[1]Lord Somers was a great admirer of Filicaia. See Lord Campbell'sLives of the Chancellors,and Macaulay'sHistory.
[1]Lord Somers was a great admirer of Filicaia. See Lord Campbell'sLives of the Chancellors,and Macaulay'sHistory.
In enumerating the Prose Writers of the Seventeenth Century, we are confronted with the illustrious name ofGalileo 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 TuscanAmbassador, 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 ofScripture: '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 hespeaks 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 theMoon. 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 theDialogue on the Two Systems of Ptolemy and Copernicus.HisSaggiatoreis hardly less important. HisProblemscontain 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 alreadybeen 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 CardinalGuido 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 hisexperience 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. TheHistoryis 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 inDavila, 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 theprivilege 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 hisHistory 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 Sarpiobtained immense reputation, especially in Protestant countries, for hisHistory of the Council of Trentand his bitter pamphlets against the Court of the Vatican. In the great contest between the Republic of Venice and PopePaul 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 CardinalSforza 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 theHistory of the Council of Trent,aTreatise on Christian Perfection,anEssay on Styleand aBiography 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 theHistory of his Orderand theLives of Eminent Jesuitsin 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 saidQuesto non si può dire, (this cannot be said.)He replied to them in a witty pamphlet:The Rightand 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 wasFather Paul Segneriwhose 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, wasGiordano 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 anexposition 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 celebratedDictionary of the Accademia della Cruscawas 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 ofstories in prose in the Seventeenth Century. TheStoriesofCelio Malaspiniare 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 Boccaliniwrote 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, RediandDati, but their influence does not seem to have extended beyond Tuscany.Auton Maria Salviniwas 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 wasCrescimbeni, 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 unruffledby 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.
[1]His poems, chiefly Sonnets, are in Italian.
[1]His poems, chiefly Sonnets, are in Italian.
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 ofRousseau. 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 ofthe 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 ofthe 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.
Pietro Trapassiwas 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 toMetastasio, 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 protégéfifteen 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 producedGli 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 thecomposers 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 hisMemoirsthat 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 MariaTheresa 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, isgiven 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 theDidone 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 followingsong. 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 mieiScoprirgli 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 voglioDel mio soglio e del mio cor.Darmi legge in van pretendeChi l' arbitrio a me contendeDella 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 supponeChe della sua feritaSia la beltà cagione,Ma la beltà non è.È un bel desio, che nasceAllor che men s'aspetta;Si sente che diletta,Ma non si sa perchè.
In theArtaserse,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 almenoRicordati di me.Ch' io per virtù d'amore,Parlando col mio core,Ragionerò con te.
In the Oratorio ofGioas,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 pareEstinta, inaridita,Torna più bella in vitaTalvolta a germogliar.Face così talora,Che par che manchi e mora,Di maggior lume adornaRitorna a scintillar.
In theOlimpiade,Argene, disguised as aShepherdess, sings with a Chorus of Maidens the praises of the forest:
Coro.Oh care selve, oh caraFelice libertà!Argene.Qui se un piacer si gode,Parte non v'ha la frode,Ma lo condisce a garaAmore e fedeltà.Coro.Oh care selve, oh caraFelice libertà!Argene.Qui poco ognun possiede,E ricco ognun si crede;Ne, più bramando, imparaChe cosa è povertà.Coro.Oh care selve, oh caraFelice libertà!Argene.Senza custode o muraLa pace è qui sicura,Che l'altrui voglia avaraOnde allettar non ha.Coro.Oh care selve, oh caraFelice libertà!
Megacle declares that as he followed his friend in prosperity, so will he stand by him in adversity:
Lo seguitai feliceQuand' era il ciel sereno;Alle tempeste in senoVoglio seguirlo ancor.Come dell' oro il focoScopre le masse impure,Scoprono le sventureDe' 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 ignotoNaufrago passegiero,Già con la morte a nuotoRidotto a contrastar.Ora un sostegno, ed oraPerde una stella; al finePerde 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 empioChe 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 LeteL'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 ofDemofoonteDircea 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 mioIl piacer non sia negatoDi 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 nemicaNon era la virtù!Dal fasto e dal decoroNoi ci troviamo oppressi;E ci formiam noi stessiLa nostra servitù.
In theIsola 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 liceQuesto misero confortoD'ottener l' altrui pietà?
In theClemenza 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 mieiCon l' amor non assicuro,D'una fede io non mi curoChe 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 DeiTu il pensier, l'amor tu sei,Grand' eroe, nel giro angustoSi mostrò di questo dì.Ma cagion di meravigliaNon è già, felice Augusto,Che gli Dei chi lor somigliaCustodiscano così.
In theTemistocle,Rossane admits that she is distracted by jealousy:
Basta dir ch' io sono amante,Per saper che ho già nel pettoQuesto barbaro sospetto,Che avvelena ogni piacer;Che ha cent' occhi, e pur travede,Che il mal finge, il ben non crede;Che dipinge nel sembianteI 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 assaiChi risponde col tacer.
Temistocle fears no tortures, and is proud of dying:
Serberò fra ceppi ancoraQuesta 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 bellaSon superbo di morir.
It is a law of nature that we feel for that sorrow which we have felt ourselves:
È legge di naturaChe a compatir ci moveChi prova una sventuraChe noi provammo ancor;O sia che amore in noiLa somiglianza accenda;O sia che più s'intendaNel suo l'altrui dolor.
A noble prisoner feels himself superior to his cruel oppressor:
Guardami prima in volto,Anima vile, e poiGiudica pur di noiIl 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 dipendeQuanto comprendeL'eternità.
A faithless friend will never make a faithful lover:
Avran le serpi, O cara,Con le colombe il nido,Quando un amico infidoFido amator sarà.Nell' anime innocenti,Varie non son fra loroLe limpide sorgentiD'Amore e d'amistà.
If the sorrows of everybody could be known, how few would be envied:
Se a ciascun l'interno affannoSi vedesse in fronte scritto,Quanti mai ch' invidia fanno,Ci farebbero pietà!Si vedria che i lor nemiciHanno in seno; e si riduceNel parere a noi feliciOgni 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 immaginataNel sognar felicità.Non è ver; quel dolce statoNon fuggì, non fu sognato;Ben lo sente ogn' innocenteNella sua tranquillità.
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 Pariniwas 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 volumeof 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, entitledIl Mattino,was published in 1763, and the second part, entitledMeriggio,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 themuscles 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 onGiorno.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 concludeLa 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 superiorto 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 workIl 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 isall 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 theRape 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 theGiorno,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 cuiVoluttuosi immagini lo sguardoInvitan degli eroi. Copia squisitaDi 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 ignudeSculte le Grazie, e che il giudeo ti feceCreder opra d' Argivi, allor ch'ei chieseTanto tesoro, e d' erudito il nomeTi compartì, prostrandosi a tuoi piedi?Vuoi tu i lieti rubini? O più t' aggradaSceglier quest' oggi l'indico adamanteLà dove il lusso incantata costrinseLa fatica e il sudor di cento buoiChe pria vagando per le tue campagneFaccean sotto a i lor piè nascere i beni?Prendi o tutti o qual vuoi; ma l'aureo cerchioChe sculto intorno è d'amorosi mottiOgnor teco si vegga, il minor ditoPrémati alquanto, e sovvenir ti facciaDell' altrui fida sposa a cui se' caro.Vengane alfin de gli oriuoi gemmati,Venga il duplice pondo; e a te dell' óroChe al alte imprese dispensar convieneFaccia rigida prova. Ohimè che vagoArsenal minutissimo di coseCiondola quindi e ripercosso insiemeMolce con soavissimo tintinno!Ma v' hai tu il meglio? Ah sì; che i miei precettiSagace prevenisti. Ecco risplende,Chiuso in breve cristallo, il dolce pegnoDi 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 deficientin 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.
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 Alfieriwas 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 ofmilitary 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 heendeavoured 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 ifhe 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 descriptiveof 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, theFilippo,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 inultoFilippo 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 hisMirra.Salvini often appeared inSaulandTimoleon.HisSaulhas been extolled above all his other works, but I thinkVirginia,theCongiura de' Pazzi,andFilippoare quite as fine. TheAntigoneand theAgamemnonare terribly dry and colourless compared to the creations of Æschylus and Sophocles. TheAbele,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 ofAlfieri'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.
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 isEustachio 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 Fortiguerraoccupied 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 theRicciardetto,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 theRicciardettounder the pseudonym of "Carteromaco."
Carlo Innocenzo Frugoniwas born in Genoa in 1692, and died at Parma as Court Poet in 1768.Frugonianpoetry has become a bye-word to indicate abundance of so-called eloquence, povertyof 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 entitledL'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 Varanowas a more earnest and impassioned spirit than Frugoni, and he deserves thecredit of having, both by precept and example, drawn attention to the neglected beauties of Dante. His principal work is hisBook 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 MarquisGiambattista 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 gaveLa Coltivazione del Risoto the world. But, alas! the world paid no heed to the slender volume and went its way as usual. Deep was the mortificationof 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 Crudeliwrote some pretty fables. He languished for years in the dungeons of the Inquisition, and died at the age of forty-two in 1745.
Paolo Rolliis remarkable for having translatedParadise Lostinto Italian. He lived for many years as teacher of Italian in London where heseems 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 didOnofrio Minzoniof Ferrara, andProspero Manaramay be mentioned for the same reason.
PignottiandBertolawere good fabulists, and Bertola enjoyed the further distinction of being the first to introduce German Literature into Italy.
Some ofLudovico Savioli'spoems are musical in diction, but no poet of the age revels more in the threadbare mythology of poetasters.
Gian Carlo Passeroniwrote a burlesqueLife of Ciceroin 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.
TheAbbe Castiwas another poet who spoilt his wit by his prolixity. He wrote theAnimali Parlantiand a collection of stories in verse, lesspoetical 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 Fantoniwas 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 calledL'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 poemwas 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.