CHAPTER V

From the hard face of earth the sun's bright hueNot yet its veil obscure and dark did rend;The Lycaonian offspring scarcely throughThe furrows of the sky his plough did send.(Canto 80.)

From the hard face of earth the sun's bright hue

Not yet its veil obscure and dark did rend;

The Lycaonian offspring scarcely through

The furrows of the sky his plough did send.

(Canto 80.)

Comparisons, especially about the beauty of women, are very artistic, recalling Sappho and Catullus:

The tender maid is like unto the roseIn the fair garden on its native thorn;Whilst it alone and safely doth repose,Nor flock nor shepherd crops it; dewy morn,Water and earth, the breeze that sweetly blows,Are gracious to it; lovely dames adornWith it their bosoms and their beautifulBrows; it enamoured youths delight to cull.(Canto 1.)Only, Alcina fairest was by farAs is the sun more fair than every star....Milk is the bosom, of luxuriant size,And the fair neck is round and snowy white;Two unripe ivory apples fall and riseLike waves upon the sea-beach when a slightBreeze stirs the ocean.(Canto 7.)Now in a gulf of bliss up to the eyesAnd of fair things, to swim he doth begin.(Canto 7.)So closely doth the ivy not enlaceThe tree where firmly rooted it doth stand,As clasp each other in their warm embraceThese lovers, by each other's sweet breath fanned.Sweet flower, of which on India's shore no traceIs, or on the Sabæan odorous sand.(Canto 7.)Her fair face the appearance did maintainThat sometimes shewn is by the sky in spring,When at the very time that falls the rain,The sun aside his cloudy veil doth fling.And as the nightingale its pleasant strainThen on the boughs of the green trees doth sing,Thus Love doth bathe his pinions at those brightBut tearful eyes, enjoying the clear light.(Canto 11.)But as more fickle than the leaf was she,When it in autumn doth more sapless grow,And the old wind doth strip it from the tree,And doth before it in its fury grow.(Canto 21.)

The tender maid is like unto the rose

In the fair garden on its native thorn;

Whilst it alone and safely doth repose,

Nor flock nor shepherd crops it; dewy morn,

Water and earth, the breeze that sweetly blows,

Are gracious to it; lovely dames adorn

With it their bosoms and their beautiful

Brows; it enamoured youths delight to cull.

(Canto 1.)

Only, Alcina fairest was by farAs is the sun more fair than every star....Milk is the bosom, of luxuriant size,And the fair neck is round and snowy white;Two unripe ivory apples fall and riseLike waves upon the sea-beach when a slightBreeze stirs the ocean.(Canto 7.)

Only, Alcina fairest was by far

As is the sun more fair than every star....

Milk is the bosom, of luxuriant size,

And the fair neck is round and snowy white;

Two unripe ivory apples fall and rise

Like waves upon the sea-beach when a slight

Breeze stirs the ocean.

(Canto 7.)

Now in a gulf of bliss up to the eyesAnd of fair things, to swim he doth begin.(Canto 7.)

Now in a gulf of bliss up to the eyes

And of fair things, to swim he doth begin.

(Canto 7.)

So closely doth the ivy not enlaceThe tree where firmly rooted it doth stand,As clasp each other in their warm embraceThese lovers, by each other's sweet breath fanned.Sweet flower, of which on India's shore no traceIs, or on the Sabæan odorous sand.(Canto 7.)

So closely doth the ivy not enlace

The tree where firmly rooted it doth stand,

As clasp each other in their warm embrace

These lovers, by each other's sweet breath fanned.

Sweet flower, of which on India's shore no trace

Is, or on the Sabæan odorous sand.

(Canto 7.)

Her fair face the appearance did maintainThat sometimes shewn is by the sky in spring,When at the very time that falls the rain,The sun aside his cloudy veil doth fling.And as the nightingale its pleasant strainThen on the boughs of the green trees doth sing,Thus Love doth bathe his pinions at those brightBut tearful eyes, enjoying the clear light.(Canto 11.)But as more fickle than the leaf was she,When it in autumn doth more sapless grow,And the old wind doth strip it from the tree,And doth before it in its fury grow.(Canto 21.)

Her fair face the appearance did maintain

That sometimes shewn is by the sky in spring,

When at the very time that falls the rain,

The sun aside his cloudy veil doth fling.

And as the nightingale its pleasant strain

Then on the boughs of the green trees doth sing,

Thus Love doth bathe his pinions at those bright

But tearful eyes, enjoying the clear light.

(Canto 11.)

But as more fickle than the leaf was she,

When it in autumn doth more sapless grow,

And the old wind doth strip it from the tree,

And doth before it in its fury grow.

(Canto 21.)

He uses the sea:

As when a bark doth the deep ocean plough,That two winds strike with an alternate blast,'Tis now sent forward by the one, and nowBack by the other in its first place cast,And whirled from prow to poop, from poop to prow,But urged by the most potent wind at lastPhilander thus irresolute betweenThe two thoughts, did to the least wicked lean.(Canto 21.)As comes the wave upon the salt sea shoreWhich the smooth wind at first in thought hath fanned;Greater the second is than that beforeIt, and the third more fiercely follows, andEach time the humour more abounds, and moreDoth it extend its scourge upon the land:Against Orlando thus from vales belowAnd hills above, doth the vile rabble grow.(Canto 24.)

As when a bark doth the deep ocean plough,

That two winds strike with an alternate blast,

'Tis now sent forward by the one, and now

Back by the other in its first place cast,

And whirled from prow to poop, from poop to prow,

But urged by the most potent wind at last

Philander thus irresolute between

The two thoughts, did to the least wicked lean.

(Canto 21.)

As comes the wave upon the salt sea shoreWhich the smooth wind at first in thought hath fanned;Greater the second is than that beforeIt, and the third more fiercely follows, andEach time the humour more abounds, and moreDoth it extend its scourge upon the land:Against Orlando thus from vales belowAnd hills above, doth the vile rabble grow.(Canto 24.)

As comes the wave upon the salt sea shore

Which the smooth wind at first in thought hath fanned;

Greater the second is than that before

It, and the third more fiercely follows, and

Each time the humour more abounds, and more

Doth it extend its scourge upon the land:

Against Orlando thus from vales below

And hills above, doth the vile rabble grow.

(Canto 24.)

These comparisons not only shew faithful and personal observation, but are far more subjective and subtle than, for instance, Dante's. The same holds good of Tasso. How beautiful in detail, and how sentimental too, is this fromJerusalem Delivered:

Behold how lovely blooms the vernal roseWhen scarce the leaves her early bud disclose,When, half unwrapt, and half to view revealed,She gives new pleasure from her charms concealed.But when she shews her bosom wide displayed,How soon her sweets exhale, her beauties fade!No more she seems the flower so lately loved,By virgins cherished and by youths approved.So swiftly fleeting with the transient dayPasses the flower of mortal life away.

Behold how lovely blooms the vernal rose

When scarce the leaves her early bud disclose,

When, half unwrapt, and half to view revealed,

She gives new pleasure from her charms concealed.

But when she shews her bosom wide displayed,

How soon her sweets exhale, her beauties fade!

No more she seems the flower so lately loved,

By virgins cherished and by youths approved.

So swiftly fleeting with the transient day

Passes the flower of mortal life away.

Not less subjective is:

Like a ray of light on waterA smile of soft desire played in her liquid eyes.(Sonnet 18.)

Like a ray of light on water

A smile of soft desire played in her liquid eyes.

(Sonnet 18.)

The most famous lines in this poem are those which describe a romantic garden so vividly that Humboldt says 'it reminds one of the charming scenery of Sorrento.' It certainly proves that even epic poetry tried to describe Nature for her own sake:

The garden then unfolds a beauteous scene,With flowers adorned and ever living green;There silver lakes reflect the beaming day,Here crystal streams in gurgling fountains play.Cool vales descend and sunny hills arise,And groves and caves and grottos strike the eyes.Art showed her utmost power; but art concealedWith greater charm the pleased attention held.It seemed as Nature played a sportive partAnd strove to mock the mimic works of art:By powerful magic breathes the vernal air,And fragrant trees eternal blossoms bear:Eternal fruits on every branch endure,Those swelling from their buds, and these mature:The joyous birds, concealed in every grove,With gentle strife prolong the notes of love.Soft zephyrs breathe on woods and waters round,The woods and waters yield a murmuring sound;When cease the tuneful choir, the wind replies,But, when they sing, in gentle whisper dies;By turns they sink, by turns their music raiseAnd blend, with equal skill, harmonious lays.

The garden then unfolds a beauteous scene,

With flowers adorned and ever living green;

There silver lakes reflect the beaming day,

Here crystal streams in gurgling fountains play.

Cool vales descend and sunny hills arise,

And groves and caves and grottos strike the eyes.

Art showed her utmost power; but art concealed

With greater charm the pleased attention held.

It seemed as Nature played a sportive part

And strove to mock the mimic works of art:

By powerful magic breathes the vernal air,

And fragrant trees eternal blossoms bear:

Eternal fruits on every branch endure,

Those swelling from their buds, and these mature:

The joyous birds, concealed in every grove,

With gentle strife prolong the notes of love.

Soft zephyrs breathe on woods and waters round,

The woods and waters yield a murmuring sound;

When cease the tuneful choir, the wind replies,

But, when they sing, in gentle whisper dies;

By turns they sink, by turns their music raise

And blend, with equal skill, harmonious lays.

But even here the scene is surrounded by an imaginary atmosphere; flowers, fruit, creatures, and atmosphere all lie under a magic charm. Tasso's importance for our subject lies far more in his much-imitated pastorals.

TheArcadiaof Jacopo Sannazaro, which appeared in 1504, a work of poetic beauty and still greater literary importance,[11]paved the way for pastoral poetry, which, like the sonnet, was interwoven withprose. The shepherd's occupations are described with care, though many of the songs and terms of expression rather fit the man of culture than the child of Nature, and he had that genuine enthusiasm for the rural which begets a convincing eloquence. 'Tis you,' he says at the end, addressing the Muse, 'who first woke the sleeping woods, and taught the shepherds how to strike up their lost songs.'

Bembo wrote this inscription for his grave:

Strew flowers o'er the sacred ashes, here lies Sannazaro;With thee, gentle Virgil, he shares Muse and grave.

Strew flowers o'er the sacred ashes, here lies Sannazaro;

With thee, gentle Virgil, he shares Muse and grave.

Virgil too was industriously imitated in the didactic poetry of his country.

Giovanni Rucellai (born 1475) wrote a didactic poem,The Bees, which begins:

'O chaste virgins, winged visitants of flowery banks, whilst I prepared to sing your praise in lofty verse, at peep of day I was o'ercome by sleep, and then appeared a chorus of your tiny folk, and from their rich mellifluous haunts, in a clear voice these words flowed forth.... And I will sing how liquid and serene the air distils sweet honey, heavenly gilt, on flowerets and on grass, and how the bees, chaste and industrious, gather it, and thereof with care and skill make perfumed wax to grace the altars of our God.'

And a didactic poem by Luigi Alamanni (born 1495), calledHusbandry, has: 'O blessed is he who dwells in peace, the actual tiller of his joyous fields, to whom, in his remoteness, the most righteous earth brings food, and secure in well-being, he rejoices in his heart. If thou art not surrounded by society rich with purple and gems, nor with houses adorned with costly woods, statues, and gold;... at least, secure in the humble dwelling of wood from the copse hard by, and common stones collected close at hand, which thine own hand has founded and built, whenever thou awakenest at the approachof dawn, thou dost not find outside those who bring news of a thousand events contrary to thy desires.... Thou wanderest at will, now quickly, now slowly, across the green meadow, through the wood, over the grassy hill, or by the stream. Now here, now there ... thou handlest the hatchet, axe, scythe, or hoe.... To enjoy in sober comfort at almost all seasons, with thy dear children, the fruits of thine own tree, the tree planted by thyself, this brings a sweetness sweet beyond all others.'

These didactic writings, inspired by Virgilian Georgics, show a distinct preference for the idyllic.

Sannazaro'sArcadiawent through sixty editions in the sixteenth century alone. Tasso reckoned with the prevalent taste of his day inAminta, which improved the then method of dramatizing a romantic idyll. The whole poem bears the stamp of an idealizing and romantic imagination, and embodies in lyric form his sentimental idea of the Golden Age and an ideal world of Nature. Even down to its detailsAmintarecalls the pastorals of Longos; and Daphne's words (Act I. Scene 1) suggest the most feeling outpourings of Kallimachos and Nonnos:

And callest thou sweet spring-timeThe time of rage and enmity,Which breathing now and smiling,Reminds the whole creation,The animal, the human,Of loving! Dost thou see notHow all things are enamouredOf this enamourer, rich with joy and health?Observe that turtle-dove,How, toying with his dulcet murmuring,He kisses his companion. Hear that nightingaleWho goes from bough to boughSinging with his loud heart, 'I love!' 'I love!'...The very treesAre loving. See with what affection there,And in how many a clinging turn and twine,The vine holds fast its husband. Fir loves fir,The pine the pine, and ash and willow and beechEach towards the other yearns, and sighs and trembles.That oak tree which appearsSo rustic and so rough,Even that has something warm in its sound heart;And hadst thou but a spirit and sense of love,Thou hadst found out a meaning for its whispers.Now tell me, would thou beLess than the very plants and have no love?

And callest thou sweet spring-time

The time of rage and enmity,

Which breathing now and smiling,

Reminds the whole creation,

The animal, the human,

Of loving! Dost thou see not

How all things are enamoured

Of this enamourer, rich with joy and health?

Observe that turtle-dove,

How, toying with his dulcet murmuring,

He kisses his companion. Hear that nightingale

Who goes from bough to bough

Singing with his loud heart, 'I love!' 'I love!'...

The very treesAre loving. See with what affection there,And in how many a clinging turn and twine,The vine holds fast its husband. Fir loves fir,The pine the pine, and ash and willow and beechEach towards the other yearns, and sighs and trembles.That oak tree which appearsSo rustic and so rough,Even that has something warm in its sound heart;And hadst thou but a spirit and sense of love,Thou hadst found out a meaning for its whispers.Now tell me, would thou beLess than the very plants and have no love?

The very trees

Are loving. See with what affection there,

And in how many a clinging turn and twine,

The vine holds fast its husband. Fir loves fir,

The pine the pine, and ash and willow and beech

Each towards the other yearns, and sighs and trembles.

That oak tree which appears

So rustic and so rough,

Even that has something warm in its sound heart;

And hadst thou but a spirit and sense of love,

Thou hadst found out a meaning for its whispers.

Now tell me, would thou be

Less than the very plants and have no love?

One seems to hear Sakuntala and her friends talking, or Akontios complaining. So, too, when the unhappy lover laments (Aminta):

In my lamentings I have foundA very pity in the pebbly waters,And I have found the treesReturn them a kind voice:But never have I found,Nor ever hope to find,Compassion in this hard and beautifulWhat shall I call her?

In my lamentings I have found

A very pity in the pebbly waters,

And I have found the trees

Return them a kind voice:

But never have I found,

Nor ever hope to find,

Compassion in this hard and beautiful

What shall I call her?

Aminta describes to Tirsis how his love grew from boyhood up:

There grew by little and little in my heart,I knew not from what root,But just as the grass grows that sows itself,An unknown something which continuallyMade me feel anxious to be with her.

There grew by little and little in my heart,

I knew not from what root,

But just as the grass grows that sows itself,

An unknown something which continually

Made me feel anxious to be with her.

Sylvia kisses him:

Never did bee from flowerSuck sugar so divineAs was the honey that I gathered thenFrom those twin roses fresh.

Never did bee from flower

Suck sugar so divine

As was the honey that I gathered then

From those twin roses fresh.

In Act II. Scene 1, the rejected Satyr, like the rejected Polyphemus or Amaryllis in Theocritus, complains in antitheses which recall Longos:

The woods hide serpents, lions, and bears under their green shade, and in your bosom hatred, disdain, and cruelty dwell.... Alas, when I bring the earliest flowers, you refuse them obstinately, perhaps becauselovelier ones bloom on your own face; if I offer beautiful apples, you reject them angrily, perhaps because your beautiful bosom swells with lovelier ones.... and yet I am not to be despised, for I saw myself lately in the clear water, when winds were still and there were no waves.

This is the sentimental pastoral poetry of Hellenism reborn and intensified.

So with the elegiac motive so loved by Alexandrian and Roman poets, praise of a happy past time; the chorus sings inAminta:

O lovely age of gold,Not that the rivers rolledWith milk, or that the woods wept honeydew;Not that the ready groundProduced without a wound,Or the mild serpent had no tooth that slew....But solely that.... the law of gold,That glad and golden law, all free, all fitted,Which Nature's own hand wrote--What pleases is permitted!...Go! let us love, the daylight dies, is born;But unto us the lightDies once for all, and sleep brings on eternal night.

O lovely age of gold,

Not that the rivers rolled

With milk, or that the woods wept honeydew;

Not that the ready ground

Produced without a wound,

Or the mild serpent had no tooth that slew....

But solely that.... the law of gold,

That glad and golden law, all free, all fitted,

Which Nature's own hand wrote--What pleases is permitted!...

Go! let us love, the daylight dies, is born;

But unto us the light

Dies once for all, and sleep brings on eternal night.

Over thirty pastoral plays can be ascribed to Italy in the last third of the sixteenth century. The most successful imitator of Tasso was Giovanni Battista Guarini (born 1537) inThe True Shepherd (II Pastor Fido). One quotation will shew how he outviedAminta. In Act I, Scene 1, Linko says:

Look round thee, Sylvia; beholdAll in the world that's amiable and fairIs love's sweet work: heaven loves, the earth, the sea,Are full of love and own his mighty sway.Love through the woodsThe fiercest beasts; love through the waves attendsSwift gliding dolphins and the sluggish whales.That little bird which sings....Oh, had he human sense,'I burn with love,' he'd cry, 'I burn with love,'And in his heart he truly burns,And in his warble speaksA language, well by his dear mate conceived,Who answering cries, 'And I too burn with love.'

Look round thee, Sylvia; behold

All in the world that's amiable and fair

Is love's sweet work: heaven loves, the earth, the sea,

Are full of love and own his mighty sway.

Love through the woods

The fiercest beasts; love through the waves attends

Swift gliding dolphins and the sluggish whales.

That little bird which sings....

Oh, had he human sense,

'I burn with love,' he'd cry, 'I burn with love,'

And in his heart he truly burns,

And in his warble speaks

A language, well by his dear mate conceived,

Who answering cries, 'And I too burn with love.'

He praises woodland solitude:

Dear happy groves!And them all silent, solitary gloom,True residence of peace and of repose!How willingly, how willingly my stepsTo you return, and oh! if but my starsBenightly had decreedMy life for solitude, and as my wishWould naturally prompt to pass my days--No, not the Elysian fields,Those happy gardens of the demi-gods,Would I exchange for yon enchanting shades.

Dear happy groves!

And them all silent, solitary gloom,

True residence of peace and of repose!

How willingly, how willingly my steps

To you return, and oh! if but my stars

Benightly had decreed

My life for solitude, and as my wish

Would naturally prompt to pass my days--

No, not the Elysian fields,

Those happy gardens of the demi-gods,

Would I exchange for yon enchanting shades.

The love lyrics of the later Renaissance are remarkably rich in vivid pictures of Nature combined with much personal sentiment. Petrarch's are the model; he inspired Vittoria Colonna, and she too revelled in sad feelings and memories, especially about the death of her husband:[12]

'When I see the earth adorned and beautiful with a thousand lovely and sweet flowers, and how in the heavens every star is resplendent with varied colours; when I see that every solitary and lively creature is moved by natural instinct to come out of the forests and ancient caverns to seek its fellow by day and by night; and when I see the plains adorned again with glorious flowers and new leaves, and hear every babbling brook with grateful murmurs bathing its flowery banks, so that Nature, in love with herself, delights to gaze on the beauty of her works, I say to myself, reflecting: "How brief is this our miserable mortal life!" Yesterday this plain was covered with snow, to-day it is green and flowery. And again in a moment the beauty of the heavens is overclouded by a fierce wind, and the happy loving creatures remain hidden amidst the mountains and the woods; nor can the sweet songs of the tender plants and happy birds be heard, for these cruel storms have dried up the flowers on the ground; the birds are mute, the most rapidstreams and smallest rivulets are checked by frost, and what was one hour so beautiful and joyous, is, for a season, miserable and dead.'

Here the two pictures in the inner and outer life are equally vivid to the poetess; it is the real 'pleasure of sorrow,' and she lingers over them with delight.

Bojardo, too, reminds us of Petrarch; for example, in Sonnet 89:[13]

Thou shady wood, inured my griefs to hear,So oft expressed in quick and broken sighs;Thou glorious sun, unused to set or riseBut as the witness of my daily fear;Ye wandering birds, ye flocks and ranging deer,Exempt from my consuming agonies;Thou sunny stream to whom my sorrow flies'Mid savage rocks and wilds, no human traces near.O witnesses eternal, how I live!My sufferings hear, and win to their reliefThat scornful beauty--tell her how I grieve!But little 'tis to her to hear my grief.To her, who sees the pangs which I receive,And seeing, deigns them not the least relief.

Thou shady wood, inured my griefs to hear,So oft expressed in quick and broken sighs;Thou glorious sun, unused to set or riseBut as the witness of my daily fear;

Thou shady wood, inured my griefs to hear,

So oft expressed in quick and broken sighs;

Thou glorious sun, unused to set or rise

But as the witness of my daily fear;

Ye wandering birds, ye flocks and ranging deer,Exempt from my consuming agonies;Thou sunny stream to whom my sorrow flies'Mid savage rocks and wilds, no human traces near.

Ye wandering birds, ye flocks and ranging deer,

Exempt from my consuming agonies;

Thou sunny stream to whom my sorrow flies

'Mid savage rocks and wilds, no human traces near.

O witnesses eternal, how I live!My sufferings hear, and win to their reliefThat scornful beauty--tell her how I grieve!

O witnesses eternal, how I live!

My sufferings hear, and win to their relief

That scornful beauty--tell her how I grieve!

But little 'tis to her to hear my grief.To her, who sees the pangs which I receive,And seeing, deigns them not the least relief.

But little 'tis to her to hear my grief.

To her, who sees the pangs which I receive,

And seeing, deigns them not the least relief.

Lorenzo de Medici's idylls were particularly rich in descriptions of Nature and full of feeling. 'Here too that delight in pain, in telling of their unhappiness and renunciation; here too those wonderful tones which distinguish the sonnets of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries so favourably from those of a later time.' (Geiger.)

There is a delicate compliment in this sonnet:

O violets, sweet and fresh and pure indeed,Culled by that hand beyond all others fair!What rain or what pure air has striven to bearFlowers far excelling those 'tis wont to yield?What pearly dew, what sun, or sooth what earthDid you with all these subtle charms adorn;And whence is this sweet scent by Nature drawn,Or heaven who deigns to grant it to such worth?O, my dear violets, the hand which choseYou from all others, that has made you fair,'Twas that adorned you with such charm and worth;Sweet hand! which took my heart altho' it knowsIts lowliness, with that you may compare.To that give thanks, and to none else on earth.

O violets, sweet and fresh and pure indeed,

Culled by that hand beyond all others fair!

What rain or what pure air has striven to bear

Flowers far excelling those 'tis wont to yield?

What pearly dew, what sun, or sooth what earth

Did you with all these subtle charms adorn;

And whence is this sweet scent by Nature drawn,

Or heaven who deigns to grant it to such worth?

O, my dear violets, the hand which chose

You from all others, that has made you fair,

'Twas that adorned you with such charm and worth;

Sweet hand! which took my heart altho' it knows

Its lowliness, with that you may compare.

To that give thanks, and to none else on earth.

Thus we see that the Italians of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries were penetrated through and through by the modern spirit--were, indeed, its pioneers. They recognized their own individuality, pondered their own inner life, delighted in the charms of Nature, and described them in prose and poetry, both as counterparts to feeling and for her own sake.

Over all the literature we have been considering--whether poetic comparison and personification, or sentimental descriptions of pastoral life and a golden age, of blended inner and outer life, or of the finest details of scenery--there lies that bloom of the modern, that breath of subjective personality, so hard to define. The rest of contemporary Europe had no such culture of heart and mind, no such marked individuality, to shew.

The further growth of the Renaissance feeling, itself a rebirth of Hellenic and Roman feeling, was long delayed.

Let us turn next to Spain and Portugal--the countries chiefly affected by the great voyages of discovery, not only socially and economically, but artistically--and see the effect of the new scenery upon their imagination.

The great achievement of the Italian Renaissance was the discovery of the world within, of the whole deep contents of the human spirit. Burckhart, praising this achievement, says:

If we were to collect the pearls from the courtly and knightly poetry of all the countries of the West during the two preceding centuries, we should have a mass of wonderful divinations and single pictures of the inward life, which at first sight would seem to rival the poetry of the Italians. Leaving lyrical poetry out of account, Godfrey of Strassburg gives us, in hisTristram and Isolt, a representation of human passion, some features of which are immortal. But these pearls lie scattered in the ocean of artificial convention, and they are altogether something very different from a complete objective picture of the inward man and his spiritual wealth.

The discovery of the beauty of scenery followed as a necessary corollary of this awakening of individualism, this fathoming of the depths of human personality. For only to fully-developed man does Nature fully disclose herself.

This had already been stated by one of the most philosophic minds of the time, Pico della Mirandola, in his speech on the dignity of man. God, he tells us, made man at the close of creation to know the laws of the universe, to love its beauty, to admire itsgreatness. He bound him to no fixed place, to no prescribed form of work, and by no iron necessity; but gave him freedom to will and to move.

'I have set thee,' said the Creator to Adam, 'in the midst of the world, that thou mayest the more easily behold and see all that is therein. I created thee a being neither heavenly nor earthly, neither mortal nor immortal, only that thou mightest be free to shape and to overcome thyself. Thou mayest sink into a beast, and be born again to the Divine likeness. The brutes bring with them from their mothers' body what they will carry with them as long as they live; the higher spirits are from the beginning, or soon after, what they will be for ever. To thee alone is given a growth and a development depending on thine own free will. Thou bearest in thee the germs of a universal life.'

The best men of the Renaissance realized this ideal of an all-round development, and it was the glory of Italy in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, that she found a new realm in the inner man at the very time that her discoveries across the seas were enlarging the boundaries of the external world, and her science was studying it. Mixed as the motives of the discoverers must have been, like those of the crusaders before them, and probably, for the most part, self-interested, it is easy to imagine the surprise they must have felt at seeing ignorant people, who, to quote Peter Martyr (de rebus oceanicis):[1]

Naked, without weights or measures or death-dealing money, live in a Golden Age without laws, without slanderous judges, without the scales of the balance. Contented with Nature, they spend their lives utterly untroubled for the future.... Theirs is a Golden Age; they do not enclose their farms with trench or wall or hurdle; their gardens are open. Without laws, without the scales of the balance, without judges, they guard the right by Nature's light.

And their wonder at the novelties in climate and vegetation, the strange forests, brilliant birds, and splendid stars of the tropics, must have been no less.

Yet it is one thing to feel, and another to find words to convey the feeling to others; and the explorers often expressed regret for their lack of skill in this respect.

Also, and this is more important in criticizing what they wrote, these seamen were mostly simple, unlettered folk, to whom a country's wealth in natural products and their practical value made the strongest appeal, and whose admiration of bays, harbours, trees, fields of grain, etc., was measured by the same standard of utility. Even such unskilled reporters did not entirely fail to refer to the beauty of Nature; but had it not been for the original and powerful mind of Christopher Columbus, we should have had little more in the way of description than 'pleasant,' 'pretty,' and such words.

Marco Polo described his journey to the coast of Cormos[2]in very matter-of-fact fashion, but not without a touch of satisfaction at the peculiarities of the place:

You then approach the very beautiful plain of Formosa, watered by fine rivers, with plantations of the date palms, and having the air filled with francolins, parrots, and other birds unknown to our climate. You ride two days to it, and then arrive at the ocean, on which there is a city and a fort named Cormos. The ships of India bring thither all kinds of spiceries, precious stones, and pearls, cloths of silk and gold, elephants' teeth, and many other articles.... They sow wheat, barley, and other kinds of grain in the month of November, and reap them in March, when they become ripe and perfect; but none except the date will endure till May, being dried up by the extreme heat.

Elsewhere he wrote of scenery in the same strain: of the Persian deserts, and the green table-lands and wild gorges of Badachshan, Japan with its goldenroofed palaces, paradisaical Sunda Islands with their 'abundance of treasure and costly spices,' Java the less with its eight kingdoms, etc.; but naturally his chief interest was given to the manners and customs of the various races, and the fertility and uses of their countries.

In Bishop Osorio'sHistory of Emmanuel, King of Portugal, we see some pleasure in the beauties of Nature peeping through the matter-of-fact tone of the day.

Thus, speaking of the companions of Vasco da Gama, he says that they admired the far coast of Africa:

They descried some little islands, which appeared extremely pleasant; the trees were lofty, the meadows of a beautiful verdure, and great numbers of cattle frisked about everywhere; they could see the inhabitants walking upon the shore in vast numbers....

Of Mozambique he says:

The palm trees are of a great height, covered with long prickly leaves; broad-spreading boughs afford an agreeable shade, and bear nuts of a great size, called cocoes.

Of Melinda:

The city stands in a beautiful plain, surrounded with a variety of fine gardens; these are stocked with all sorts of trees, especially the orange, the flowers of which yield a most graceful diffusive smell. The country is rich and plentiful, abounding not only with tame and domestic cattle, but with game of all kinds, which the natives hunt down or take with nets.

Of Zanzibar:

The soil of this place is rich and fertile, and it abounds with springs of the most excellent water; the whole island is covered with beautiful woods, which are extremely fragrant from the many wild citrons growing there, which diffuse the most grateful scent.

Of Brazil, which is 'extremely pleasant and the soil fruitful':

Clothed with a beautiful verdure, covered with tall trees, abounding with plenty of excellent water ... and so healthy that the inhabitants make no use of medicines, for almost all who die here are not cut off by any distemper, but worn out by age. Here are many large rivers, besides a vast number of delightful springs. The plains are large and spacious, and afford excellent pasture.... In short, the whole country affords a most beautiful prospect, being diversified with hills and valleys, and these covered with thick shady woods stocked with great variety of trees, many of which our people were quite strangers to: of these there was one of a particular nature, the leaves of which, when cut, sent forth a kind of balsam. The trees used in dyeing scarlet grow here in great plenty and to a great height. The soil likewise produces the most useful plants.

Of Ormuz, near Arabia:

The name of the island seems to be taken from the ancient city of Armuza in Caramania ... the place is sandy and barren, and the soil so very poor that it produces nothing fit for human sustenance, neither by nature nor by the most laborious cultivation ... yet here you might see greater plenty of these, as well as all luxurious superfluities, than in most other countries of a richer and more fertile soil, for the place, poor in itself, having become the great mart for the commodities of India, Persia, and Arabia, was thus abundantly stocked with the produce of all these countries.

Peter Martyr's[3]point of view was much the same. He was full of surprise at the splendour round him, and the advantages such fertility offered to husbandry:

Thus after a few days with cheerful hearts they espied the land long looked for....As they coasted along by the shore of certain of these islands, they heard nightingales sing in the thick woods in the month of November.They found also great rivers of fresh water and natural havens of capacity to harbour great navies of ships.... They found there wild geese, turtle-doves, and ducks, much greater than ours, and as whiteas swans, with heads of purple colour. Also popinjays, of the which some are green, some yellow, and having their feathers intermingled with green, yellow, and purple, which varieties delighted the sense not a little.... They entered into a main large sea, having in it innumerable islands, marvellously differing one from another; for some of them were very fruitful, full of herbs and trees, other some very dry, barren, and rough, with high rocky mountains of stone, whereof some were of bright blue, or azurine colour, and other glistening white.

Thus after a few days with cheerful hearts they espied the land long looked for....

As they coasted along by the shore of certain of these islands, they heard nightingales sing in the thick woods in the month of November.

They found also great rivers of fresh water and natural havens of capacity to harbour great navies of ships.... They found there wild geese, turtle-doves, and ducks, much greater than ours, and as whiteas swans, with heads of purple colour. Also popinjays, of the which some are green, some yellow, and having their feathers intermingled with green, yellow, and purple, which varieties delighted the sense not a little.... They entered into a main large sea, having in it innumerable islands, marvellously differing one from another; for some of them were very fruitful, full of herbs and trees, other some very dry, barren, and rough, with high rocky mountains of stone, whereof some were of bright blue, or azurine colour, and other glistening white.

He filled a whole page with descriptions of the wonderful wealth of flowers, fruit, and vegetables of all kinds, which the ground yields even in February. The richness of the prairie grass, the charm of the rivers, the wealth of fruit, the enormous size of the trees (with a view to native houses), the various kinds of pines, palms, and chestnuts, and their uses, the immense downfall of water carried to the sea by the rivers--all this he noted with admiration; but industrial interest outweighed the æsthetic, even when he called Spain happier than Italy. There is no trace of any real feeling for scenery, any grasp of landscape as a whole; he did not advance beyond scattered details, which attracted his eye chiefly for their material uses.

But there is real delight in Nature in the account of a journey to the Cape Verde Islands, undertaken on the suggestion of Henry the Navigator by Aloise da Mosto,[4]an intelligent Venetian nobleman:

Cape de Verde is so called because the Portuguese, who had discovered it about a year before, found it covered with trees, which continue green all the year round. This is a high and beautiful Cape, which runs a good length into the sea, and has two hills or little mountains at the point thereof. There are several villages of negroes from Senega, on and about the promontory, who dwell in thatched houses close to the shore, and in sight of those who sail by.... The coast is all low and full of fine large trees, which are constantly green; that is, they never wither as those in Europe do, for the new leaves grow before theold ones fall off. These trees are so near the shore that they seem to drink out of the sea. It is a most beautiful coast to behold, and the author, who had sailed both in the East and West, never saw any comparable with it.

As Ruge says:

The delight of this solid and prudent citizen of Strasburg in the beauty of the tropics is lost in translation, but very evident in the original account.[5]

After reading it, we cannot quite say with Humboldt that Columbus was the very first to give fluent expression to Nature's beauty on the shores of the New World; none the less, and apart from his importance in other respects, he remains the chief representative of his time in the matter. Humboldt noted this in his critical examination of the history of geography in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, in which he pointed out his deep feeling for Nature, and also, what only those who know the difficulties of language at the time can appreciate, the beauty and simplicity of his expression of it.[6]

Columbus is a striking example of the fact that a man's openness to Nature increases with his general inner growth. No one doubts that uneducated sailors, like other unlettered people, are vividly impressed by fine scenery, especially when it is new to them, if they possess a spark of mental refinement. They have the feeling, but are unable to express it in words. But, as Humboldt says, feeling improves speech; with increased culture, the power of expression increases.

We owe a debt of gratitude to Fernandez de Navarrete[7]for the Diary in which we can trace Columbus' love for Nature increasing to 'a deep and poetic feeling for the majesty of creation.'

He wrote, October 8th, 1492, in his diary:

'Thanks be to God,' says the Admiral, 'the air is very soft like the April at Seville, and it is a pleasure to be there, so balmy are the breezes.'

And Humboldt says:

The physiognomy and forms of the vegetation, the impenetrable thickets of the forests, in which one can scarcely distinguish the stems to which the several blossoms and leaves belong, the wild luxuriance of the flowering soil along the humid shores, and the rose-coloured flamingoes which, fishing at early morning at the mouth of the rivers, impart animation to the scenery,--all in turn arrested the attention of the old mariner as he sailed along the shores of Cuba, between the small Lucayan Islands and the Jardinillos.

Each new country seemed to him more beautiful than the last; he complained that he could not find new words in which to give the Queen an impression of the beauty of the Cuban coast.

It will repay us to examine the Diary more closely, since Humboldt only treated it shortly and in scattered extracts, and it has been partly falsified, unintentionally, by attempts to modernize the language instead of adhering to literal translation. What Peschel says, for instance, is pretty but distinctly exaggerated:

Columbus was never weary of listening to the nightingales, comparing the genial Indian climate with the Andalusian spring, and admiring the luxuriant wilderness on these humid shores, with their dense vegetation and forests so rich in all kinds of plants, and alive with swarms of parrots ... with an open eye for all the beauties of Nature and all the wonders of creation, he looked at the splendour of the tropics very much as a tender father looks into the bright eyes of his child.[8]

The Diary of November 3rd says:

He could see nothing, owing to the dense foliage of the trees, which were very fresh and odoriferous; so that he felt no doubt that there were aromatic herbs among them. He said that all he saw was so beautiful that his eyes could never tire of gazing upon such loveliness, nor his ears of listening to the songs of birds.

November 14th:

He saw so many islands that he could not count them all, with very high land covered with trees of many kinds and an infinite number of palms. He was muchastonished to see so many lofty islands, and assured the Sovereigns that the mountains and islands he had seen since yesterday seemed to him to be second to none in the world, so high and clear of clouds and snow, with the sea at their bases so deep.

November 25th:

He saw a large stream of beautiful water falling from the mountains above, with a loud noise.... Just then the sailor boys called out that they had found large pines. The Admiral looked up the hill and saw that they were so wonderfully large, that he could not exaggerate their height and straightness, like stout yet fine spindles. He perceived that here there was material for great store of planks and masts for the largest ships in Spain ... the mountains are very high, whence descend many limpid streams, and all the hills are covered with pines, and an infinity of diverse and beautiful trees.

November 27th:

The freshness and beauty of the trees, the clearness of the water and the birds, made it all so delightful that he wished never to leave them. He said to the men who were with him that to give a true relation to the Sovereigns of the things they had seen, a thousand tongues would not suffice, nor his hand to write it, for that it was like a scene of enchantment.

December 13th:

The nine men well armed, whom he sent to explore a certain place, said, with regard to the beauty of the land they saw, that the best land in Castille could not be compared with it. The Admiral also said that there was no comparison between them, nor did the Plain of Cordova come near them, the difference being as great as between night and day. They said that all these lands were cultivated, and that a very wide and large river passed through the centre of the valley and could irrigate all the fields. All the trees were green and full of fruit, and the plants tall and covered with flowers. The roads were broad and good. The climate was like April in Castille; the nightingale and other birds sang as they do in Spain during that month, and it was the most pleasant place in the world. Some birds sing sweetly at night, the crickets and frogs are heard a good deal.

All this shews a naive and spontaneous delight in Nature, as free from sentimentality as from any grasp of landscape as a distinct entity.

In a letter about Cuba, which Humboldt gives, he says:

The lands are high, and there are many very lofty mountains ... all most beautiful, of a thousand different shapes, accessible and covered with trees of a thousand kinds of such great height that they seemed to reach the skies. I am told that the trees never lose their foliage, and I can well believe it, for I observed that they were as green and luxuriant as in Spain in the month of May. Some were in bloom, others bearing fruit, and others otherwise according to their nature. There were palm trees of six or eight kinds, wonderful in their beautiful variety; but this is the case with all the other trees; fruits and grasses, trees, plants and fruits filled us with admiration. It contains extraordinary pine groves and very extensive plains.

Humboldt here comments that these often-repeated expressions of admiration prove a strong feeling for the beauty of Nature, since they are concerned with foliage and shade, not with precious metals. The next letter shews the growing power of description:

Reaching the harbour of Bastimentos, I put in.... The storm and a rapid current kept me in for fourteen days, when I again set sail, but not with favourable weather.... I had already made four leagues when the storm recommenced and wearied me to such a degree that I absolutely knew not what to do; my wound re-opened, and for nine days my life was despaired of. Never was the sea seen so high, so terrific, and so covered with foam; not only did the wind oppose our proceeding onward, but it also rendered it highly dangerous to run in for any headland, and kept me in that sea, which seemed to me a sea of blood, seething like a cauldron on a mighty fire. Never did the sky look more fearful; during one day and one night it burned like a furnace, and emitted flashes in such fashion that each time I looked to see if my masts and my sails were not destroyed; these flashes came with such alarming fury that we all thought the ship must have been consumed. All this time the waters from heaven never ceased, not to say that itrained, for it was like a repetition of the Deluge. The men were at this time so crushed in spirit, that they longed for death as a deliverance from so many martyrdoms. Twice already had the ships suffered loss in boats, anchors, and rigging, and were now lying bare without sails.

These extracts shew how feeling for Nature in unlettered minds could develop into an enthusiasm which begot to some extent its own power of expression. Columbus was entirely deficient in all previous knowledge of natural history; but he was gifted with deep feeling (the account of the nocturnal visions in theLettera Rarissimais proof of this)[9], mental energy, and a capacity for exact observation which many of the other explorers did not possess, and these faculties made up for what he lacked in education.

In Cuba alone, he distinguishes seven or eight different species of palm more beautiful and taller than the date tree; he informs his learned friend Anghiera that he has seen pines and palms wonderfully associated together in one and the same plain, and he even so acutely observed the vegetation around him, that he was the first to notice that there were pines in the mountains of Cibao, whose fruits are not fir cones but berries like the olives of the Axarafe de Sevilla.(Cosmos.)

(Cosmos.)

Most of Vespucci's narratives of travel, especially his letters to the Medici, only contain adventures and descriptions of manners and customs. He lacked the originality and enthusiasm which gave the power of the wing to Columbus.

That imposing Portuguese poem, theLusiadof Camoens, is full of jubilation over the discovery of the New World. Camoens made his notes of foreign places at first hand; he had served as a soldier, fought at the foot of Atlas in the Red Sea and Persian Gulf, had doubled the Cape twice, and, inspired by a deep love for Nature, had spent sixteen years in examining the phenomena of the ocean on the Indian andChinese shores. He was a great sea painter. His poetic and inventive power remind one at times of Dante--for instance, in the description of the Dream Face; and he pictures foreign lands with the clearness and detail of the discoverers and later travellers. Here and there his poetry is like the Diary of Columbus translated into verse--epic verse.

He had the same fiery spirit, nerve, and fresh insight, with the poet's gift added.

(None the less, the classic apparatus of deities in Thetys'Apologyis no adornment.)

Comparisons from Nature and animals are few but detailed:

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