglio averien fatto Che 'l cor m'avesser tratto, Che nella croce tratto Starci desciliato.

Jesus now breaks silence, and comforts her, pointing out that she must live for His disciples, and naming John. He dies, and she continues the _Corrotto_[370]:

Figlio, l'alma t'e uscita, Figlio de la smarrita, Figlio de la sparita, Figlio [mio] attossicato!

Figlio bianco e vermiglio, Figlio senza simiglio, Figlio, a chi m'apiglio, Figlio, pur m'hai la.s.sato!

Figlio bianco e biondo, Figlio, volto jocondo, Figlio, perche t'a el mondo, Figlio, cus sprezato!

Figlio dolce e piacente, Figlio de la dolente, Figlio, a te la gente Malamente trattato!

Joanne, figlio novello, Morto e lo tuo fratello; Sent.i.to aggio 'l coltello Che fo profetizzato, Che morto a figlio e mate, De dura morte afferrate; Trovarsi abbracciate Mate e figlio a un cruciato.

Upon this note of anguish the poem closes. It is conducted throughout in dialogue, and is penetrated with dramatic energy. For Pa.s.sion Music of a n.o.ble and yet flowing type, such as Pergolese might have composed, it is still admirably adapted.

Each strophe of Fra Jacopone's Canticles might be likened to a seed cast into the then fertile soil of the Franciscan Order, which bore fruit a thousand-fold in its own kind of spiritual poetry. The vast collection of hymns, published by Tresatti in the seventeenth century, bears the name of Jacopone, and incorporates his genuine compositions.[371] But we must regard the main body of the work as rather belonging to Jacopone's school than to the master. Taken collectively, these poems bear upon their face the stamp of considerable age, and there is no reason to suppose that their editor doubted of their authenticity. A critical reader of the present time, however, discerns innumerable evidences of collaboration, and detects expansion and dilution of more pregnant themes in the copious outpourings of this cloistral inspiration. What the Giotteschi are to Giotto, Tresatti's collection is to Salviano's imprint of Jacopone. It forms a complete manual of devotion, framed according to the spirit of S. Francis. In its pages we read the progress of the soul from a state of worldliness and vice, through moral virtue, into the outer court of religious conviction. Thence we pa.s.s to penitence and the profound terror of sin. Having traversed the region of purgatory upon earth, we are introduced to the theory of Divine Love, which is reasoned out and developed upon themes borrowed from each previous step gained by the spirit in its heavenward journey. Here ends the soul's novitiate; and we enter on a realm of ecstasy. The poet bathes in an illimitable ocean of intoxicating love, summons the images of sense and makes them adumbrate his rapture of devotion, reproducing in a myriad modes the Oriental metaphors of the soul's marriage to Christ suggested by the Canticle of Canticles. A final grade in this ascent to spiritual perfection is attained in the closing odes, which celebrate annihilation--the fusion of the mortal in immortal personality, the bliss of beatific vision, Nirvana realized on earth in ecstasy by man. At this final point sense swoons, the tongue stammers, language refuses to perform her office, the reason finds no place, the universe is whirled in spires of flame, we float in waves of metaphor, we drown in floods of contemplation, the whole is closed with an _O Alt.i.tudo!_

It is not possible to render scantiest justice to this extraordinary monument of the Franciscan fervor by any extracts or descriptions. Its full force can only be felt by prolonged and, if possible, continuous perusal. S. Catherine and S. Teresa attend us while we read; and when the book is finished, we feel, perhaps for the first time, the might, the majesty, the overmastering attraction of that sea of faith which swept all Europe in the thirteenth century. We understand how _naufragar in questo mar fu dolce_.

Though the task is ungrateful, it behooves the historian of popular Italian poetry to extract some specimens from this immense repertory of anonymous lyrics. Omitting the satires, which are composed upon the familiar monastic rubrics of vanity, human misery, the loathsomeness of the flesh, and contempt of the world, I will select one stanza upon Chast.i.ty from among the moral songs[372]:

O Cast.i.ta bel fiore, Che ti sostiene amore.

O fior di Cast.i.tate, Odorifero giglio, Con gran soavitate, Sei di color vermiglio, Et a la Trinitate Tu ripresenti odore.

Chast.i.ty in another place is thus described[373]:--

La Cast.i.tate pura, Piu bella che viola, Cotanto ha chiaro viso Che par un paradiso.

Poverty, the Cardinal Virtues, and the Theological Virtues receive their full meed of praise in a succession of hymns. Then comes a long string of proverbs, which contain much sober wisdom, with pa.s.sages of poetic feeling like the following[374]:

Li pesciarelli piccoli Scampan la rete in mare; Grand'ucel prende l'aquila, Non pu 'l moscon pigliare; Enchinasi la vergola, L'acqua la.s.sa pa.s.sare; Ma fa giu cader l'arbore, Che non si pu inchinare.

Among the odes we may first choose this portion of a carol written to be sung before the manger, or _presepe_, which it was usual to set up in churches at Christmas[375]:

Veggiamo il s...o...b..mbino Gammettare nel fieno, E le braccia scoperte Porgere ad ella in seno, Ed essa lo ricopre El meglio che pu almeno, Mettendoli la poppa Entro la sua bocchina.

Cioppava lo Bambino Con le sue labbruccia; Sol la dolciata cioppa Volea, non minestruccia; Stringeala con la bocca Che non avea dentuccia, Il figliuolino bello, Ne la dolce bocchina.

A la sua man manca, Cullava lo Bambino, E con sante carole Nenciava il suo amor fino....

Gli Angioletti d'intorno Se ne gian danzando, Facendo dolci versi E d'amor favellando.

There is a fres...o...b.. Giotto behind the altar in the Arena Chapel at Padua, which ill.u.s.trates part of this hymn. A picture attributed to Botticelli in our National Gallery ill.u.s.trates the rest. The spirit of the carol has been reproduced with less sincerity in a Jesuit's Latin hymn, _Dormi, fili, dormi, mater_.

Close upon the joys of Mary follow her sorrows. The following is a popular echo of the _Stabat Mater_[376]:

Or si incomincia lo duro pianto Che fa la Madre di Christo tanto; Or intendete l'amaro canto, Fu crocifisso quel capo santo.

Ma quando che s'inchiodava, Presso al figliuolo la Madre stava; Quando a la croce gli occhi levava, Per troppa doglia ci trangosciava.

La Madre viddelo incoronato, Et ne la croce tutto piagato, Per le pene e pel sangue versato Sitibondo gridar Consummato.

Many of the odes are devoted to S. Francis. One pa.s.sage recording the miracle of the Stigmata deserves to be extracted[377]:

La settima a Laverna, Stando in orazione, Ne la parte superna, Con gran divozione, Mirabil visione Seraphin apparuto Crucifisso e veduto, Con sei ale mostrato: Incorporotti stimmate A lato piedi e mano; Duro gia fora a credere Se nol contiam di piano, Staendo vivo et sano Molti l'han mirate, L'ha morte dichiarate, Da molti fu palpato.

La sua carne bianchissima Pareva puerile; Avanti era brunissima Per gli freddi nevili; La fe amor si gentile, Parea glorificata, Da ogni gente ammirata Del mirabil ornato.

The Penitential Hymns resound with trumpets of Judgment and groans of lost souls. There is one terrible lament of a man who repented _after death_; another of one arising from the grave, _d.a.m.ned_.[378] The Day of Judgment inspires stanzas heavy with lugubrious chords and a leaden fall[379]:

Tutta la terra tornera a niente, Le pietre piangeranno duramente, Conturbaronsi tutti i monumente, Per la sententia di Dio onnipotente Che tutti sentiranno.

Allora udrai dal ciel trombe sonare, Et tutti morti vedrai suscitare, Avanti al tribunal di Christo andare, E 'l fuoco ardente per l'aria volare Con gran velocitate.

Porgine aiuto, alto Signor verace, E campane da quel foco penace, E danne penitentia si verace Che 'n ciel possiam venir a quella pace Dove in eterno regni.

This is the _Dies Irae_ adapted for the people, and expanded in its motives.

The exposition and the expression of Divine Love occupy a larger s.p.a.ce than any other section of the series. Mystical psychology, elaborated with scholastic subtlety of argument and fine a.n.a.lysis of all the grades of feeling, culminates in lyric raptures, only less chaotic than the stanzas already quoted from Jacopone. The poet breaks out into short e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns[380]:

O alta Nichilitate, Dhe mi di dove tu stai!

He faints and swoons before the altar in the languors of emotion[381]:

Languisco per amore Di Gesu mio Amatore.

We see before our eyes the trances of S. Catherine, so well portrayed with sensuous force by Sodoma. Then he resumes the Song of Solomon in stanzas to be counted by the hundred, celebrates the marriage of Christ and the soul, or seeks crude carnal metaphors to convey his meaning[382]:

Del tuo bacio, amore, Degnami di baciare.

Dhe baciami, dolcezza Di contrizione, Et dolce soavezza Di compunzione, O santa allegrezza Di devozione, Per nulla stagione Non m'abandonare.

Po che 'l bacio sento, Bevo a le mammelle C'hanno odore d'unguento; Pur le tue scintille A bever non so lento Con le mie maxille, Piu che volte mille V me inebriare.

Let this suffice. With the language of sweetness and monastic love we are soon surfeited. Were it not that the _crescendo_ of erotic exaltation ends at last in a jubilee of incomprehensible pa.s.sion, blending the incoherence of delirium with fragments of theosophy which might have been imported from old Alexandrian sources or from dim regions of the East, a student of our century would shrink aghast from some of these hermaphroditic hymns, as though he had been witness of wild acts of nympholepsy in a girl he reckoned sane.

Through the two centuries which followed Jacopone's death (1306?) the Lauds of the Confraternities continued to form a special branch of popular poetry; and in the fifteenth century they were written in considerable quant.i.ties by men of polite education. Like all hymns, these spiritual songs are less remarkable for literary quality than devoutness. It is difficult to find one rising to the height of Jacopone's inspiration. Many of the later compositions even lack religious feeling, and seem to have been written as taskwork. Those, for example, by Lorenzo de' Medici bear the same relation to his _Canti Carnascialeschi_ as Pontano's odes to the Saints bear to his elegies and Baian lyrics. This was inevitable in an age saturated with the adverse ideals of the cla.s.sical Revival, when Platonic theism threatened to supplant Christianity, and society was clogged with frigid cynicism. Yet even in the sixteenth century, those hymns which came directly from the people's heart, thrilling with the strong vibrations of Savonarola's preaching, are still remarkable for almost frantic piety. Among the many Florentine hymn-writers who felt that influence, Girolamo Benivieni holds the most distinguished place, both for the purity of his style and for the sincerity of his religious feeling. I will set side by side two versions from his book of Lauds, ill.u.s.trating the extreme limits of devout emotion--the calmness of a meditative piety and the spasms of pa.s.sionate enthusiasm. The first is a little hymn to Jesus, profoundly felt and expressed with exquisite simplicity[383]:

Jesus, whoso with Thee Hangs not in pain and loss Pierced on the cruel cross, At peace shall never be.