Renaissance in Italy Volume V Part 17

Or this from a _Canzone_ on his love (No. 2):

Qual chiuso albergo in solitario bosco Pien di sospetto suol pregar talora Corrier di notte traviato e la.s.so; Tal io per entro il tuo dubbioso, e fosco.

E duro calle, Amor, corro e trapa.s.so.]

[Footnote 333: Sonnet 58, vol. i. 154.]

[Footnote 334: No. 52, _ib._ p. 136.]

[Footnote 335: _Canzone_ 4, _ib._ p. 102.]

[Footnote 336: Sonnets 8, 26, 40. _ib._ pp. 12, 39, 70; _Canzone_ 2, _ib._ p. 79.]

In ill.u.s.tration of the foregoing remarks I have translated six of La Casa's sonnets, which I shall here insert without further comment.[337] In point of form, Italian literature can show few masterpieces superior to the first and second.

[Footnote 337: They are Nos. 58, 50, 25, 26, 8. The sixth, on Jealousy, may be compared with Sannazzaro's, above, p. 200.]

Sweet woodland solitude, that art so dear To my dark soul lost in doubt's dreadful maze, Now that the North-wind, these short sullen days, Wraps earth and air in winter's mantle drear, And thy green ancient shadowy locks are sere, White as my own, above the frosty ways, Where summer flowers once basked beneath heaven's rays, But rigid ice now reigns and snows austere; Pondering upon that brief and cloudy light That's left for me, I walk, and feel my mind And members, like thy branches, frozen too; Yet me, within, without, worse frost doth bind, My winter brings a fiercer East-wind's blight, A longer darkness, days more cold, more few.

O Sleep, O tranquil son of noiseless Night, Of humid, shadowy Night; O dear repose For wearied men, forgetfulness of woes Grievous enough the bloom of life to blight!

Succor this heart that hath outgrown delight, And knows no rest; these tired limbs compose; Fly to me, Sleep; thy dusky vans disclose Over my languid eyes, then cease thy flight.

Where, where is Silence, that avoids the day?

Where the light dreams, that with a wavering tread And unsubstantial footing follow thee?

Alas! in vain I call thee; and these gray, These frigid shades flatter in vain. O bed, How rough with thorns! O nights, how harsh to me!

It was my wont by day to seek the grove Or grot or font, soothing my soul with song, Weaving sweet woes in rhyme, and all night long To watch the stars with Phoebus and with Love; Nor, Bernard, did I fear with thee to rove That sacred mount where now few poets throng: Till like sea-billows, uncontrollably strong, Me too the vulgar usage earthward drove; And bound me down to tears and bitter life, Where fonts are not, nor laurel boughs, nor shade, But false and empty honor stirs vain strife.

Now, not unmixed with envious regret, I watch thee scale yon far-off heights, where yet No footstep on the sward was ever laid.

While mid low-lying dells and swampy vales Those troubled ghosts and dreams my feet delay, Which hide 'neath gems and gold and proud array The barb of poison that my heart impales; Thou on the heights that virtue rarely scales, By paths untrodden and a trackless way, Wrestling for fame with thine own soul, dost stray, Free o'er yon hills no earth-born cloud a.s.sails.

Whence I take shame and sorrow, when I think How with the crowd in this low net accursed I fell, and how 'tis doomed that I shall die.

O happy thou! Thou hast a.s.suaged thy thirst!

Not Phoebus but grief dwells with me, and I Must wait to purge my woes on Lethe's brink.

Now pomps and purple, now clear stream or field Seeking, I've brought my day to evensong, Profitless, like dry fern or tares, the throng Of luckless herbs that no fair fruitage yield.

Wherefore my heart, false guide on this vain quest, More than a smitten flint strikes spark and flame; So dulled a spirit must she bring with shame To Him who placed it bright within my breast.

Poor heart! She well deserves to chafe and burn Since her so precious and so n.o.ble freight, Ill-governed, she to loss and woe doth turn!

Nor 'neath the North-wind do the branches quake On yonder bristling oak-trees, as I shake Fearing that even repentance comes too late.

Heart-ache, that drawest nutriment from fear, And still through growing fear dost gather power; That mingling ice with flame, confusion drear And fell disaster on love's realm dost shower!

Forth from my breast, since all thy bitter cheer With my life's sweet thou'st blent in one brief hour!

Hence to Cocytus! Where h.e.l.l drinks each tear Of tortured souls, self-plagued, self-loathing, cower!

There without rest thy dolorous days drag out, Thy dark nights without slumber! Smart thy worst No less with felt pangs than fict.i.tious doubt!

Avaunt! Why fiercer now than at the first, Now when thy venom runs my veins throughout, Bring'st thou on those black wings new dreams accurst?

The vicissitudes of Italy during the first half of the sixteenth century were so tragic, and her ruin was so near at hand, that we naturally seek some echo of this anguish in the verses of her poets.

Nothing, however, is rarer than to find direct allusion to the troubles of the times, or apprehension of impending danger expressed in sonnet or _canzone_. While following Petrarch to the letter, the purists neglected his odes to Rienzi and the Princes of Italy. His pa.s.sionate outcry, _Italia mia_, found no response in their rhetoric.

Those sublime outpourings of eloquence, palpitating with alternate hopes and fears, might have taught the poets how to write at least the threnody of Rome or Florence. Had they studied this side of their master's style, the gravity of the matter supplied them by the miseries of their country, might have immortalized their purity of style. As it was, they preferred the _Rime in Vita e Morte di Madonna Laura_, and sang of sentiments they had not felt, while Italy was dying. Only here and there, as in the somber rhymes of La Casa, the spirit of the age found utterance unconsciously. But for the ma.s.s of versifiers it was enough to escape from the real agonies of the moment into academical Arcadia, to forget the Spaniard and the Frenchman in Philiroe's lap with Ariosto, or to sigh for a past age of gold:[338]

O rivi, o fonti, o fiumi, o f.a.ggi, o querce, Onde il mondo novello ebbe suo cibo In quel tranquilli secoli dell'oro: Deh come ha il folle poi cangiando l'esca, Cangiato il gusto! e come son questi anni Da quei diversi in povertate e 'n guerra!

[Footnote 338: La Casa, _Canzone_ 4 (_Opp._ i. 151).]

This makes the occasional treatment of political subjects the more valuable; and we hail the patriotic poems of Giovanni Guidiccioni as a relief from the limpid nonsense of the amourists. Born at Lucca in 1500, he was made Bishop of Fos...o...b..one by Paul III., and died in 1541. Contemporaries praised him for the grandeur of his conceptions and the severity of his diction, while they censured the obscurity that veiled his unfamiliar thoughts. "In those songs," writes Lilius Giraldus, "which he composed upon the woes and miseries of Italy, he set before his readers ample proofs of his ill.u.s.trious style."[339]

One sonnet might be chosen from these rhymes, reproving the Italians for their slavery and shame, and pointing to the cause, now irremediable, of their downfall:[340]

From deep and slothful slumber, where till now Entombed thou liest, waken, breathe, arise!

Look on those wounds with anger in thine eyes, Italia, self-enslaved in folly's slough!

The diadem of freedom from thy brow Torn through thine own misdoing, seek with sighs; Turn to the path, that straight before thee lies, From yonder crooked furrow thou dost plow.

Think on thine ancient memories! Thou shalt see That those who once thy triumphs did adorn, Have chained thee to their yoke with fetters bound.

Foe to thyself, thine own iniquity, With fame for them, for thee fierce grief and scorn, To this vile end hath forced thee, Queen discrowned!

[Footnote 339: _De Poetis_, Dial. ii.]

[Footnote 340: _Opere di Messer G. Guidiccioni_ (Firenze, Barbera, 1867), vol. i. p. 12.]

Such appeals were impotent. Yet they proved a consciousness of the situation, an unextinguished sense of duty, in the man who penned them.[341]

[Footnote 341: We might parallel Guidiccioni's lamentations with several pa.s.sages from the Latin elegies of the period, and with some of the obscurer compositions of Italian poetasters. See, for example, the extracts from Cariteo of Naples, Tibaldeo of Ferrara, and Cammelli of Pistoja on the pa.s.sage of Charles VIII. quoted by Carducci, _Delle Poesie Latine di Ludovico Ariosto_, pp. 83-86. But the most touching expression of sympathy with Italy's disaster is the sudden silence of Boiardo in the middle of a canto of _Orlando_. See above, part i. p.

463.]

The Court-life followed by professional men of letters made it difficult for them to utter their real feelings in an age of bitter political jealousies. They either held their tongues, or kept within the safer regions of compliment and fancy. The biographies of Annibale Caro and Lodovico Castelvetro ill.u.s.trate the ordinary conditions as well as the exceptional vicissitudes of the literary career at this epoch. Annibale Caro was born in 1507 at Civitanuova in the March of Ancona. Being poor and of humble origin, he entered the family of Luigi Gaddi at Florence, in the quality of tutor to his children. This patron died in 1541, and Caro then took service under Pier Luigi Farnese, one of the worst princelings of the period. When the Duke was murdered in 1547, he transferred himself to Parma, still following the fortunes of the Farnesi. Employed as secretary by the Cardinal Ranuccio and afterwards by the Cardinal Alessandro of that house, he lived at ease until his death in 1566. Caro's letters, written for his patrons, and his correspondence with the famous scholars of the day, pa.s.s for models of Italian epistolography. Less rigid than La Casa's, less manneristic than Bembo's, his style is distinguished by a natural grace and elegance of diction. He formed his manner by translation from the Greek, especially by a version of _Daphnis and Chloe_, which may be compared with Firenzuola's _Asino d'Oro_ for cla.s.sic beauty and facility of phrase. But the great achievement of his life was a transcription of the _aeneid_ into blank verse. Though Caro's poem exceeds the original by about 5,500 lines, and therefore cannot pa.s.s for an exact copy of Virgil's form, Italians still reckon it the standard translation of their national epic. The charm of Caro's prose was communicated to his _versi sciolti_, always easy, always flowing, with varied cadence and sustained melody of rhythm. A _Diceria de'

Nasi_, or discourse on noses, and a dissertation called _Ficheide_, commenting on Molza's _Fichi_, prove that Caro lent himself with pleasure to the academical follies of his contemporaries. It seems incredible that a learned man, who had spent the best years of his maturity in diplomatic missions to the Courts of princes, should have employed the leisure of his age in polishing these trifles. Yet such was the temper of the times that this frivolity pa.s.sed for a commendable exercise of ingenuity.

Caro's original poems have not much to recommend them beyond limpidity of language. The sonnets to an imaginary mistress repeat conventional ant.i.theses and complimentary _concetti_.[342] The adulatory odes are stiff and labored, as, indeed, they might be, when we consider that they were made to order upon Charles V., the Casa Farnese, and the lilies of France, by a plebeian scholar from Ancona.[343] The last-named of these flatteries, "Venite all'ombra de' gran gigli d'oro," is a masterpiece of prize poetry, produced with labor, filed to superficial smoothness, and overloaded with conceits. On its appearance it was hailed with acclamation as the final triumph of Italian writing. The Farnesi, who had recently placed themselves under the protection of France, and who bore her lilies on their scutcheon, used all their influence to get their servant's work applauded. The Academies were delighted with a display of consummate artifice and mechanical ability. One only voice was raised in criticism. Aurelio Bellincini, a gentleman of Modena, had sent a copy of the ode to Lodovico Castelvetro, with a request that he should p.r.o.nounce upon its merits. Castelvetro, who was wayward and independent beyond the usual prudence of his cla.s.s, replied with a free censure of the "plebeian diction, empty phrases, strange digressions, purple patches, poverty of argument, and absence of sentiment or inspiration," he detected in its stanzas. At the same time he begged his friend to keep this criticism to himself. Bellincini was indiscreet, and the letter found its way to Caro. Then arose a literary quarrel, which held all Italy in suspense, and equaled in ferocity the combats of the humanists.

[Footnote 342: See, for example, "Donna, qual mi foss'io," and "In voi mi trasformai," or "Eran l'aer tranquillo e l'onde chiare."]

[Footnote 343: See "Carlo il Quinto fu questi"; "Nell'apparir del giorno"; and "Venite all'ombra de' gran gigli d'oro."]

Lodovico Castelvetro was born in 1505 at Modena. He studied successively at Bologna, Ferrara, Padua, and Siena. Thence he pa.s.sed to Rome, where strong pressure was put upon him to enter orders. His uncle, Giovanni Maria della Porta, promised, if he did so, to procure for him the bishopric of Gubbio. But Castelvetro had no mind to become a priest. He escaped clandestinely from Rome, and, after a brief sojourn at Siena, returned to Modena. Here in 1542 he subscribed the Formulary of Faith dictated by Cardinal Contarini, and thereby fell under suspicion of heresy. Though he escaped inquisitorial censure at the moment, the charges of Lutheranism were revived in 1554, when Caro declared open war against him. Invectives, apologies, censures, and replies were briskly interchanged between the princ.i.p.als, while half the scholars of Italy allowed themselves to be drawn into the fray--Varchi and Molza siding with Caro, Gian Maria Barbieri and other friends of Castelvetro taking up the cudgels for the opposite champion.[344] The bitterness of the contending parties may be gathered from the fact that Castelvetro was accused of having murdered a friend of Caro's, and Caro of having hired a.s.sa.s.sins to take Castelvetro's life.[345] It seems tolerably certain that either Caro or one of his supporters denounced their enemy to the Inquisition. He was summoned to Rome, and in 1560 was confined in the convent of S.

Maria in Via to await his trial. After undergoing some preliminary examinations, Castelvetro became persuaded that his life was in peril.

He contrived to escape by night from Rome, and, after a journey of much anxiety and danger, took refuge in Chiavenna, at that time a city of the Grisons. The Holy Office condemned him as a contumacious heretic in his absence. Wandering from Chiavenna to Lyons and Geneva, and back again to Chiavenna, he spent the rest of his life in exile, and died at the last place in 1571.

[Footnote 344: Among the liveliest missiles used in this squabble are Bronzino's _Sattarelli_, recently reprinted by Romagnoli, Bologna, 1863.]

[Footnote 345: Alberigo Longo was in fact murdered in 1555, and a servant of Castelvetro's was tried for the offense. But he was acquitted. Caro, on his side, gave occasion to the worst reports by writing in May 1560 to Varchi: "E credo che all'ultimo sar sforzato a finirla, per ogni altra via, e vengane ci che vuole." See Tiraboschi, Part 3, lib. iii. chap. 3 sec. 13.]

Castelvetro's publications do not correspond to his fame; for though he gave signs of an acute wit and a biting pen in his debate with Caro, he left but little highly-finished work to posterity. In addition to critical annotations upon Bembo's prose, published in his lifetime, he wrote a treatise upon Rhetoric, which was printed at Modena in 1653, and sent an Italian version of Aristotle's _Poetics_ to the press in 1570. This book was the idol of his later years. It is said that, while residing at Lyons, his house took fire, and Castelvetro, careless of all else, kept crying out "The _Poetics_, the _Poetics_! Save me my _Poetics_!" He may be fairly reckoned among the men who did solid service in the cause of graver studies. Yet, but for the vicissitudes of his career, he could hardly claim a foremost place in literary history.

The ladies who cultivated poetry and maintained relations with ill.u.s.trious men of letters at this epoch, were almost as numerous as the songsters of the other s.e.x. Lodovico Domenichi in the year 1559 published the poems of no less than fifty auth.o.r.esses in his _Rime di alcune n.o.bilissime e virtuosissime Donne_. Subjected to the same intellectual training as men, they felt the same influences, and pa.s.sed at the same moment from humanism to renascent Italian literature.[346] Many of these Viragos,[347] as it was the fashion of the age approvingly and with no touch of sarcasm to call them, were dames of high degree and leaders of society. Some, like _la bella Imperia_, were better known in the resorts of pleasure. All were distinguished by intercourse with artists and writers of eminence. It is impossible to render an account of their literary labors. But the names of a few, interesting alike for their talents and their amours, may here be recorded. Tullia di Aragona, the mistress of Girolamo Muzio, who ruled society in Rome, and lived in infamy at Venice[348]--Vittoria Accoramboni, whose tragedy thrilled Italy, and gave a masterpiece to our Elizabethan stage--Tarquinia Molza, granddaughter of the poet, and maid of honor at Ferrara in Guarini's brilliant days--Laura Terracina, with whose marriage and murder romance employed itself at the expense of probability--Veronica Franco, who entertained Montaigne in her Venetian home in 1580--Ersilia Cortese, the natural daughter of a humanist and wife of a Pope's nephew--Gaspara Stampa, "sweet songstress and most excellent musician":--such were the women, to whom Bembo and Aretino addressed letters, and whose drawing-rooms were the resort of Bandello's heroes.

[Footnote 346: The ident.i.ty of male and female education in Italy is an important feature of this epoch. The history of Vittorino da Feltre's school at Mantua given by his biographer, Rosmini, supplies valuable information upon this point. Students may consult Burckhardt, _Cultur der Renaissance_, sec. 5, ed. 2, p. 312; Gregorovius, _Lucrezia Borgia_, book i. sec. 4; Janitschek, _Gesellschaft der Renaissance_, Lecture 3.]

[Footnote 347: See Vulgate, Gen. ii. 23: "Haec vocabitur Virago," etc.]

[Footnote 348: In a rare tract called _Tariffa delle puttane, etc._, Tullia d'Aragona is catalogued among the courtesans of Venice. See Pa.s.sano, _Novellieri in Verso_, p. 118.]

Two poetesses have to be distinguished from the common herd. These are Veronica Gambara and Vittoria Colonna. Veronica was the daughter of Count Gianfrancesco Gambara and his wife Alda Pia of Carpi, whose name recalls the fervid days of humanism at its noon.[349] She was born in 1485, and was therefore contemporary with the restorers of Italian literature. Bembo was the guide of her youth, and Vittoria Colonna the friend of her maturer years. In 1509 she married Giberto, lord of Correggio, by whom she had two sons, Ippolito and Girolamo. Her husband died after nine years of matrimony, and she was left to educate her children for the State and Church. She discharged her duties as a mother with praiseworthy diligence, and died in 1550, respected by all Italy, the type of what a n.o.ble woman should be in an age when virtue shone by contrast with especial l.u.s.ter. Her letters and her poems were collected and published in 1759 at Brescia, the city of her birth. Except for the purity of their sentiments and the sincerity of their expression, her verses do not rise far above mediocrity. Like literary ladies of the French metropolis, she owed her fame to personal rather than to literary excellence. "The house of Veronica," writes a biographer of the sixteenth century, "was an Academy, where every day she gathered round her for discourse on n.o.ble questions Bembo and Cappello, Molza and Mauro, and all the famous men of Europe who followed the Italian Courts."[350]