Chapter XIV: History of Poetry From 1550 to 1600 (1)

SECT. I.--ON ITALIAN POETRY.

_Character of the Italian Poets of this Age--Some of the best enumerated--Bernardino Rota--Gaspara Stampa--Bernardo Tasso-- Gierusalemme Liberata of Torquato Tasso._

|General character of Italian poets in this age.|

|Their usual faults.|

1. The school of Petrarch, restored by Bembo, was prevalent in Italy at the beginning of this period. It would demand the use of a library, formed peculiarly for this purpose, as well as a great expenditure of time, to read the original volumes which this immensely numerous class of poets, the Italians of the sixteenth century, filled with their sonnets. In the lists of Crescimbeni, they reach the number of 661. We must, therefore, judge of them chiefly through selections, which, though they may not always have done justice to every poet, cannot but present to us an adequate picture of the general style of poetry. The majority are feeble copyists of Petrarch. Even in most of those who have been preferred to the rest, an affected intensity of passion, a monotonous repetition of customary metaphors, of hyperboles reduced to commonplaces by familiarity, of mythological allusions, pedantic without novelty, cannot be denied incessantly to recur. But, in observing how much they generally want of that which is essentially the best, we might be in danger of forgetting that there is a praise due to selection of words, to harmony of sound, and to skill in overcoming metrical impediments, which it is for natives alone to award. The authority of Italian critics should, therefore, be respected, though not without keeping in mind both their national prejudice, and that which the habit of admiring a very artificial style must always generate.

|Their beauties.|

2. It is perhaps hardly fair to read a number of these compositions in succession. Every sonnet has its own unity, and is not, it might be pleaded, to be charged with tediousness or monotony, because the same structure of verse, or even the same general sentiment, may recur in an equally independent production. Even collectively taken, the minor Italian poetry of the sixteenth century may be deemed a great repertory of beautiful language, of sentiments and images, that none but minds finely tuned by nature produce, and that will ever be dear to congenial readers, presented to us with exquisite felicity and grace, and sometimes with an original and impressive vigour. The sweetness of the Italian versification goes far towards their charm; but are poets forbidden to avail themselves of this felicity of their native tongue, or do we invidiously detract, as we might on the same ground, from the praise of Theocritus and Bion?

|Character given by Muratori.|

3. “The poets of this age,” says one of their best critics, “had, in general, a just taste, wrote with elegance, employed deep, noble, and natural sentiments, and filled their compositions with well-chosen ornaments. There may be observed, however, some difference between the authors who lived before the middle of the century and those who followed them. The former were more attentive to imitate Petrarch, and unequal to reach the fertility and imagination of this great master, seemed rather dry, with the exception, always, of Casa and Costanzo, whom, in their style of composition, I greatly admire. The later writers, in order to gain more applause, deviated in some measure from the spirit of Petrarch, seeking ingenious thoughts, florid conceits, splendid ornaments, of which they became so fond, that they fell sometimes into the vicious extreme of saying too much.”[1141]

[1141] Muratori, della Perfetta Poesia, i. 22.

|Poetry of Casa.|

4. Casa and Costanzo, whom Muratori seems to place in the earlier part of the century, belong, by the date of publication at least, to this latter period. The former was the first to quit the style of Petrarch, which Bembo had rendered so popular. Its smoothness evidently wanted vigour, and it was the aim of Casa to inspire a more masculine tone into the sonnet, at the expense of a harsher versification. He occasionally ventured to carry on the sense without pause from the first to the second tercet; an innovation praised by many, but which, at that time, few attempted to imitate, though, in later ages, it has become common, not much perhaps to the advantage of the sonnet. The poetry of Casa speaks less to the imagination, the heart, or the ear, than to the understanding.[1142]

[1142] Casa ... per poco deviando dalla dolcezza del Petrarca, a un
novello stile diede principio, col quale le sue rime compose,
intendendo sopra il tutto alla gravitâ; per conseguir la quale, si
valse spezialmente del carattere aspro, e de’ raggirati periodi e
rotondi, insino a condurre uno stesso sentimento d’uno in altro
quadernario, e d’uno in altro terzetto; cosa in prima da alcuno non
più tentata; perlochè somma lode ritrasse de chiunque coltivò in
questi tempi la toscana poesia. Ma perche si fatto stile era
proprio, e adattato all’ingengo del suo inventore, molto difficile
riuscì il seguitarlo. Crescimbeni della volgar poesia, ii. 410. See
also Ginguéné, ix. 329. Tiraboschi, x. 22. Casa is generally, to my
apprehension, very harsh and prosaic.

|Of Costanzo.|

|Baldi.|

|Caro.|

5. Angelo di Costanzo, a Neapolitan, and author of a well-known history of his country, is highly extolled by Crescimbeni and Muratori; perhaps no one of these lyric poets of the sixteenth century is so much in favour with the critics. Costanzo is so regular in his versification, and so strict in adhering to the unity of subject, that the Society of Arcadians, when, towards the close of the seventeenth century, they endeavoured to rescue Italian poetry from the school of Marini, selected him as the best model of imitation. He is ingenious, but perhaps a little too refined; and by no means free from that coldly hyperbolical tone in addressing his mistress, which most of these sonnetteers assume. Costanzo is not to me, in general, a pleasing writer; though sometimes he is very beautiful, as in the sonnet on Virgil, Quella cetra gentil, justly praised by Muratori, and which will be found in most collections; remarkable, among higher merits, for being contained in a single sentence. Another, on the same subject, Cigni felici, is still better. The poetry of Camillo Pellegrini much resembles that of Costanzo.[1143] The sonnets of Baldi, especially a series on the ruins and antiquities of Rome, appear to me deserving of a high place among those of the age. They may be read among his poems; but few have found their way into the collections by Gobbi and Rubbi, which are not made with the best taste. Caro, says Crescimbeni, is less rough than Casa, and more original than Bembo. Salfi extols the felicity of his style, and the harmony of his versification; while he owns that his thoughts are often forced and obscure.[1144]

[1143] Crescimbeni, vol. iv. p. 23.

[1144] Crescimbeni, ii. 429. Ginguéné (continuation par Salfi), ix. 12.
Caro’s sonnets on Castelvetro, written during their quarrel, are
full of furious abuse with no wit. They have the ridiculous
particularity that the last line of each is repeated so as to begin
the next.

|Odes of Celio Magno.|

6. Among the canzoni of this period, one by Celio Magno on the Deity stands in the eyes of foreigners, and I believe of many Italians, prominent above the rest. It is certainly a noble ode.[1145] Rubbi, editor of the Parnaso Italiano, says that he would call Celio the greatest lyric poet of his age, if he did not dread the clamour of the Petrarchists. The poetry of Celio Magno, more than one hundred pages extracted from which will be found in the thirty-second volume of that collection, is not in general amatory, and displays much of that sonorous rhythm and copious expression which afterwards made Chiabrera and Guidi famous. Some of his odes, like those of Pindar, seem to have been written for pay, and have somewhat of that frigid exaggeration which such conditions produce. Crescimbeni thinks that Tansillo, in the ode, has no rival but Petrarch.[1146] The poetry in general of Tansillo, especially La Balia, which contains good advice to mothers about nursing their infants very prosaically delivered, seems deficient in spirit.[1147]

[1145] This will be found in the Componimenti Lirici of Mathias; a
collection good on the whole, yet not perhaps the best that might
have been made; nor had the editor at that time so extensive an
acquaintance with Italian poetry as he afterwards acquired.
Crescimbeni reckons Celio the last of the good age in poetry; he
died in 1612. He praises also Scipio Gaetano (not the painter of
that name) whose poems were published, but posthumously, in the
same year.

[1146] Della Volgar Poesia, ii. 436.

[1147] Roscoe republished La Balia, which was very little worth while;
the following is an average specimen:--

Questo degenerar, ch’ognor si vede,
Sendo voi caste, donne mie, vi dico,
Che d’Altro che dal latte non precede.
L’altrui latte oscurar fa’l pregio antico
Degli avi illustri e adulterar le razze,
E s’infetta talor sangue pudico.

|Coldness of the amatory sonnets.|

7. The amatory sonnets of this age, forming the greater number, are very frequently cold and affected. This might possibly be ascribed in some measure to the state of manners in Italy, where, with abundant licentiousness, there was still much of jealousy, and public sentiment applauded alike the successful lover and the vindictive husband. A respect for the honour of families, if not for virtue, would impose on the poet who felt or assumed a passion for any distinguished lady, the conditions of Tasso’s Olindo, to desire much, to hope for little, and to ask nothing. It is also at least very doubtful, whether much of the amorous sorrow of the sonnetteers were not purely ideal.

|Studied imitation of Petrarch.|

8. Lines and phrases from Petrarch are as studiously introduced as we find those of classical writers in modern Latin poetry. It cannot be said that this is unpleasing; and to the Italians, who knew every passage of their favourite poet, it must have seemed at once a grateful homage of respect, and an ingenious artifice to bespeak attention. They might well look up to him as their master, but could not hope that even a foreigner would ever mistake the hand through a single sonnet. He is to his disciples, especially those towards the latter part of the century, as Guido is to Franceschini or Elisabetta Serena; an effeminate and mannered touch enfeebles the beauty which still lingers round the pencil of the imitator. If they produce any effect upon us beyond sweetness of sound and delicacy of expression, it is from some natural feeling, some real sorrow, or from some occasional originality of thought, in which they cease for a moment to pace the banks of their favourite Sorga. It would be easy to point out not a few sonnets of this higher character, among those especially of Francesco Coppetta, of Claudio Tolomei, of Ludovico Paterno, or of Bernardo Tasso.

|Their fondness for description.|

9. A school of poets, that has little vigour of sentiment, falls readily into description, as painters of history or portrait that want expression of character endeavour to please by their landscape. The Italians, especially in this part of the sixteenth century, are profuse in the song of birds, the murmur of waters, the shade of woods; and, as these images are always delightful, they shed a charm over much of their poetry, which only the critical reader, who knows its secret, is apt to resist, and that to his own loss of gratification. The pastoral character, which it became customary to assume, gives much opportunity for these secondary, yet very seducing beauties of style. They belong to the decline of the art, and have something of the voluptuous charm of evening. Unfortunately they generally presage a dull twilight, or a thick darkness of creative poetry. The Greeks had much of this in the Ptolemaic age, and again in that of the first Byzantine emperors. It is conspicuous in Tansillo, Paterno, and both the Tassos.

|Judgment of Italian critics.|

10. The Italian critics, Crescimbeni, Muratori, and Quadrio, have given minute attention to the beauties of particular sonnets culled from the vast stores of the sixteenth century. But as the development of the thought, the management of the four constituent clauses of the sonnet, especially the last, the propriety of every line, for nothing digressive or merely ornamental should be admitted, constitute in their eyes the chief merit of these short compositions, they extol some which in our eyes are not so pleasing, as what a less regular taste might select. Without presuming to rely on my own judgment, defective both as that of a foreigner, and of one not so extensively acquainted with the minor poetry of this age, I will mention two writers, well-known indeed, but less prominent in the critical treatises than some others, as possessing a more natural sensibility and a greater truth of sorrow than most of their contemporaries, Bernardino Rota and Gaspara Stampa.

|Bernardino Rota.|

11. Bernardino Rota, a Neapolitan of ancient lineage and considerable wealth, left poems in Latin as well as Italian; and among the latter his eclogues are highly praised by his editor. But he is chiefly known by a series of sonnets intermixed with canzoni, upon a single subject, Portia Capece, his wife, whom, “what is unusual among our Tuscan poets (says his editor), he loved with an exclusive affection.” But be it understood, lest the reader should be discouraged, that the poetry addressed to Portia Capece is all written before their marriage, or after her death. The earlier division of the series, “Rime in Vita” seems not to rise much above the level of amorous poetry. He wooed, was delayed; complained, and won--the natural history of an equal and reasonable love. Sixteen years intervened of that tranquil bliss which contents the heart without moving it, and seldom affords much to the poet in which the reader can find interest. Her death in 1559 gave rise to poetical sorrows, as real and certainly full as rational as those of Petrarch, to whom some of his contemporaries gave him the second place; rather probably from the similarity of their subject, than from the graces of his language. Rota is by no means free from conceits, and uses sometimes affected and unpleasing expressions, as _mia dolce guerra_, speaking of his wife, even after her death; but his images are often striking;[1148] and, above all, he resembles Petrarch, with whatever inferiority, in combining the ideality of a poetical mind with the naturalness of real grief. It has never again been given to man, nor will it probably be given, to dip his pen in those streams of ethereal purity which have made the name of Laura immortal; but a sonnet of Rota may be not disadvantageously compared with one of Milton, which we justly admire for its general feeling, though it begins in pedantry and ends in conceit.[1149] For my own part, I would much rather read again the collection of Rota’s sonnets than those of Costanzo.

[1148] Muratori blames a line of Rota as too bold, and containing a
false thought.

Feano i begl’occhi a se medesmi giorno.

It seems to me not beyond the limits of poetry, nor more
hyperbolical than many others which have been much admired. It is,
at least, _Petrarchesque_ in a high degree.

[1149] This sonnet is in Mathias, iii. 256. That of Milton will be
remembered by most readers.

In lieto e pien di riverenza aspetto,
Con veste di color bianco e vermiglio,
Di doppia luce serenato il ciglio,
Mi viene in sonno il mio dolce diletto.
Io me l’inchino, e con cortese affetto
Seco ragiono e seco mi consiglio,
Com’abbia a governarmi in quest’esigilo,
E piango intanto, e la risposta aspetto.
Ella m’ascolta fiso, e dice cose
Veramente celesti, ed io l’apprendo,
E serbo ancor nella memoria ascose.
Mi lascia alfine e parte, e va spargendo
Per l’aria nel partir viole e rose;
Io le porgo la man; poi mi reprendo.

In one of Rota’s sonnets we have the thought of Pope’s epitaph on
Gay.

Questo cor, questa mente e questo petto
Sia ’l tuo sepolcro, e non la tomba o ’l sasso,
Ch’io t’apparecchio qui doglioso e lasso;
Non si deve a te, donna, altro ricetto.

He proceeds very beautifully:--

Ricca sia la memoria e l’intelletto,
Del ben per cui tutt’altro a dietro io lasso;
E mentre questo mar di pianto passo,
Vadami sempre innanzi il caro objetto.
Alma gentil, dove bitar solei
Donna e reina, in terren fascio avvolta,
Ivi regnar celeste immortal dei.
Vantisi pur la morte averti tolta
Al mondo, a me non già; ch’a pensier miei
Una sempre sarai viva e sepolta.

The poems of Rota are separately published in two volumes. Naples,
1726. They contain a mixture of Latin. Whether Milton intentionally
borrowed the sonnet on his wife’s death,

“Methought I saw my last espoused saint,”

from that above quoted, I cannot pretend to say; certainly his
resemblances to the Italian poets often seem more than accidental.
Thus two lines in an indifferent writer, Girolamo Preti (Mathias,
iii. 329) are exactly like one of the sublimest flights in the
Paradise Lost.

Tu per soffrir della cui luce i rai
Si fan con l’ale i serafini un velo.

Dark with excessive light thy skirts appear:
Yet dazzle Heaven, that brightest seraphim
Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes.

|Gaspara Stampa. Her love for Collalto.|

|Is ill-requited.|

|Her second love.|

12. The sorrows of Gaspara Stampa were of a different kind, but not less genuine than those of Rota. She was a lady of the Paduan territory, living near the small river Anaso, from which she adopted the poetical name of Anasilla. This stream bathes the foot of certain lofty hills, from which a distinguished family, the Counts of Collalto, took their appellation. The representative of this house, himself a poet as well as a soldier, and, if we believe his fond admirer, endowed with every virtue except constancy, was loved by Gaspara with enthusiastic passion. Unhappily she learned only by sad experience the want of generosity too common to man, and sacrificing, not the honour, but the pride of her sex, by submissive affection, and finally by querulous importunity, she estranged a heart never so susceptible as her own. Her sonnets, which seem arranged nearly in order, begin with the delirium of sanguine love; they are extravagant effusions of admiration, mingled with joy and hope; but soon the sense of Collalto’s coldness glides in and overpowers her bliss.[1150] After three years’ expectation of seeing his promise of marriage fulfilled, and when he had already caused alarm by his indifference, she was compelled to endure the pangs of absence by his entering the service of France. This does not seem to have been of long continuance; but his letters were infrequent, and her complaints, always vented in a sonnet, become more fretful. He returned, and Anasilla exults with tenderness, yet still timid in the midst of her joy.

Oserò io, con queste fide braccia,
Cingerli il caro collo, ed accostare
La mia tremante alla sua viva faccia?

But jealousy, not groundless, soon intruded, and we find her doubly miserable. Collalto became more harsh, avowed his indifference, forbade her to importune him with her complaints; and in a few months espoused another woman. It is said by the historians of Italian literature, that the broken heart of Gaspara sunk very soon under these accumulated sorrows into the grave.[1151] And such, no doubt, is what my readers expect, and (at least the gentler of them), wish to find. But inexorable truth, to whom I am the sworn vassal, compels me to say that the poems of the lady herself contain unequivocal proof that she avenged herself better on Collalto,--by falling in love again. We find the acknowledgment of another incipient passion, which speedily comes to maturity; and, while declaring that her present flame is much stronger than the last, she dismisses her faithless lover with the handsome compliment, that it was her destiny always to fix her affections on a noble object. The name of her second choice does not appear in her poems; nor has any one hitherto, it would seem, made the very easy discovery of his existence. It is true that she died young; “but not of love.”[1152]

[1150] In an early sonnet she already calls Collalto, “il Signor,
_ch’io amo, e ch’io pavento_;” an expression descriptive enough of
the state in which poor Gaspara seems to have lived several years.

[1151] She anticipated her epitaph, on this hypothesis of a broken
heart, which did not occur.

Per amar molto, ed esser poco amata
Visse e mori infelice; ed or quì giace
La più fedel amante che sia stata.
Pregale, viator, riposo e pace,
Ed impara de lei si mal trattata
A non seguire un cor crudo e fugace.

[1152] It is impossible to dispute the evidence of Gaspara herself in
several sonnets, so that Corniani, and all the rest, must have read
her very inattentively. What can we say to these lines?

Perchè mi par vedere a certi segni
Ch’ordisci (Amor) nuovi lacci e nuove faci,
E di ritrarme al giogo tuo t’ingegni.

And afterwards more fully:

Qual darai fine, Amor, alle mie pene,
Se dal cinere estinto d’uno ardore
Rinasce l’altro, tua mercè, maggiore,
E si vivace a consumar mi viene?
Qual nelle più felici e calde arene
Nel nido acceso sol di vario odore
D’una fenice estinta esce poi fuore
Un verme, che fenice altra diviene.
In questo io debbo à tuoi cortesi strali
Che sempre è degno, ed onorato oggetto
Quello, onde mi ferisci, onde m’assali.
Ed ora è tale, e tanto, e sì perfetto,
Ha tante doti alla bellezza eguali,
Ch’ardor per lui m’è sommo alto diletto.

|Style of Gaspara Stampa.|

13. The style of Gaspara Stampa is clear, simple, graceful; the Italian critics find something to censure in the versification. In purity of taste, I should incline to set her above Bernardino Rota, though she has less vigour of imagination. Corniani has applied to her the well-known lines of Horace upon Sappho.[1153] But the fires of guilt and shame, that glow along the strings of the Æolian lyre, ill resemble the pure sorrows of the tender Anasilla. Her passion for Collalto, ardent and undisguised, was ever virtuous; the sense of gentle birth, though so inferior to his, as perhaps to make a proud man fear disparagement, sustained her against dishonourable submission.

E ben ver, che ’l desio, con che amo voi,
E tutto d’onestà pieno, e d’Amore;[1154]
Perchè altrimente non convien tra noi.[1155]

But not less in elevation of genius than in dignity of character, she is very far inferior to Vittoria Colonna, or even to Veronica Gambara, a poetess, who, without equalling Vittoria, had much of her nobleness and purity. We pity the Gasparas; we should worship, if we could find them, the Vittorias.

[1153]
... spirat adhuc amor,
Vivuntque commissi calores
Æoliæ fidibus puellæ.

Corniani, v. 212, and Salfi in Ginguéné, ix. 406, have done some
justice to the poetry of Gaspara Stampa, though by no means more
than it deserves. Bouterwek, ii. 150, observes only, viel Poesie
zeigt sich nicht in diesen Sonetten; which, I humbly conceive,
shows, that either he had not read them, or was an indifferent
judge; and from his general taste I prefer the former hypothesis.

[1154] _Sic._ leg. onore?

[1155] I quote these lines on the authority of Corniani, v. 215. But
I must own that they do not appear in the two editions of the Rime
della Gaspara Stampa which I have searched. I must also add that,
willing as I am to believe all things in favour of a lady’s honour,
there is one very awkward sonnet among those of poor Gaspara, upon
which it is by no means easy to put such a construction as we
should wish.

|La Nautica, of Baldi.|

14. Among the longer poems which Italy produced in this period two may be selected. The Art of Navigation, La Nautica, published by Bernardino Baldi in 1590, is a didactic poem in blank verse, too minute sometimes and prosaic in its details, like most of that class, but neither low, nor turgid, nor obscure, as many others have been. The descriptions, though never very animated, are sometimes poetical and pleasing. Baldi is diffuse; and this conspires with the triteness of his matter to render the poem somewhat uninteresting. He by no means wants the power to adorn his subject, but does not always trouble himself to exert it, and is tame where he might be spirited. Few poems bear more evident marks that their substance had been previously written down in prose.

|Amadigi of Bernardo Tasso.|

15. Bernardo Tasso, whose memory has almost been effaced with the majority of mankind by the splendour of his son, was not only the most conspicuous poet of the age wherein he lived, but was placed by its critics, in some points of view, above Ariosto himself. His minor poetry is of considerable merit.[1156] But that to which he owed most of his reputation is an heroic romance on the story of Amadis, written about 1540, and first published in 1560. L’Amadigi is of prodigious length, containing 100 cantos, and about 57,000 lines. The praise of facility, in the best sense, is fully due to Bernardo. His narration is fluent, rapid, and clear; his style not in general feeble or low, though I am not aware that many brilliant passages will be found. He followed Ariosto in his tone of relating the story: his lines perpetually remind us of the Orlando; and I believe it would appear on close examination that much has been borrowed with slight change. My own acquaintance, however, with the Amadigi is not sufficient to warrant more than a general judgment. Ginguéné, who rates this poem very highly, praises the skill with which the disposition of the original romance has been altered and its canvas enriched by new insertions, the beauty of the images and sentiments, the variety of the descriptions, the sweetness, though not always free from languor, of the style, and finally recommends its perusal to all lovers of romantic poetry, and to all who would appreciate that of Italy.[1157] It is evident, however, that the choice of a subject become frivolous in the eyes of mankind, not less than the extreme length of Bernardo Tasso’s poem, must render it almost impossible to follow this advice.

[1156] “The character of his lyric poetry is a sweetness and abundance
of expressions and images, by which he becomes more flowing and
full (più morbido e più pastoso, metaphors not translatable by
single English words) than his contemporaries of the school of
Petrarch.” Corniani, v. 127.

A sonnet of Bernardo Tasso, so much admired at the time, that
almost every one, it is said, of a refined taste had it by heart,
will be found in Panizzi’s edition of the Orlando Innamorato, vol.
i. p. 376, with a translation by a lady well known for the skill
with which she has transferred the grace and feeling of Petrarch
into our language. The sonnet, which begins, Poichè la parte men
perfetta e bella, is not found in Gobbi or Mathias. It is
distinguished from the common crowd of Italian sonnets in the
sixteenth century by a novelty, truth, and delicacy of sentiment,
which is comparatively rare in them.

[1157] Vol. v. p. 61-108. Bouterwek (vol. ii. 159), speaks much less
favourably of the Amadigi, and, as far as I can judge, in too
disparaging a tone. Corniani, a great admirer of Bernardo, owns
that his _morbidezza_ and fertility have rendered him too
frequently diffuse and flowery. See also Panizzi, p. 393, who
observes that the Amadigi wants interest, but praises its
imaginative descriptions as well as its delicacy and softness.

|Satirical and burlesque poetry; Aretin.|

16. The satires of Bentivoglio, it is agreed, fall short of those by Ariosto, though some have placed them above those of Alamanni.[1158] But all these are satires on the regular model, assuming at least a half-serious tone. A style more congenial to the Italians was that of burlesque poetry, sometimes poignantly satirical, but as destitute of any grave aim, as it was light and familiar, even to popular vulgarity, in its expression, though capable of grace in the midst of its gaiety, and worthy to employ the best master of Tuscan language.[1159] But it was disgraced by some of its cultivators, and by none more than Peter Aretin. The character of this profligate and impudent person is well known; it appears extraordinary that, in an age so little scrupulous as to political or private revenge, some great princes, who had never spared a worthy adversary, thought it not unbecoming to purchase the silence of an odious libeller, who called himself their scourge. In a literary sense, the writings of Aretin are unequal; the serious are for the most part reckoned wearisome and prosaic; in his satires a poignancy and spirit, it is said, frequently breaks out; and though his popularity, like that of most satirists, was chiefly founded on the ill-nature of mankind, he gratified this with a neatness and point of expression, which those who cared nothing for the satire might admire.[1160]

[1158] Ginguéné, ix. 198. Biogr. Univ. Tiraboschi, x. 66.

[1159] A canzon by Coppetta on his cat, in the twenty-seventh volume
of the Parnaso Italiano, is rather amusing.

[1160] Bouterwek, ii. 207. His authority does not seem sufficient; and
Ginguéné, ix. 212, gives a worse character of the style of Aretin.
But Muratori (della Perfetta Poesia, ii. 284), extols one of his
sonnets, as deserving a very high place in Italian poetry.

|Other burlesque writers.|

|Attempts at Latin metres.|

17. Among the writers of satirical, burlesque, or licentious poetry, after Aretin, the most remarkable are Firenzuola, Casa (one of whose compositions passed so much all bounds as to have excluded him from the purple, and has become the subject of a sort of literary controversy, to which I can only allude),[1161] Franco, and Grazzini, surnamed Il Lasco. I must refer to the regular historians of Italian literature for accounts of these, as well as for the styles of poetry called _macaronica_ and _pedantesca_, which appear wholly contemptible, and the attempts to introduce Latin metres, a folly with which every nation has been inoculated in its turn.[1162] Claudio Tolomei, and Angelo Costanzo himself, by writing sapphics and hexameters, did more honour to so strange a pedantry than it deserved.

[1161] A more innocent and diverting capitolo of Casa turns on the ill
luck of being named John.

S’io avessi manco quindici o vent’anni,
Messer Gandolfo, io mi sbattezzerei,
Per non aver mai più nome Giovanni.
Perch’io non posso andar pe’ fatti miei,
Nè partirmi di qui per ir si presso
Ch’io nol senta chiamar da cinque e sei.

He ends by lamenting that no alteration mends the name.

Mutalo, o sminuiscil, se tu sai,
O Nanni, o Gianni, o Giannino, o Giannozzo,
Come più tu lo tocchi, peggio fai,
Che gli è cattivo intero, e peggior mozzo.

[1162] Macaronic verse was invented by one Folengo, in the first part
of the century. This worthy had written an epic poem, which he
thought superior to the Æneid. A friend, to whom he showed the
manuscript, paid him the compliment, as he thought, of saying that
he had _equalled_ Virgil. Folengo, in a rage, threw his poem into
the fire, and sat down for the rest of his life to write
Macaronics. Journal des Savans, Dec. 1831.

|Poetical translations.|

18. The translation of the Metamorphoses of Ovid by Anguillara, seems to have acquired the highest name with the critics;[1163] but that of the Æneid by Caro is certainly the best known in Europe. It is not, however, very faithful, though written in blank verse, which leaves a translator no good excuse for deviating from his original; the style is diffuse, and, upon the whole, it is better that those who read it should not remember Virgil. Many more Italian poets ought, possibly, to be commemorated; but we must hasten forward to the greatest of them all.

[1163] Salfi (continuation de Ginguéné), x. 180. Corniani, vi. 113.

|Torquato Tasso.|

19. The life of Tasso is excluded from these pages by the rule I have adopted; but I cannot suppose any reader to be ignorant of one of the most interesting and affecting stories that literary biography presents. It was in the first stages of a morbid melancholy, almost of intellectual derangement, that the Gierusalemme Liberata was finished; it was during a confinement, harsh in all its circumstances, though perhaps necessary, that it was given to the world. Several portions had been clandestinely published, in consequence of the author’s inability to protect his rights; and even the first complete edition in 1581 seems to have been without his previous consent. In the later editions of the same year he is said to have been consulted; but his disorder was then at a height, from which it afterwards receded, leaving his genius undiminished, and his reason somewhat more sound, though always unsteady. Tasso died at Rome in 1595, already the object of the world’s enthusiastic admiration, rather than of its kindness and sympathy.

|The Jerusalem excellent in choice of subject.|

20. The Jerusalem is the great epic poem, in the strict sense, of modern times. It was justly observed by Voltaire, that in the choice of his subject Tasso is superior to Homer. Whatever interest tradition might have attached among the Greeks to the wrath of Achilles and the death of Hector, was slight to those genuine recollections which were associated with the first crusade. It was not the theme of a single people, but of Europe; not a fluctuating tradition, but certain history; yet history so far remote from the poet’s time, as to adapt itself to his purpose with almost the flexibility of fable. Nor could the subject have been chosen so well in another age or country; it was still the holy war, and the sympathies of his readers were easily excited for religious chivalry; but, in Italy, this was no longer an absorbing sentiment; and the stern tone of bigotry, which perhaps might still have been required from a Castilian poet, would have been dissonant amidst the soft notes that charmed the court of Ferrara.

|Superior to Homer and Virgil in some points.|

21. In the variety of occurrences, the change of scenes and images, and of the trains of sentiment connected with them in the reader’s mind, we cannot place the Iliad on a level with the Jerusalem. And again, by the manifest unity of subject, and by the continuance of the crusading army before the walls of Jerusalem, the poem of Tasso has a coherence and singleness, which is wanting to that of Virgil. Every circumstance is in its place; we expect the victory of the Christians, but acknowledge the probability and adequacy of the events that delay it. The episodes, properly so to be called, are few and short; for the expedition of those who recall Rinaldo from the arms of Armida, though occupying too large a portion of the poem, unlike the fifth and sixth, or even the second and third books of the Æneid, is an indispensable link in the chain of its narrative.

|Its characters.|

22. In the delineation of character, at once natural, distinct, and original, Tasso must give way to Homer, perhaps to some other epic and romantic poets. There are some indications of the age in which he wrote, some want of that truth to nature, by which the poet, like the painter, must give reality to the conceptions of his fancy. Yet here also the sweetness and nobleness of his mind, and his fine sense of moral beauty are displayed. The female warrior had been an old invention, and few, except Homer, had missed the opportunity of diversifying their battles with such a character. But it is of difficult management; we know not how to draw the line between the savage virago, from whom the imagination revolts, and the gentler fair one, whose feats in arms are ridiculously incongruous to her person and disposition. Virgil first threw a romantic charm over his Camilla; but he did not render her the object of love. In modern poetry, this seemed the necessary compliment to every lady; but we hardly envy Rogero the possession of Bradamante, or Arthegal that of Britomart. Tasso alone, with little sacrifice of poetical probability, has made his readers sympathise with the enthusiastic devotion of Tancred for Clorinda. She is so bright an ideality, so heroic, and yet, by the enchantment of verse, so lovely, that no one follows her through the combat without delight, or reads her death without sorrow. And how beautiful is the contrast of this character with the tender and modest Erminia! The heroes, as has been hinted, are drawn with less power. Godfrey is a noble example of calm and faultless virtue, but we find little distinctive character in Rinaldo. Tancred has seemed to some rather too much enfeebled by his passion, but this may be justly considered as part of the moral of the poem.

|Excellence of its style.|

23. The Jerusalem is read with pleasure in almost every canto. No poem, perhaps, if we except the Æneid, has so few weak or tedious pages; the worst passages are the speeches, which are too diffuse. The native melancholy of Tasso tinges all his poem; we meet with no lighter strain, no comic sally, no effort to relieve for an instant the tone of seriousness that pervades every stanza. But it is probable, that some become wearied by this uniformity which his metre serves to augment. The _ottava rima_ has its inconveniences; even its intricacy, when once mastered, renders it more monotonous, and the recurrence of marked rhymes, the breaking of the sense into equal divisions, while they communicate to it a regularity that secures the humblest verse from sinking to the level of prose, deprive it of that variety which the hexameter most eminently possesses. Ariosto lessened this effect by the rapid flow of his language, and perhaps by its negligence and inequality; in Tasso, who is more sustained at a high pitch of elaborate expression than any great poet except Virgil, and in whom a prosaic or feeble stanza will rarely be found, the uniformity of cadence may conspire with the lusciousness of style to produce a sense of satiety in the reader. This is said rather to account for the injustice, as it seems to me, with which some speak of Tasso, than to express my own sentiments; for there are few poems of great length which I so little wish to lay aside as the Jerusalem.

24. The diction of Tasso excites perpetual admiration; it is rarely turgid or harsh; and though more figurative than that of Ariosto, it is so much less than that of most of our own or the ancient poets, that it appears simple in our eyes. Virgil to whom we most readily compare him, is far superior in energy, but not in grace. Yet his grace is often too artificial, and the marks of the file are too evident in the exquisiteness of his language. Lines of superior beauty occur in almost every stanza; pages after pages may be found, in which, not pretending to weigh the style in the scales of the Florentine academy, I do not perceive one feeble verse or improper expression.

|Some faults in it.|

25. The conceits so often censured in Tasso, though they bespeak the false taste that had begun to prevail, do not seem quite so numerous as his critics have been apt to insinuate; but we find sometimes a trivial or affected phrase, or, according to the usage of the times, an idle allusion to mythology, when the verse or stanza requires to be filled up. A striking instance may be given from the admirable passage where Tancred discovers Clorinda in the warrior on whom he has just inflicted a mortal blow--

La vide, e la conobbe; e restò senza
E moto e senso----

The effect is here complete, and here he would have desired to stop. But the necessity of the verse induced him to finish it with feebleness and affectation. _Ahi vista! Ahi conoscenza!_ Such difficult metres as the ottava rima demand these sacrifices too frequently. Ariosto has innumerable lines of necessity.

|Defects of the poem.|

26. It is easy to censure the faults of this admirable poem. The supernatural machinery is perhaps somewhat in excess; yet this had been characteristic of the romantic school of poetry, which had moulded the taste of Europe, and is seldom displeasing to the reader. A still more unequivocal blemish is the disproportionate influence of love upon the heroic crusaders, giving a tinge of effeminacy to the whole poem, and exciting something like contempt in the austere critics, who have no standard of excellence in epic song but what the ancients have erected for us. But while we must acknowledge that Tasso has indulged too far the inspirations of his own temperament, it may be candid to ask ourselves, whether a subject so grave, and by necessity so full of carnage, did not require many of the softer touches which he has given it. His battles are as spirited and picturesque as those of Ariosto, and perhaps more so than those of Virgil; but to the taste of our times he has a little too much of promiscuous slaughter. The Iliad had here set an unfortunate precedent, which epic poets thought themselves bound to copy. If Erminia and Armida had not been introduced, the classical critic might have censured less in the Jerusalem; but it would have been far less also the delight of mankind.

|It indicates the peculiar genius of Tasso.|

27. Whatever may be the laws of criticism, every poet will best obey the dictates of his own genius. The skill and imagination of Tasso made him equal to descriptions of war; but his heart was formed for that sort of pensive voluptuousness which most distinguishes his poetry, and which is very unlike the coarser sensuality of Ariosto. He lingers around the gardens of Armida, as though he had been himself her thrall. The Florentine critics vehemently attacked her final reconciliation with Rinaldo in the twentieth canto, and the renewal of their loves; for the reader is left with no other expectation. Nor was their censure unjust; since it is a sacrifice of what should be the predominant sentiment in the conclusion of the poem. But Tasso seems to have become fond of Armida, and could not endure to leave in sorrow and despair the creature of his ethereal fancy, whom he had made so fair and so winning. It is probable that the majority of readers are pleased with this passage, but it can never escape the condemnation of severe judges.

|Tasso compared to Virgil;|

28. Tasso, doubtless, bears a considerable resemblance to Virgil. But, independently of the vast advantages which the Latin language possesses in majesty and vigour, and which render exact comparison difficult as well as unfair, it may be said that Virgil displays more justness of taste, a more extensive observation, and, if we may speak thus in the absence of so much poetry which he might have imitated, a more genuine originality. Tasso did not possess much of the self-springing invention which we find in a few great poets, and which, in this higher sense, I cannot concede to Ariosto; he not only borrows freely, and perhaps studiously, from the ancients, but introduces frequent lines from earlier Italian poets, and especially from Petrarch. He has also some favourite turns of phrase, which serve to give a certain mannerism to his stanzas.

|to Ariosto;|

29. The Jerusalem was no sooner published, than it was weighed against the Orlando Furioso, and neither Italy nor Europe have yet agreed which scale inclines. It is indeed one of those critical problems, that admit of no certain solution, whether we look to the suffrage of those who feel acutely and justly, or to the general sense of mankind. We cannot determine one poet to be superior to the other, without assuming premises which no one is bound to grant. Those who read for a stimulating variety of circumstances, and the enlivening of a leisure hour, must prefer Ariosto; and he is probably, on this account, a poet of more universal popularity. It might be said perhaps by some, that he is more a favourite of men, and Tasso of women. And yet, in Italy, the sympathy with tender and graceful poetry is so general, that the Jerusalem has hardly been less in favour with the people than its livelier rival; and its fine stanzas may still be heard by moonlight from the lips of a gondolier, floating along the calm bosom of the Giudecca.[1164]

[1164] The following passages may perhaps be naturally compared, both
as being celebrated, and as descriptive of sound. Ariosto has
however much the advantage, and I do not think the lines in the
Jerusalem, though very famous, are altogether what I should select
as a specimen of Tasso.

Aspri concenti, orribile armonia
d’Alte querele, d’ululi, e di strida
Della misera gente, che peria
Nel fondo per cagion della sua guida,
Istranamente concordat s’udia
Col fiero suon della flamma omicida.
Orland. Fur. c. 14.

Chiama gli abitator dell’ombre eterne
Il rauco suon della tartarea tromba;
Treman le spaziose atre caverne,
E l’aer cieco a quel rumor rimbomba.
Nè si stridendo mai dalle superne
Regioni del cielo il folgor piomba;
Nè si scossa giammai trema la terra
Quando i vapori in sen gravida serra.
Gierus. Lib. c. 4.

In the latter of these stanzas there is rather too studied an
effort at imitative sound; the lines are grand and nobly expressed,
but they do not hurry along the reader like those of Ariosto. In
his there is little attempt at vocal imitation, yet we seem to hear
the cries of the suffering, and the crackling of the flames.

30. Ariosto must be placed much more below Homer, than Tasso falls short of Virgil. The Orlando has not the impetuosity of the Iliad; each is prodigiously rapid, but Homer has more momentum by his weight; the one is a hunter, the other a war-horse. The finest stanzas in Ariosto are fully equal to any in Tasso, but the latter has by no means so many feeble lines. Yet his language, though never affectedly obscure, is not so pellucid, and has a certain refinement which makes us sometimes pause to perceive the meaning. Whoever reads Ariosto slowly, will probably be offended by his negligence; whoever reads Tasso quickly, will lose something of the elaborate finish of his style.

|to the Bolognese painters.|

31. It is not easy to find a counterpart among painters for Ariosto. His brilliancy and fertile invention might remind us of Tintoret; but he is more natural, and less solicitous of effect. If indeed poetical diction be the correlative of colouring in our comparison of the arts, none of the Venetian school can represent the simplicity and averseness to ornament of language which belong to the Orlando Furioso; and it would be impossible, for other reasons, to look for a parallel in a Roman or Tuscan pencil. But with Tasso the case is different: and though it would be an affected expression to call him the founder of the Bolognese school, it is evident that he had a great influence on its chief painters, who came but a little after him. They imbued themselves with the spirit of a poem so congenial to their age, and so much admired in it. No one, I think, can consider their works without perceiving both the analogy of the place each hold in their respective arts, and the traces of a feeling, caught directly from Tasso as their prototype and model. We recognise his spirit in the sylvan shades and voluptuous forms of Albano and Domenichino, in the pure beauty that radiates from the ideal heads of Guido, in the skilful composition, exact design, and noble expression of the Caracci. Yet the school of Bologna seems to furnish no parallel to the enchanting grace and diffused harmony of Tasso; and we must, in this respect, look back to Correggio as his representative.

SECT. II.--ON SPANISH POETRY.

_Luis de Leon--Herrera--Ercilla--Camoens--Spanish Ballads._

|Poetry cultivated under Charles and Philip.|

32. The reigns of Charles and his son have long been reckoned the golden age of Spanish poetry; and if the art of verse was not cultivated in the latter period by any quite so successful as Garcilasso and Mendoza, who belonged to the earlier part of the century, the vast number of names that have been collected by diligent inquiry show, at least, a national taste which deserves some attention. The means of exhibiting a full account of even the most select names in this crowd are not readily at hand. In Spain itself, the poets of the age of Philip II., like those who lived under his great enemy in England, were, with very few exceptions, little regarded till after the middle of the eighteenth century. The Parnaso Español of Sedano, the first volumes of which were published in 1768, made them better known; but Bouterwek observes, that it would have been easy to make a better collection, as we do not find several poems of the chief writers, with which the editor seems to have fancied the public to be sufficiently acquainted. An imperfect knowledge of the language, and a cursory view of these volumes, must disable me from speaking confidently of Castilian poetry; so far as I feel myself competent to judge, the specimens chosen by Bouterwek do no injustice to the compilation.[1165]

[1165] “The merit of Spanish poems,” says a critic equally candid and
well-informed, “independently of those intended for representation,
consists chiefly in smoothness of versification and purity of
language, and in facility rather than strength of imagination.”
Lord Holland’s Lope de Vega, vol. i. p. 107. He had previously
observed that these poets were generally voluminous: “it was not
uncommon even for the nobility of Philip IV.’s time (later of
course than the period we are considering) to converse for some
minutes in extemporaneous poetry; and in carelessness of metre, as
well as in commonplace images, the verses of that time often remind
us of the _improvisatori_ of Italy,” p. 106.

|Luis de Leon.|

33. The best lyric poet of Spain in the opinion of many, with whom I venture to concur, was Fra Luis Ponce de Leon, born in 1527, and whose poems were probably written not very long after the middle of the century. The greater part are translations, but his original productions are chiefly religious, and full of that soft mysticism which allies itself so well to the emotions of a poetical mind. One of his odes, De la Vida del Cielo, which will be found entire in Bouterwek, is an exquisite pieces of lyric poetry, which, in its peculiar line of devout aspiration, has perhaps never been excelled.[1166] But the warmth of his piety was tempered by a classical taste, which he had matured by the habitual imitation of Horace. “At an early age,” says Bouterwek, “he became intimately acquainted with the odes of Horace, and the elegance and purity of style which distinguish those compositions made a deep impression on his imagination. Classical simplicity and dignity were the models constantly present to his creative fancy. He, however, appropriated to himself the character of Horace’s poetry too naturally ever to incur the danger of servile imitation. He discarded the prolix style of the canzone, and imitated the brevity of the strophes of Horace in romantic measures of syllables and rhymes; more just feeling for the imitation of the ancients was never evinced by any modern poet. His odes have, however, a character totally different from those of Horace, though the sententious air which marks the style of both authors imparts to them a deceptive resemblance. The religious austerity of Luis de Leon’s life was not to be reconciled with the epicurism of the Latin poet; but notwithstanding this very different disposition of the mind, it is not surprising that they should have adopted the same form of poetic expression, for each possessed a fine imagination, subordinate to the control of a sound understanding. Which of the two is the superior poet, in the most extended sense of the word, it would be difficult to determine, as each formed his style by free imitation, and neither overstepped the boundaries of a certain sphere of practical observation. Horace’s odes exhibit a superior style of art; and from the relationship between the thoughts and images, possess a degree of attraction which is wanting in those of Luis de Leon; but, on the other hand, the latter are the more rich in that natural kind of poetry, which may be regarded as the overflowing of a pure soul, elevated to the loftiest regions of moral and religious idealism.”[1167] Among the fruits of these Horatian studies of Luis de Leon, we must place an admirable ode suggested by the prophecy of Nereus, wherein the genius of the Tagus, rising from its waters to Rodrigo, the last of the Goths, as he lay encircled in the arms of Cava, denounces the ruin which their guilty loves were to entail upon Spain.[1168]

[1166] P. 248.

[1167] P. 243.