The Project Gutenberg eBook of Renaissance in Italy, Volume 5 (of 7)

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Title: Renaissance in Italy, Volume 5 (of 7)

Author: John Addington Symonds

Release date: June 16, 2011 [eBook #36448]

Language: English

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CONTENTS

INDEX

RENAISSANCE IN ITALY

ITALIAN LITERATURE

In Two Parts

BY

JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS

Author of

"Studies of the Greek Poets," "Sketches in Italy and Greece," etc.

"Italia, sepoltura

De' lumi suoi, d'esterni candeliere"

CAMPANELLA: Poesie Filosofiche.

PART II

NEW YORK

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

1888

CONTENTS

OF

THE SECOND PART.

PAGE

CHAPTER IX.

THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.

Orlando Furioso and Divina Commedia—Ariosto expresses the Renaissance as Dante the Middle Ages—Definition of Romantic, Heroic, Burlesque, Heroic-comic, and Satiric Poems—Ariosto's Bias toward Romance—Sense of Beauty in the Cinque Cento—Choice of Boiardo's unfinished Theme—The Propriety of this Choice—Ariosto's Irony and Humor—The Subject of the Furioso—Siege of Paris—Orlando's Madness—Loves of Ruggiero and Bradamante—Flattery of the House of Este—The World of Chivalry—Ariosto's Delight in the Creatures of his Fancy—Close Structure of the Poem—Exaggeration of Motives—Power of Picture-painting—Faculty of Vision—Minute Description—Rhetorical Amplification—Rapidity of Movement—Solidity—Nicety of Ethical Analysis—The Introductions to the Cantos—Episodes and Novelle—Imitations of the Classics—Power of Appropriation and Transmutation—Irony—Astolfo's Journey to the Moon—Ariosto's Portrait—S. Michael in the Monastery—The Cave of Sleep—Humor—Pathos and Sublimity—Olimpia and Bireno—Conception of Female Character—The Heroines—Passion and Love—Ariosto's Morality—His Style—The Epithet of Divine—Exquisite Finish—Ariosto and Tasso—Little Landscape-Painting—Similes—Realism—Adaptation of Homeric Images—Ariosto's Relation to his Age

1

CHAPTER X.

THE NOVELLIERI.

Boccaccio's Legacy—Social Conditions of Literature in Italy—Importance of the Novella—Definition of the Novella—Method of the Novelists—Their Style—Materials used—Large Numbers of Novelle in Print—Lombard and Tuscan Species—Introductions to Il Lasca's Cene, Parabosco's Diporti—Bandello's Dedications—Life of Bandello—His Moral Attitude—Bandello as an Artist—Comparison of Bandello and Fletcher—The Tale of Gerardo and Elena—Romeo and Juliet—The Tale of Nicuola—The Countess of Salisbury—Bandello's Apology for his Morals and his Style—Il Lasca—Mixture of Cruelty and Lust—Extravagant Situations—Treatment of the Parisina Motive—The Florentine Burla—Apology for Il Lasca's Repulsiveness—Firenzuola—His Life—His Satires on the Clergy—His Dialogue on Beauty—Novelettes and Poems—Doni's Career—His Bizarre Humor—Bohemian Life at Venice—The Pellegrini—His Novelle—Miscellaneous Works—The Marmi—The Novelists of Siena—Their specific Character—Sermini—Fortini—Bargagli's Description of the Siege of Siena—Illicini's Novel of Angelica—The Proverbi of Cornazano—The Notti Piacevoli of Straparola—The Novel of Belphegor—Straparola and Machiavelli—Giraldi Cinthio's Hecatommithi—Description of the Sack of Rome—Plan of the Collection—The Legend of the Borgias—Comparison of Italian Novels and English Plays

51

CHAPTER XI.

THE DRAMA.

First attempts at Secular Drama—The Orfeo and Timone—General Character of Italian Plays—Court Pageants and Comedies borrowed from the Latin—Conditions under which a National Drama is formed—Their absence in Italy—Lack of Tragic Genius—Eminently Tragic Material in Italian History—The Use made of this by English Playwrights—The Ballad and the Drama—The Humanistic Bias in Italy—Parallels between Greek and Italian Life—Il Lasca's Critique of the Latinizing Playwrights—The Sofonisba of Trissino—Rucellai's Rosmunda—Sperone's Canace—Giraldi's Orbecche—Dolce's Marianna—Transcripts from the Greek Tragedians and Seneca—General Character of Italian Tragedies—Sources of their Failure—Influence of Plautus and Terence over Comedy—Latin Comedies acted at Florence, Rome, Ferrara—Translations of Latin Comedies—Manner of Representation at Court—Want of Permanent Theaters—Bibbiena's Calandra—Leo X. and Comedy at Rome—Ariosto's Treatment of his Latin Models—The Cassaria, Suppositi, Lena, Negromante, Scolastica—Qualities of Ariosto's Comedies—Machiavelli's Plays—The Commedia in Prosa—Fra Alberigo and Margherita—The Clizia—Its Humor—The Mandragola—Its sinister Philosophy—Conditions under which it was Composed—Aretino disengages Comedy from Latin Rules—His Point of View—The Cortegiana, Marescalco, Talanta—Italy had innumerable Comedies, but no great Comic Art—General Character of the Commedia Erudita—Its fixed Personages—Gelli, Firenzuola, Cecchi, Ambra, Il Lasca—The Farsa—Conclusion on the Moral Aspects of Italian Comedy

108

CHAPTER XII.

PASTORAL AND DIDACTIC POETRY.

The Idyllic Ideal—Golden Age—Arcadia—Sannazzaro—His Life—The Art of the Arcadia—Picture-painting—Pontano's Poetry—The Neapolitan Genius—Baiæe and Eridanus—Eclogues—The Play of Cefalo—Castiglione's Tirsi—Rustic Romances—Molza's Biography—The Ninfa Tiberina—Progress of Didactic Poetry—Rucellai's Api—Alamanni's Coltivazione—His Life—His Satires—Pastoral Dramatic Poetry—The Aminta—The Pastor Fido—Climax of Renaissance Art

194

CHAPTER XIII.

THE PURISTS.

The Italians lose their Language—Prejudice against the Mother Tongue—Problem of the Dialects—Want of a Metropolis—The Tuscan Classics—Petrarch and Boccaccio—Dante Rejected—False Attitude of the Petrarchisti—Renaissance Sense of Beauty unexpressed in Lyric—False Attitude of Boccaccio's Followers—Ornamental Prose—Speron Sperone—The Dictator Bembo—His Conception of the Problem—The Asolani—Grammatical Essay—Treatise on the Language—Poems—Letters—Bembo's Place in the Cortegiano—Castiglione on Italian Style—His Good Sense—Controversies on the Language—Academical Spirit—Innumerable Poetasters—La Casa—His Life—Il Forno—Peculiar Melancholy—His Sonnets—Guidiccioni's Poems on Italy—Court Life—Caro and Castelvetro—Their Controversies—Castelvetro accused of Heresy—Literary Ladies—Veronica Gambara—Vittoria Colonna—Her Life—Her Friendship for Michelangelo—Life of Bernardo Tasso—His Amadigi and other Works—Life of Giangiorgio Trissino—His Quarrel with his Son Giulio—His Critical Works—The Italia Liberata

246

CHAPTER XIV.

BURLESQUE POETRY AND SATIRE.

Relation of Satiric to Serious Literature—Italy has more Parody and Caricature than Satire or Comedy—Life of Folengo—His Orlandino—Critique of Previous Romances—Lutheran Doctrines—Orlando's Boyhood—Griffarosto—Invective against Friars—Maccaronic Poetry—The Travesty of Humanism—Pedantesque Poetry—Glottogrysio Ludimagistro—Tifi Odassi of Padua—The Pedant Vigonça—Evangelista Fossa—Giorgio Alione—Folengo employs the Maccaronic Style for an Epic—His Address to the Muses—His Hero Baldus—Boyhood and Youth—Cingar—The Travels of the Barons—Gulfora—Witchcraft in Italy—Folengo's Conception of Witchcraft—Entrance into Hell—The Zany and the Pumpkin—Nature of Folengo's Satire—His Relation to Rabelais—The Moscheis—The Zanitonella—Maccaronic Poetry was Lombard—Another and Tuscan Type of Burlesque—Capitoli—Their Popular Growth—Berni—His Life—His Mysterious Death—His Character and Style—Three Classes of Capitoli—The pure Bernesque Manner—Berni's Imitators—The Indecency of this Burlesque—Such Humor was Indigenous—Terza Rima—Berni's Satires on Adrian VI. and Clement VII.—His Caricatures—His Sonnet on Aretino—The Rifacimento of Boiardo's Orlando—The Mystery of its Publication—Albicante and Aretino—The Publishers Giunta and Calvi—Berni's Protestant Opinions—Eighteen Stanzas of the Rifacimento printed by Vergerio—Hypothesis respecting the Mutilation of the Rifacimento—Satire in Italy

309

CHAPTER XV.

PIETRO ARETINO.

Aretino's Place in Italian Literature and Society—His Birth and Boyhood—Goes to Rome—In the Service of Agostino Chigi—At Mantua—Gradual Emergence into Celebrity—The Incident of Giulio Romano's Postures—Giovanni delle Bande Nere—Aretino settles at Venice—The Mystery of his Influence—Discerns the Power of the Press—Satire on the Courts—Magnificent Life—Aretino's Wealth—His Tributary Princes—Bullying and Flattery—The Divine Aretino—His Letter to Vittoria Colonna—To Michelangelo—His Admiration of Artists—Relations with Men of Letters—Epistle to Bernardo Tasso—His Lack of Learning—Disengagement from Puristic Prejudices—Belief in his own Powers—Rapidity of Composition—His Style—Originality and Independence—Prologue to Talanta—Bohemian Comrades—Niccolò Franco—Quarrel with Doni—Aretino's Literary Influence—His Death—The Anomaly of the Renaissance—Estimate of Aretino's Character

383

CHAPTER XVI.

HISTORY AND PHILOSOPHY.

Frivolity of Renaissance Literature—The Contrast presented by Machiavelli—His Sober Style—Positive Spirit—The Connection of his Works—Two Men in Machiavelli—His Political Philosophy—The Patria—Place of Religion and Ethics in his System—Practical Object of his Writings—Machiavellism—His Conception of Nationality—His Relation to the Renaissance—Contrast between Machiavelli and Guicciardini—Guicciardini's Doctrine of Self-interest—The Code of Italian Corruption—The Connection between these Historians and the Philosophers—General Character of Italian Philosophy—The Middle Ages in Dissolution—Transition to Modern Thought and Science—Humanism counterposed to Scholasticism—Petrarch—Pico—Dialogues on Ethics—Importance of Greek and Latin Studies—Classical substituted for Ecclesiastical Authority—Platonism at Florence—Ficino—Translations—New Interest in the Problem of Life—Valla's Hedonism—The Dialogue De Voluptate—Aristotle at Padua and Bologna—Arabian and Greek Commentators—Life of Pietro Pomponazzi—His Book on Immortality—His Controversies—Pomponazzi's Standpoint—Unlimited Belief in Aristotle—Retrospect over the Aristotelian Doctrine of God, the World, the Human Soul—Three Problems in the Aristotelian System—Universals—The First Period of Scholastic Speculation—Individuality—The Second Period of Scholasticism—Thomas Aquinas—The Nature of the Soul—New Impulse given to Speculation by the Renaissance—Averroism—The Lateran Council—Is the Soul Immortal?—Pomponazzi reconstructs Aristotle's Doctrine by help of Alexander of Aphrodisias—The Soul is Material and Mortal—Man's Place in Nature—Virtue is the End of Man—Pomponazzi on Miracles and Spirits—His Distinction between the Philosopher and the Christian—The Book on Fate—Pomponazzi the Precursor—Coarse Materialism—The School of Cosenza—Aristotle's Authority Rejected—Telesio—Campanella—Bruno—The Church stifles Philosophy in Italy—Italian Positivism

429

CHAPTER XVII.

CONCLUSION.

Retrospect—Meaning of the Renaissance—Modern Science and Democracy—The Preparation of an Intellectual Medium for Europe—The Precocity of Italy—Servitude and Corruption—Antiquity and Art—The Italian Provinces—Florence—Lombardy and Venice—The March of Ancona, Urbino, Umbria—Perugia—Rome—Sicily and Naples—Italian Ethnology—Italian Independence on the Empire and the Church—Persistence of the Old Italic Stocks—The New Nation—Its Relation to the Old—The Revival of Learning was a National Movement—Its Effect on Art—On Literature—Resumption of the Latin Language—Affinities between the Latin and Italian Genius—Renascence of Italian Literature combined with Humanism—Greek Studies comparatively Uninfluential—The Modern Italians inherited Roman Qualities—Roman Defects—Elimination of Roman Satire—Decay of Roman Vigor—Italian Realism—Positivism—Sensuousness—Want of Mystery, Suggestion, Romance—The Intellectual Atmosphere—A Literature of Form and Diversion—Absence of Commanding Genius—Lack of Earnestness—Lack of Piety—Materialism and Negation—Idyllic Beauty—The Men of the Golden Age—The Cult of Form—Italy's Gifts to Europe—The Renaissance is not to be Imitated—Its Importance in Human Development—Feudalism, Renaissance, Reformation, Revolution

488

APPENDICES.

No. I.—Italian Comic Prologues

533

No. II.—Passages Translated from Folengo and Berni, which Illustrate the Lutheran Opinions of the Burlesque Poets

536

No. III.—On Palmieri's "Città di Vita"

548

INDEX

555

RENAISSANCE IN ITALY.

CHAPTER IX.

THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.

Orlando Furioso and Divina Commedia—Ariosto expresses the Renaissance as Dante the Middle Ages—Definition of Romantic, Heroic, Burlesque, Heroic-comic, and Satiric Poems—Ariosto's Bias toward Romance—Sense of Beauty in the Cinque Cento—Choice of Boiardo's unfinished Theme—The Propriety of this Choice—Ariosto's Irony and Humor—The Subject of the Furioso—Siege of Paris—Orlando's Madness—Loves of Ruggiero and Bradamante—Flattery of the House of Este—The World of Chivalry—Ariosto's Delight in the Creatures of his Fancy—Close Structure of the Poem—Exaggeration of Motives—Power of Picture-painting—Faculty of Vision—Minute Description—Rhetorical Amplification—Rapidity of Movement—Solidity—Nicety of Ethical Analysis—The Introductions to the Cantos—Episodes and Novelle—Imitations of the Classics—Power of Appropriation and Transmutation—Irony—Astolfo's Journey to the Moon—Ariosto's Portrait—S. Michael in the Monastery—The Cave of Sleep—Humor—Pathos and Sublimity—Olimpia and Bireno—Conception of Female Character—The Heroines—Passion and Love—Ariosto's Morality—His Style—The Epithet of Divine—Exquisite Finish—Ariosto and Tasso—Little Landscape-Painting—Similes—Realism—Adaptation of Homeric Images—Ariosto's Relation to his Age.

ARIOSTO'S Satires make us know the man intus et in cute—to the very core. The lyrics have a breadth and amplitude of style that mark no common master of the poet's craft. Yet neither the Satires nor the Lyrics reveal the author of the Furioso. The artist in Ariosto was greater than the man; and the Furioso, conceived and executed with no reference to the poet's personal experience, enthroned him as the Orpheus of his age. The Orlando Furioso gave full and final expression to the cinque cento, just as the Divina Commedia uttered the last word of the middle ages. The two supreme Italian singers stood in the same relation to their several epochs. Dante immortalized medieval thoughts and aspirations at the moment when they were already losing their reality for the Italian people. Separated from him by a short interval of time, came Petrarch, who substituted the art of poetry for the prophetic inspiration; and while Petrarch was yet singing, Boccaccio anticipated in his multifarious literature the age of the Renaissance. Then the evolution of Italian literature was interrupted by the classical revival; and when Ariosto appeared, it was his duty to close the epoch which Petrarch had inaugurated and Boccaccio had determined, by a poem investing Boccaccio's world, the sensuous world of the Renaissance, with the refined artistic form of Petrarch. This he accomplished. But even while he was at work, Italy underwent those political and mental changes, in the wars of invasion, in the sack of Rome, in the siege of Florence, in the Spanish occupation, in the reconstruction of the Papacy beneath the pressure of Luther's schism, which ended the Renaissance and opened a new age with Tasso for its poet. Those, therefore, who would comprehend the spirit of Italy upon the point of transition from the middle ages, must study the Divine Comedy. Those who would contemplate the genius of the Renaissance, consummated and conscious of its aim, upon the very verge of transmutation and eventual ruin, must turn to the Orlando Furioso. It seems to be a law of intellectual development that the highest works of art can only be achieved when the forces which produced them are already doomed and in the act of disappearance.[1]

Italian critics have classified their narrative poems, of which the name is legion, into Romantic, Heroic, Burlesque, Heroic-comic, and Satiric.[2] The romantic poet is one who having formed a purely imaginary world, deals with the figments of his fancy as though they were realities. His object is to astonish, fascinate, amuse and interest his readers. Nothing comes amiss to him, whether the nature of the material be comic or tragic, pathetic or satiric, miraculous or commonplace, impossible or natural, so long as it contributes grace and charm to the picture of adventurous existence he desires to paint. His aim is not instruction; nor does he seek to promote laughter. Putting all serious purposes aside, he creates a wonderland wherein the actions and passions of mankind shall be displayed, with truth to nature, under the strongly colored light of the artistic fantasy. The burlesque poet enters the same enchanted region; but he deliberately degrades it below the level of common life, parodies the fanciful extravagances of romance, and seeks to raise a laugh at the expense of its most delicate illusions. The heroic poet has nothing to do with pure romance and pleasurable fiction. He deals with the truths of history, resolving to embellish them by art, to extract lessons of utility, to magnify the virtues and the valor of the noblest men, and to inflame his audience with the fire of lofty aspiration. His object, unlike that of the romancer, is essentially serious. He is less anxious to produce a work of pure beauty than to raise a monument of ideal and moralized sublimity. The heroic-comic poet adopts the tone, style, conduct and machinery of the heroic manner; but he employs his art on some trivial or absurd subject, making his ridicule of baseness and pettiness the more pungent by the mock-gravity of his treatment. Unlike the burlesque writer, he does not aim at mere scurrility. There is always method in his buffoonery, and a satiric purpose in his parody. The satirist strikes more directly; he either attacks manners, customs, institutions, and persons without disguise, or he does so under a thin veil of parable. He differs from the heroic-comic poet chiefly in this, that he does not array himself in the epical panoply. Within the range of Italian literature we find ready examples of these several styles. Boiardo and Ariosto are romantic poets. The Morgante Maggiore is a romance with considerable elements of burlesque and satire mingled.[3] Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata is a fair specimen of the heroic, and Tassoni's Secchia Rapita of the heroic-comic species. The Ricciardetto of Fortiguerri and Folengo's Orlandino represent burlesque, while Casti's Animali Parlanti is a narrative satire.

It may seem at first sight strange that Ariosto should have preferred the romantic to the heroic style of poetry, and that the epic of the Italian Renaissance should be a pure play of the fancy. Yet this was no less natural to the man revealed in his Epistles, than to the spirit of his century as we have learned to know it. The passions and convictions that give force to patriotism, to religion, and to morality, were extinct in Italy; nor was Ariosto an exception to the general temper of his age. Yet the heroic style demands some spiritual motive analogous to the enthusiasm for Rome which inspired Virgil, or to the faith that touched the lips of Milton with coals from the altar. An indolent and tranquil epicurean, indifferent to the world around him, desiring nothing better than a life among his books, with leisure for his loves and day-dreams, had not the fiber of a true heroic poet; and where in Italy could Ariosto have found a proper theme? Before he settled to the great work of his life, he began a poem in terza rima on the glories of the House of Este. That was meant to be heroic; but the fragment which remains, proves how frigid, how all unsuited to his genius and his times, this insincere and literary epic would have been.[4] Italy offered elements of greatness only to a prophet or a satirist. She found her prophet in Michelangelo. But what remained for a poet like Ariosto, without Dante's anger or Swift's indignation, without the humor of Cervantes or the fire of Juvenal, without Tasso's piety or Shakspere's England, yet equal as an artist to the greatest singers whom the world has known? The answer to this question is not far to seek. What really survived of noble and enthusiastic in the cinque cento was the sense of beauty, the adoration of form, the worship of art. The supreme artist of his age obeyed a right instinct when he undertook a work which required no sublime motive, and which left him free for the production of a masterpiece of beauty. In this sphere the defects of his nature were not felt, and he became the mouthpiece of his age in all that still remained of greatness to his country.

In like manner we can explain to ourselves Ariosto's choice of Boiardo's unfinished theme. He was not a poet with something irresistible to say, but an artist seeking a fit theater for the exercise of his omnipotent skill. He did not feel impelled to create, but to embellish. Boiardo had constructed a vast hall in the style of the Renaissance, when it first usurped on Gothic; he had sketched a series of frescoes for the adornment of its walls and roof, and then had died, leaving his work incomplete. To enrich the remaining panels with pictures conceived in the same spirit, but executed in a freer and a grander manner, to adorn them with all that the most wealthy and fertile fancy could conceive, and to bestow upon them perfect finish, was a task for which Ariosto was eminently suited. Nor did he vary from the practice of the greatest masters in the other arts, who willingly lent their own genius to the continuation of designs begun by predecessors. Few craftsmen of the Renaissance thought as much of the purpose of their work or of its main motive as of execution in detail and richness of effect. They lacked the classic sense of unity, the medieval sincerity and spontaneity of inspiration. Therefore Ariosto was contented to receive from Boiardo a theme he could embroider and make beautiful, with full employment of his rare inventive gifts upon a multitude of episodical inventions. It is vain to regret that a poet of his caliber should not have bent his faculties to the task of a truly original epic—to the re-awakening of prostrate Italy, to the scourging of her feebleness and folly, or even to the celebration of her former glories. Had he done either of these things, his poem would not have been so truly national, and we should have lacked the final product of a most brilliant though defective period of civilization.

Ariosto's own temperament and the conditions of his age alike condemned him to the completion of a romance longer than the Iliad and the Odyssey together, which has for its sole serious aim, if serious aim it has of any sort, the glorification of an obscure family, and which, while it abounds in pathos, wisdom, wit, and poetry of dazzling brilliance, may at the same time be accused of levity, adulation, and licentiousness. To arraign Ariosto for these faults is tantamount to arraigning his whole century and nation. The greatest artist of the sixteenth century found no task worthier of his genius than to flatter the House of Este with false pedigrees and fulsome praises. He had no faith that could prevent him from laughing at all things human and divine, not indeed, with the Titanic play of Aristophanes, whose merriment is but the obverse of profound seriousness, but with the indulgent nonchalance of an epicurean. No sentiment of sublimity raised him above the grosser atmosphere in which love is tainted with lust, luxurious images are sought for their own sake, and passion dwindles in the languor of voluptuousness. The decay of liberty, the relaxation of morals and the corruption of the Church had brought the Italians to this point, that their representative Renaissance poem is stained with flattery, contaminated with licentiousness, enfeebled with levity. Poetic beauty of the highest order it cannot claim. That implies more earnestness of purpose and an ideal of sublimer purity. Still, though the Furioso misses the supreme beauty of the Iliad, the Antigone and the Paradise Lost, it has in superfluity that secondary beauty which expressed itself less perfectly in Italian painting. In one respect it stands almost alone. The form reveals no inequalities or flaws. This artist's hand has never for a moment lost its cunning; this Homer never nods.

Pulci approached the romance of Charlemagne from a bourgeois point of view. He felt no sincere sympathy with the knightly or the religious sentiment of his originals. Boiardo treated similar material in a chivalrous spirit. The novelty of his poem consisted in the fusion of the Carolingian and Arthurian Cycles; for while he handled an episode of the former group, he felt sincere admiration for errant knighthood as figured in the tales of Lancelot and Tristram. Throughout the Orlando Innamorato we trace the vivid influence of feudal ideals. Ariosto differed in his attitude from both of his predecessors. The irony that gives a special quality to his romance, is equally removed from the humor of Pulci and the frank enthusiasm of Boiardo. Ariosto was neither the citizen of a free burgh playing with the legends of a bygone age, nor yet the highborn noble in whose eyes the adventures of Orlando and his comrades formed a picture of existence as it ought to be. He was a courtier and a man of letters, and his poem is a masterpiece of courtly and literary art. Boiardo never flattered the princes of the House of Este. Ariosto took every occasion to interweave their panegyric with his verse. For Boiardo the days of chivalry were a glorious irrecoverable golden age. Ariosto contemplated this mythical past less with the regret of a man who had fallen upon worse days, than with the satisfaction of an artist who perceives the rare opportunities for poetic handling it afforded. He does not really believe in chivalry; where Boiardo is in earnest, Ariosto jests. It is not that, like Cervantes, he sought to satirize the absurdities of romance, or that he set himself, like Folengo, to burlesque the poems of his predecessors; but his philosophy inclined him to watch the doings of humanity with a genial half-smile, an all-pervasive irony that had no sting in it. A poet who stands thus aside and contemplates the comedy of the world with the dry light of a kindly and indulgent intellect, could not treat the tales of Paladins and giants seriously. He uses them as the machinery of a great work on human life, painting mankind, not as he thinks it ought to be, but as he finds it. This treatment of romance from the standpoint of good sense and quiet humor produces an apparent discrepancy between his practical knowledge of the world and his fanciful extravagance. In the artistic harmony effected by Ariosto between these opposite elements lies the secret of his irony. His worldly wisdom has the solidity of prose and embraces every circumstance of life. The creatures of his imagination belong to fairyland and exceed the wildest dreams in waywardness. He smiles to see them play their pranks; yet he never loses sight of reality, and moves his puppets by impulses and passions worthy of real men and women. Having granted the romantic elements of wonder and exaggeration for a basis, we find the superstructure to be natural. Never was sagacity of insight combined more perfectly with exuberance of fancy and a joyous lightheartedness than in this poem. Nowhere else have sound lessons in worldly wisdom been conveyed upon a stage of so much palpable impossibility.

We may here ask what is the main subject of the Orlando Furioso. The poem has three chief sources of interest—the siege of Paris and the final rout of the Saracen army, the insanity of Orlando, and the loves of Ruggiero and Bradamante. The first serves merely as a groundwork for embroidery, a background for relieving more attractive incidents. Orlando's madness, though it gives its name to the romance, is subordinate to the principal action. It forms a proper development of the situation in the Orlando Innamorato; and Ariosto intends it to be important, because he frequently laments that the Paladin's absence from the field injured the cause of Christendom. But Charlemagne, by help of Rinaldo, Bradamante, and Marfisa, conquers without Orlando's aid. Thus the hero's insanity is only operative in neutralizing an influence that was not needed; and when he regains his wits, he performs no critical prodigies of valor. Finding the Saracens expelled from France, and Charlemagne at peace, Orlando fights a duel with a crownless king upon a desert island more for show than for real service. Far different is the remaining motive of the poem. If the Furioso can be said to have constructive unity, the central subject is the love and marriage of Ruggiero. Ariosto found this solution of the plot foreshadowed in the Innamorato. The pomp and ceremony with which the fourth book opens, the value attached to the co-operation of Ruggiero in the war with Charlemagne, and the romantic beginning of his love for Bradamante, make it clear that Boiardo would have crowned his poem, as Ariosto has done, with the union of the ancestors of Casa d'Este. Flattery, moreover, was Ariosto's serious purpose. Consequently, the love of Ruggiero and Bradamante, whose protracted disappointments furnished the occasion for renewed prophecies and promises of future glory for their descendants, formed the artistic center of his romance. The growing importance of all that concerns this pair of characters, the accumulation of difficulties which interfere with their union, and the final honor reserved for Ruggiero of killing the dreadful Rodomonte in single combat, are so disposed and graduated as to make the marriage of the august couple the right and natural climax to an epic of 100,000 lines. The fascinations of Angelica, the achievements of Orlando and Rinaldo, the barbaric chivalry of Rodomonte and Marfisa, even the shock of Christian and Pagan armies, sink into insignificance before the interest that environs Bradamante toward the poem's ending. Victorious art was needed for the achievement of this success. Like a pyramid, upon the top of which a sculptor places a gilded statue, up grows this voluminous romance, covering acres of the plain at first, but narrowing to a point whereon the poet sets his heroes of the House of Este.[5]

Though the marriage of Ruggiero and Bradamante forms the consummation of the Furioso, it would show want of sympathy with Ariosto's intention to imagine that he wrote his poem for this incident alone. The opening lines of the first canto are explicit:

Le donne, i cavalier, l'arme, gli amori,

Le cortesie, l'audaci imprese io canto

Che furo al tempo che passaro i Mori

D'Africa il mare, in Francia nocquer tanto....

"The ladies, the knights, the feats of arms, the loves, the courtesies, the bold adventures are my theme." In one word, his purpose was to paint the world of chivalry. Agramante's expedition into France gives him the time; Orlando's madness is an episode; Ruggiero's marriage forms a fitting climax. But his true subject-matter is chivalry—the dream-world of love, honor, magic, marvel, courtesy, adventure, that afforded to his fancy scope for its most brilliant imaginings. In Ariosto's age chivalry was a thing of the past, even among the nations of the North. It is true that Francis I. was kneeling on the battlefield before Bayard to receive the honor of knighthood in the names of Oliver and Roland. It is true that Henry VIII. was challenging his Most Christian cousin to a kingly settlement of their disputed claims in a pitched field. But the spirit of the times was not in these picturesque incidents. Charles V., who incarnated modern diplomacy, dynastic despotism, and autocratic statecraft, was deciding the destinies of Europe. Gunpowder had already revolutionized the art of feudal war.[6] The order of the Golden Fleece, monarchical and pompous, had eclipsed the orders of the Temple and S. John. What remained of chivalry formed a splendid adjunct to Court-equipage; and the knight errant, if he ever existed, was merged in the modern gentleman. Far less of real vitality had chivalry among the cities of the South, in the land of Popes like Sixtus, adventurers like Cesare Borgia, princes like Lodovico Sforza, commercial aristocracies like the Republic of S. Mark. A certain ideal of life, summed up in the word cortesia, existed in Italy; where numerous petty Courts had become the school of refined sentiment and manners. But this was not what we mean by chivalry, and even this was daily falsified by the cynicism and corruption of the princes and their servants.[7] Castiglione's Cortegiano, the handbook of that new ideal, must be read by the light of the Roman diaries and Machiavelli's speculative essays. The Renaissance was rapidly destroying the feudal fabric of ideas throughout Europe. Those ideas were always weak in Italy, and it was in Italy that the modern intellect first attained to self-consciousness. Therefore the magic and marvels of romance, the restless movement of knight-errantry, the love of peril and adventure for their own sake, the insane appetite for combat, the unpractical virtues no less than the capricious willfulness of Paladins and Saracens, presented to the age and race of men like Guicciardini nothing but a mad unprofitable medley. Dove avete trovato, messer Lodovico, tante minchionerie? was no unpardonable question for a Cardinal to make, when he opened the Furioso in the Pontificate of Clement VII. Of all this Ariosto was doubtless well aware. Yet he recognized in the Orlando a fit framework for the exercise of his unrivaled painter's power. He knew that the magic world he had evoked was but a plaything of the fancy, a glittering bubble blown by the imagination. This did not suggest an afterthought of hesitation or regret: for he could make the plaything beautiful. The serious problem of his life was to construct a miracle of art, organically complete, harmonious as a whole and lovely in the slightest details. Yet he never forgot that chivalry was a dream; and thus there is an airy unsubstantiality in his romantic world. His characters, though they are so much closer to us in time and sympathy, lack the real humanity of Achilles in the Iliad or of Penelope in the Odyssey. They do not live for us, because they were not living for the poet, but painted with perfection from an image in his brain. He stood aloof from the work of his own hands, and turned it round for his recreation, viewing it with a smile of conscious and delighted irony. Nowhere did he suffer himself to be immersed in his own visionary universe. That wonderland of love and laughter, magic and adventure, which so amused his fancy that once he walked from Carpi to Ferrara in slippers dreaming of it, was to him no more solid than the shapes of clouds we form, no more durable than the rime that melts before the sun to nothing. The smile with which he contemplates this fleeting image, is both tender and ironical. Sarcasm and pathos mingle on his lips and in his eyes; for while he knows it to be but a vision, he has used it as the form of all his thought and feeling, making of this dream a mirror for the world in which his days were spent.

Notwithstanding the difficulty of precisely ascertaining the main subject of the Orlando Furioso, the unity of the poem is close, subtle, serried. But it is the unity of a vast piece of tapestry rather than of architecture. There is nothing massive in its structure, no simple and yet colossal design like that which forms the strength of the Iliad or the Divine Comedy. The delicacy of its connecting links, and the perpetual shifting of its scene distinguish it as a romantic poem from the true epic. The threads by which the scheme is held together, are slight as gossamer; the principal figures are confounded with a multitude of subordinate characters; the interest is divided between a succession of episodical narratives. At no point are we aroused by the shock of a supreme sensation, such as that which the death of Patroclus in the Iliad communicates. The rage of Rodomonte inside the walls of Paris has been cited as an instance of heroic grandeur. But the effect is exaggerated. Ariosto is too much amused with the extravagant situation for the blustering of his Pagan to arouse either terror or surprise. When we compare this episode with the appearance of Achilles in the trench, the elaborate similes and prolonged description of the Italian poet are as nothing side by side with the terrific shout of the Greek hero stung at last into activity. And what is true of Rodomonte may be said of all the studied situations in the Furioso. Ariosto pushes every motive to the verge of the burlesque, heightening the passion of love till it becomes insanity, and the sense of honor till it passes over into whimsical punctiliousness, and the marvelous until the utmost bounds of credibility are passed. This is not done without profound artistic purpose. The finest comic effects in the poem are due to such exaggerations of the motives; and the ironic laughter of the poet is heard at moments when, if he preserved his gravity, we should accuse him of unpardonable childishness. Our chief difficulty in appreciating the Furioso is to take the author's point of view, to comprehend the expenditure of so much genius and wisdom upon paradoxes, and to sympathize with the spirit of a masterpiece which, while it verges on the burlesque, is never meant to pass the limit.

In putting this dream-world of his fantasy upon the canvas, Ariosto showed the power of an accomplished painter. This is the secret of the Furioso's greatness. This makes it in a deep sense the representative poem of the Italian Renaissance. All the affinities of its style are with the ruling art of Italy, rather than with sculpture or with architecture; and the poet is less a singer uttering his soul forth to the world in song, than an artist painting a multitude of images with words instead of colors. His power of delineation never fails him. Through the lucid medium of exquisitely chosen language we see the object as clearly as he saw it. We scarcely seem to see it with his eyes so much as with our own, for the poet stands aloof from his handiwork and is a spectator of his pictures like ourselves. So authentic is the vision that, while he is obliged by his subject to treat the same situations—in duels, battles, storms, love-passages—he never repeats himself. A fresh image has passed across the camera obscura of his brain, and has been copied in its salient features. For the whole of this pictured world is in movement, and the master has the art to seize those details which convey the very truth of life and motion. We sit in a dim theater of thought, and watch the motley crowd of his fantastic personages glide across the stage. They group themselves for a moment ere they flit away; and then the scene is shifted, and a new procession enters; fresh tableaux vivants are arranged, and when we have enjoyed their melodies of form and color, the spell is once more broken and new actors enter. The stage is never empty; scene melts into scene without breathing-space or interruption; but lest the show should weary by its continuity, the curtain is let down upon each canto's closing, and the wizard who evokes these phantoms for our pleasure, stands before it for a moment and discourses wit and wisdom to his audience.

It is this all-embracing universally illuminating faculty of vision that justifies Galileo's epithet of the DIVINE for Ariosto. This renders his title of the Italian Homer intelligible. But we must remember that these high-sounding compliments are paid him by a nation in whose genius the art of painting holds the highest rank; and it may well happen that critics less finely sensitive to pictorial delineation shall contest them both. As in Italian painting, so in Ariosto's poetry, deep thought and poignant passion are not suffered to interrupt the calm unfolding of a world where plastic beauty reigns supreme. No thrilling cry from the heart of humanity is heard; no dreadful insight into mortal woe disturbs the rhythmic dance. Tragedy is drowned and swallowed in a sea of images; and if the deeper chords of pathos are touched here and there, they are so finely modulated and blent with the pervading melody that a harsh note never jars upon our ears. A nation in whom the dramatic instinct is paramount, an audience attuned to Hamlet or King Lear, will feel that something essential to the highest poetry has been omitted. The same imperious pictorial faculty compels Ariosto to describe what more dramatic poets are contented to suggest. Where Dante conveys an image in one pregnant line, he employs an octave for the exhibition of a finished picture.[8] Thus our attention is withdrawn from the main object to a multitude of minor illustrations, each of which is offered to us with the same lucidity. The dædal labyrinth of exquisitely modeled forms begins to cloy, and in our tired ingratitude we wish the artist had left something to our own imagination. It is too much to be forced to contemplate a countless number of highly-wrought compositions. We long for something half-seen, indicated, shyly revealed by lightning flashes and withdrawn before it has been fully shown. When Lessing in Laocoon censured the famous portrait of Alcina, this was, in part at least, the truth of his complaint. She wearies us by the minuteness of the touches that present her to our gaze; and the elaboration of each detail prevents us from forming a complete conception of her beauty. But the Italians of the sixteenth century, accustomed to painted forms in fresco and in oils, and educated in the descriptive traditions of Boccaccio's school, would not have recognized the soundness of this criticism. For them each studied phrase of Ariosto was the index to an image, summoned by memory from the works of their own masters, or from life. His method of delineation was analogous to that of figurative art. In a word, the defect pointed out by the German critic is the defect of Ariosto's greatest quality, the quality belonging to an age and race in which painting was supreme.

Closely allied to this pictorial method in the representation of all objects to our mental vision, was Ariosto's rhetorical amplification. He rarely allows a situation to be briefly indicated or a sentiment to be divined. The emotions of his characters are analyzed at length; and their utterances, even at the fever-heat of passion, are expanded with a dazzling wealth of illustration. Many of the episodes in the Furioso are eminently dramatic, and the impression left upon the memory is forcible enough. But they are not wrought out as a dramatist would handle them. The persons do not act before us, or express themselves by direct speech. The artist has seen them in motion, has understood what they are feeling; and by his manner of describing them he makes us see them also. But it is always a picture, always an image; that presents itself. Soul rarely speaks to soul without the intervention of interpretative art. This does not prevent Ariosto from being a master of the story-teller's craft. No poet of any nation knew better what to say and what to leave unsaid in managing a fable. The facility of his narration is perfect; and though the incidents of his tales are extremely complicated, there is no confusion. Each story is as limpid as each picture he invents. Nor, again, is there any languor in his poem. Its extraordinary swiftness can only be compared to the rush of a shining river, flowing so smoothly that we have to measure its speed by objects on the surface. The Furioso, in spite of its accumulated images, in spite of its elaborated rhetoric, is in rapid onward movement from the first line to the last. It has an elasticity which is lacking to the monumental architecture of the Divine Comedy. It is free from the stationary digressions that impede a student of Paradise Lost.

The fairy-like fantastic structure of the Furioso has a groundwork of philosophical solidity. Externally a child's story-book, it is internally a mine of deep world-wisdom, the product of a sane and vigorous intellect. Not that we have any right to seek for allegory in the substance of the poem. When Spenser fancied that Ariosto had "ensampled a good governour and vertuous man" in Orlando—in the Orlando who went mad, neglected his liege-lord, and exposed Christendom to peril for Angelica's fair face—he was clearly on the wrong tack. For a man of Ariosto's temperament, in an age of violent contrast between moral corruption and mental activity, it was enough to observe human nature without creating ideals. His knowledge of the actions, motives, passions and characters of men is concrete; and his readings in the lessons of humanity, are literal. The excellence of his delineation consists precisely in the nicety of nuances, the blending of vice and virtue, the correct analysis of motives. He paints men and women as he finds them, not without the irony of one who stands aloof from life and takes malicious pleasure in pointing out its misery and weakness. If I wished to indicate a single passage that displays this knowledge of the heart, I should not select the too transparent allegory of Logistilla[9]—though even here the contrast between Alcina's seductive charms and the permanent beauty of her sister is wrought with a magnificence of detail worthy of Spenser. I would rather point to the reflections which conclude the tale of Marganorre and his wicked sons.[10] In lucid exposition of fact lay the strength of Ariosto; and here it may be said that he proved his affinity to the profoundest spirits of his age in Italy—to Machiavelli and Guicciardini, the founders of analytical science for modern Europe. This intimate study of the laws which govern human action when it seems most wayward, is displayed in Grifone's subjection to the faithless Orrigille, in the conflict of passions which agitate the heroes of Agramante's camp, in the agony of Orlando when he finds Medoro's name coupled with Angelica's, in Bradamante's jealousy, in the conflict of courtesy between Leone and Ruggiero, in the delusive visions of Atlante's castle, in the pride of Rodomonte, and in the comic termination of Angelica's coquetries. The difference between Ariosto and Machiavelli is, that while the latter seems to have dissected human nature with a scalpel, the former has gained this wisdom by sympathy. The one exhibits his anatomical preparations with grim scientific gravity; the other makes his puppets move before us, and smiles sarcastically at their antics.

Sometimes he condenses his philosophy of life in short essays that form the prefaces to cantos, introducing us as through a shapely vestibule into the enchanted palace of his narrative. Among these the finest are the exordia on Love and Honor, on Jealousy, on Loyalty, on Avarice, on the fickleness of Fortune, on Hypocrisy in Courts, and on the pains of Love.[11] The merit of these discourses does not consist in their profundity so much as in their truth. They have been deeply felt and are of universal applicability. What all men have experienced, what every age and race of men have known, the supreme poet expresses with his transparent style, his tender and caressing melody of phrase, his graceful blending of sympathy and satire. Tasso in the preface to Rinaldo rebukes Ariosto for the introduction of these digressions. He says they are below the dignity of the heroic manner, and that a true poet should be able by example and the action of his characters to point the moral without disquisition. This may be true. Yet Ariosto was writing a romance, and we welcome these personal utterances as a relief from the perpetual movement of his figures. In like manner we should be loth to lose the lyrical inter-breathings of Euripidean choruses, or Portia's descant upon mercy, or Fielding's interpolated reflections, all of which are halting-places for the mind to rest on in the rapid course of dramatic or narrative evolution. Still it is not in these detached passages that Ariosto shows his greatest wealth of observation. The novelle, scattered with a lavish hand through all his cantos, combine the same sagacity with energy of action and pictorial effect. Whatever men are wont to do, feel, hope for, fear—what moves their wrath—what yields them pleasure, or inflicts upon them pain—that is the material of Ariosto's tales. He does not use this matter either as a satirist or a moralist, as a tragic poet to effect a purification of the passions, or, again, as a didactic poet to inculcate lessons. Like Plautus, he seems to say: "Whatever be the hues of life, my words shall paint them." Following the course of events without comment, his page reflects the mask of human joys and griefs which is played out before him. In the tale of Polinesso and Ginevra all the elements of pathos that can be extracted from the love of women and the treachery of men, are accumulated. The desertion of Olimpia by Bireno after the sacrifices she has made for him, invests the myth of Ariadne with a wild romantic charm. Isabella's devotion to Zerbino through captivity and danger; the friendship of Cloridano for the beautiful Medoro, and their piety toward Dardinello's corpse; Angelica's doting on Medoro, and the idyll of their happiness among the shepherd folk; the death of Brandimarte, and Fiordeligi's agony of grief; Fiordespina's vain love for Bradamante, and her consolation in the arms of Ricciardetto; the wild legend of the Amazons, who suffered no male stranger to approach their city; Norandino's loyalty to Lucina in the cave of Orco; Lidia's cruel treatment of Alceste; the arts whereby Tanacro and Olindo, sons of Marganorre, work their wicked will in love; Gabrina's treachery toward husband and paramour; Giocondo's adventures with the king Astolfo; the ruse by which Argia justifies her infidelity to Anselmo; the sublime courtesies of Leone; the artful machinations of Melissa—these are the rubrics of tales and situations, so varied, so fertile in resource, that a hundred comedies and tragedies might be wrought from them. Ariosto, in his conduct of these stories, attempts no poetical justice. Virtue in distress, vice triumphant, one passion expelling another, nobler motives conquered by baser, loyalty undermined by avarice, feminine frailty made strong to suffer by the force of love; so runs the world, and so the poet paints it.

New and old, false and real, he mixes all together, and by the alchemy of his imagination makes the fusion true. The classics and the Italian poets, writers of history and romance, geographers and chroniclers, have been laid under contribution. But though the poem is composed of imitations, it is invariably original, because Ariosto has seen and felt whatever he described. Angelica on the horse going out to sea recalls Europa. The battle with the Orc is borrowed from the tale of Perseus. Astolfo in the myrtle grove comes straight from Virgil. Cloridano and Medoro are Nisus and Euryalus in modern dress. The shield of Atlante suggests Medusa's head. Pegasus was the parent of the Hippogriff, and Polyphemus of Orco. Rodomonte rages like Mezentius and dies like Turnus. Grifone on the bridge is a Renaissance study from Horatius Cocles. Senapo repeats the myth of Phineus and the Harpies. Yet throughout these plagiarisms Ariosto remains himself. He has assimilated his originals to his own genius, and has given every incident new life by the vividness of his humanity. If it were needful to cite an instance of his playful, practical ironic treatment of old material, we might point to Lucinda's feminine delicacy in the cave of Orco. She refuses to smear herself with the old goat's fat, and fails to escape with Norandino and his comrades from the hands of this new Polyphemus. So comprehensive is the poet's fancy that it embraces the classic no less than the medieval past. Both are blent in a third substance which takes life from his own experience and observation. In this respect the art of Ariosto corresponds to Raphael's—to the Stanza of the Segnatura or the Antinous-Jonah of the Chigi Chapel. It is the first emancipation of the modern spirit in a work of catholic beauty, preluding to the final emancipation of the reason in the sphere of criticism, thought, and science.

The quality which gives salt and savor to Ariosto's philosophy of life is irony, sometimes bordering on satire, sometimes running over into drollery and humor. Irony is implicit in the very substance of the Furioso. The choice of a mad Orlando for hero reveals the poet's intention; and the recovery of his lost wits from the moon parodies the medieval doctrine that only in the other world shall we find our true selves. The fate of Angelica, again, is supremely ironical. After flouting kings and Paladins, the noblest knights of the whole world, her lovers, she dotes upon a handsome country-lad and marries him in a shepherd's hut. Medoro plucks the rose for which both Christendom and Paynimry had fought in furious rivalry; and wayward Love requites their insults with a by-blow from his dart. Such, smiles the poet, is the end of pride, ambition, passion, and the coquetries that placed the kingdoms of the East and West in peril. Angelica is the embodiment of mortal frailty. The vanity of human wishes, the vicissitudes which blind desire prepares for haughtiest souls, the paradoxes held in store by destiny, are symbolized and imaged in her fate.

Astolfo's journey to the moon, related in the thirty-fourth and thirty-fifth cantos, presents the Ariostean irony with all its gradations of satire, parody, and comic humor. This Duke of England in the Italian romances played the part of an adventurous vain-glorious cavalier, eminent for courtesy and courage, who carried the wandering impulse of knight-errantry to the extreme verge of the ridiculous. We find him at the opening of the thirty-fourth canto in possession of Atlante's Hippogriff and Logistilla's marvelous horn. Mounting his winged horse, he flies through space, visits the sources of the Nile, and traverses the realm of Ethiopia. There he delivers King Senapo from a brood of Harpies, whom he pursues to the mouth of a cavern whence issues dense smoke. This is the entrance into Hell:

L'orecchie attente allo spiraglio tenne,

E l'aria ne sentì percossa e rotta

Da pianti e d'urli, e da lamento eterno;

Segno evidente quivi esser lo 'nferno.

The paladin's curiosity is roused, and he determines to advance:

Di che debbo temer, dicea, s'io v'entro?

Chè mi posso aiutar sempre col corno.

Farò fuggir Plutone e Satanasso,

E 'l can trifauce leverò dal passo.

This light-hearted reliance in a perfectly practical spirit upon his magic horn is wholly in keeping with Ariosto's genius. The terrible situation, the good sense of the adventurer, and the enchantment which protects him are so combined as to be prosaically natural. Astolfo gropes his way into the cavern and is immediately suffocated by dense smoke. In the midst of it above his head he sees a body hanging and swinging to and fro like a corpse on a gibbet. He cuts at this object with his sword, and wakes the melancholy voice of Lidia, who tells him that in the smoke are punished obdurate and faithless lovers. The tale of her falseness to Alceste is very beautiful, and shows great knowledge of the heart. But it leads to nothing in the action of the poem, and Astolfo goes out of Hell as he came in—except that the smoke has befouled both face and armor, and he has to scrub himself in a fountain before he can get clean again. Meanwhile Ariosto has parodied the opening of Dante's Inferno with its sublime:

Mi mise dentro alle segrete cose.

Lidia is the inversion of Francesca; for her sin was, not compliance with the impulses of nature, but unkindness to her lover. This travesty is wrought with no deliberate purpose, but by a mere caprice of fancy, to entertain his audience with a novel while he flouts the faiths and fears of a more earnest age. For Ariosto, the child of the Renaissance, there remained nothing to affirm or to deny about the future of the soul. The Inferno of the middle ages had become a plaything of romance. Astolfo now pursues his journey, looks in on Prester John, and scales the mountain of the Earthly Paradise. There he finds a palace wrought of precious stones, and in the vestibule an ancient man with venerable beard and snowy hair. This is no other than S. John the Evangelist, who hastens to feed the knight's horse with good corn, and sets before him a table spread with fruits which make the sin of Adam seem excusable:

Con accoglienza grata il cavaliero

Fu dai santi alloggiato in una stanza:

Fu provvisto in un'altra al suo destriero

Di buona biada, che gli fu abbastanza.

De' frutti a lui del paradiso diero,

Di tal sapor, ch'a suo giudicio, sanza

Scusa non sono i duo primi parenti,

Se per quei fur sì poco ubbidienti!

S. John, delighted with his courteous guest, discourses many things about Orlando, his lost wits, and the moon where they have been stored with other rubbish. At the close of their conversation, he remarks that it is a fine night for a journey to the moon; and orders out the fiery chariot which erewhile took Elijah up to heaven. It holds two passengers with comfort; and after a short voyage through the air, Astolfo and the Evangelist land upon the lunar shores. The stanzas which describe the valley of vain things and useless lumber lost to earth, are justly famous for their satire and their pathos.[12] There are found the presents made to kings in hope of rich reward, the flatteries of poets, shameful loves, the services of courtiers, the false beauties of women, and bottles filled with the lost sense of men. The list is long; nor was Milton unmindful of it when he wrote his lines upon the Paradise of Fools.[13] The passage illustrates certain qualities in Ariosto's imagination. He has no dread of the prosaic and the simple. Inexhaustibly various alike in thought, in rhythm, in imagery, and in melody of phrase, he yet keeps close to reality, and passes without modulation from seriousness to extravagant fun, returning again to the sadness of profound reflection. His poetry is like the picture of his own face—a large and handsome man with sleepy eyes and epicurean mouth, over whose broad forehead and open features, plowed by no wrinkles of old age or care, float subtle smiles and misty multitudes of thoughts half lost in dreams. Human life to Ariosto was a comedy such as Menander put upon the Attic stage; and the critic may ask of him, too, whether he or nature were the plagiarist.

Meanwhile S. John is waiting at Astolfo's elbow to point out the Fates, spinning their web of human destinies, and Time carrying the records of history to the river of oblivion. It is a sad picture, did not Ariosto enliven the most somber matter with his incorrigible humor. By the river bank of Lethe wait cormorants and swans. The former aid Time in his labor of destruction. The latter, who symbolize great poets, save chosen names from undeserved neglect. This leads to a discourse on the services rendered by writers to their patrons, which is marked by Ariosto's levity. He has just been penning praises for Ippolito.[14] Yet here he frankly confesses that the eulogies of poets are distortions of the truth, that history is a lie, and that the whole pageant of humanity conceals a sorry sham. S. John is even made to hint that his good place in Paradise is the guerdon of a panegyric written on his Master:

Gli scrittori amo, e fo il debito mio;

Ch'al vostro mondo fui scrittore anch'io:

E sopra tutti gli altri io feci acquisto

Che non mi può levar tempo nè morte;

E ben convenne al mio lodato Cristo

Rendermi guidardon di sì gran sorte.

The episode of Astolfo's journey to the moon abounds in satire upon human weakness in general. Another celebrated passage has satire of a more direct kind, and is, moreover, valuable for illustrating Ariosto's conduct of his poem. Paris is besieged by the assembled forces of the Saracens. The chief Paladins are absent, and Charlemagne, in his sore need addresses a prayer to Heaven.[15] It is just such a prayer as the Israelites offer up in Rossini's Mosè in Egitto—very resonant, very rhetorical, but without sincerity of feeling. Ariosto selects a number of decorous phrases redolent of Reniassance humanism, tolte agl'inimici stigi, al maggior tempio, gli occhi al ciel supini, and combines them with melodramatic effect. God accepts the Emperor's prayer, and sends Michael down to earth to find Discord and Silence, in order that the former may sow strife in the Saracen camp, and the latter lead re-enforcements into Paris. Michael starts upon his errand:

Dovunque drizza Michelangel l'ale,

Fuggon le nubi, e torna il ciel sereno;

Gli gira intorno un aureo cerchio, quale

Veggiam di notte lampeggiar baleno.

He flies straight to a monastery, expecting to find Silence there. The choir, the parlor, the dormitory, the refectory are searched. Wherever he goes, he sees Silenzio written up: but Silence cannot be found. Instead of him, Discord presents herself, and is recognized by her robe of many-colored fluttering ribbons, disheveled hair, and an armful of law-papers. Fraud, too, accosts the angel with a gentle face like Gabriel's when he said Ave! To Michael's question after Silence, Fraud replies: he used to live in convents and the cells of sages; but now he goes by night with thieves, false coiners and lovers, and you may find him in the houses of treason and homicide. Yet if you are very anxious to lay hands on him at once, haste to the haunt of Sleep. This cavern is described in stanzas that undoubtedly suggested Spenser's; but Ariosto has nothing so delicate as:

A trickling stream from high rock tumbling down,

And ever drizzling rain upon the loft,

Mixed with a murmuring wind much like the sown

Of swarming bees.

Instead, he paints in his peculiar style of realistic imagery, the corpulent form of Ease, Sloth that cannot walk and scarce can stand, Forgetfulness who bars the door to messengers, and Silence walking round the cave with slippers of felt. Silence, summoned by the archangel, sets forth to meet Rinaldo. Discord also quits the convent with her comrade Pride, leaving Fraud and Hypocrisy to keep their places warm till they return. But Discord does her work inadequately; and the cries of Rodomonte's victims rise to heaven. This rouses Michael from his slumber of beatitude. He blushes, plumes his pinions, and shoots down again to earth in search of Discord among the monks. He finds her sitting in a chapter convened for the election of officers, and makes her in a moment feel his presence:[16]

Le man le pose l'Angelo nel crine,

E pugna e calci le diè senza fine.

Indi le roppe un manico di croce

Per la testa, pel dosso e per le braccia.

Mercè grida la misera a gran voce,

E le ginocchia al divin nunzio abbraccia.

This is a good specimen both of Ariosto's peculiar levity and of the romantic style which in the most serious portion of his poem permitted such extravagance. The robust archangel tearing Discord's disheveled hair, kicking her, pounding her with his fists, breaking a cross upon her back, and sending her about her business with a bee in her bonnet, presents a picture of drollery which is exceedingly absurd. Nor is there any impropriety in the picture from the poet's point of view. Michael and the Evangelist are scarcely serious beings. They both form part of his machinery and help to make the action move.

Broad fun, untinctured by irony, seasons the Furioso—as when Astolfo creates a fleet by throwing leaves into the sea, and mounts his Ethiopian cavalry on horses made of stone, and catches the wind in a bladder; all of which burlesque miracles are told with that keen relish of their practical utility which formed an element of Ariosto's sprightliness.[17] Ruggiero's pleasure-trip on Rabicane; Orlando's achievement of spitting six fat Dutchmen like frogs upon one spear; the index to Astolfo's magic book; the conceit of the knights who jousted with the golden lance and ascribed its success to their own valor; Orlando's feats of prowess with the table in the robber's den; are other instances of Ariosto's lightheartedness, when he banters with his subject and takes his readers into confidence with his own sense of drollery.[18] The donkey race in armor between Marfisa and Zerbino for a cantankerous old hag, with its courteous ceremonies and chivalrous conclusion, might be cited as an example of more sustained humor.[19] And such, too, though in another region, is the novel of Jocondo.

Ariosto's irony, no less than his romantic method, deprived the Furioso of that sublimity which only belongs to works of greater seriousness and deeper conviction. Yet he sometimes touches the sublime by force of dramatic description or by pathetic intensity. The climax of Orlando's madness has commonly been cited as an instance of poetic grandeur. Yet I should be inclined to prefer the gathering of the storm of discord in Agramante's camp.[20] The whole of this elaborate scene, where the fiery characters and tempestuous passions of the Moslem chiefs, of Ruggiero, Rodomonte, Gradasso, Mandricardo, and Marfisa, are brought successively into play by impulses and motives natural to each and powerful to produce a clash of adverse claims and interests, is not only conceived and executed in a truly dramatic spirit, but is eminently important for the action of the poem. The thunder-clouds which had been mustering to break in ruin upon Christendom, rush together and spend their fury in mid air. Thus the moment is decisive, and nothing has been spared to dignify the passions that provoke the final crash. They go on accumulating in complexity, like a fugue of discords, till at last the hyperbole of this sonorous stanza that seems justified:[21]

Tremò Parigi, e turbidossi Senna

All'alta voce, a quell'orribil grido;

Rimbombò il suon fin alla selva Ardenna

Sì che lasciâr tutte le fiere il nido.

Udiron l'Alpi e il monte di Gebenna,

Di Blaia e d'Arli e di Roano il lido;

Rodano e Sonna udì, Garonna e il Reno:

Si strinsero le madri i figli al seno.

His pathos also has its own sublimity. Imogen stretched lifeless on the corpse of Cloten; the Duchess of Malfi telling Cariola to see that her daughter says her prayers; Bellario describing his own sacrifice as a mere piece of boyhood flung away—these are instances from our own drama, in which the pathetic is sublime. Ariosto's method is different, and the effect is more rhetorical. Yet he can produce passages of almost equal poignancy, prolonged situations of overmastering emotion, worthy to be set side by side with the Euripidean pictures of Polyxena, Alcestis, or Iphigenia.[22] The death of Zerbino; the death of Brandimarte with half of Fiordeligi's name upon his lips; the constancy of Isabella offering her neck to Rodomonte's sword; the anguish of Olimpia upon the desert island; are instances of sublime poetry wrung from pathos by the force of highly-wrought impassioned oratory. Zerbino is one of the most sympathetic creations of the poet's fancy. Of him Ariosto wrote the famous line:[23]

Natura il fece, e poi ruppe la stampa.

He is killed by the Tartar Mandricardo before his lady Isabella's eyes:[24]

A questo la mestissima Isabella,

Declinando la faccia lacrimosa,

E congiungendo la sua bocca a quella

Di Zerbin, languidetta, come rosa,

Rosa non colta in sua stagion, sì ch'ella

Impallidisca in su la siepe ombrosa,

Disse: Non vi pensate già, mia vita,

Far senza me quest'ultima partita.

With stanzas like this the poet cheats the sorrow he has stirred in us. Their imagery is too beautiful to admit of painful feeling while we read; and thus, though the passion of the scene is tragic, its anguish is brought by touches of pure art into harmony with the romantic tone of the whole poem. So also when Isabella, kneeling before Rodomonte's sword, like S. Catherine in Luini's fresco at Milan, has met her own death, Ariosto heals the wound he has inflicted on our sensibility by lines of exquisitely cadenced melody:[25]

Vattene in pace, alma beata e bella.

Così i miei versi avesson forza, come

Ben m'affaticherei con tutta quella

Arte che tanto il parlar orna e come,

Perchè mille e mill'anni, e più, novella

Sentisse il mondo del tuo chiaro nome.

Vattene in pace alla superna sede,

E lascia all'altre esempio di tua fede.

But it is in the situations, the elegiac lamentations, the unexpected vicissitudes, and the strong pictorial beauties of Olimpia's novel, that Ariosto strains his power over pathos to the utmost. Olimpia has lost her kingdom and spent her substance for her husband, Bireno. Orlando aids her in her sore distress, and frees Bireno from his prison. Bireno proves faithless, and deserts her on an island. She is taken by corsairs, exposed like Andromeda on a rock to a sea-monster, and is finally rescued by Orlando. Each of these touching incidents is developed with consummate skill; and the pathos reaches its height when Olimpia, who had risked all for her husband, wakes at dawn to find herself abandoned by him on a desolate sea-beach.[26] In this passage Ariosto comes into competition with two poets of a different stamp—with Catullus, who thus describes Ariadne:

Saxea ut effigies Bacchantis prospicit:

and with Fletcher, who makes Aspatia in the Maid's Tragedy dramatize the situation. Catullus in a single felicitous simile, Fletcher by the agony of passionate declamation, surpass Ariosto's detailed picture. The one is more restrained, the other more tragic. But Ariosto goes straight to our heart by the natural touch of Olimpia feeling for Bireno in the darkness, and by the suggestion of pallid moonlight and a shivering dawn. The numerous prosaic details with which he has charged his picture, add to its reality, and enhance the Euripidean quality we admire in it.

In the case of a poet whose imagination was invariably balanced by practical sound sense, the personal experience he acquired of the female sex could not fail to influence his delineation of women. He was not a man to cherish illusion or to romance in verse about perfection he had never found in fact. He did not place a Beatrice or Laura on the pedestal of his heart; nor was it till he reached the age of forty-seven, when the Furioso had lain for six years finished on his desk, that he married Alessandra Strozzi. His great poem, completed in 1515, must have been written under the influence of those more volatile amours he celebrated in his Latin verses. Therefore we are not surprised to find that the female characters of the Orlando illustrate his epistle on the choice of a wife.[27] His highest ideal of woman is presented to us in Bradamante, whose virtues are a loyal attachment to Ruggiero and a modest submission to the will of her parents. Yet even in Bradamante he has painted a virago from whom the more delicate humanity of Shakspere would have recoiled. The scene in which she quarrels with Marfisa about Ruggiero degrades her in our eyes, and makes us feel that such a termagant might prove a sorry wife.[28] It was almost impossible to combine true feminine qualities with the blood-thirst of an Amazon. Consequently when, just before her marriage, she snuffs the carnage of the Saracens from afar, and regrets that she must withhold her hand from "such rich spoil of slaughter in a spacious field," a painful sense of incongruity is left upon our mind.[29] Marfisa, who remains a warrior to the last, and who in her first girlhood had preserved her virginity by slaughtering a palace-full of Pagans,[30] is artistically justified as a romantic heroine. But Bradamante, destined to become a mother, gentle in her home affections, obedient to her father's wishes, tremulous in her attachment to Ruggiero, cannot with any propriety be compared to a leopard loosed from the leash upon defenseless gazelles.[31] Between the Amazonian virgin and the mother of a race of kings to be, the outline of her character wavers.

After the more finished portrait of Bradamante, we find in Isabella and Fiordeligi, the lovers of Zerbino and Brandimarte, Ariosto's purest types of feminine affection. The cardinal virtue of woman in his eyes was self-devotion—loyalty to the death, unhesitating sacrifice of wealth, ease, reputation, life, to the one object of passionate attachment. And this self-devotion he has painted in Olimpia no less romantically than in Isabella and Fiordeligi. Still it must be remembered that Isabella had eloped with Zerbino from her father's palace, that Fiordeligi was only a wife in name, and that Olimpia murdered her first husband and consoled herself very rapidly for Bireno's loss in the arms of Oberto. The poet has not cared to interweave with either portrait such threads of piety and purity as harmonize the self-abandonment of Juliet. Fiordespina's ready credence of the absurd story by which Ricciardetto persuades her that he is Bradamante metamorphosed by a water-fairy to a man, and her love longings, so frankly confessed, so unblushingly indulged, illustrate the passion Ariosto delighted to describe. He feels a tender sympathy for feminine frailty, and in more than one exquisitely written passage claims for women a similar license in love to that of men.[32] Indeed, he never judges a woman severely, unless she adds to her want of chastity the spitefulness of Gabrina or the treachery of Orrigille or the cupidity of Argia or the heartlessness of Angelica. Angelica, who in the Innamorato touches our feelings by her tenderness for Rinaldo, in the Furioso becomes a mere coquette, and is well punished by her insane passion for the first pretty fellow that takes her fancy. The common faults for which Ariosto taxes women are cupidity, infidelity, and fraud.[33] The indulgence due to them from men is almost cynically illustrated by the story of Adonio and the magic virtues of Merlin's goblet.[34] In the preface to the fifth canto he condemns the brutality of husbands, and in the tenth he recommends ladies to be free of their favors to none but middle-aged lovers.[35]

Ariosto's morality was clearly on a level with that of the novelists from Boccaccio to Bandello; and his apology is that he was not inferior to the standard of his age. Still it is not much to his credit to plead that his cantos are less impure than the Capitoli of Monsignore La Casa or the prurient comedies of Aretino. Even allowing for the laxity of Renaissance manners, it must be conceded that he combined vulgar emotions and a coarse-fibered nature with the most refined artistic genius.[36] Our Elizabethan drama, in spite of moral crudity, contains nothing so cynical as Ariosto's novel of Jocondo. The beauty of its style, the absence of tragedy in its situations or of passion in its characters, and the humorous smile with which the poet acts as showman to the secrets of the alcove, render this tale one of the most licentious in literature. Nor is this licentiousness balanced by any sublimer spiritual quality. His ideal of manliness is physical force and animal courage. Cruelty and bloodshed for the sake of slaughter stain his heroes.[37] The noblest conflict of emotion he portrays is the struggle between love and honor in Ruggiero,[38] and the contest of courtesy between Ruggiero and Leone.[39] In the few passages where he celebrates the chivalrous ideal, he dwells chiefly on the scorn of gain and the contempt for ease which characterized the errant knighthood.[40]

The style of the Furioso is said to have taught Galileo how to write Italian. This style won from him for Ariosto the title of divine. As the luminous and flowing octave stanzas pass before us, we are almost tempted to forget that they are products of deliberate art. The beauty of their form consists in its limpidity and naturalness. Ariosto has no mannerism. He always finds exactly the expression needed to give clearness to the object he presents. Whether the mood be elegiac or satiric, humorous or heroic, idyllic or rhetorical, this absolute sincerity and directness of language maintains him at an even level. In each case he has given the right, the best, the natural investiture to thought, and his phrases have the self-evidence of crystals. Just as he collected the materials of his poem from all sources, so he appropriated every word that seemed to serve his need. The vocabulary of Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, the racy terms of popular poetry, together with Latinisms and Lombardisms, were alike laid under contribution. Yet these diverse elements were so fused together and brought into a common toning by his taste that, though the language of his poem was new, it was at once accepted as classical. When we remember the difficulties which in his days beset Italian composition, when we call to mind the frigid experiments of Bembo in Tuscan diction, the meticulous proprieties of critics like Speron Speroni, and the warfare waged around the Gerusalemme Liberata, we know not whether to wonder at Ariosto's happy audacities in language or at their still happier success. His triumph was not won without severe labor. He spent ten years in the composition of the Furioso and sixteen in its polishing. The autograph at Ferrara shows page upon page of alteration, transposition, and refinement on the first draught, proving that the Homeric limpidity and ease we now admire, were gained by assiduous self-criticism. The result of this long toil is that there cannot be found a rough or languid or inharmonious passage in an epic of 50,000 lines. If we do not discern in Ariosto the inexhaustible freshness of Homer, the sublime music of Milton, the sculpturesque brevity of Dante, the purity of Petrarch, or the majestic sweetness of Virgilian cadences, it can fairly be said that no other poet is so varied. None mingles strength, sweetness, subtlety, rapidity, rhetoric, breadth of effect and delicacy of suggestion, in a harmony so perfect. None combines workmanship so artistic with a facility that precludes all weariness. Whether we read him simply to enjoy his story or to taste the most exquisite flavors of poetic diction, we shall be equally satisfied. Language in his hands is like a soft and yielding paste, which takes all forms beneath the molder's hand, and then, when it has hardened, stays for ever sharp in outline, glittering as adamant.

While following the romantic method of Boiardo and borrowing the polished numbers of Poliziano, Ariosto refined the stanzas of the former poet without losing rapidity, and avoided the stationary pomp of the latter without sacrificing richness. He thus effected a combination of the two chief currents of Italian versification, and brought the octave to its final perfection. When we study the passage which describes the entrance of Ruggiero into the island home of Alcina, we feel the advance in melody and movement that he made. We are reminded of the gardens of Morgana and Venus; but both are surpassed in their own qualities of beauty, while the fluidity that springs from complete command of the material, is added. Such touches as the following:[41]

Pensier canuto nè molto nè poco

Si può quivi albergare in alcun core:

are wholly beyond the scope of Boiardo's style. Again, this stanza, without the brocaded splendor of Poliziano, contains all that he derived from Claudian:[42]

Per le cime dei pini e degli allori,

Degli alti faggi e degli irsuti abeti,

Volan scherzando i pargoletti Amori;

Di lor vittorie altri godendo lieti,

Altri pigliando a saettare i cori

La mira quindi, altri tendendo reti:

Chi tempra dardi ad un ruscel più basso,

E chi gli aguzza ad un volubil sasso.

Raphael, Correggio and Titian have succeeded to Botticelli and Mantegna; and as those supreme painters fused the several excellences of their predecessors in a fully-developed work of art, so has Ariosto passed beyond his masters in the art of poetry. Nor was the process one of mere eclecticism. Intent upon similar aims, the final artists of the early sixteenth century brought the same profound sentiment for reality, the same firm grasp on truth, the same vivid imagination as their precursors to the task. But they possessed surer hands and a more accomplished method. They stood above their subject and surveyed it from the height of conscious power.

After the island of Alcina, it only remained for Tasso to produce novelty in his description of Armida's gardens by pushing one of Ariosto's qualities to exaggeration. The dolcezza, which in Tasso is too sugared, has in Ariosto the fine flavor of wild honeycombs. In the tropical magnificence of Tasso's stanzas there is a sultry stupor which the fresh sunlight of the Furioso never sheds. This wilding grace of the Ferrarese Homer is due to the lightness of his touch—to the blending of humorous with luxurious images in a style that passes swiftly over all it paints.[43] After a like fashion, the idyl of Angelica among the shepherds surpasses the celebrated episode of Erminia in the Gerusalemme. It is not that Tasso has not invented a new music and wrung a novel effect from the situation by the impassioned fervor of his sympathy and by the majestic languor of his cadences. But we feel that what Tasso relies on for his main effect, Ariosto had already suggested in combination with other and still subtler qualities. The one has the overpowering perfume of a hothouse jasmine; the other has the mingled scents of a garden where roses and carnations are in bloom.

Ariosto's pictorial faculty has already formed the topic of a paragraph, nor is it necessary to adduce instances of what determines the whole character of the Orlando Furioso. Otherwise it would be easy to form a gallery of portraits and landscapes; to compare the double treatment of Andromeda exposed to the sea monster in the tenth and eleventh cantos,[44] to set a pageant in the style of Mantegna by the side of a Correggiesque vignette,[45] or to enlarge upon the beauty of those magical Renaissance buildings which the poet dreamed of in the midst of verdant lawns and flowery wildernesses.[46] True to the spirit of Italian art, he had no strong sentiment for nature except in connection with humanity. Therefore we find but little of landscape-painting for its own sake and small sympathy with the wilder and uncultivated beauties of the world. His scenery recalls the backgrounds to Carpaccio's pictures or the idyllic gardens of the Giorgionesque school. Sometimes there is a magnificent drawing in the style of Titian's purple mountain ranges, and here and there we come upon minutely finished studies that imply deep feeling for the moods of nature. Of this sort is the description of autumn[47];

Tra il fin d'ottobre e il capo di novembre,

Nella stagion che la frondosa vesta

Vede levarsi, e discoprir le membre,

Trepida pianta, finchè nuda resta,

E van gli augelli a strette schiere insembre.

The illuminative force of his similes is quite extraordinary. He uses them not only as occasions for painting cabinet pictures of exquisite richness, but also for casting strong imaginative light upon the object under treatment. In the earlier part of the Furioso he describes two battles with a huge sea monster. The Orc is a kind of romantic whale, such as Piero di Cosimo painted in his tale of Andromeda; and Ruggiero has to fight it first, while riding on the Hippogriff. It is therefore necessary for Ariosto to image forth a battle between behemoth and a mighty bird. He does so by elaborately painting the more familiar struggles of an eagle who has caught a snake, and of a mastiff snapping at a fly.[48] At the same time he adds realistic touches like the following:

L'orca, che vede sotto le grandi ale

L'ombra di qua e di là correr su l'onda,

Lascia la preda certa littorale,

E quella vana segue furibonda.

Or, again, when Ruggiero is afraid of wetting his aërial courser's wings:

Che se lo sprazzo in tal modo ha a durare,

Teme sì l'ale innaffi all'Ippogrifo,

Che brami invano avere o zucca o schifo.

The mixture of imagery with prosaic detail brings the whole scene distinctly before our eyes. When Orlando engages the same monster, he is in a boat, and the conditions of the contest are altered. Accordingly we have a different set of similes. A cloud that fills a valley, rolling to and fro between the mountain sides, describes the movement of the Orc upon the waters; and when Orlando thrusts his anchor in between its jaws to keep them open, he is compared to miners propping up their galleries with beams in order that they may pursue their work in safety.[49] In this way we realize the formidable nature of the beast, and comprehend the stratagem that tames it to Orlando's will.

The same nice adaptation of images may be noticed in the similes showered on Rodomonte. The giant is alone inside the walls of Paris, and the poet is bound to make us feel that a whole city may have cause to tremble before a single man. Therefore he never leaves our fancy for a moment in repose. At one time it is a castle shaken by a storm; at another a lion retreating before the hunters; again, a tigress deprived of her cubs, or a bull that has broken from the baiting-pole, or the whelps of a lioness attacking a fierce young steer.[50] Image succeeds image with dazzling rapidity, all tending to render a strained situation possible.

Some of Ariosto's illustrations—like the plowman and the thunderbolt, the two dogs fighting, the powder magazine struck by lightning, the house on fire at night, the leaves of autumn, the pine that braves a tempest, the forest bending beneath mighty winds, the April avalanche of suddenly dissolving snow—though wrought with energy and spirit, have not more than the usual excellences of carefully developed Homeric imitation.[51] Framed in single octave stanzas, they are pictures for the mind to rest on. Others illuminate the matter they are used to illustrate, with the radiance of subtle and remote fancy. Of this sort is the brief image by which the Paladins in Charlemagne's army are likened to jewels in a cloth of gold:[52]

Ed hanno i paladin sparsi tra loro,

Come le gemme in un ricamo d'oro.

A common metaphor takes new beauty by its handling in this simile[53];

Pallido come colto al mattutino

E da sera il ligustro o il molle acanto.

Homer had compared the wound of Menelaus to ivory stained by a Mæonian woman with crimson.[54] Ariosto refines on this conceit:[55]

Così talora un bel purpureo nastro

Ho veduto partir tela d'argento

Da quella bianca man più ch'alabastro.

Da cui partire il cor spesso mi sento.

Both Homer and Virgil likened their dying heroes to flowers cut down by the tempest or the plow. The following passage will bear comparison even with the death of Euphorbus:[56]

Come purpureo fior languendo muore,

Che 'l vomere al passar tagliato lassa,

O come carco di superchio umore

Il papaver nell'orto il capo abbassa:

Così, giù della faccia ogni colore

Cadendo, Dardinel di vita passa;

Passa di vita, e fa passar con lui

L'ardire e la virtù di tutti i sui.

One more example may be chosen where Ariosto has borrowed nothing from any model. He uses the perfume that clings to the hair or dress of youth or maiden, as a metaphor for the aroma of noble ancestry:[57]

L'odor ch'è sparso in ben notrita e bella

O chioma o barba o delicata vesta

Di giovene leggiadro o di donzella,

Ch'amor sovente sospirando desta;

Se spira, e fa sentir di sè novella,

E dopo molti giorni ancora resta,

Mostra con chiaro ed evidente effetto,

Come a principio buono era e perfetto.

The unique importance of Ariosto in the history of Renaissance poetry justifies a lengthy examination of his masterpiece. In him the chief artistic forces of the age were so combined that he remains its best interpreter. Painting, the cardinal art of Italy, determined his method; and the tide of his narrative carried with it the idyl, the elegy, and the novella. In these forms the genius of the Renaissance found fittest literary expression; for the epic and the drama lay beyond the scope of the Italians at this period. The defect of deep passion and serious thought, the absence of enthusiasm, combined with rare analytic powers and an acute insight into human nature, placed Ariosto in close relation to his age. Free from illusions, struggling after no high-set ideal, accepting the world as he found it, without the impulse to affirm or to deny, without hate, scorn, indignation or revolt, he represented the spirit of the sixteenth century in those qualities which were the source of moral and political decay to the Italians. But he also embodied the strong points of his epoch—especially that sustained pursuit of beauty in form, that width of intellectual sympathy, that urbanity of tone and delicacy of perception, which rendered Italy the mistress of the arts, the propagator of culture for the rest of Europe.

CHAPTER X.

THE NOVELLIERI.

Boccaccio's Legacy—Social Conditions of Literature in Italy—Importance of the Novella—Definition of the Novella—Method of the Novelists—Their Style—Materials used—Large Numbers of Novelle in Print—Lombard and Tuscan Species—Introductions to Il Lasca's Cene, Parabosco's Diporti—Bandello's Dedications—Life of Bandello—His Moral Attitude—Bandello as an Artist—Comparison of Bandello and Fletcher—The Tale of Gerardo and Elena—Romeo and Juliet—The Tale of Nicuola—The Countess of Salisbury—Bandello's Apology for his Morals and his Style—Il Lasca—Mixture of Cruelty and Lust—Extravagant Situations—Treatment of the Parisina Motive—The Florentine Burla—Apology for Il Lasca's Repulsiveness—Firenzuola—His Life—His Satires on the Clergy—His Dialogue on Beauty—Novelettes and Poems—Doni's Career—His Bizarre Humor—Bohemian Life at Venice—The Pellegrini—His Novelle—Miscellaneous Works—The Marmi—The Novelists of Siena—Their specific Character—Sermini—Fortini—Bargagli's Description of the Siege of Siena—Illicini's Novel of Angelica—The Proverbi of Cornazano—The Notti Piacevoli of Straparola—The Novel of Belphegor—Straparola and Machiavelli—Giraldi Cinthio's Hecatommithi—Description of the Sack of Rome—Plan of the Collection—The Legend of the Borgias—Comparison of Italian Novels and English Plays.

OF Boccaccio's legacy the most considerable portion, and the one that bore the richest fruit, was the Decameron. During the sixteenth century the Novella, as he shaped it, continued to be a popular and widely practiced form of literature. In Italy the keynote of the Renaissance was struck by the Novella, as in England by the Drama. Nor is this predominance of what must be reckoned a subordinate branch of fiction, altogether singular; for the Novella was in a special sense adapted to the public which during the Age of the Despots grew up in Italy. Since the fourteenth century the conditions of social life had undergone a thorough revolution. Under the influence of dynastic rulers stationed in great cities, merchants and manufacturers were confounded with the old nobility; and in commonwealths like Florence the bourgeoisie gave their tone to society. At the same time the community thus formed was separated from the people by the bar of humanistic culture. Literature felt this social transformation. Its products were shaped to suit the taste of the middle classes, and at the same time to amuse the leisure of the aristocracy. The Novella was the natural outcome of these circumstances. Its qualities and its defects alike betray the ascendency of the bourgeois element.

When a whole nation is addressed in drama or epic, it is necessary for the poet to strike a lofty and noble note. He appeals to collective humanity, and there is no room for aught that savors of the trivial and base. Homer and Sophocles, Dante and Shakspere, owed their grandeur in no slight measure to the audience for whom they labored. The case is altered when a nation comes to be divided into orders, each of which has its own peculiar virtues and its own besetting sins. Limitations are of necessity introduced and deflections from the canon of universality are welcomed. If the poet, for example, writes for the lowest classes of society, he can afford to be coarse, but he must be natural. An aristocracy, taken by itself, is apt, on the contrary, to demand from literature the refinements of fashionable vice and the subtleties of artificial sentiment. Under such influence we obtain the Arthurian legends of the later middle ages, which contrast unfavorably, in all points of simplicity and directness, with the earlier Niebelungen and Carolingian Cycles. The middle classes, for their part, delight in pictures of daily life, presented with realism, and flavored with satire that touches on the points of their experience. Literature produced to please the bourgeois, must be sensible and positive; and its success will greatly depend upon the piquancy of its appeal to ordinary unidealized appetites. The Italians lacked such means of addressing the aggregated masses of the nation as the panhellenic festivals of Greece afforded. The public, which gave its scale of grandeur and sincerity to the Attic and Elizabethan drama, was wanting. The literature of the cinque cento, though it owed much to the justice of perception and simple taste of the true people, was composed for the most part by men of middle rank for the amusement of citizens and nobles. It partook of those qualities which characterise the upper and middle classes. It was deficient in the breadth, the magnitude, the purity, which an audience composed of the whole nation can alone communicate. We find it cynical, satirical, ingenious in sly appeals to appetite, and oftentimes superfluously naughty. Above all it was emphatically the literature of a society confined to cities.

It may be difficult to decide what special quality of the Italian temperament was satisfied with the Novella. Yet the fact remains that this species of composition largely governed their production, not only in the field of narrative, but also in the associated region of poetry and in the plastic arts. So powerful was the attraction it possessed, that even the legends of the saints assumed this character. A notable portion of the Sacre Rappresentazioni were dramatized Novelle. The romantic poets interwove Novelle with their main theme, and the charm of the Orlando Furioso is due in no small measure to such episodes. Popular poems of the type represented by Ginevra degli Almieri were versified Novelle. Celebrated trials, like that of the Countess of Cellant, Vittoria Accoramboni, or the Cenci, were offered to the people in the form of Novelle. The humanists—Pontano, Poggio, Æneas Sylvius—wrote Novelle in Latin. The best serial pictures of the secondary painters—whether we select Benozzo Gozzoli's legend of S. Augustine at San Gemignano, or Carpaccio's legend of S. Ursula at Venice, or Sodoma's legend of S. Benedict at Monte Oliveto, or Lippo Lippi's legend of S. John at Prato—are executed in the spirit of the novelists. They are Novelle painted in their salient incidents for the laity to study on the walls of church and oratory.

The term Novella requires definition, lest the thing in question should be confounded with our modern novel. Although they bear the same name, these species have less in common than might be supposed. Both, indeed, are narratives; but while the novel is a history extending over a considerable space of time, embracing a complicated tissue of events, and necessitating a study of character, the Novella is invariably brief and sketchy. It does not aim at presenting a detailed picture of human life within certain artistically chosen limitations, but confines itself to a striking situation, or tells an anecdote illustrative of some moral quality. This is shown by the headings of the sections into which Italian Novellieri divided their collections. We read such rubrics as the following: "On the magnanimity of princes"; "Concerning those who have been fortunate in love"; "Of sudden changes from prosperity to evil fortune"; "The guiles of women practiced on their husbands." A theme is proposed, and the Novelle are intended to exemplify it. The Novelle were descended in a direct line from the anecdotes embedded in medieval Treasuries, Bestiaries, and similar collections. The novel, on the other hand, as Cervantes, Richardson, and Fielding formed it for the modern nations, is an expansion and prose digest of the drama. It implies the drama as a previous condition of its being, and flourishes among races gifted with the dramatic faculty.

Furthermore, the Novelle were composed for the amusement of mixed companies, who met together and passed their time in conversation. All the Novellieri pretend that their stories were originally recited and then written down, nor is there the least doubt that in a large majority of cases they were really read aloud or improvised upon occasions similar to those invented by their authors. These circumstances determined the length and ruled the mechanism of the Novella. It was impossible within the short space of a spoken tale to attempt any minute analysis of character, or to weave the meshes of a complicated plot. The narrator went straight to his object, which was to arrest the attention, stimulate the curiosity, gratify the sensual instincts, excite the laughter, or stir the tender emotions of his audience by some fantastic, extraordinary, voluptuous, comic, or pathetic incident. He sketched his personages with a few swift touches, set forth their circumstances with pungent brevity, and expended his force upon the painting of the central motive. Sometimes he contented himself with a bare narrative, leaving its details to the fancy. Many Novelle are the mere skeletons of stories, short notes, and epitomes of tales. At another time he indulged in descriptive passages of great verbal beauty, when it was his purpose to delight the ideal audience with pictures, or to arouse their sympathy for his characters in a situation of peculiar vividness. Or he introduced digressions upon moral themes suggested by the passion of the moment, discoursing with the easy flow of one who raises points of casuistry in a drawing-room. Again, he heightened the effects of his anecdote by elaborate rhetorical development of the main emotions, placing carefully-studied speeches into the mouth of heroine or hero, and using every artifice for appealing directly to the feelings of his hearers. Thus, while the several Novellieri pursue different methods at different times according to their purpose, their styles are all determined by the fact that recitation was essential to the species. All of them, moreover, have a common object in amusement. Though the Novellieri profess to teach morality by precept, and though some of them prefix prayers to their most impudent debauches of the fancy,[58] it is clear that entertainment was their one sole end in view. For their success they relied on the novelty and strangeness of their incidents; on obscenity, sometimes veiled beneath the innuendoes and suggestive metaphors of Italian convention, but more often unabashed and naked to the view; on startling horrors, acts of insane passion, or the ingenuities of diabolical cruelty. The humor of beffe and burle, jests played by rogues on simpletons, practical jokes, and the various devices whereby wives and lovers fooled confiding husbands, supplied abundant material for relieving the more tragic stories. Lastly, the wide realm of pathos, the spectacle of beauty in distress, young lovers overwhelmed by undeserved calamity, sudden reverses of fortune, and accidents of travel upon land and sea, provided the narrator with plentiful matter for working on the sympathy of his readers. Of moral purpose in any strict sense of the phrase the Novelle have none. This does not mean that they are invariably immoral; on the contrary, the theme of a considerable number is such that the tale can be agreeably told without violence to the most sensitive taste. But the novelist had no ethical intention; therefore he brought every motive into use that might amuse or stimulate, with business-like indifference. He felt no qualm of conscience at provoking the cruder animal instincts, at dragging the sanctities of domestic life in the mire of his buffoonery, or at playing on the appetite for monstrous vice, the thirst for abnormal sensations, in his audience. So long as he could excite attention, he was satisfied. We cannot but wonder at the customs of a society which derived its entertainment from these tales, when we know that noble ladies listened to them without blushing, and that bishops composed them as a graceful compliment to the daughter of a reigning duke.[59]

In style the Novelle are, as might be expected, very unequal. Everybody tried his hand at them: some wrote sparkling Tuscan, others a dense Lombard dialect; some were witty, others dull. Yet all affected to be following Boccaccio. His artificial periods and rhetorical amplifications, ill-managed by men of imperfect literary training, who could not free themselves from local jargons, produced an awkward mixture of discordant faults. Yet the public expected little from the novelist in diction. What they required was movement, stimulus, excitement of their passions. So long as the tale-maker kept curiosity awake, it was a matter of comparative indifference what sort of words he used. The Novella was a literary no-man's-land, where the critic exercised a feeble sway, and amateurs or artists did what each found suited to his powers. It held its ground under conditions similar to those which determined the supply of plays among us in the seventeenth century, or of magazine novels in this.

In their material the Novelle embraced the whole of Italian society, furnishing pictures of its life and manners from the palaces of princes to the cottages of contadini. Every class is represented—the man of books, the soldier, the parish priest, the cardinal, the counter-jumper, the confessor, the peasant, the duke, the merchant, the noble lady, the village maiden, the serving-man, the artisan, the actor, the beggar, the courtesan, the cut-throat, the astrologer, the lawyer, the physician, the midwife, the thief, the preacher, the nun, the pander, the fop, the witch, the saint, the galley-slave, the friar—they move before us in a motley multitude like the masquerade figures of carnival time, jostling each other in a whirl of merriment and passion, mixing together in the frank democracy of vice. Though these pictures of life are brightly colored and various beyond description, they are superficial. It is only the surface of existence that the Novelliere touches. He leaves its depths unanalyzed, except when he plunges a sinister glance into some horrible abyss of cruelty or lust, or, stirred by gentler feeling, paints an innocent unhappy youthful love. The student of contemporary Italian customs will glean abundant information from these pages; the student of human nature gathers little except reflections on the morals of sixteenth-century society. It was perhaps this prodigal superfluity of striking incident, in combination with poverty of intellectual content, which made the Novelle so precious to our playwrights. The tales of Cinthio and Bandello supplied them with the outlines of tragedies, leaving the poet free to exercise his analytic and imaginative powers upon the creation of character and the elaboration of motive. But that in spite of all their faults, the Novelle fascinate the fancy and stimulate the mental energies, will be admitted by all who have made them the subject of careful study.

To render an adequate account of the Novellieri and their works is very difficult.[60] The printing-press poured novels forth in every town in Italy, and authors of all districts vied with one another in their composition. At Florence Firenzuola penned stories with the golden fluency and dazzling wealth of phrase peculiar to him. Il Lasca's Cene rank among the most considerable literary products of the age. At Florence again, Machiavelli wrote Belphegor, and Scipione Bargagli printed his Trattenimenti. Gentile Sermini, Pietro Fortini and Giustiniano Nelli were the novelists of Siena; Masuccio and Antonio Mariconda, of Naples. At Rome the Modenese Francesco Maria Molza rivaled the purity of Tuscan in his Decamerone. But it was chiefly in the North of Italy that novelists abounded. Giraldi's hundred tales, entitled Hecatommithi, issued from Ferrara. They were heavy in style, and prosaic; yet their matter made them widely popular. Sabadino wrote his Porretane at Bologna, and Francesco Straparola of Caravaggio published his Tredici piacevoli Notti at Venice. There also appeared the Diporti of Girolamo Parabosco, the Sei Giornate of Sebastiano Erizzo, Celio Malespini's Ducento Novelle, and the Proverbi of Antonio Cornazano. Cademosto of Lodi, Monsignor Brevio of Venice, Ascanio de' Mori of Mantua, Luigi da Porto of Vicenza, and, last not least, the illustrious Matteo Bandello, proved how rich in this species of literature were the northern provinces. The Lombards displayed a special faculty for tales in which romance predominated. Venice, notorious for her pleasure-marts of luxury, became the emporium of publications which supplied her courtesans and rufflers with appropriate mental food. The Tuscans showed more comic humor, and, of course, a purer style. But in point of matter, intellectual and moral, there is not much to choose between the works of Florentine and Lombard authors.

Following the precedent of Boccaccio, it was usual for the Novellieri to invent a framework for their stories, making it appear that a polite society of men and women (called in Italy a lieta brigata) had by some chance accident been thrown upon their own resources in circumstances of piquant novelty. One of the party suggests that they should spend their time in telling tales, and a captain is chosen who sets the theme and determines the order of the story-tellers. These introductions are not unfrequently the most carefully written portion of the collection, and abound in charming sketches of Italian life. Thus Il Lasca at the opening of Le Cene feigns that a company of young men and women went in winter time to visit at a friend's house in Florence. It was snowing, and the youths amused themselves by a snow-ball match in the inner courtyard of the palace. The ladies watched them from a loggia, till it came into their heads to join the game. Snow was brought them from the roofs, and they began to pelt the young men from their balcony.[61] The fire was returned; and when the brigata had enough of this fun, they entered the house together, dried their clothes, and, sitting round a blazing hearth, formed a plan for telling stories at supper. Girolamo Parabosco places the scene of his Diporti on the Venetian lagoons. A party of gentlemen have left the city to live in huts of wood and straw upon the islands, with the intention of fowling and fishing. The weather proves too bad for sport, and they while away the hours of idleness with anecdotes. Bandello follows a different method, which had been suggested by Masuccio. He dedicates his Novelle to the distinguished people of his acquaintance, in prefaces not devoid of flattery, but highly interesting to a student of those times. Princes, poets, warriors, men of state, illustrious women, and humanists pass before us in these dedications, proving that polite society in Italy, the society of the learned and the noble, was a republic of wit and culture. Alessandro Bentivoglio and Ippolita Sforza, the leaders of fashion and Bandello's special patrons, take the first rank.[62] Then we have the Gonzaga family of Mantua, Lancinus Curtius, Aldus Manutius, Machiavelli, Molsa, Guicciardini, Castiglione, the Duchess of Urbino, Giovanni de' Medici, Julius Cæsar Scaliger, Bernardo Tasso, Prospero Colonna, Julius II., Porcellio, Pontano, Berni, the Milanese Visconti, the Neapolitan Sanseverini, the Adorni of Genoa, the Foscari of Venice, the Estensi of Ferrara. Either directly addressed in prefaces or mentioned with familiar allusion in the course of the narratives, these historic names remind us that the author lived at the center of civilization, and that his Novelle were intended for the entertainment of the great world. What Castiglione presents abstractedly and in theory as a critique of noble society, is set before us by Bandello in the concrete form of every-day occurrence. Nor does the author forget that he is speaking to this company. His words are framed to suit their prejudices; his allusions have reference to their sentiments and predilections. The whole work of art breathes the air of good manners and is tuned to a certain pitch-note of fashionable tone. We may be astounded that ladies and gentlemen of the highest birth and breeding could tolerate the licenses of language and suggestion furnished by Bandello for their delectation. We may draw conclusions as to their corruption and essential coarseness in the midst of refined living and external gallantries[63]. Yet the fact remains that these Novelle were a customary adjunct to the courtly pleasures of the sixteenth century; and it was only through the printing-press that they passed into the taverns and the brothels, where perhaps they found their fittest audience.

Matteo Bandello was a member of the petty Lombard nobility, born at Castelnuovo in Tortona. His uncle was General of the Dominicans, and this circumstance determined Matteo's career. After spending some years of his youth at Rome, he entered the order of the Predicatori in the Convent delle Grazie at Milan. He was not, however, destined to the seclusion of a convent; for he attended his uncle, in the character apparently of a companion or familiar secretary, when the General visited the chief Dominican establishments of Italy, Spain, France and Germany. A considerable portion of Bandello's manhood was passed at Mantua, where he became the tutor and the platonic lover of Lucrezia Gonzaga. Before the date 1525, when French and Spaniards contested the Duchy of Milan, he had already formed a collection of Novelle in manuscript—the fruits of all that he had heard and seen upon his frequent travels. These were dispersed when the Spaniards entered Milan and pillaged the house of the Bandello family.[64] Matteo, after numerous adventures as an exile, succeeded in recovering a portion of his papers, and retired with Cesare Fregoso to the Court of France. He now set himself seriously to the task of preparing his Novelle for the press; nor was this occupation interrupted by the duties of the see of Agen, conferred upon him in 1550 by Henry II. The new bishop allowed his colleague of Grasse to administer the see, drawing enough of its emoluments for his private needs, and attending till his death, about the year 1560, to study and composition.

Bandello's life was itself a novella. The scion of a noble house, early dedicated to the order of S. Dominic, but with the General of that order for his uncle, he enjoyed rare opportunities of studying men and manners in all parts of Europe. His good abilities and active mind enabled him to master the essentials of scholarship, and introduced him as tutor to one of the most fascinating learned women of his age. These privileges he put to use by carrying on a courtly flirtation with his interesting pupil, at the same time that he penned his celebrated novels. The disasters of the Milanese Duchy deprived him of his literary collections and probably injured his fortune. But he found advancement on a foreign soil, and died a bishop at the moment when Europe was ringing with the scandals of his too licentious tales. These tales furnished the Reformers with a weapon in their war against the Church; nor would it have been easy to devise one better to their purpose. Even now it moves astonishment to think that a monk should have written, and a bishop should have published, the facetiæ with which Bandello's books are filled.

Bandello paints a society in dissolution, bound together by no monarchical or feudal principles, without patriotism, without piety, united by none of the common spiritual enthusiasms that make a people powerful. The word honor is on everybody's lips; but the thing is nowhere: and when the story-teller seeks to present its ideal image to his audience, he proves by the absurdity of his exaggeration that he has no clear conception of its meaning.[65] The virtues which inspired an earlier and less corrupt civility, have become occasions for insipid rhetoric. The vice that formerly stirred indignation, is now the subject of mirth. There is no satire, because there is no moral sense. Bandello's revelations of clerical and monastic immorality supplied the enemies of Rome with a full brief; but it is obvious that Bandello and his audience regarded the monstrous tale of profligacy with amusement. His frankness upon the very eve of the Council of Trent has something at once cynical and sinister. It makes us feel that the hypocrisy engendered by the German Reformation, the si non caste tamen caute of the new ecclesiastical régime, was the last resort of a system so debased that vital regeneration had become impossible. This does not necessarily mean that the Italian Church had no worthy ministers in the sixteenth century. But when her dealing with the people ended in a humorous acceptance of such sin, we perceive that the rottenness had reached the core. To present the details of Bandello's clerical stories would be impossible in pages meant for modern readers. It is enough to say that he spares no rank or order of the Roman priesthood. The prelate, the parish curate, the abbot and the prioress, the monk and nun, are made the subject of impartial ribaldry.[66] The secrets of convents abandoned to debauchery are revealed with good-humored candor, as though the scandal was too common to need special comment.[67] Sometimes Bandello extracts comedy from the contrast between the hypocritical pretensions of his clerical ruffians and their lawless conduct, as in the story of the priest who for his own ends persuaded his parishioners that the village was haunted by a griffin.[68] Sometimes he succeeds in drawing a satirical portrait, like that of the Franciscan friar who domesticated himself as chaplain in the castle of a noble Norman family.[69] But the majority of these tales are simply obscene, with no point but a coarse picture or a shockingly painful climax.[70]

The same judgment may be passed upon a large portion of the Novelle which deal with secular characters. They are indecent anecdotes, and do not illustrate any specific quality in the author or in the temper of his times.[71] The seasoning of horror only serves to render their licentiousness more loathsome. As Bandello lacked the indignation of Masuccio, so he failed to touch Masuccio's tragic chord. When he attempted it, as in the ghastly story of Violante, who revenged herself upon a faithless lover by tearing him to pieces with pincers, or in the disgusting novel of Pandora, or again in the tale of the husband who forced his wife to strangle her lover with her own hands, he only rouses physical repulsion.[72] He makes our flesh creep, and produces literature analogous to that of the Police Times. Nor does he succeed better with subjects that require the handling of a profound psychologist. His Rosmunda and Tarquin, his Faustina and Seleucus, leave an impression of failure through defect of imaginative force[73]; while the incestuous theme of one tale, treated as it is with frigid levity, can claim no justification on the score of dramatic handling or high-wrought spiritual agony.[74]

It was not in this region of tragic terror that Bandello's genius moved with freedom. In describing the luxury of Milan or the manners of the Venetian courtesans, in bringing before us scenes from the demi-monde of Rome or painting the life of a grisette, he shows acute knowledge of society, studied under its more superficial aspects, and produces pictures that are valuable for the antiquarian.[75] The same merit of freshness belongs to many minor anecdotes, like the romance of the girl who drowned herself in the Oglio to save her honor, or the pretty episode of Costantino Boccali who swam the Adige in winter at a thoughtless lady's behest.[76] Yet in Bandello's versions of contemporary histories which taxed the imaginative powers or demanded deeper insight into human passions, we miss the true dramatic ring. It was only when it fell into the hands of Webster, that his dull narrative of the Duchess of Amalfi revealed its capacities for artistic treatment.[77] Nor is the story of the Countess of Cellant, though full of striking details, so presented as to leave the impression of tragedy upon our minds.[78] We only feel what Webster, dealing with it as he dealt with Vittoria Corombona's crime, might have made out of this poor material.

It may be asked, if this is all, why any one should take the pains to read through the two hundred and fourteen Novelle of Bandello, and, having done so, should think it worth his while to write about them. Ought they not rather to be left among the things the world would willingly let die? The answer to this question is twofold. In the first place they fairly represent the whole class of novels which were produced so abundantly in Italy that the historian of Renaissance literature cannot pass them by in silence. Secondly, Bandello at his best is a great artist in the story-teller's craft. The conditions under which he displayed his powers to true advantage, require some definition. Once only did he successfully handle a really comic situation. That was in his tale of the monkey who dressed himself up in a dead woman's clothes, and frightened her family when they returned from the funeral, by mimicking her movement.[79] He was never truly tragic. But in the intermediate region between tragedy and comedy, where situations of romantic beauty offer themselves to the sympathetic imagination—in that realm of pathos and adventure, where pictures of eventful living can be painted, and the conflicts of tender emotion have to be described, Bandello proved himself a master. It would make the orthodox Italian critics shudder in their graves to hear that he had been compared to Ariosto. Yet a foreigner, gifted with obtuser sensibility to the refinements of Italian diction, may venture the remark that Bandello was a kind of prose Ariosto—in the same sense as Heywood seemed a prose Shakspere to Charles Lamb. Judged by the high standard of Athenian or Elizabethan art, neither Ariosto nor Bandello was a first-rate dramatist. But both commanded the material of which romantic tragedies can be constructed. Bandello's best Novelle abound in the situations which delighted our playwrights of the Jacobean age—in the thrilling incidents and scenes of high-wrought passion we are wont to deem the special property of Fletcher. He puts them before us with a force of realistic coloring, and develops them with a warmth of feeling, that leave no doubt of his artistic skill. Composition and style may fail him, but his sympathy with the poetic situation, and his power to express it are unmistakable. In support of this opinion I might point to his vigorous but repulsive presentation of Parisina's legend, where the gradual yielding of a sensitive young man to the seductions of a sensual woman, is painted with touches of terrible veracity.[80] Or the tale of the Venetian lovers might be chosen.[81] Gerardo and Elena were secretly married; but in his absence on a voyage, she was plighted by her father to another husband. Before the consummation of this second marriage, Elena fell through misery into a death-like trance, and was taken by her kindred to be buried at Castello on the shores of the lagoons. At the moment when the funeral procession was crossing the waters by the light of many torches, the ship of Gerardo cast anchor in the port of Venice, and the young man heard that his wife was dead. Attended by a single friend, he went under cover of the night to where she had been laid in a sarcophagus outside the church. This he opened, and, frantic between grief and joy, bore the corpse of his beloved to his boat. He kissed her lips, and laid himself beside her lifeless body, wildly refusing to listen to his friend's expostulations. Then while the gondola rocked on the waves of the lagoons and the sea-wind freshened before daybreak, Elena awoke. It is needless to add that the story ends in happiness. This brief sketch conveys no notion of the picturesque beauty of the incidents described, or of the intimate acquaintance with Venetian customs displayed in the Novella. To one who knows Venice, it is full of delicate suggestions, and the reader illuminates the margin with illustrations in the manner of Carpaccio.

There is a point of Romeo and Juliet in the tale of Gerardo and Elena. Bandello's own treatment of the Veronese romance deserves comparison with Shakspere's.[82] The evolution of the tragedy is nearly the same in all its leading incidents; for we hear of Romeo's earlier love, and the friar who dealt in simples is there, and so are the nurse and apothecary. Bandello has anticipated Shakspere even in Juliet's soliloquy before she drinks the potion, when the dreadful thought occurs to her that she may wake too soon, and find herself alone among the dry bones of her ancestors, with Tybalt festering in his shroud. But the prose version exhibits one motive which Shakspere missed. When Romeo opens the tomb, he rouses Juliet from her slumber, and in his joy forgets that he has drunk the poison. For a while the lovers are in paradise together in that region of the dead; and it is only when the chill of coming death assails him, that Romeo remembers what he has done. He dies, and Juliet stabs herself with his sword. Had Shakspere chosen to develop this catastrophe, instead of making Romeo perish before the waking of Juliet, he might have wrought the most pathetically tragic scene in poetry. Reading the climax in Bandello, where it is overpoweringly affecting, we feel what we have lost.

Another Novella which provokes comparison with our dramatic literature—with the Twelfth Night or with Fletcher's Philaster—is the tale of Nicuola.[83] She and her brother Paolo were twins, so like in height and form and feature that it was difficult even for friends to know them apart. They were living with their father at Rome, when the siege of 1527 dispersed the family. Paolo was taken prisoner by Spaniards, and Nicuola went to dwell at Jesi. The Novella goes on to relate how she fell in love with a nobleman of Jesi, and entering his service disguised as a page, was sent by him to woo the lady of his heart; and how this lady loved her in her page's dress. Then her brother, Paolo, returned, attired like her in white, and recognitions were made, and both couples, Paolo and the lady, Nicuola and the nobleman, were happily married in the end. It will be seen that these situations, involving confusions of identity and sex, unexpected discoveries, and cross-play of passions, offered opportunities for rhetorical and picturesque development in the style of a modern Euripides; nor did Bandello fail to utilize them.

Of a higher type is the Novella which narrates the love of Edward III. for the virtuous Alice of Salisbury.[84] Here the interest centers in four characters—the King, Alice, and her father and mother, the Earl and Countess of Salisbury. There is no action beyond the conflict of motives and emotions caused by Edward's passion, and its successive phases. But that conflict is so vigorously presented that attention never flags; and, though the tale is long, we are drawn without weariness by finely-modulated transitions to the point where a felicitous catastrophe is not only natural but necessary. What is at first a mere desire in Edward, passes through graduated moods of confident, despairing, soul-absorbing love. The ordinary artifices of a seducer are replaced by the powerful compulsion of a monarch, who strives to corrupt the daughter by working on her father's ambition and her mother's weakness. Thwarted by the girl's constancy at every turn, he sinks into love-melancholy, then rouses himself with the furious resolve to attempt force, and lastly, yielding to his nobler nature, offers his crown to Alice. These several moments in the King's passion are exhibited with a descriptive wealth and exuberance of resource that remind us forcibly of our own stage. The contrasts between the girl's invincible honor and her lover's ungovernable impulse, between her firmness and her mother's feebler nature, and again between the sovereign's overbearing willfulness and the Earl's stubborn but respectful resistance, suggest a series of high-wrought situations, which only need to be versified and divided into acts to make a drama. Fletcher himself might have proudly owned the scene in which Edward discovers his love to the Earl, begs him to plead with his daughter, and has to hear his reproaches, so courteously and yet unflinchingly expressed. What follows is equally dramatic. The Earl explains to Alice his own ideal of honor; still he fairly sets before her the King's lawless offer, and then receives the assurance of her unconquerable chastity. Her mother, moved to feebler issues by the same pressure, attempts to break her daughter's resolve, and at last extorts a reluctant consent by her own physical agony. Finally, the girl, when left alone with her royal lover, demands from him or death or honor, and wins her cause by the nobility of her carriage in this hour of trial. The whole Novella in its choice of motives, method of treatment, and ethical tone, challenges comparison with Beaumont and Fletcher's serious plays. Nor is the style unlike theirs; for the situations are worked out in copious and colored language, hasty and diffuse, but charged and surcharged with the passion of the thing to be portrayed. Bandello, like Fletcher, strikes out images at every turn, enlarges in rhetorical digressions, and pours forth floods of voluble eloquence.[85] The morality, though romantic, is above his usual level; for while he paints a dissolute and willful prince in Edward, he contrives to make us feel that the very force of passion, when purified to true love by the constancy of Alice, has brought the monarch to a knowledge of his better self. Nor is the type of honor in Alice and the Earl exaggerated. They act and speak as subjects, conscious of their duty to the King, but resolved to preserve their self-respect at any cost, should speak and act. The compliance of the Countess, who is willing to sacrifice her daughter's honor under the impulse of blind terror, cannot be called unnatural. The consequent struggle between a mother's frailty and a daughter's firmness, though painful enough, is not so disagreeably presented as in Tourneur's Revenger's Tragedy. If all Bandello's novels had been conceived in the same spirit as this, he would have ranked among the best romantic writers of the modern age. As it is, we English may perhaps take credit to ourselves for the superior inspiration of the legend he here handled. The moral fiber of the tale is rather English than Italian.

Bandello was not unaware that his Novelle lay under censure for licentiousness. His apology deserves to be considered, since it places the Italian conscience on this point in a clear light. In the preface to the eleventh Novella of the second part, he attacks the question boldly.[86] "They say that my stories are not honest. In this I am with them, if they rightly apprehend honesty. I do not deny that some are not only not honest, but I affirm and confess that they are most dishonest; for if I write that a maiden grants favors to a lover, I cannot pretend that the fact is not in the highest sense immoral. So also of many things I have narrated. No sane person will fail to blame incest, theft, homicide, and other vicious actions; and I concede that my Novelle set forth these and similar enormous crimes. But I do not admit that I deserve to be therefore blamed. The world ought to blame and stigmatize those who commit such crimes, and not the man who writes about them." He then affirms that he has written his stories down as he heard them from the lips of the narrators, that he has clothed them in decent language, and that he has always been careful to condemn vice and to praise virtue. In the twenty-fourth novel of the same part he returns to the charge.[87] Hypocrites, he argues, complain that the Decameron and similar collections corrupt the morality of women and teach vice; "but I was always of opinion that to commit crimes rather than to know about them was vicious. Ignorance is never good, and it is better to be instructed in the wickedness of the world than to fall into error through defect of knowledge." This apology, when read by the light of Bandello's own Novelle, is an impudent evasion of the accusation. They are a school of profligacy; and the author was at pains to make his pictures of sensuality attractive. That he should plume himself upon the decorum of his language, is simply comic. Such simulation of a conscience was all that remained at an epoch when the sense of shame had been extinguished, while acquiescence in the doctrines of a corrupt Church had not ceased to be fashionable.

Bandello is more sensitive to strictures on his literary style, and makes a better defense. "They say that I have no style. I grant it; nor do I profess to be a master of prose, believing that if those only wrote who were consummate in their art, very few would write at all. But I maintain that any history, composed in however rough and uncouth a language, will not fail to delight the reader; and these novels of mine (unless I am deceived by their narrators) are not fables but true histories."[88] In another place he confesses that his manner is and always has been "light and low and deficient in intellectual quality."[89] Again, he meets the objection that his diction is not modeled on the purest Tuscan masterpieces, by arguing that even Petrarch wrote Italian and not Tuscan, and that if Livy smacked of Patavinity, he, a Lombard, does not shrink from Lombardisms in his style.[90] The line of defense is good; but, what is more, Bandello knew that he was popular. He cared to be read by all classes of the people rather than to be praised by pedants for the purity of his language. Therefore he snapped his fingers at Speron Sperone and Trifone, the so-called Socrates of his century. The Novella was not a branch of scholarly but of vulgar literature; and Bandello had far better right to class himself among Italian authors than Straparola or Giraldi, whose novels were none the less sought after with avidity and read with pleasure by thousands. It is true that he was not a master of the best Italian prose, and that his Novelle do not rank among the Testi di Lingua. He is at one and the same time prolix and involved, ornate and vulgar, coarse in phraseology and ambitious in rhetoric. He uses metaphors borrowed from the slang of the fashionable world to express gross thoughts or actions. He indulges in pompous digressions and overloads his narrative with illustrations. But, in spite of these defects, he is rarely dull. His energy and copiousness of diction never fail him. His style is penetrated with the passion of the subject, and he delights our imagination with wonderfully varied pictures drawn from life. It is probable that foreigners can render better justice to the merits of Bandello as a writer, than Italians, who are trained to criticise language from a highly refined and technical point of view. We recognize his vividness and force without being disgusted by his Lombardisms or the coarseness of his phrases. Yet even some Italian critics of no mean standing have been found to say a good word for his style. Among these may be reckoned the judicious Mazzuchelli.[91]

The author of Le Cene presents a marked contrast to Bandello. Antonfrancesco Grazzini belonged to an ancient and honorable family of Staggia in Valdelsa.[92] Some of his ancestors held office in the Florentine republic, and many were registered in the Art of the Notaries. Born at Florence in 1503, he was matriculated into the Speziali, and followed the profession of a druggist. His literary career was closely connected with the academies of Gli Umidi and La Crusca.[93] The sobriquet Il Lasca, or The Roach, assumed by him as a member of the Umidi, is the name by which he is best known. Besides Novelle, he wrote comedies and poems, and made the renowned collection of Canti Carnascialeschi. He died in 1583 and was buried in S. Pier Maggiore. Thus while Bandello might claim to be a citizen of the great world, reared in the ecclesiastical purple and conversant with the noblest society of Northern Italy, Il Lasca began life and ended it as a Florentine burgher. For aught we know, he may not have traveled beyond the bounds of the republic. His stories are written in the raciest Tuscan idiom and are redolent of the humor peculiar to Florence. If Bandello appropriated the romantic element in Boccaccio, Il Lasca chose his comic side for imitation. Nearly all his novels turn on beffe and burle, similar to those sketched in Sacchetti's anecdotes, or developed with greater detail by Pulci and the author of Il Grasso Legnaiuolo.[94] Three boon companions, Lo Scheggia, Il Monaco, and Il Pilucca are the heroes of his comedy; and the pranks they play, are described with farcical humor of the broadest and most powerful sort. Still the specific note of Il Lasca's novels is not pure fun. He combines obscenity with fierce carnal cruelty and inhuman jesting, in a mixture that speaks but ill for the taste of his time.[95] Neither Boccaccio nor the author of Il Grasso struck a chord so vicious, though the latter carried his buffoonery to the utmost stretch of heartlessness. It needed the depravity of the sixteenth century to relish the lust, seasoned with physical torture and spiritual agony, which was so cunningly revealed, so coldly reveled in by Il Lasca.[96] A practical joke or an act of refined vengeance had peculiar attraction for the Florentines. But the men must have been blunted in moral sensibility and surfeited with strange experiences, who could enjoy Pilucca's brutal tricks, or derive pleasure from the climax of a tale so ghastly as the fifth Novella of the second series.

This is a story of incest and a husband's vengeance. Substantially the same as Parisina's tragedy, Il Lasca has invented for it his own whimsically horrible conclusion. The husband surprises his wife and son. Then, having cut off their hands, feet, eyes and tongues, he leaves them to die together on the bed where he had found them. The rhetoric with which this catastrophe is embellished, and the purring sympathy expressed for the guilty couple, only serve to make its inhumanity more glaring. Incapable of understanding tragedy, these writers of a vitiated age sought excitement in monstrous situations. The work produced is a proper pendent to the filth of the burlesque Capitoli. Literature of this sort might have amused Caligula and his gladiators. Prefaced by an unctuous prayer to God, it realizes the very superfluity of naughtiness.[97]

In favor of the Florentines, we might plead that these Novelle were accepted as pure fictions—debauches of the fancy, escapades of inventive wit. The ideal world they represented, claimed no contact with realities of life. The pranks of Lo Scheggia and Il Pilucca, which drove one man into exile, another to the hospital, and a third to his death, had no more actuality than the tricks of clown and pantaloon. A plea of this sort was advanced by Charles Lamb for the dramatists of the Restoration; and it carries, undoubtedly, its measure of conviction. Literature of convention, which begins by stimulating curiosity, must find novel combinations and fresh seasonings, to pique the palate of the public. Thus the abominations of Il Lasca's stories would have to be regarded as the last desperate bids for popularity, as final hyperboles of exhausted rhetoric. Yet, after all, books remain the mirror of a people's taste. Whatever their quality may be, they are produced to satisfy some demand. And the wonderful vivacity of Il Lasca's coloring, the veracity of his art, preclude him from the benefit of a defense which presupposes that he stood in some unnatural relation to his age. While we read his tales, we cannot but remember the faces painted by Bronzino, or modeled by Cellini. The sixteenth-century Florentines were hard and cold as steel. Their temper had been brutalized by servitude, superficially polished by humanism, blunted by the extraordinary intellectual activity of three centuries. Compared with the voluptuous but sympathetic mood of the Lombard novelists, this cruelty means something special to the race.

Some of Il Lasca's stories, fortunately, need no such strained apology or explanation. The tale of Lisabetta's dream, though it lacks point, is free from his worse faults[98]; while the novel of Zoroaster is not only innocent, but highly humorous and charged with playful sarcasm.[99] It contains a portrait of a knavish astrologer, worthy to be set beside the Negromante of Ariosto or Ben Jonson's Alchemist. When Jerome Cardan was coquetting with chiromancy and magic, when Cellini was raising fiends with the Sicilian necromancer in the Coliseum, a novelist found sufficient stuff for comedy and satire in the foibles of ghost-seekers and the tricks of philter-mongers. The companion portrait of the dissolute monk, who sets his hand to any dirty work that has the spice of fun in it, is also executed with no little spirit.

Among the most graceful of the Tuscan novelists may be mentioned Agnolo Firenzuola. His family derived its name from a village at the foot of the Pistojan Apennines, and his father was a citizen of Florence. Agnolo spent his youth at Siena and Perugia, where he made the friendship of Pietro Aretino, leading the wild student life described in their correspondence.[100] That he subsequently entered the Vallombrosan order seems to be certain; but it is somewhat doubtful whether he attained the dignity of Abbot which his biographers ascribe to him.[101] Tiraboschi, unwilling to admit so great a scandal to the Church, has adduced reasons why we should suspend our judgment.[102] Yet the tradition rests on substantial authority. A monument erected by Firenzuola to his uncle Alessandro Braccio in the church of S. Prassede, at Rome, describes him as ædis hujus Abbas. S. Maria di Spoleti and S. Salvator di Vaiano are supposed to have been his benefices. Some further collateral proof might be drawn from the opening of the dialogue Sopra le Bellezze delle Donne. The scene of it is laid in the convent grounds of Grignano, and Celso is undoubtedly Firenzuola. A portion of his manhood was spent at Rome in friendship with Molza, Berni, and other brilliant literary men. While resident in Rome he contracted a severe and tedious illness, which obliged him to retire to Prato, where he spent some of the happiest years of his life.[103] Nearly all his works contain frequent and affectionate recollections of this sunny little town, the beauty of whose women is enthusiastically celebrated by him. Firenzuola died before the middle of the sixteenth century at the age of about fifty. Neither his life nor his friendships nor yet his writings were consistent with his monastic profession and the dignity of Abbot. The charm of Firenzuola's Novelle is due in a large measure to his style, which has a wonderful transparency and ease, a wealth of the rarest Tuscan phrases, and a freshness of humor that renders them delightful reading. The storm at sea in the first tale, and the night scene in the streets of Florence in the third, are described with Ariostean brilliancy.[104] In point of subject-matter they do not greatly differ from the ordinary novels of the day, and some of the tales reappear in the collections of other novelists.[105] Most of them turn upon the foibles and the vices of the clergy. The fourth Novella, which is perhaps the best of all in style and humor, presents a truly comic picture of the parish priest, while the fifth describes the interior of a dissolute convent at Perugia, and the tenth exposes the arts whereby confessors induced silly women to make wills in the favor of their convents. Don Giovanni, Suor Appellagia, and Fra Cherubino, the chief actors in these stories, might be selected as typical characters in the Italian comedy of clerical dissoluteness.

Firenzuola prefaced his novels with an elaborate introduction, describing the meeting of some friends at Celso's villa near Pazolatico, and their discourse on love.[106] From discussion they pass to telling amorous stories under the guidance of a Queen selected by the company.[107] The introductory conversation is full of a dreamy, sensualized, disintegrated Platonism. It parades conventional distinctions between earthly and heavenly love, between the beauty of the soul and the beauty of the body; and then we pass without modulation into the region of what is here called accidenti amorosi. The same insincere Platonism gives color to Firenzuola's discourse on the Beauty of Women—one of the most important productions of the sixteenth century in illustration of popular and artistic taste.[108] The author imagines himself to have interrupted a bevy of fair ladies from Prato in the midst of a dispute about the beauty of Mona Amelia della Torre Nuova. Mona Amelia herself was present; and so were Mona Lampiada, Mona Amorrorisca, Mona Selvaggia, and Mona Verdespina.[109] Under these names it is clear that living persons of the town of Prato are designated; and all the examples of beauty given in the dialogue are chosen from well-known women of the district. The composition must therefore be reckoned as an elaborate compliment from Firenzuola to the fair sex of Prato.[110] Celso begins his exposition of beauty by declaring that "it is God's highest gift to human nature, inasmuch as by its virtue we direct our soul to contemplation, and through contemplation to the desire of heavenly things."[111] He then proceeds to define beauty as "an ordered concord, or, as it were, a harmony inscrutably resulting from the composition, union, and commission of divers members, each of which shall in itself be well proportioned and in a certain sense beautiful, but which, before they combine to make one body, shall be different and discrepant among themselves."[112] Having explained each clause of this definition, he passes to the appetite for beauty, and tells the myth invented for Aristophanes in Plato's Symposium. This leads by natural transitions to the real business of the dialogue, which consists in analyzing and defining every kind of loveliness in women, and minutely describing the proportions, qualities, and colors of each portion of the female body. The whole is carried through with the method of a philosopher, the enthusiasm of an artist, and the refinement of a well-bred gentleman. The articles upon Leggiadria, Grazia, Vaghezza, Venustà, Aria, Maestà, may even now be read with profit by those who desire to comprehend the nice gradations of meaning implied by these terms.[113] The discourses on the form and color of the ear, and on the proper way of wearing ornamental flowers, bring incomparably graceful images before us[114]; and this, indeed, can be said about the whole dialogue, for there is hardly a sentence that does not reveal the delicate perceptions of an artistic nature.

Firenzuola's adaptation of the Golden Ass may be reckoned among the triumphs of his style, and the fables contained in his Discorsi degli Animali are so many minutely finished novelettes.[115] Both of these works belong to the proper subject of the present chapter. His comedies and his burlesque poems must be left for discussion under different headings. With regard to his serious verses, addressed to Mona Selvaggia, it will be enough to say that they are modeled upon Petrarch. Though limpid in style and musical, as all Firenzuola's writing never failed to be, they ring hollow. The true note of the man's feeling was sensual. The highest point it reached was the admiration for plastic beauty expressed in his dialogue on women. It had nothing in common with Petrarch's melancholy. Of these minor poems I admire the little ballad beginning O rozza pastorella, and the wonderfully lucid version of Poliziano's Violæ—O Viole formose, o dolci viole—more than any others.[116]

Except for the long illness which brought him to Prato, Firenzuola appears to have spent a happy and mirthful life; and if we may trust his introduction to the Novels, he was fairly wealthy. What we know about the biography of Antonfrancesco Doni, who also deserves a place among the Tuscan novelists, presents a striking contrast to this luxurious and amorous existence.[117] He was a Florentine, and, like Firenzuola, dedicated to religion. Born in 1513, he entered the Servite order in the cloister of the Annunziata. He began by teaching the boys intrusted to the monks for education. But about 1540 he was obliged to fly the monastery under the cloud of some grave charge connected with his pupils.[118] Doni turned his back on Florence; and after wandering from town to town in Northern Italy, settled at last in 1542 at Piacenza, where he seems for a short while to have applied himself with an unwilling mind to law-studies. At Piacenza he made the acquaintance of Lodovico Domenichi, who introduced him into the Accademia Ortolana. This was a semi-literary club of profligates with the Priapic emblems for its ensign. Doni's wild and capricious humor made him a chief ornament of the society; but the members so misconducted themselves in word and deed that it was soon found necessary to suppress their meetings. While amusing himself with poetry and music among his boon companions, Doni was on the lookout for a place at Court or in the household of a wealthy nobleman. His letters at this period show that he was willing to become anything from poet or musician down to fool or something worse. Failing in all his applications, he at last resolved to make what gains he could by literature. His friend Domenichi had already settled at Venice, when Doni joined him there in 1544. But his stay was of brief duration. We find him again at Piacenza, next at Rome, and then at Florence, where he established a printing-press. The principal event of this Florentine residence was a definite rupture with Domenichi. We do not know the causes of their quarrel; but both of them were such scamps that it is probable they took good care, while abusing one another in general terms, to guard the secrets of their respective crimes. During the rest of Doni's life he pursued his old friend with relentless animosity. His invectives deserve to be compared with those of the humanists in the preceding century; while Domenichi, who had succeeded in securing a position for himself at Florence, replied with no less hostility in the tone of injured virtue.

In 1547 Doni settled finally at Venice. The city of the lagoons was the only safe resort for a man who had offended the Church by abandoning his vows, and whose life and writings were a scandal even in that age of license. Everywhere else he would have been exposed to peril from the Inquisition. Though he had dropped the cowl, he could not throw aside the cassock, and his condition as priest proved not only irksome but perilous.[119] At Venice he lived a singular Bohemian existence, inhabiting a garret which overlooked one of the noisiest of the small canals, and scribbling for his daily bread. He was a rapid and prolific writer, sending his copy to the press before it was dry, and never caring for revision. To gain money was the sole object of his labors. The versatility of his mind and his peculiar humor made his miscellanies popular; and like Aretino he wheedled or menaced ducats out of patrons. Indeed, Doni's life at Venice is the proper pendent to Aretino's, who was once his friend and afterwards his bitter foe. But while Aretino contrived to live like a prince, Doni, for many years at any rate, endured the miseries of Grub Street. They quarreled about a present which the Duke of Urbino had promised Doni through his secretary. Aretino thought that this meant poaching on his manors. Accordingly he threatened his comrade with a thorough literary scourging. Doni replied by a pamphlet with this singular title: "Terremoto del Doni fiorentino, con la rovina d'un gran Colosso bestiale Antichristo della nostra età." His capricious nature and bizarre passions made Doni a bad friend; but he was an incomparably amusing companion. Accordingly we find that his society was sought by the literary circles of all cities where he lived. At Florence he had been appointed secretary to the Umidi. At Venice he became a member of the Pellegrini. This academy was founded before the League of Cambrai in a deserted villa near the lagoons.[120] Mystery hung over its origin and continued to involve its objects. Several wealthy noblemen of Venice supplied the club with ample funds. They had a good library, and employed two presses for the printing of their works. The members formed a kind of masonic body, bound together by strict mutual obligations, and sworn to maintain each other in peril or in want. They also exercised generosity toward needy men of letters, dowered poor girls, and practiced many charities of a similar description. Their meetings took place in certain gardens at Murano or on the island of S. Giorgio Maggiore. The two Sansovini, Nardi, Titian, Dolce, and other eminent men belonged to the society; but Doni appears to have been its moving spirit on all occasions of convivial intercourse.

The last years of this Bohemian life were spent beneath the Euganean hills in a square castle, which, picturesquely draped with ivy, may still be seen towering above Monselice. That Doni had accumulated some capital by his incessant scribbling, is proved by the fact that he laid out the grounds about his fortress with considerable luxury. A passage quoted from the Venetian Zilioli serves to bring the man more vividly before us: "At the summit of the hill above Monselice stands the house where Antonfrancesco Doni indulged his leisure with philosophy and poetry. He was a man of bizarre humor, who had but little patience with his neighbors. Retiring from society, he chose this abode in order to give full scope in his own way and without regard for any one to his caprices, which were often very ludicrous. Who could have refrained from laughter, when he saw a man of mature age, with a beard down to his breast, going abroad at night barefooted and in his shirt, careering among the fields, singing his own songs and those of other poets; or else in daytime playing on a lute and dancing like a little boy?" Doni died at Venice in the autumn of 1574.

Doni's Novelle are rather detached scenes of life than stories with a plot or theme. Glowing and picturesque in style, sharply outlined, and smartly told, they have the point of epigrams. The fourth of the series might be chosen to illustrate the extravagant efforts after effect made by the Italian novelist with a view to stimulating the attention of his audience. It is a tale of two mortal enemies, one of whom kills the father and the brother of his foe. The injured man challenges and conquers him in single combat, when, having the ruffian at his mercy, he raises him from the ground, pardons him, and makes him his bosom friend. Likelihood and moral propriety are sacrificed in order that the Novella may end with a surprise.

Doni's Novelle, taken by themselves, would scarcely have justified the space allotted to him in this chapter. His biography has, however, the importance attaching to the history of a representative man, for much of the literature of amusement in the sixteenth century was supplied by Bohemians of Doni's type. To give a complete account of his miscellaneous works would be out of the question. Besides treatises on music and the arts of design and a catalogue of Italian books, which might be valuable if the author had not used it as a vehicle for his literary animosities, he published letters and poems, collections of proverbs and short tales under the title of La Zucca, dialogues and dissertations on various topics with the name of I Mondi, an essay on moral philosophy, an edition of Burchiello's poems illustrated by notes more difficult to understand than the text, an explanation of the Apocalypse proving Luther to be Antichrist, a libel upon Aretino, two commonplace books of sentences and maxims styled I Cancellieri, a work on villa-building, a series of imaginary pictures, a comedy called Lo Stufaiuolo, and many others which it would be tedious to catalogue. It is not probable that any one has made a thorough study of Doni's writings; but those who know them best, report that they are all marked by the same sallies of capricious humor and wild fancy.[121]

A glance at the Marmi will suffice to illustrate Doni's method in these miscellanies.[122] In his preface to the reader he says it often happens that, awaked from sleep, he spends the night-hours in thinking of himself and of his neighbors—"not, however, as the common folk do, nor like men of learning, but following the whimsies of a teeming brain. I am at home, you see. I fly aloft into the air, above some city, and believe myself to be a huge bird, monstrous, monstrous, piercing with keen sight to everything that's going on below; and in the twinkling of an eye, the roofs fly off, and I behold each man, each woman at their several affairs. One is at home and weeping, another laughing; one giving birth to children, one begetting; this man reading, that man writing; one eating, another praying. One is scolding his household, another playing; and see, yon fellow has fallen starved to earth, while that one vomits his superfluous food! What contrasts are there in one single city, at one single moment! Then I pass from land to land, and notice divers customs, with variety of speech and converse. In Naples, for example, the gentry are wont to ride abroad and take the evening freshness. In Rome they haunt cool vineyards, or seek their pleasure by artificial fountains. In Venice they roam the canals in dainty gondolas, or sweep the salt lagoons, with music, women, and such delights, putting to flight the day's annoyances and heat. But above all other pleasures in the cool, methinks the Florentines do best. Their way is this. They have the square of Santa Liberata, midway between the ancient shrine of Mars, now San Giovanni, and the marvelous modern Duomo. They have, I say, certain stairs of marble, and the topmost stair leads to a large space, where the young men come to rest in those great heats, seeing that a most refreshing wind is always blowing there, and a delicious breeze, and, besides, the fair white marbles for the most part keep their freshness. It is there I find my best amusements; for, as I sail through the air, invisibly I settle, soaring over them; and hear and see their talk and doings. And forasmuch as they are all fine wits and comely, they have a thousand lovely things to say—novels, stratagems and fables; they tell of intrigues, stories, jokes, tricks played off on men and women—all things sprightly, noble, noteworthy and fit for gentle ears." Such is the exordium. What follows, consists of conversations, held at night upon these marble slabs by citizens of Florence. The dialogue is lively; the pictures tersely etched; the language racy; the matter almost always worthy of attention. One sustained dialogue on printing is particularly interesting, since it involves a review of contemporary literature from the standpoint of one who was himself exclusively employed in hack production for the press.[123] The whole book, however, abounds in excellent criticism and clever hints. "See what the world is coming to," says one of the speakers, "when no one can read anything, full though it be of learning and goodness, without flinging it away at the end of three words! More artifice than patience goes nowadays to the writing of a book; more racking the brains to invent some whimsical title, which makes one take it up and read a word or two, than the composition of the whole book demands. Just try and tell people to touch a volume labeled Doctrine of Good Living or The Spiritual Life! God preserve you! Put upon the title page An Invective against an Honest Man, or New Pasquinade, or Pimps Expounded, or The Whore Lost, and all the world will grab at it. If our Gelli, when he wanted to teach a thousand fine things, full of philosophy and useful to a Christian, had not called them The Cobbler's Caprices, there's not a soul would have so much as touched them. Had he christened his book Instructions in Civil Conduct or Divine Discourses, it must have fallen stillborn; but that Cobbler, those Caprices make every one cry out: 'I'll see what sort of balderdash it is!'"

One might fancy that this passage had been written to satirize our own times rather than the sixteenth century. More than enough, however, remains from the popular literature of Doni's days to illustrate his observation. We have already seen how ingeniously he titillated public curiosity in the title of his invective against Aretino. "The Earthquake of Doni, the Florentine, with the Ruin of a Great Bestial Colossus, the Antichrist of our Age," is worthy to take rank among the most capricious pamphlets of the English Commonwealth. Meanwhile the Venetian press kept pouring out stores of miscellaneous information under bizarre titles; such as the Piazza, which described all sorts of trades, including the most infamous, and Il Perchè, which was a kind of vulgar cyclopædia, with special reference to physiology. Manuals of domestic medicine or directions for the toilette, like the curious Comare on obstetrics, and Marinello's interesting Ornamenti delle Donne; eccentricities in the style of the Hospidale de' Pazzi or the Sinagoga degli Ignoranti; might be cited through a dozen pages. It is impossible to do justice to this undergrowth of literature, which testifies to the extent of the plebeian reading public in Italy.

The Novelists of Siena form a separate group, and are distinguished by a certain air of delicate voluptuous grace.[124] Siena, though it wears so pensive an aspect now, was famous in the middle ages for the refinements of sensuality. It was here that the godereccia brigata, condemned to Hell by Dante, spent their substance in gay living. Folgore da San Gemignano's pleasure-seeking Company was Sienese. Beccadelli called the city molles Senæ, and Æneas Sylvius dedicated her groves and palaces to Venus—the Venus who appeared in dreams to Gentile Sermini.[125] The impress of luxury is stamped upon the works of her best novelists. They blend the morbidezza of the senses with a rare feeling for natural and artistic beauty. Descriptions of banquets and gardens, fountains and wayside thickets, form a delightful background to the never-ending festival of love. We wander through pleasant bypaths of Tuscan country, abloom in spring with acacia trees and resonant with song-birds. Though indescribably licentious, these novelists are rarely coarse or vulgar. There is no Florentine blackguardism, no acerbity of scorn or stain of blood-lust on their pages. They are humorous; but they do not season humor with cruelty. Their tales, for the most part, are the lunes of wanton love, day-dreams of erotic fancy, a free debauch of images, now laughable, now lewd, but all provocative of sensual desire. At the same time, their delight in landscape-painting, combined with a certain refinement of æsthetic taste, saves them from the brutalities of lust.

The foregoing remarks apply in their fullest extension to Sermini and Fortini. The best passages from the Ars Amandi of these authors admit of no quotation. Attention, may, however, be called to the graphic description by Sermini of the Sienese boxing-matches.[126] It is a masterpiece of vigorous dialogue and lively movement—a little drama in epitome or profile, bringing the excitement of the champions and their backers vividly before us by a series of exclamations and ejaculated sentences. Fortini does not offer the same advantage to a modest critic; yet his handling of a very comic situation in the fourteenth Novella may be conveniently compared with Firenzuola's and Il Lasca's treatment of the same theme.[127] Those, too, who are curious in such matters, may trace the correspondences between his twelfth Novella and many similar subjects in the Cent nouvelles Nouvelles. The common material of a fabliau is here Italianized with an exquisite sense of plastic and landscape beauty; and the crude obscenity of the motif craves pardon for the sake of its rare setting.

Bargagli's tales are less offensive to modern notions of propriety than either Sermini's or Fortini's. They do not detach themselves from the average of such compositions by any peculiarly Sienese quality. But his Trattenimenti are valuable for their introduction, which consists of a minute and pathetically simple narrative of the sufferings sustained by the Sienese during the siege of 1553. Boccaccio's description of the Plague at Florence was in Bargagli's mind, when he made this unaffected record of a city's agony the frontispiece to tales of mirth and passion. Though somewhat out of place, it has the interest which belongs to the faithful history of an eye-witness.

One beautiful story, borrowed from the annals of their own city, was treated by the two Sienese novelists, Illicini and Sermini. The palm of excellence, however, must be awarded to the elder of these authors. Of Bernardo Lapini, surnamed Illicini or Ollicino, very little is known, except that he served both Gian Galeazzo Visconti and Borso da Este in the capacity of physician, and composed a commentary on the Trionfi of Petrarch. His Novella opens with a conversation between certain noble ladies of Siena, who agreed that the three most eminent virtues of a generous nature are courtesy, gratitude, and liberality. An ancient dame, who kept them company on that occasion, offered to relate a tale, which should illustrate these qualities and raise certain fine questions concerning their exercise in actual life. The two Sienese families De' Salimbeni and De' Montanini had long been on terms of coldness; and though their ancient feuds were passing into oblivion, no treaty of peace had yet been ratified between their houses, when Anselmo Salimbeni fell deeply in love with Angelica the only sister of Carlo Montanini. Anselmo was wealthy; but to Carlo and his sister there only remained, of their vast ancestral possessions, one small estate, where they lived together in retirement. Delicacy thus prevented the rich Anselmo from declaring his affection, until an event happened which placed it in his power to be of signal service to the Montanini. A prosperous member of the Sienese government desired to purchase Carlo's house at the price of one thousand ducats. Carlo refused to sell this estate, seeing it was his sister's only support and future source of dowry. Thereupon the powerful man of state accused him falsely of treason to the commonwealth. He was cast into prison and condemned to death or the forfeit of one thousand ducats. Anselmo, the very night before Carlo's threatened execution, paid this fine, and sent the deed of release by the hands of a servant to the prison. When Carlo was once more at liberty, he made inquiries which proved beyond doubt that Anselmo, a man unknown to him, the member of a house at ancient feud with his, had done him this great courtesy. It then rushed across his mind that certain acts and gestures of Anselmo betrayed a secret liking for Angelica. This decided him upon the course he had to take. Having communicated the plan to his sister, he went alone with her at night to Salimbeni's castle, and, when he had expressed his gratitude, there left her in her lover's power, as the most precious thing he could bestow upon the saviour of his life. Anselmo, not to be surpassed in this exchange of courtesies, delivered Angelica to the women of his household, and afterwards, attended by the train of his retainers, sought Carlo in his home. There he made a public statement of what had passed between them, wedded Angelica with three rings, dowered her with the half of his estates, and by a formal deed of gift assigned the residue of his fortune to Carlo. This is a bare outline of the story, which Illicini has adorned in all its details with subtle analyses of feeling and reflections on the several situations. The problem proposed to the gentlewoman is to decide which of the two men, Anselmo or Carlo, showed the more perfect courtesy in their several circumstances. How they settled this knotty point, may be left to the readers of Novelle to discover.

Bandello more than adequately represents the Lombard group of novelists; and since his works have been already discussed, it will suffice to allude briefly to three collections which in their day were highly popular. These are I Proverbi of Antonio Cornazano, Le Piacevoli Notti of Straparola, and Giraldi's Hecatommithi.[128] Cornazano was a copious writer both in Latin and Italian. He passed his life at the Courts of Francesco Sforza, Bartolommeo Colleoni, and Ercole I. of Ferrara. One of his earliest compositions was a Life of Christ. This fact is not insignificant, as a sign of the conditions under which literature was produced in the Renaissance. A man who had gained reputation by a learned or religious treatise, ventured to extend it by jests of the broadest humor. The Proverbi, by which alone Cornazano's name is now distinguished, are sixteen carefully-wrought stories, very droll but very dirty. Each illustrates a common proverb, and pretends to relate the circumstances which gave it currency. The author opens one tale with a simple statement: "From the deserts of the Thebaid came to us that trite and much used saying, Better late than never; and this was how it happened." Having stated the theme, he enters on his narrative, diverts attention by a series of absurdities which lead to an unexpected climax. He concludes it thus: "The abbot answered: 'It is not this which makes me weep, but to think of my misfortune, who have been so long without discovering and commending so excellent an usage.' 'Father,' said the monk, 'Better late than never.'" There is considerable comic vigor in the working of this motive. Our sense of the ridiculous is stimulated by a studied disproportion between the universality of the proverb and the strangeness of the incidents invented to account for it.

Straparola breaks ground in a different direction. The majority of his novels bear traces of their origin in fairy stories or Volksmärchen. Much interest attaches to the Notti Piacevoli, as the literary reproduction of a popular species which the Venetian Gozzi afterwards rendered famous. Students of folk-lore may compare them with the Sicilian fables recently committed to the press by Signor Pitrè.[129] The element of bizarre fancy is remarkable in all these tales; but the marvelous has been so mingled with the facts of common life as to give each narrative the true air of the conventional Novella. One in particular may be mentioned, since it is written on the same motive as Machiavelli's Belphegor. The rubric runs as follows: "The Devil, hearing the complaints of husbands against their wives, marries Silvia Ballastro, and takes Gasparino Boncio for gossip of the ring, and forasmuch as he finds it impossible to live with his wife, enters into the body of the Duke of Melphi, and Gasparino, his gossip, expels him thence." Between Straparola's and Machiavelli's treatment of this subject, the resemblance is so close as to justify the opinion that the former tale was simply modeled on the latter, or that both were drawn from an original source. In each case it is the wife's pride which renders life unendurable to her demon husband, and in both he is expelled from the possessed person by mistaking a brass band in full play for the approach of his tumultuous consort. But Straparola's loose and careless style of narrative bears no comparison with the caustic satire of Machiavelli's meditated art.[130] The same theme was treated in Italian by Giovanni Brevio; and since Machiavelli's novel first appeared in print in the year 1549, Straparola's seeing the light in 1550, and Brevio's in 1545, we may reasonably conclude that each version was an adaptation of some primitive monastic story.[131]

On the score of style alone, it would be difficult to explain the widespread popularity of Giraldi Cinthio's one hundred and ten tales.[132] The Hecatommithi are written in a lumbering manner, and the stories are often lifeless. Compared with the brilliancy of the Tuscan Novelle, the point and sparkle of Le Cene, the grace and gusto of Sermini, or Firenzuola's golden fluency, the diction of this noble Ferrarese is dull. Yet the Hecatommithi were reprinted again and again and translated into several languages. In England, through Painter's Palace of Pleasure, they obtained wide circulation and supplied our best dramatists, including Shakspere and Fletcher, with hints for plays. It is probable that they owed their fame in no small measure to what we reckon their defects. Giraldi's language was more intelligible to ordinary readers of Italian than the racy Tuscan of the Sienese authors. His stories had less of a purely local flavor than those of the Florentines. They enjoyed, moreover, the singular advantage of diffusion through the press of Venice, which then commanded the book-market of Europe. But, if we put this point of style aside, the vogue of Cinthio in Italy and Europe becomes at once intelligible. There is a massive force and volume in his matter, which proclaims him an author to be reckoned with. The variety of scenes he represents, the tragic gravity of many of his motives, his intimate acquaintance with the manners and customs of a class that never fails to interest the vulgar, combined with great sagacity in selecting and multiplying instances of striking crime, stood him in the stead of finer art with the special public for whom Novelle were composed.[133] Compared even with Boccaccio, the prince of story-tellers, Cinthio holds his own, not as a great dramatic or descriptive writer but as one who has studied, analyzed, dissected, and digested the material of human action and passion in a vast variety of modes. His work is more solid and reflective than Bandello's; more moralized than Il Lasca's. The ethical tendency both of the tales and the discussions they occasion, is, for the most part, singularly wholesome. In spite, therefore, of the almost revolting frankness with which impurity, fraud, cruelty, violence, and bestial lust are exposed to view, one rises from the perusal of the Hecatommithi with an unimpaired consciousness of good and evil. It is just the negation of this conscience which renders the mass of Italian Novelle worse than unprofitable.

The plan of the Hecatommithi deserves a passing notice, if only because it illustrates the more than ordinary force of brain which Cinthio brought to bear upon his light material. He begins with an elaborate description of the Sack of Rome. A party of men and women take refuge from its horrors of rape, pestilence and tortures in one of the Colonna palaces. When affairs have been proved desperate, they set sail from Cività Vecchia for Marseilles, and enliven their voyage with story-telling. A man of mature years opens the discussion with a long panegyric of wedded love, serving as introduction to the tales which treat of illicit passion. From this first day's debate the women of the party are absent. They intervene next day, and upon this and the following nine days one hundred stories are related by different members of the party upon subjects selected for illustration. Each novel is followed by a copious commentary in the form of dialogue, and songs are interspersed. Cinthio thus adhered, as closely as possible, to the model furnished by Boccaccio. But his framework, though ingeniously put together, lacks the grace and sweetness of the Decameron. Not a few of the novels are founded upon facts of history. In the tenth tale of the ninth decade, for example, he repeats the legend of the Borgia family—the murder of the Duke of Gandia, Alexander's death by poison, and Cesare's escape. The names are changed; but the facts, as related by Guicciardini, can be clearly discerned through the transparent veil of fiction.

In concluding this chapter on the Novelle, it may be repeated that the species of narrative in question was, in its ultimate development, a peculiar Italian product. Originally derived through the French fabliaux from medieval Latin stories, the Novella received in Italy more serious and more artistic treatment. It satisfied the craving of the race for such delineation of life and manners as a great literature demands; and it did this for reasons which will be explained in the next chapter, with more originality, more adequacy to the special qualities of the Italian people, than even their comedies. What De Quincey wrote concerning our theater in the age of Elizabeth and James, might almost be applied to the material which the Novellieri used: "No literature, not excepting even that of Athens, has ever presented such a multiform theater, such a carnival display, mask and anti-mask of impassioned life—breathing, moving, acting, suffering, laughing:

"Quicquid agunt homines—votum, timor, ira, voluptas,

Gaudia, discursus."

But, when we quit material to think of form, the parallel fails. De Quincey's further description of our dramas, "scenically grouped, draped, and gorgeously colored," is highly inapplicable to the brief, careless, almost pedestrian prose of the Novelle. In spite of their indescribable wealth of subject-matter, in spite of those inexhaustible stores of plots and situations, characters and motives, which have made them a mine for playwrights in succeeding ages, they rarely rise to the height of poetry, nor are they ever dramas. The artistic limitations of the Italian Novelle are among the most interesting phenomena presented by the history of literature.

CHAPTER XI.

THE DRAMA.

First attempts at Secular Drama—The Orfeo and Timone—General Character of Italian Plays—Court Pageants and Comedies borrowed from the Latin—Conditions under which a National Drama is formed—Their absence in Italy—Lack of Tragic Genius—Eminently Tragic Material in Italian History—The Use made of this by English Playwrights—The Ballad and the Drama—The Humanistic Bias in Italy—Parallels between Greek and Italian Life—Il Lasca's Critique of the Latinizing Playwrights—The Sofonisba of Trissino—Rucellai's Rosmunda—Sperone's Canace—Giraldi's Orbecche—Dolce's Marianna—Transcripts from the Greek Tragedians and Seneca—General Character of Italian Tragedies—Sources of their Failure—Influence of Plautus and Terence over Comedy—Latin Comedies acted at Florence, Rome, Ferrara—Translations of Latin Comedies—Manner of Representation at Court—Want of Permanent Theaters—Bibbiena's Calandra—Leo X. and Comedy at Rome—Ariosto's Treatment of his Latin Models—The Cassaria, Suppositi, Lena, Negromante, Scolastica—Qualities of Ariosto's Comedies—Machiavelli's Plays—The Commedia in Prosa—Fra Alberigo and Margherita—The Clizia—Its Humor—The Mandragola—Its sinister Philosophy—Conditions under which it was Composed—Aretino disengages Comedy from Latin Rules—His Point of View—The Cortegiana, Marescalco, Talanta—Italy had innumerable Comedies, but no great Comic Art—General Character of the Commedia Erudita—Its fixed Personages—Gelli, Firenzuola, Cecchi, Ambra, Il Lasca—The Farsa—Conclusion on the Moral Aspects of Italian Comedy.

CONTEMPORANEOUSLY with the Roman Epic, the Drama began to be a work of studied art in Italy. Boiardo by his Timone and Poliziano by his Orfeo gave the earliest specimens at Ferrara and Mantua of secular plays written in the vulgar tongue. The Timone must have been composed before 1494, the date of Boiardo's death; and we have already seen that the Orfeo was in all probability represented in 1472. It is significant that the two poets who were mainly instrumental in effecting a revival of Italian poetry, should have tried their hands at two species of composition for the stage. In the Orfeo we find a direct outgrowth from the Sacre Rappresentazioni. The form of the Florentine religious show is adapted with very little alteration to a pagan story. In substance the Orfeo is a pastoral melodrama with a tragic climax. Boiardo in the Timone followed a different direction. The subject is borrowed from Lucian, who speaks the prologue, as Gower prologizes in the Pericles of Shakspere. The comedy aims at regularity of structure, and is written in terza rima. Yet the chief character leaves the stage before the end of the fifth act, and the conclusion is narrated by an allegorical personage, Lo Ausilio.[134]

These plays, though generally considered to have been the first attempts at secular Italian dramatic poetry, were by no means the earliest in date, if we admit the Latin plays of scholars.[135] Besides some tragedies, which will afterwards be mentioned, it is enough here to cite the Philogenia of Ugolino Pisani (Parma, 1430), the Philodoxius of Alberti, the Polissena of Leonardo Bruni, and the Progne of Gregorio Corrado. It is therefore a fact that, in addition to religious dramas in the mother tongue, the Italians from an early period turned their attention to dramatic composition. Still the drama never flourished at any time in Italy as a form of poetry indigenous and national. It did not succeed in freeing itself from classical imitation on the one hand, or on the other from the hampering adjuncts of Court-pageants and costly entertainments. Why the Italians failed to develop a national theater, is a question easier to ask than to answer. The attempt to solve this problem will, however, serve to throw some light upon their intellectual conditions at the height of the Renaissance.

Plays in Italy at this period were either religious Feste of the kind peculiar to Florence, or Masks at Court, or Comedies and Tragedies imitated by men of learning from classical models, or, lastly, Pastorals combining the scenic attractions of the Mask with the action of a regular drama. None of these five species can be called in a true sense popular; nor were they addressed by their authors to the masses of the people. Performed in private by pious confraternities or erudite academies, or exhibited on state occasions in the halls of princely palaces, they were not an expression of the national genius but a highly-cultivated form of aristocratic luxury. When Heywood in his prologue to the Challenge for Beauty wrote:

Those [i.e. plays] that frequent are

In Italy or France, even in these days,

Compared with ours, are rather jigs than plays:

when Marlowe in the first scene of Edward II. made Gaveston, thinking how he may divert the pleasure-loving king, exclaim:

Therefore I'll have Italian masks by night,

Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows:

both of these poets uttered a true criticism of the Italian theater. Marlowe accurately describes the scenic exhibitions in vogue at the Courts of Ferrara, Mantua, Urbino, and Rome, where the stage was reckoned among the many instruments of wanton amusement. Heywood, by his scornful phrase jigs, indicates their mixed nature between comedies and ballets, with interludes of pageantry and accompaniment of music. The words italicized show that the English playwrights were conscious of having developed a nobler type of the drama than had been produced in Italy. In order to complete the outline sketched by Heywood and Marlowe, we must bear in mind that comedies adapted from the Latin, like the Suppositi of Ariosto, or constructed upon Latin principles, like Machiavelli's Mandragola or the Calandra of Bibbiena, were highly relished by a society educated in humanistic traditions. Such efforts of the scholarly muse approved themselves even in England to the taste of critics like Sir Philip Sidney, who shows in his Defense of Poesy that he had failed to discern the future greatness of the national drama. But they had the fatal defect of being imitations and exotics. The stage, however learnedly adorned by men of scholarship and fancy, remained within the narrow sphere of courtly pastime. What was a mere hors d'œuvre in the Elizabethan age of England, formed the whole dramatic art of the Italians.

If tragedy and comedy sprang by a natural process of evolution from the medieval Mystery, then the Florentines should have had a drama. We have seen how rich in the elements of both species were the Sacre Rappresentazioni; and how men of culture like Lorenzo de' Medici, and Bernardo Pulci deigned to compose them. But the Sacre Rappresentazioni died a natural death, and left no heritage. They had no vital relation to the people, either as a source of amusement or as embodying the real thoughts and passions of the race. Designed for the edification of youth, their piety was too often hypocritical, and their extravagant monastic morality stood in glaring opposition to the ethics of society. We must go far deeper in our analysis, if we wish to comprehend this failure of the Italians to produce a drama.

Three conditions, enjoyed by Greece and England, but denied to Italy, seem necessary for the poetry of a nation to reach this final stage of artistic development. The first is a free and sympathetic public, not made up of courtiers and scholars, but of men of all classes—a public representative of the whole nation, with whom the playwright shall feel himself in close rapport. The second is, a center of social life: an Athens, Paris or London: where the heart of the nation beats and where its brain is ever active. The third is a perturbation of the race in some great effort, like the Persian war or the struggle of the Reformation, which unites the people in a common consciousness of heroism. Taken in combination, these three conditions explain the appearance of a drama fitted to express the very life and soul of a puissant nation, with the temper of the times impressed upon it, but with a truth and breadth that renders it the heritage of every race and age. A national drama is the image created for itself in art by a people which has arrived at knowledge of its power, at the enjoyment of its faculties, after a period of successful action. Concentrated in a capital, gifted with a common instrument of self-expression, it projects itself in tragedies and comedies that bear the name of individual poets, but are in reality the spirit of the race made vocal.[136]

These conditions have only twice in the world's history existed—once in the Athens of Pericles, once in the London of Elizabeth. The measure of greatness to which the dramas of Paris and Madrid, though still not comparable with the Attic and the English, can lay claim, is due to the participation by the French and Spanish peoples in these privileges. But in Italy there was no public, no metropolis, no agitation of the people in successful combat with antagonistic force. The educated classes were, indeed, conscious of intellectual unity; but they had no meeting-point in any city, where they might have developed the theater upon the only principles then possible, the principles of erudition. And, what was worse, there existed no enthusiasms, moral, religious or political, from which a drama could arise. A society without depth of thought or seriousness of passion, highly cultured, but devoid of energy and aspiration, had not the seed of tragedy within its loins. In those polite Italian Courts and pleasure-seeking coteries, the idyl, the Novella, and the vision of a golden age might entertain men weary with public calamities, indulgent to the vice and crime around them. From this soil the forest-trees of a great drama could not spring. But it yielded an abundant crop of comedies, an undergrowth of rankly sprouting vegetation. It was, moreover, well adapted to the one original production of the Italian stage. Pastoral comedy, attaining perfection in Tasso's Aminta and Guarini's Pastor Fido, and bearing the germs of the Opera in its voluptuous scenes, formed the climax of dramatic art in Italy.

Independently of these external drawbacks, we find in the nature of the Italian genius a reason why the drama never reached perfection. Tragedy, which is the soul of great dramatic poetry, was almost uniformly wanting after Dante. Petrarch, Boccaccio, Poliziano, Boiardo, Ariosto, Tasso, are pathetic, graceful, polished, elevated, touching, witty, humorous, reflective, radiant, inventive, fanciful—everything but stern, impassioned, tragic in the true heroic sense. Even the Florentines, who dallied sometimes with the thoughts of Death and Judgment in bizarre pageants like the show of Hell recorded by Villani, or the Mask of Penitence designed by Piero di Cosimo, or the burlesque festivals recorded in the life of Rustici by Giorgio Vasari—even the Florentines shrank in literature from what is terrible and charged with anguish of the soul. The horrors of the Novelle are used by them to stimulate a jaded appetite, to point the pleasures of the sense by contrast with the shambles and the charnel-house. We are never invited to the spectacle of human energies ravaged by passion, at war with destiny, yet superior to fate and fortune and internal tempest in the strength of will and dignity of heroism. It is not possible to imagine those liete brigate of young men and maidens responding to the fierce appeal of Marston's prologue:

Therefore we proclaim,

If any spirit breathes within this round,

Uncapable of weighty passion—

As from his birth being huggéd in the arms

And nuzzled twixt the breasts of happiness—

Who winks, and shuts his apprehension up

From common sense of what men were, and are,

Who would not know what men must be; let such

Hurry amain from our black-visaged shows:

We shall affright their eyes. But if a breast

Nailed to the earth with grief, if any heart

Pierced through with anguish pant within this ring,

If there be any blood whose heat is choked

And stifled with true sense of misery,

If aught of these strains fill this consort up,

They arrive most welcome.

Sterner, and it may be gloomier conditions of external life than those which the Italians enjoyed, were needed as a preparation of the public for such spectacles. It was not on these aspects of human existence that a race, accustomed to that genial climate and refined by the contemplation of all-golden art, loved to dwell in hours of recreation. The Novella, with its mixture of comedy and pathos, license and satire, gave the tone, as we have seen, to literature. The same quality of the Italian temperament may be illustrated from the painting of the sixteenth century, which rarely rises to the height of tragedy. If we except Michelangelo and Tintoretto, we find no masters of sublime and fervid genius, able to conceive with intensity and to express with force the thrilling moods of human passion. Raphael marks the height pf national achievement, and even the more serious work of Raphael found no adequate interpreters among his pupils.

The absence of the tragic element in Italian art and literature is all the more remarkable because the essence of Italian history, whether political or domestic, was eminently dramatic. When we consider what the nation suffered during the civil wars of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, under the tyranny of monsters like Ezzelino, from plagues that swept away the population of great cities, and beneath the scourge of sinister religious revivals, it may well cause wonder that the Italian spirit should not have assumed a stern and tragic tone instead of that serenity and cheerfulness which from the first distinguished it. The Italians lived their tragedies in the dynasties of the Visconti and the Sforzas, in the contests of the Baglioni and Manfredi, in the persons of Pandolfo Sigismondo Malatesta and Cesare Borgia, in the murders, poisonings, rapes and treasons that form the staple of the annals of their noble houses. But it was the English and not the Italian poets who seized upon this tragic matter and placed it with the light of poetry upon the stage.[137] Our Elizabethan playwrights dramatized the legends of Othello and Juliet, the loves of Bianca Capello and Vittoria Accoramboni, the tragedies of the Duchess of Amalfi and the Duke of Milan. There is something even appalling in the tenacity with which poets of the stamp of Marlowe, Webster, Ford, Massinger and Tourneur clung to the episodes of blood and treachery furnished by Italian stories. Their darkest delineations of villainy, their subtlest analyses of evil motives, their most audacious pictures of vice, are all contained within the charmed circle of Italian history. A play could scarcely succeed in London unless the characters were furnished with Italian names.[138] Italy fascinated the Northern fancy, and the imagination of our dramatists found itself at home among her scenes of mingled splendor and atrocity. Nowhere, therefore, can a truer study of Italian Court-intrigue be found than in the plays of Webster. His portraits, it may be allowed, are painted without relief or due gradation of tone. Flamineo and Bosola seem made to justify the proverb—Inglese Italianato è un diavolo incarnato. Yet after reading the secret history of the Borgias, or estimating the burden on Ferdinand's conscience when he quaked before the French advance on Naples, who can say that Webster has exaggerated the bare truth? He has but intensified it by the incubation of his intellect. Varchi's account of Lorenzino de' Medici, affecting profligacy and effeminacy in order to deceive Duke Alessandro, and forming to his purpose the ruffian Scoronconcolo from the dregs of the prisons, furnishes a complete justification for even Tourneur's plots. The snare this traitor laid for Alessandro, when he offered to bring his own aunt to the duke's lust, bears a close resemblance to Vendice's scheme in the Revenger's Tragedy; while the inconsequence of his action after the crime, tallies with the moral collapse of Duke Ferdinand before his strangled sister's corpse in the last act of the Duchess of Malfi.

The reality of these acted tragedies may have been a bar to their mimic presentation on the stage in Italy. When the Borgias were poisoning their victims in Rome; when Lodovico Sforza was compassing his nephew's death at Pavia; when the Venetians were decapitating Carmagnuola; when Sixtus was plotting the murder of the Medici in church, and Grifonetto Baglioni was executing il gran tradimento; could an Italian audience, in the Court or on the Piazza, have taken a keen pleasure in witnessing the scenic presentment of barbarities so close at hand? The sense of contrast between the world of fact and the work of art, which forms an essential element of æsthetic pleasure, would have been wanting. The poets turned from these crimes to comedy and romance, though the politicians analyzed their motives with impartial curiosity. At the same time, we may question whether the Despots would have welcomed tragic shows which dramatized their deeds of violence; whether they would have suffered the patriotism of Brutus, the vengeance of Virginius, the plots of Catiline, or the downfall of Sejanus to be displayed with spirit-stirring pomp in theaters of Milan and Ferrara, when conspiracies like that of Olgaiti were frequent. It was the freedom of the English public and the self-restraint of the English character, in combination with the profound appetite for tragic emotion inherent in our Northern blood, which rendered the Shaksperian drama possible and acceptable.

In connection with this inaptitude of the Italians for tragedy, it is worth noticing that their popular poetry exhibits but rare examples of the ballad. It abounds in love ditties and lyrics of the inner life. But references to history and the tragedies of noble families are comparatively scarce.[139] In Great Britain, on the contrary, while our popular poetry can show but few songs of sentiment, the Border and Robin Hood ballads record events in national history or episodes from actual domestic dramas, blent with the memories of old mythology. These poems prove in the unknown minstrels who produced them, a genuine appreciation of dramatic incident; and their manner is marked by vigorous objectivity. The minstrel loses himself in his subject and aims at creating in his audience a vivid sense of the action he has undertaken to set forth. The race which could produce such ballads, already contained the germs of Marlowe's tragedy. It would be interesting to pursue this subject further, and by examining the ballad-literature of the several European nations to trace how far the capacities which in a rude state of society were directed to this type of minstrelsy, found at a later period their true sphere of art in the drama.[140]

The deficiency of the tragic instinct among the Italians seems to be further exhibited by their failure to produce novels of the higher type.[141] Though Boccaccio is the prince of story-tellers, his Novelle are tales, more interesting for their grace of manner and beautifully described situations, than for analysis of character or strength of plot. Recent Italian romanzi are histories rather than works of free fiction; and these novels were produced after the style of Sir Walter Scott had been acclimatized in every part of Europe. Meanwhile no Balzac or George Sand, no Thackeray or George Eliot, no Cervantes or Fielding, has appeared in Italy. The nearest approach to a great Italian novel of life and character is the autobiography of Cellini.[142] As the Italians lived instead of playing their tragedies, so they lived instead of imagining their novels.

If a national drama could have been produced in Italy, it might have appeared at Florence during the reign of Lorenzo de' Medici. In no other place and at no other period was the Italian genius more alive and centralized. But a city is not a nation, and the Compagnia di San Giovanni was not the Globe Theater. The desires of the Florentines, so studiously gratified by their merchant prince, were bent on carnival shows and dances. In this modern Athens the fine arts failed to find their meeting-point and fulfillment on the stage, because the people lacked the spirit and the freedom necessary to the drama. Artists were satisfied with decorating masks and cars. Poets amused their patrons with romantic stories. Scholars were absorbed in the fervent passion for antiquity. Michelangelo carved and Lionardo painted the wonders of the modern world. Thus the Florentine genius found channels that led far afield from tragedy. At a later period, when culture had become more universally Italian, it might have been imagined that the bright spirit of Ariosto, the pregnant wit of Machiavelli, the genial humor of Bibbiena would have given birth to plays of fancy like Fletcher's or to original comedies of manners like Jonson's and Massinger's. But such was the respect of these Italian playwrights for their classic models, that the scenes of even the best Florentine comedies are crowded with spendthrifts, misers, courtesans, lovers and slaves, borrowed from the Latin authors. Plautus and Terence, Ariosto and Machiavelli, not nature, were their source of inspiration.[143] Mistakes between two brothers, confusions of sex, discoveries that poor girls are the lost daughters of princely parents, form the staple of their plots. The framework of comedy being thus antique, the playwright was reduced to narrow limits for that exhibition of "truth's image, the ensample of manners, the mirror of life," which Il Lasca rightly designated as the proper object of the comic art.

The similarity of conditions between late Greek and modern Italian life facilitated this custom of leaning on antique models, and deceived the poets into thinking they might safely apply Græco-Roman plots to the facts of fifteenth-century romance. With the Turk at Otranto, with the Cardinals of Este and Medici opposing his advance in Hungary, with the episodes of French invasion, with the confusions of the Sack of Rome, there was enough of social anarchy and public peril to justify dramatic intrigues based on kidnapping and anagnorisis. The playwrights, when they adapted comedies of Plautus and Terence, were fully alive to the advantage of these correspondences. Claudio in Ariosto's Suppositi had his son stolen in the taking of Otranto. Bartolo in the Scolastica lost sight of his intended wife at the moment of Lodovico Sforza's expulsion from Milan. Callimaco in Machiavelli's Mandragola remained in Paris to avoid the troubles consequent on Charles VIII.'s invasion. Lidio and Santilla in Bibbiena's Calandra, Blando's children in Aretino's Talanta, were taken by the Turks. Fabrizio in the Ingannati was lost in the sack of Rome. Maestro Cornelio in Ambra's Furto was captured by the German Lanzi. In the Cofanaria of the same author there is a girl kidnapped in the Siege of Florence. Slavery itself was by no means obsolete in Italy upon the close of the middle ages; and the slave-merchant of Ariosto's Cassaria, hardly distinguished from a common brothel-keeper, was not so anachronistic as to be impossible. The parasites of Latin comedy found their counterpart in the clients of rich families and the poorer courtiers of princes. The indispensable Davus was represented by the body servants of wealthy householders. The miles gloriosus reappeared in professional bravi and captains of mercenaries. Thus the personages of the Latin stage could easily be furnished with Italian masks. Still there remained an awkwardness in fitting these new masks to the old lay-figures; and when we read the genuine Italian comedies of Aretino, especially the Cortigiana and the Marescalco, we feel how much was lost to the nation by the close adherence of its greater playwrights, Ariosto and Machiavelli, to the conventions of the Commedia erudita.

The example of Ariosto and Machiavelli led even the best Florentine playwrights—Cecchi, Ambra, and Gelli—into a false path. The plays of these younger authors abound in reminiscences of the Suppositi and Clizia, adapted with incomparable skill and humor to contemporary customs, but suffering from too close adherence to models, which had been in their turn copied from the antique. It was not until the middle of the sixteenth century that criticism hit the vein of common sense. Il Lasca, who deserves great credit for his perspicacity, carried on an unremitting warfare against the comedy of anagnorisis. In the prologue to his Gelosia he says:[144] "All the comedies which have been exhibited in Florence since the Siege, end in discoveries of lost relatives. This has become so irksome to the audience that, when they hear in the argument how at the taking of this city or the sack of that, children have been lost or kidnapped, they know only too well what is coming, and would fain leave the room.... Authors of such comedies jumble up the new and the old, antique and modern together, making a hodge-podge and confusion, without rhyme or reason, head or tail. They lay their scenes in modern cities and depict the manners of to-day, but foist in obsolete customs and habits of remote antiquity. Then they excuse themselves by saying: Plautus did thus, and this was Menander's way and Terence's; never perceiving that in Florence, Pisa and Lucca people do not live as they used to do in Rome and Athens. For heaven's sake let these fellows take to translation, if they have no vein of invention, but leave off cobbling and spoiling the property of others and their own." The prologue to the Spiritata contains a similar polemic against "quei ritrovamenti nei tempi nostri impossibili e sciocchi."[145] In the prologue to the Strega, after once more condemning "quelle recognizioni deboli e sgarbate," he proceeds to attack the authority of ancient critics on whom the pedantic school relied:[146] "Aristotle and Horace knew their own times. But ours are wholly different. We have other manners, another religion, another way of life; and therefore our comedies ought to be composed after a different fashion. People do not live at Florence as they did in Rome and Athens. There are no slaves here; it is not customary to adopt children; our pimps do not put up girls for sale at auction; nor do the soldiers of the present century carry long-clothes babies off in the sack of cities, to educate them as their own daughters and give them dowries; nowadays they make as much booty as they can, and should girls or married women fall into their hands, they either look for a large ransom or rob them of their maidenhead and honor."

This polemic of Il Lasca, and, indeed, all that he says about the art and aim of comedy, is very sensible. But at his date there was no hope for a great comedy of manners. What between the tyranny of the Medici and the pressure of the Inquisition, Spanish suspicion and Papal anxiety for a reform of manners, the liberty essential to a new development of the dramatic art had been extinguished. And even if external conditions had been favorable, the spirit of the race was spent. All intellectual energy was now losing itself in the quagmire of academical discussions and literary disputations upon verbal niceties. Attention was turned backward to the study of Petrarch and Boccaccio. Authors aiming above all things at correctness, slavishly observant of rules and absurdly fearful of each other's ferules, had not the stuff in them to create. What has been said of comedy, is still more true of tragedy. The tragic dramas of this period are stiff and lifeless, designed to illustrate critical principles rather than to stir and purify the passions. They have no relation to the spirit of the people or the times; and the blood spilt at their conclusion fails to distinguish them from moral lucubrations in the blankest verse.[147]

The first regular Italian tragedy was the Sofonisba of Gian Giorgio Trissino, finished in 1515, and six times printed before the date of its first representation at Vicenza in 1562.[148] Trissino was a man of immense erudition and laborious intellect, who devoted himself to questions of grammatical and literary accuracy, studying the critics of antiquity with indefatigable diligence and seeking to establish canons for the regulation of correct Italian composition. He was by no means deficient in originality of aim, and professed himself the pioneer of novelties in poetry.[149] Thus, besides innovating in the minor matter of orthography, he set himself to supply the deficiencies of Italian literature by producing an epic in the heroic style and a tragedy that should compete with those of Athens. He had made a profound study of the Poetics and believed that Aristotle's analyses of the epic and the drama might be used as recipes for manufacturing similar masterpieces in a modern tongue.[150] The Italia Liberata and the Sofonisba, meritorious but lifeless exercises which lacked nothing but the genius for poetry, were the results of these ambitious theories. Aristotle presided over both, while Homer served as the professed model for Trissino's heroic poem, and Sophocles was copied in his play. Of the Italia Liberata this is not the place to speak. The Sofonisba is founded on a famous episode in the Punic Wars, when the wife of Syphax was married by Massinissa contrary to the express will of Lælius and Scipio. She takes poison at her new husband's orders, and her death forms the catastrophe. There is some attempt to mark character in Lelio, Scipione, and Massinissa; but these persons do not act and react on one another, nor is there real dramatic movement in the play. Sofonisba passes through it automatically, giving her hand to Massinissa without remorse for Syphax, drinking the poison like an obedient girl, and dying with decorous but ineffective pathos. Massinissa plays the part of an idiot by sending her the poison which he thinks, apparently, she will not take. His surprise and grief, no less than his previous impulse of passionate love, are stationary. In a word, Trissino selected a well-known story from Roman history, and forgot that, in order to dramatize it, he must present the circumstances, not as a narrated fable, but as a sequence of actions determined by powerful and convincing motives. The two essentials of dramatic art, action evolved before the eyes of the spectators, and what Goethe called the motiviren of each incident, are conspicuous by their absence. The would-be tragic poet was too mindful of rules—his unities, his diction, his connection of scenes that should occupy the stage without interruption, his employment of the Chorus in harmony with antique precedent—to conceive intensely or to express vividly. In form the Sofonisba is a fair imitation of Attic tragedy, and the good taste of its author secures a certain pale and frigid reflection of classical simplicity. Blank verse is judiciously mingled with lyric meters, which are only introduced at moments of high-wrought feeling. The Chorus plays an unobtrusive part in the dialogue, and utters appropriate odes in the right places. Consequently, the Sofonisba was hailed as a triumph of skill by the learned audience to whom alone the author appealed. Its merits of ingenuity and scholarship were such as they could appreciate. Its lack of vitality and imaginative vigor did not strike men who were accustomed to judge of poetry by rule and precedent.

Numerous scholars entered the lists in competition with Trissino. Among these the first place must be given to Giovanni Rucellai, whose Rosmunda was composed almost contemporaneously with the Sofonisba and was acted before Leo X. in the Rucellai Gardens upon the occasion of a Papal visit to Florence. The chief merit of Rosmunda is brevity. But it has the fatal fault of being a story told in scenes and dialogues, not an action moving and expanding through a series of connected incidents. Rosmunda's father, Comundo, has been slain in battle with the Lombards under Albuino. Like Antigone, the princess goes by night to bury his corpse; and when the tyrant threatens her, she replies in language borrowed from Sophocles. Albuino decapitates Comundo and makes a wine-cup of his skull, from which, after his marriage to Rosmunda, he forces her to drink. This determines the catastrophe. Almachilde appears upon the scene and slaughters Albuino in his tent. We are left to conjecture the murderer's future marriage with the heroine. That the old tale of the Donna Lombarda is eminently fitted for tragic handling, admits of no doubt. But it is equally certain that Rucellai failed to dramatize it. Almachilde is not introduced until the fourth act, and he assassinates Albuino without any previous communication with Rosmunda. The horrible banquet scene and the incident of the murder are described by messengers, while the chief actors rarely come to speech together face to face. The business of the play is narrated in dialogues with servants. This abuse of the Messenger and of subordinate characters, introduced for the sole purpose of describing and relating what ought to be enacted, is not peculiar to the Rosmunda. It weakens all the tragedies of the sixteenth century, reducing their scenes to vacant discussions, where one person tells another what the author has conceived but what he cannot bring before his audience. Afraid of straining his imaginative faculties by the display of characters in action, the poet studiously keeps the chief personages apart, supplying the hero and the heroine with a shadow or an echo, whose sympathetic utterances serve to elicit the plot without making any demand upon the dramatist's power of presentation. Unfortunately for the tragic poets, the precedent of Seneca seemed to justify this false method of dramatic composition. And Seneca's tragedies, we know, were written, not for action, but for recitation.

These defects culminate in Speron Sperone's Canace. The tale is horrible. Eolo, god of the winds, has two children, Canace and Macareo, born at one birth by his wife Deiopea. Under the malign influence of Venus this unlucky couple love; and the fruit of their union is a baby, killed as soon as born. The brother and the sister commit suicide separately, after their father's anger has thrown the light of publicity upon their passion. In order to justify the exhibition of incest in this repulsive form, there should at least have been such scenes of self-abandonment to impulse as Ford has found for Giovanni and Annabella; or the poet might have suggested the operation of agencies beyond human control by treading in the footsteps of Euripides; or, again, he might have risen from the sordid facts of sin into the region of ideal passion by the presentation of commanding personality in his principal actors. Nothing of this kind redeems the dreary disgust of his plot. The first act consists of a dialogue between Eolo and his Grand Vizier; the second, of a dialogue between Canace and her nurse; the third, of dialogues between Deiopea and her servants; the fourth, of a Messenger's narrative; the fifth, of Macareo's dialogues with his valet and his father's henchman. This analysis of the situations shows how little of dramatic genius Sperone brought to bear upon the hideous theme he had selected. The Canace is a succession of conversations referring to events which happen off the stage, and which involve no play of character in the chief personages. It is written throughout in lyrical measures with an affected diction, where rhetorical conceits produce the same effect as artificial flowers and ribbons stuck upon a skeleton.

Giraldi, the author of the Hecatommithi, fares little better in his Orbecche.[151] It is a play founded on one of the poet's own Novelle.[152] Orbecche, the innocent child of Sulmone and Selina, has led her father to detect his wife's adultery with his own eldest son. Selina, killed together with her paramour, exercises a baleful influence from the world of ghosts over this daughter who unwittingly betrayed her sin. Orbecche privately marries the low-born Oronte and has two sons by her husband. Sulmone, when he discovers this mésalliance, assassinates Oronte and his children in a secret place, and makes a present of his head and hands to his miserable daughter. Upon this, Orbecche stabs her father and then ends her own life. To horrors of extravagant passion and bloodshed we are accustomed in the works of our inferior playwrights. Nor would it perhaps be just to quarrel with Giraldi for having chosen a theme so morbid, if any excuse could have been pleaded on the score of stirring scenes or vivid incidents. Unluckily, the life of dramatic action and passion is wanting to his ponderous tragedy. Instead of it, we are treated to disquisitions in the style of Seneca, and to descriptions that would be harrowing but for their invincible frigidity. No amount of crime and bloodshed will atone for the stationary mechanism of this lucubration.

Lacking dramatic instinct, these Italian scholars might have redeemed their essential feebleness by acute analysis of character. Their tragedies might at least have contained versified studies of motives, metrical essays on the leading passions. But we look in vain for such compensations. Stock tyrants, conventional lovers, rhetorical pedants, form their dramatis personæ. The inherent vices of the Novella, expanded to excessive length and invested with the forms of antique art, neutralize the labors of the lamp and file that have been spent upon them.[153] If it were requisite to select one play in which a glimmer of dramatic light is visible, we could point to the Marianna of Lodovico Dolce. Here the passion of love in a tyrant, dotingly affectionate but egotistic, roused to suspicion by the slightest hint, and jealous beyond Othello's lunacy, has been depicted with considerable skill. Herod is a fantastical Creon, who murders the fancied paramour of Marianna, and subsequently assassinates Marianna herself, his two sons by her, and her mother, in successive paroxysms of insane vindictiveness, waking up too late from his dream of self-injury into ignoble remorse. Though his conviction that Marianna meant to poison him, and his persuasion of her adultery with Soemo are so ill prepared by reasonable motives as to be ridiculous, the operation of these beliefs upon his wild-beast nature leads to more real movement than is common in Italian tragedies. The inevitable Chorus is employed for the utterance of sententious commonplaces; and the part of the Messenger is abused for the detailed and disgusting description of executions that inspire no horror.

The tragedies hitherto discussed, though conforming to the type of the classical drama, were composed on original subjects. Yet the best plays of this pedantic school are those which closely follow some Attic model. Rucellai's Oreste, produced in imitation of the Iphigenia in Tauris, far surpasses the Rosmunda, not only as a poem of action, but also for the richness and the beauty of its style. That Rucellai should spoil the plot of Euripides by his alterations, protracting the famous recognition-scene till we are forced to suppose that Orestes and Iphigenia kept up a game of mutual misunderstanding out of consideration for the poet, and spinning out the contest between Orestes and Pylades to absurdity, was to be expected. A scholar in his study can scarcely hope to improve upon the work of a poet whose very blemishes were the defects of a dramatic quality. He fancies that expansion of striking situations will fortify them, and that the addition of ingenious rhetoric will render a simple action more effective. The reverse of this is true; and the best line open to such a poet is to produce a faithful version of his original. This was done by Luigi Alamanni, whose translation of the Antigone, though open to objections on the score of scholarship, is a brilliant and beautiful piece of Italian versification. Lodovico Dolce in his Giocasta attempted to remodel the Phœnissæ with very indifferent success; while Giovanni Andrea dell'Anguillara defaced the Œdipus Tyrannus in his Edippo, by adding a final act and interweaving episodical matter borrowed from Seneca. A more repulsive tragi-comedy than this pasticcio of Sophocles and Seneca, can scarcely be imagined. Yet Quadrio and Tiraboschi mention it with cautious compliment, and it received the honor of public recitation at Vicenza in 1565, when Palladio erected a theater for the purpose in the noble Palazzo della Ragione. We cannot contemplate these rifacimenti of standard-making masterpieces without mixed feelings of scorn and pity. Sprouting fungus-like upon the venerable limbs of august poetry, they lived their season of mildewy fame, and may now be reckoned among the things which the world would only too willingly let die. The ineptitude of such performance reached a climax in Lodovico Martelli's Tullia, where the Roman legend of Lucius Tarquinius is violently altered to suit the plot of Sophocles' Electra. Romulus appears at the conclusion of the play as a deus ex machina, and the insufferable tedium of the speeches may be imagined from the fact that one of them runs to the length of 211 lines.

These tragedies were the literary manufacture of scholars, writing in no relation of reciprocity with the world of action or the audience of busy cities. Applying rules of Aristotle and Horace, travestying Sophocles and Euripides, copying the worst faults of Seneca, patching, boggling, rehandling, misconceiving, devising petty traps instead of plots, mistaking bloodshed and brutality for terror, attending to niceties of diction, composing commonplace sentences for superfluous Choruses, intent on everything but the main points of passion, character, and action, they produced the dreariest caput mortuum of unintelligent industry which it is the melancholy duty of historians to chronicle. Their personages are shadows evoked in the camera obscura of a pedant's brain from figures that have crossed the orbit of his solitary studies. No breath or juice of life animates these formal marionettes. Their movements of passion are the spasms of machinery. No charm of poetry, no bursts of lyrical music, no resolutions of tragic solemnity into irony or sarcasm, afford relief from clumsy horrors and stale disquisitions, parceled out by weight and measure in the leaden acts. An intolerable wordiness oppresses the reader, who wades through speeches reckoned by the hundred lines, wondering how any audience could endure the torment of their recitation. Each play is a flat and arid wilderness, piled with barrows of extinct sentences in Seneca's manner and with pyramids of reflection heaped up from the commonplace books of a pedagogue.

The failure of Italian tragedy was inseparable from its artificial origin. It was the conscious product of cultivated persons, who aimed at nothing nobler than the imitation of the ancients and the observance of inapplicable rules. The curse of intellectual barrenness weighed upon the starvelings of this system from the moment of their birth, and nothing better came of them than our own Gorboduc. That tragedy, built upon the false Italian method, is indeed a sign of what we English might have suffered, if Sidney and the court had gained their way with the Elizabethan Drama.

The humanistic influences of the fifteenth century were scarcely less unpropitious to national comedy at its outset than they had been to tragedy. Although the Sacre Rappresentazioni contained the germ of vernacular farce, though interludes in dialect amused the folk of more than one Italian province, among which special reference may be made to the Neapolitan Farse, yet the playwrights of the Renaissance preferred Plautus and Terence to the indigenous growth of their own age and country.[154] We may note this fact with regret, since it helped to deprive the Italians of a national theater. Still we must not forget that it was inevitable. Humanism embraced the several districts of Italy in a common culture, effacing the distinctions of dialect, and bringing the separate elements of the nation to a consciousness of intellectual unity. Divided as Venetians, as Florentines, as Neapolitans, as Lombards, and as Romans, the members of the Italian community recognized their identity in the spiritual city they had reconquered from the past. What the English translation of the Bible effected for us, the recovery of Latin and the humanistic education of the middle classes achieved for the Italians. For a Florentine scholar to have developed the comic elements existing in the Feste, for a Neapolitan to have refined the matter of the Farse, would have seemed the same in either case as self-restriction to the limits of a single province. But the whole nation possessed the Latin poets as a common heritage; and on the ground of Plautus, Florentines and Neapolitans could understand each other. It was therefore natural that the cultivated orders, brought into communion by the ancients, should look to these for models of an art they were intent on making national. Together with this imperious instinct, which impelled the Italians to create their literature in sympathy with the commanding spirit of the age, we must reckon the fashionable indifference toward vernacular and obscure forms of poetry. The princes and their courtiers strove alike to remodel modern customs in accordance with the classics. Illiterate mechanics might amuse themselves with farces.[155] Men who had once tasted the refined and pungent salt of Attic wit, could stomach nothing simpler than scenes from antique comedy.

We therefore find that, at the close of the fifteenth century, it was common to recite the plays of Plautus and Terence in their original language. Paolo Comparini at Florence in 1488 wrote a prologue to the Menæchmi, which his pupils represented, much to the disgust of the elder religious Companies, who felt that the ruin of their Feste was involved in this revival of antiquity.[156] Pomponius Lætus at Rome, about the same time, encouraged the members of his Academy to rehearse Terence and Plautus in the palaces of nobles and prelates.[157] The company of youthful actors formed by him were employed by the Cardinal Raffaello Riario in the magnificent spectacles he provided for the amusement of the Papal Court. During the pontificate of Sixtus IV. and Innocent VIII., the mausoleum of Hadrian, not then transformed into a fortress, or else the squares of Rome were temporarily arranged as theaters for these exhibitions.[158] It was on this stage that Tommaso Inghirami, by his brilliant acting in the Hippolytus of Seneca, gained the surname of Phædra which clung to him through life. In the pontificate of Alexander we hear of similar shows, as when, upon the occasion of Lucrezia Borgia's espousal to the Duke of Ferrara in 1502, the Menæchmi was represented at the Vatican.[159]

The Court which accomplished most for the resuscitation of Latin Comedy was that of the Estensi at Ferrara. Ercole I. had spent a delicate youth in humanistic studies, collecting manuscripts and encouraging his courtiers to make Italian translations of ancient authors. He took special interest in theatrical compositions, and spared no pains in putting Latin comedies with all the pomp of modern art upon the stage. Thus the Ferrarese diaries mention a representation of the Menæchmi in 1486, which cost above 1000 ducats. In 1487 the courtyard of the castle was fitted up as a theater for the exhibition of Nicolò da Correggio's Pastoral of Cefalo.[160] Again, upon the occasion of Annibale de' Bentivogli's betrothal to a princess of the Este family, the Amphitryon was performed; and in 1491, when Anna Sforza gave her hand to Alfonso d'Este, the same comedy was repeated. In 1493 Lodovico Sforza, on a visit to Ferrara, witnessed a representation of the Menæchmi, which so delighted him that he begged Ercole to send his company to Milan. The Duke went thither in person, attended by his son Alfonso and by gentle actors of his Court, among whom Lodovico Ariosto played a part. Later on, in 1499, we again hear of Latin comedies at Ferrara. Bembo in a letter of that year mentions the Trinummus, Pœnulus and Eunuchus.[161]

It is probable that Latin comedies were recited at Ferrara, as at Rome, in the original. At the same time we know that both Plautus and Terence were being translated into Italian for the amusement of an audience as yet but partially acquainted with ancient languages. Tiraboschi mentions the Anfitrione of Pandolfo Collenuccio, the Cassina and Mostellaria versified in terza rima by Girolamo Berardo, and the Menechmi of Duke Ercole, among the earliest of these versions. Guarini and Ariosto followed on their path with translations from the Latin made for special occasions. It was thus that Italian comedy began to disengage itself from Latin. After the presentation of the original plays, came translation; and after translation, imitation. The further transition from imitation to freedom was never perfectly effected. The comic drama, determined in its form by the circumstances of its origin remained emphatically a commedia erudita. Adapted to the conditions of modern life, it never lost dependence upon Latin models; and its most ingenious representations of manners were defaced by reminiscences which condemn them to a place among artistic hybrids. Ariosto, who did so much to stamp Italian comedy with the mark of his own genius, was educated, as we have already seen, in the traditions of Duke Ercole's Latin theater; and Ariosto gave the law to his most genial successor, Cecchi. The Pegasus of the Italian drama, if I may venture on a burlesque metaphor, was a mule begotten by the sturdy ass of Latin on the fleet mare of the Italian spirit; and it had the sterility of the mule.

The year 1502, when Lucrezia Borgia came as Alfonso d'Este's bride to Ferrara, marks the climax of these Latin spectacles.[162] Ercole had arranged a theater in the Palace of the Podestà (now called the Palazzo della Ragione), which was connected with the castle by a private gallery. His troupe, recruited from Ferrara, Rome, Siena, and Mantua, numbered one hundred and ten actors of both sexes. Accomplished singers, dancers, and scene-painters were summoned to add richness to the spectacle. We hear of musical interludes performed by six violins; while every comedy was diversified by morris-dances of Saracens, satyrs, gladiators, wild men, hunters, and allegorical personages.[163] The entertainment lasted over five nights, a comedy of Plautus forming the principal piece on each occasion. On the first evening the Epidicus was given; on the second, the Bacchides; on the third, the Miles Gloriosus; on the fourth, the Asinaria; on the fifth, the Casina. From the reports of Cagnolo, Zambotto, and Isabella Gonzaga, we are led to believe that the unlettered audience judged the recitations of the Plautine comedies somewhat tedious. They were in the same position as unmusical people of the present day, condemned to listen to Bach's Passion Music, and afraid of expressing their dissatisfaction. Yet these more frivolous spectators found ample gratification in the ingenious ballets, accompanied with music, which relieved each act. The occasion was memorable. In those five evenings the Court of Ferrara presented to the fashionable world of Italy a carefully-studied picture of Latin comedy framed in a setting of luxuriant modern arabesques. The simplicity of Plautus, executed with the fidelity born of reverence for antique art, was thrown into relief by extravagances borrowed from medieval chivalry, tinctured with Oriental associations, enhanced by music and colored with the glowing hues of Ferrarese imagination. The city of Boiardo, of Dossi, of Bello, of Ariosto, strained her resources to devise fantastic foils for the antique. It was as though Cellini had been called to mount an onyx of Augustus in labyrinths of gold-work and enamel for the stomacher of a Grand-Duchess.

We may without exaggeration affirm that the practice of the Ferrarese stage, culminating in the marriage shows of 1502, determined the future of Italian comedy. The fashion of the Court of Ercole was followed by all patrons of dramatic art. When a play was written, the author planned it in connection with subordinate exhibitions of dancing and music.[164] He wrote a poem in five acts upon the model of Plautus or Terence, understanding that his scenes of classical simplicity would be embedded in the grotesques of cinque cento allegory. The whole performance lasted some six hours; but the comedy itself was but a portion of the entertainment. For the majority of the audience the dances and the pageants formed the chief attraction.[165] It is therefore no marvel if the drama, considered as a branch of high poetic art, was suffocated by the growth of its mere accessories. Nor was this inconsistent with the ruling tendencies of the Renaissance. We have no reason to suppose that even Ariosto or Machiavelli grudged the participation of painters like Peruzzi, musicians like Dalla Viuola, architects like San Gallo, and dancers of ephemeral distinction, in the triumph of their plays.

The habit of regarding scenic exhibitions as the adjunct to extravagant Court luxury, prevented the development of a theater in which the genius of poets might have shone with undimmed intellectual luster. The want of permanent buildings, devoted to acting, in any great Italian town, may again be reckoned among the causes which checked the expansion of the drama. When a play had to be acted, a stage was erected at a great expense for the occasion.[166] It is true that Alfonso I. built a theater after Ariosto's designs at Ferrara in 1528; but it was burnt down in 1532. According to Gregorovius, Leo X. fitted one up at Rome upon the Capitol in 1513,[167] capable of holding the two thousand spectators who witnessed a performance of the Suppositi. This does not, however, seem to have been used continuously; nor was it until the second half of the sixteenth century that theaters began to form a part of the palatial residences of princes. One precious relic of those more permanent stages remains to show the style they then assumed. This is the Teatro Farnese at Parma, erected in 1618 by Ranuzio I. after the design of Galeotti Aleotti of Ferrara. It could accommodate seven thousand spectators; and, though now in ruins, it is still a stately and harmonious monument of architectural magnificence.[168] What, however, was always wanting in Italy was a theater open to all classes and at all seasons of the year, where the people might have been the patrons of their playwrights.[169]

The transition from Latin to Italian comedy was effected almost simultaneously by three poets, Bernardo Dovizio, Lodovico Ariosto, and Niccolò Machiavelli. Dovizio was born at Bibbiena in 1470. He attached himself to the Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici, and received the scarlet from his master in 1513. We need not concern ourselves with his ecclesiastical career. It is enough to say that the Calandra, which raised him to a foremost place among the literary men of Italy, was composed before his elevation to the dignity of Cardinal, and was first performed at Urbino some time between the dates 1504 and 1513, possibly in 1508. The reader will already have observed that the most popular Latin play, both at Ferrara and Rome, was the Menæchmi of Plautus. In Dovizio's Calandra the influence of this comedy is so noticeable that we may best describe it as an accommodation of the Latin form to Italian circumstance. The intrigue depends upon the close resemblance of a brother and sister, Lidio and Santilla, whose appearance by turns in male and female costume gives rise to a variety of farcical incidents. The name is derived from Calandro, a simpleton of Calandrino's type; and the interest of the plot is that of a Novella. The characters are very slightly sketched; but the movement is continuous, and the dialogue is always lively. The Calandra achieved immediate success by reproducing both the humor of Boccaccio and the invention of Plautus in the wittiest vernacular.[170] A famous letter of Baldassare Castiglione, describing its representation at Urbino, enlarges upon the splendor of the scenery and dresses, the masks of Jason, Venus, Love, Neptune, and Juno, accompanied by morris-dances and concerts of stringed instruments, which were introduced as interludes.[171] From Urbino the comedy passed through all the Courts of Italy, finding the highest favor at Rome, where Leo more than once decreed its representation. One of these occasions was memorable. Wishing to entertain the Marchioness Isabella of Mantua (1514), he put the Calandra with great pomp upon his private stage in the Vatican. Baldassare Peruzzi designed and painted the decorations, giving a new impulse to this species of art by the beauty of his inventions.[172]

Leo had an insatiable appetite for scenic shows. Comedies of the new Latinizing style were his favorite recreation. But he also invited the Sienese Company of the Rozzi, who only played farces, every year to Rome; nor was he averse to even less artistic buffoonery, as may be gathered from many of the stories told about him.[173] In 1513 Leo opened a theater upon the Capitol, and here in 1519, surrounded with two thousand spectators, he witnessed an exhibition of Ariosto's Suppositi. We have a description of the scene from the pen of an eye-witness, who relates how the Pope sat at the entrance to the gallery leading into the theater, and admitted with his benediction those whom he thought worthy of partaking in the night's amusements.[174] When the house was full, he took his throne in the orchestra, and sat, with eye-glass in hand, to watch the play. Raphael had painted the scenery, which is said to have been, and doubtless was, extremely beautiful. Leo's behavior scandalized the foreign embassadors, who thought it indecorous that a Pope should not only listen to the equivocal jests of the Prologue but also laugh immoderately at them.[175] As usual, the inter-acts consisted of vocal and instrumental concerts, with ballets on classical and allegorical subjects.

Enough has now been said concerning the mode of presenting comedies in vogue throughout Italy. The mention of Leo's entertainment in 1519 introduces the subject of Ariosto's plays. The Suppositi, originally written in prose and afterwards versified by its author, first appeared in 1509 at Ferrara. In the preceding year Ariosto exhibited the Cassaria, which, like the Suppositi, was planned in prose and subsequently versified in sdrucciolo iambics.[176]

In Ariosto's comedies the form of Roman art becomes a lay-figure, dressed according to various modes of the Italian Renaissance. The wire-work, so to speak, of Plautus or of Terence can be everywhere detected; but this skeleton has been incarnated with modern flesh and blood, habited in Ferrarese costume, and taught the paces of contemporary fashion. Blent with the traditions of Plautine comedy, we find in each of the four plays an Italian Novella. The motive is invariably trivial. In the Cassaria two young men are in love with two girls kept by a slave-merchant. The intrigue turns upon the arts of their valets, who cheat the pander and procure the girls for nothing for their masters. In the Suppositi a young man of good family has assumed the part of servant, in order to seduce the daughter of his master. The devices by which he contrives to secure her hand in marriage, furnish the action of the play. The Lena has even a simpler plan. A young man needs a few quiet hours for corrupting his neighbor's daughter. Lena, the chief actress, will not serve as a go-between without a sum of ready money paid down by the hero. The movement of the piece depends on the expedients whereby this money is raised, and the farcical obstacles which interrupt the lovers at the point of their felicity. In the Negromante a young man has been secretly married to one woman, and openly to another. Cinthio loves his real wife, Lavinia, and feigns impotence in order to explain his want of affection for Emilia, who is the recognized mistress of his home. An astrologer, Iacchelino, holds the threads of the intrigue in his hands. Possessed of Cinthio's secret, paid by the parents of Emilia to restore Cinthio's virility, paid again by a lover of Emilia to advance his own suit, and seeking in the midst of these rival interests to make money out of the follies and ambitions of his clients, Iacchelino has the whole domestic company at his discretion. The comic point lies in the various passions which betray each dupe to the astrologer—Cinthio's wish to escape from Emilia, Camillo's eagerness to win her, the old folks' anxiety to cure Cinthio. Temolo, a servant, who is hoodwinked by no personal desire, sees that Iacchelino is an impostor; and the inordinate avarice of the astrologer undoes him. Thus the Negromante presents a really fine comic web of humors at cross purposes and appetites that overreach themselves.

There is considerable similarity in Ariosto's plots. In all of them, except the Negromante, we have a sub-plot which brings a tricksy valet into play. A sum of money is imperatively needed to effect the main scheme of the hero; and this has to be provided by the servant's ingenuity. Such direct satire as the poet thought fit to introduce, is common to them all. It concerns the costs, delays and frauds of legal procedure, favoritism at Court, the Ferrarese game-laws, and the tyranny of custom-house officials. But satire of an indirect, indulgent species—the Horatian satire of Ariosto's own epistles—adds a pleasant pungency to his pictures of contemporary manners no less than to his occasional discourses. The prologue to the Cassaria, on its reappearance as a versified play, might be quoted for the perfection of genial sarcasm, playing about the foibles of society without inflicting a serious wound. All the prologues, however, are not innocent. Those prefixed to the Lena and the Suppositi contain allusions so indecent, and veil obscenities under metaphors so flimsy, as to justify a belief in Ariosto's vulgarity of soul. Here the satirist borders too much on the sympathizer with a vice he professes to condemn.

It remains to speak of the Scolastica, a comedy left incomplete at Ariosto's death, and finished by his brother Gabrielle, but bearing the unmistakable stamp of his ripest genius impressed upon the style no less than on the structure of the plot.[177] The scene is laid at Ferrara, where we find ourselves among the scholars of its famous university, and are made acquainted in the liveliest manner with their habits. The heroes are two young students, Claudio and Eurialo, firm friends, who have passed some years at Pavia reading with Messer Lazzaro, a doctor of laws. The disturbance of the country having driven both professors and pupils from Pavia,[178] a variety of accidents brings all the actors of the comedy to Ferrara, where Eurialo is living with his father, Bartolo. Of course the two lads are in love—Claudio with the daughter of his former tutors, and Eurialo with a fatherless girl in the service of a noble lady at Pavia. The intrigue is rather farcical than comic. It turns upon the difficulties encountered by Claudio and Eurialo in concealing their sweethearts from their respective fathers, the absurd mistakes they make in the hurry of the moment, and the misunderstandings which ensue between themselves and the old people. Ariosto has so cleverly complicated the threads of his plot and has developed them with such lucidity of method that any analysis would fall short of the original in brevity and clearness. The dénouement is effected by the device of a recognition at the last moment. Eurialo's innamorata is found to be the lost ward of his father, Bartolo; and Claudio is happily married to his love, Flaminia. The merit of the play lies, however, less in the argument than the characters, which are ably conceived and sustained with more than even Ariosto's usual skill. The timid and perplexed Eurialo, trembling before his terrible father, seeking advice from every counselor, despairing, resigning himself to fate, is admirably contrasted with the more passionate and impulsive Claudio, who takes rash steps with inconsiderate boldness, relies on his own address to extricate himself, and vibrates between the ecstasies of love and the suspicions of an angry jealousy.[179] Bartolo, burdened in his conscience by an ancient act of broken faith, and punished in the disobedience of his son, forms an excellent pendent to the honest but pedantic Messer Lazzaro, who cannot bear to see his daughter suffer from an unrequited passion.[180] Each of the servants, too, has a well-marked physiognomy—the witty Accursio, picking up what learning he can from his master's books, and turning all he says to epigrams; the easy-going, Bacchanalian duenna; blunt Pistone; garrulous Stanna. But the most original of all the dramatis personæ is Bonifazio, that excellent keeper of lodgings for Ferrarese students, who identifies himself with their interests, sympathizes in their love-affairs, takes side with them against their fathers, and puts his conscience in his pocket when required to pull them out of scrapes.[181] Each of these characters has been copied from the life. The taint of Latin comedy has been purged out of them.[182] They move, speak, act like living beings, true to themselves in every circumstance, and justifying the minutest details of the argument by the operation of their several qualities of head and heart. Viewed as a work of pure dramatic art, the Scolastica is not only the most genial and sympathetic of Ariosto's comedies, but also the least fettered by his Latinizing prepossessions, and the strongest in psychological analysis. Like the Lena, it has the rare merit of making us at home in the Ferrara which he knew so well; but it does not, like that play, disgust us by the spectacle of abject profligacy.[183] There is a sunny, jovial freshness in this latest product of Ariosto's genius, which invigorates while it amuses and instructs.

The Scolastica is not without an element of satire. I have said that Bartolo had a sin upon his conscience. In early manhood he promised to adopt a friend's daughter, and to marry her in due course to his own Eurialo. But he neglected this duty, lost sight of the girl, and appropriated her heritage. He has reason to think that she may still be found in Naples; and the parish priest to whom he confided his secret in confession, will not absolve him, unless he take the journey and do all he can to rectify the error of his past. Bartolo is disinclined to this long pilgrimage, with the probable loss of a fortune at the end of it. In his difficulty he has recourse to a Frate Predicatore, who professes to hold ample powers for dispensing with troublesome vows and pious obligations:[184]

Voi potete veder la bolla, e leggere

Le facultadi mie, che sono amplissime;

E come, senza che pigliate, Bartolo,

Questo pellegrinaggio, io posso assolvere

E commutar i voti; e maravigliomi,

Che essendo, com'io son, vostro amicissimo,

Non m'abbiate richiesto; perchè, dandomi

Quel solamente che potreste spendere

Voi col famiglio nel viaggio, assolvere

Vi posso, e farvi schifar un grandissimo

Disconcio, all'età vostra incomportabile:

Oltra diversi infiniti pericoli,

Che ponno a chi va per cammino occorrere.

The irony of this speech depends upon its plain and business-like statement of a simoniacal bargain, which will prove of mutual benefit to the parties concerned. Bartolo confides his case of conscience to the Friar, previously telling him that he has confessed it to the parson:

Ma non mi sa decidere

Questo caso, chè, come voi, teologo

Non è; sa un poco di ragion canonica.

At the close of the communication, which is admirable for its lucid exposition of a domestic romance adapted to the circumstances of the sixteenth century, the Friar asks his penitent once more whether he would not willingly escape this pilgrimage. Who could doubt it? answers Bartolo. Well then:

Ben si potrà commutare in qualche opera

Pia. Non si trova al mondo sì forte obbligo,

Che non si possa scior con l'elemosine.

Here again the sarcasm consists in the hypocritical adaptation of the old axiom that everything in this world can be got for money. On both sides the transaction is commercial. Bartolo, like a good man of business, wishes to examine the Frate's title-deeds before he engages in the purchase of his spiritual privileges. In other words he must be permitted to examine the Bull of Indulgence:[185]

Porterollavi,

E ve la lascerò vedere e leggere.

Siate pur certo che la bolla è amplissima,

E che di tutti i casi, componendovi

Meco, vi posso interamente assolvere,

Non meno che potria 'l Papa medesimo.

Bartolo.

Vi credo; nondimeno, per iscarico

Della mia conscienza, la desidero

Veder, e farla anco vedere e leggere

Al mio parrocchiano.

Frate.

Ora sia in nomine

Domini, porterolla, e mostrerolla

A chi vi pare.

We may further notice how the parish priest is here meant to play the part of solicitor in the bargain. He does not deal in these spiritual commodities; but he can give advice upon the point of validity. The episode of Bartolo and the Dominican reminds us that we are on the eve of the Reformation. While Rome and Ferrara laughed at the hypocrisies, credulities, and religious frauds implied in such transactions, Northern Europe broke into flame, and Luther opened the great schism.[186]

The artistic merit of Ariosto's comedies consists in the perfection of their structure. However involved the intrigues may be, we experience no difficulty in following them; so masterly is their development.[187] It may be objected that he too frequently resorts to the device of anagnorisis, in order to solve a problem which cannot find its issue in the action. This mechanical solution is so obviously employed to make things easy for the author that no interest attaches to the climax of his fables. Yet the characters are drawn with that ripe insight into human nature which distinguished Ariosto. Machiavelli observed that, being a native of Ferrara, cautious in the handling of Tuscan idioms, and unwilling to use the dialect of his own city, Ariosto missed the salt of comedy.[188] There is truth in this criticism. Matched with the best Florentine dialogues, his language wants the raciness of the vernacular. The sdrucciolo verse, which he preferred, fatigues the ear and adds to the impression of formality. He frequently interrupts the action with tirades, talking, as it were, in his own person to the audience, instead of making his characters speak.[189] Yet foreigners, who study his comedies side by side with Plautus, at almost the same distance of unfamiliarity, will recognize the brilliance of his transcripts from contemporary life. These studies of Italian manners are eminent for good taste, passing at no point into extravagance, and only marred by a certain banality of moral instinct. The Lena has the highest value as a picture of Ferrarese society. We have good reason to believe that it was founded on an actual incident. It deserves to rank with Machiavelli's Mandragola and Aretino's Cortigiana for the light it throws on sixteenth-century customs. And the light is far more natural, less lurid, less partial, than that which either Machiavelli or Aretino shed upon the vices of their century.

Of Machiavelli we have two genuine comedies in prose, the Mandragola and the Clizia, and two of doubtful authenticity, called respectively Commedia in Prosa and Commedia in Versi, besides a translation of the Andria.[190] Judging by internal evidence alone, a cautious critic would reject the Commedia in Versi from the canon of Machiavelli's works; and if the existence of a copy in his autograph has to be taken as conclusive evidence of its genuineness, we can only accept it as a crude and juvenile production. It is written in various measures, a graceless octave stanza rhyming only in the last couplet being used instead of blank verse, while many of the monologues are lyrical. The language is crabbed, uncertain, archaistic—in no point displaying the incisive brevity of Machiavelli's style. The scene is laid in ancient Rome, and the intrigue turns upon a confusion between two names, Catillo and Cammillo. The conventional parasite of antiquity and the inevitable slaves play prominent parts; while the plot is solved by a preposterous exchange of wives between the two chief characters. Thus the fabric of the comedy throughout is unnatural and false to the conditions of real life. Were it not for some piquant studies of Italian manners, scattered here and there in the descriptive passages, this Commedia in Versi would scarcely deserve passing notice.[191]

The Commedia in Prosa, for which we might find a title in the name of the chief personage, Fra Alberigo, displays the spirit and the style of the Mandragola. Critics who do not accept it for Machiavelli's own, must assume it to have been the work of a clever and obsequious imitator. It is a short piece in three acts written to expose the corruption of a Florentine household. Caterina, the heroine, is a young wife married to an old husband, Amerigo. Their maid-servant, Margherita, holds the threads of the intrigue in her hands. She has been solicited on the one side by Amerigo to help him in his amours with a neighbor's wife, and on the other by the friar, Alberigo, to win Caterina to his suit. The devices whereby Margherita brings her mistress and the monk together, cheats Amerigo of his expected enjoyment, and so contrives that the despicable but injured husband should establish Fra Alberigo in the position of a favored house-friend, constitute the argument. Short as the play is, it combines the chief points of the Clizia and the Mandragola in a single action, and may be regarded as the first sketch of two situations afterwards developed with more fullness by the author.[192] The language is coarse, and the picture of manners, executed with remorseless realism, would be revolting but for its strong workmanship.[193] The playwright expended his force on the servant-maid and the friar, those two instruments of domestic immorality. Fra Alberigo is a vulgar libertine, provided with pious phrases to cloak his vicious purpose, but casting off the mask when he has gained his object, well knowing from past experience that the appetites of the woman he seduces will secure his footing in her husband's home.[194] Margherita revels in the corruption she has aided. She delights in sin for its own sake, extracts handfuls of coppers from the friar, and counts on profiting by the secret of her mistress. Her speech and action display the animal appetites and gross phraseology of the proletariate, degraded by city vices and hardened to the spectacle of clerical hypocrisy.[195] One of her exclamations: "I frati, ah! son più viziati che 'l fistolo!" taken in conjunction with her argument to Caterina: "I frati, eh? Non si trova generazione più abile ai servigi delle donne!" points the satire intended by the playwright. Yet neither Caterina nor Amerigo yields a point of baseness to these servile agents. Plebeian coarseness is stamped alike upon their language and their desires. They have no delicacy of feeling, no redeeming passion, no self-respect. They speak of things unmentionable with a crudity that makes one shudder, and abuse each other in sarcasms borrowed from the rhetoric of the streets.[196] To a refined taste the calculations of Caterina are no less obnoxious and are far less funny than the rogueries of the friar.

This comedy of Fra Alberigo is a literal transcript from a cynical Novella, dramatized and put upon the stage to amuse an audience familiar with such arguments by their perusal of Sacchetti and Boccaccio. Its freedom from Latinizing conventionality renders it a striking example of the influence exercised by the Novellieri over the theater. The same may be said about both the Clizia and the Mandragola, though the former owes a portion of its structure to the Casina of Plautus.[197] The Clizia is a finished picture of Florentine home-life. Nicomaco and Sofronia are an elderly couple, who have educated a beautiful girl, Clizia, from childhood in their house. At the moment when the play opens, both Nicomaco and his son, Cleandro, are in love with Clizia. Nicomaco as determined to marry her to one of his servants, Pirro, having previously ascertained that the dissolute groom will not object to sharing his wife with his master. Sofronia's family pride opposes the marriage of her son and heir with Clizia; but she is aware of her husband's schemes, and seeks to frustrate them by giving the girl to an honest bailiff, Eustachio. In the contest that ensues, Nicomaco gains the victory. It is settled that Clizia is to be wedded to Pirro, and on the night of the marriage Nicomaco makes his way into the bridal chamber. But here Sofronia proves more than a match for her lord and master. Helped by Cleandro, she substitutes for Clizia a young man-servant disguised as a woman, who gives Nicomaco a warm reception, beats him within an inch of his life, and exposes him to the ridicule of the household.[198] Sofronia triumphs over her ashamed and miserable husband, who now consents to Clizia's marriage with Eustachio. But at this juncture the long-lost father of the heroine appears like a deus ex machina. He turns out to be a rich Neapolitan gentleman. There remains no obstacle to Cleandro's happiness, and the curtain falls upon a marriage in prospect between the hero and the heroine. The weakness of the play, considered as a work of art, is the mechanical solution of the plot. Its strength and beauty are the masterly delineation of a family interior. The dramatis personæ are vigorously sketched and act throughout consistently. Nothing can be finer than the portrait of a sober Florentine merchant, regular in his pursuits, punctual in the performance of his duties, exact in household discipline and watchful over his son's education, whose dignified severity of conduct has yielded to the lunacies of an immoderate passion.[199] For the time being Nicomaco forgets his old associates, abandons his business, and consorts with youthful libertines in taverns. His appetite so blinds him that he devises the odious scheme I have described, in order to gratify a senile whim.[200] The lifelong fabric of honesty and honor breaks down in him; and it is only when lessoned by the punishment inflicted on him by his wife and son, that he returns to his old self and sees the vileness of the situation his folly has created. Sofronia is a notable housewife, rude but respectable. The good understanding between her and her handsome son, Cleandro, whom she loves affectionately, but whom she will not indulge in his caprice for Clizia, is one of the best traits furnished by Italian comedy. Cleandro himself has less than usual of the selfishness and sensuality which degrade the Florentine primo amoroso. There is even something of enthusiasm in his passion for Clizia—a germ of sentiment which would have blossomed into romance under the more genial treatment of our drama.[201] Morally speaking, what is odious in this comedy is the willingness of every one to sacrifice Clizia. Even Cleandro says of her: "Io per me la torrei per moglie, per amica, e in tutti quei modi, che io la potessi avere." Nicomaco, when he has failed in his plot to secure the girl, thinks only of his own shame, and takes no account of the risk to which he has exposed her. Sofronia is merely anxious to get her decently established beyond her husband's reach.

Only long extracts could do justice to the sarcasm and irony with which the dialogue is seasoned. Still a few points may be selected.[202] Sofronia is rating Nicomaco for his unseasonable dissipation. He answers: "Ah, moglie mia, non mi dire tanti mali a un tratto! Serba qualche cosa a domane." Eustachio, in view of taking Clizia for his wife, reflects: "In questa terra chi ha bella moglie non può essere povero, e del fuoco e della moglie si può essere liberale con ognuno, perchè quanto più ne dai, più te ne rimane." When Pirro demurs to Nicomaco's proposals, on the score that he will make enemies of Sofronia and Cleandro, his master answers: "Che importa a te? Sta' ben con Cristo e fàtti beffe de' santi." A little lower down Nicomaco trusts the decision of Clizia's husband to lot:

Pirro. Se la sorte me venisse contro?

Nicom. Io ho speranza in Dio, che la non verrà.

Pirro. O vecchio impazzato! Vuole che Dio tenga le mani a queste sue disonestà.

Nor can criticism express the comic humor of the scenes, especially of those in which Nicomaco describes the hours of agony he spent in Siro's bed, and afterwards capitulates at discretion to Sofronia.[203] In spite of what is disagreeable in the argument and obscene in the catastrophe, the Clizia leaves a wholesomer impression on the mind than is common with Florentine comedies. It has something of Ariosto's bonhomie, elsewhere unknown in Machiavelli.

Meanwhile the Mandragola is claiming our attention. In that comedy, Machiavelli put forth all his strength. Sinister and repulsive as it may be to modern tastes, its power is indubitable. More than any plays of which mention has hitherto been made, more even than Ariosto's Lena and Negromante, it detaches itself from Latin precedents and offers an unsophisticated view of Florentine life from its author's terrible point of contemplation.

In order to appreciate the Mandragola, it is necessary to know the plot. After spending his early manhood in Paris, Callimaco returns to Florence, bent on making the beautiful Lucrezia his mistress. He has only heard of her divine charms; but the bare report inflames his imagination, disturbs his sleep, and so distracts him that he feels forced "to attempt some bold stroke, be it grave, dangerous, ruinous, dishonorable; death itself would be better than the life I lead." Lucrezia is the faithful and obedient wife of Nicia, a doctor of laws, whose one wish in life is to get a son. The extreme gullibility of Nicia and his desire for an heir are the motives upon which Callimaco relies to work his schemes. He finds a parasite, Ligurio, ready to assist him. Ligurio is a friend of Nicia's family, well acquainted with the persons, and so utterly depraved that he would sell his soul for a good dinner. He advises Callimaco to play the part of a physician who has studied the last secrets of his art in Paris, introduces him in this capacity to Nicia, and suggests that by his help the desired result may be obtained without the disagreeable necessity of leaving Florence for the baths of San Filippo. In their first interview Callimaco explains that a potion of mandragora administered to Lucrezia will remove her sterility, but that it has fatal consequences to the husband. He must perish unless he first substitutes another man, whose death will extinguish the poison and leave Lucrezia free to be the mother of a future family. Nicia revolts against this odious project, which makes him the destroyer of his own honor and a murderer. But Callimaco assures him that royal persons and great nobles of France have adopted this method with success. The argument has its due weight: "I am satisfied," says Nicia, "since you tell me that a king and princes have done the like." But the difficulty remains of persuading Lucrezia. Ligurio answers: that is simple enough; let us work upon her through her confessor and her mother. "You, I, our money, our badness, and the badness of those priests will settle the confessor; and I know that, when the matter is explained, we shall have her mother on our side." Thus we are introduced to Fra Timoteo, the chief agent of corruption. The monk, in a first interview, does not conceal his readiness to procure abortion and cover infanticide. For a consideration, he agrees to convince Lucrezia that the plot is for her good. He first demonstrates the utility of Callimaco's method to the mother Sostrata, and then by her help persuades Lucrezia that adultery and murder are not only venial, but commendable with so fair an end in view. His sophistries anticipate the darkest casuistry of Escobar. Lucrezia, with a woman's good sense, fastens on the brutal and unnatural loathsomeness of the proposed plan: "Ma di tutte le cose che si sono tentate, questa mi pare la più strana; avere a sottomettere il corpo mio a questo vituperio, et essere cagione che un uomo muoia per vituperarmi: chè io non crederei, se io fussi sola rimasa nel mondo, e da me avesse a risurgere l'umana natura, che mi fusse simile partito concesso." Timoteo replies: "Qui è un bene certo, che voi ingraviderete, acquisterete un'anima a messer Domenedio. Il male incerto è, che colui che giacerà dopo la pozione con voi, si muoia; ma e' si truova anche di quelli che non muoiono. Ma perchè la cosa è dubbia, però è bene che messer Nicia non incorra in quel pericolo. Quanto all'atto che sia peccato, questo è una favola: perchè la volontà è quella che pecca, non il corpo; e la cagione del peccato è dispiacere al marito: e voi gli compiacete; pigliarne piacere: e voi ne avete dispiacere," etc. Sostrata, accustomed to follow her confessor's orders, and not burdened with a conscience, clinches this reasoning: "Di che hai tu paura, moccicona? E c'è cinquanta dame in questa terra che ne alzarebbero le mani al cielo." Lucrezia gives way unwillingly: "Io son contenta; ma non credo mai esser viva domattina." Timoteo comforts her with a final touch of monkish irony: "Non dubitare, figliuola mia, io pregherò Dio per te; io dirò l'orazione dell'Angiolo Raffaelo che t'accompagni. Andate in buon'ora, e preparatevi a questo misterio, che si fa sera." What follows is the mere working of the plot, whereby Ligurio and Timoteo contrive to introduce Callimaco as the necessary victim into Lucrezia's bed-chamber. The silly Nicia plays the part of pander to his own shame; and when Lucrezia discovers the scheme by which her lover has attained his ends, she exclaims: "Poi chè l'astuzia tua e la sciochezza del mio marito, la semplicità di mia madre e la tristizia del mio confessore, m'hanno condotta a far quello che mai per me medesima avrei fatto, io voglio giudicare che e' venga da una celeste disposizione, che abbia voluto così. Però io ti prendo per signore, padrone e guida." It must be remarked that Lucrezia omits from her reckoning the weakness which led her to consent.

My excuse for analyzing a comedy so indecent as the Mandragola, is the importance it has, not only as a product of Machiavelli's genius, but also as an illustration of contemporary modes of thought and feeling. In all points this play is worthy of the author of the Principe. The Mandragola is a microcosm of society as Machiavelli conceived it, and as it needs must be to justify his own philosophy. It is a study of stupidity and baseness acted on by roguery. Credulity and appetite supply the fulcrum needed by unscrupulous intelligence. The lover, aided by the husband's folly, the parasite's profligacy, the mother's familiarity with sin, the confessor's avarice, the wife's want of self-respect, achieves the triumph of making Nicia lead him naked to Lucrezia's chamber. Moving in the region of his fancy, the poet adds Quod erat demonstrandum to his theorem of vileness and gross folly used for selfish ends by craft. But we who read it, rise from the perusal with the certainty that it was only the corruption of the age which rendered such a libel upon human nature plausible—only the author's perverse and shallow view of life which sustained him in this reading of a problem he had failed to understand. Viewed as a critique upon life, the Mandragola is feeble, because the premises are false; and these same false premises regarding the main forces of society, render the logic of the Principe inconsequent. Men are not such fools as Nicia or such catspaws as Ligurio and Timoteo. Women are not such compliant instruments as Sostrata and Lucrezia. Human nature is not that tissue of disgusting meannesses and vices, by which Callimaco succeeds. Here lay Machiavelli's fallacy. He dreamed of action as the triumph of astuteness over folly. Virtue with him meant the management of immorality by bold intelligence. But while, on the one hand, he exaggerated the stupidity of dupes, on the other he underestimated the resistance which strongly-rooted moral instincts offer to audacious villainy. He left goodness out of his account. Therefore, though his reasoning, whether we examine the Mandragola or the Principe, seems irrefragable on the premises from which he starts, it is an unconvincing chain of sophisms. The world is not wholly bad; but in order to justify Machiavelli's conclusions, we have to assume that its essential forces are corrupt.

If we turn from the Mandragola to the society of which it is a study, and which complacently accepted it as an agreeable work of art, we are filled with a sense of surprise bordering on horror. What must the people among whom Machiavelli lived, have been, to justify his delineation of a ruffian so vicious as Ligurio, a confessor so lost to sense of duty as Timoteo, a mother who scruples not to prostitute her daughter to the first comer, a lover so depraved as Callimaco, a wife so devoid of womanly feeling as Lucrezia? On first reflection, we are inclined to believe that the poet in this comedy was venting Swiftian indignation on the human nature which he misconceived and loathed. The very name Lucrezia seems chosen in irony—as though to hint that Rome's first martyr would have failed, if Tarquin had but used her mother and her priest to tame her. Yet, on a second reading, the Mandragola reveals no scorn or anger. It is a piece of scientific anatomy, a demonstration of disease, executed without subjective feeling. The argument is so powerfully developed, with such simplicity of language, such consistency of character, such cold analysis of motives, that we cannot doubt the verisimilitude of the picture. No one, at the date of its appearance, resented it. Florentine audiences delighted in its comic flavor. Leo X. witnessed it with approval. His hatred of the monks found satisfaction in Timoteo. Society, far from rising in revolt against the poet who exposed its infamy with a pen of poisoned steel, thanked the man of genius for rendering vice amusing. Of satire or of moral purpose there is none in the Mandragola. Machiavelli depicted human nature just as he had learned to know it. The sinister fruits of his studies made contemporaries laugh.

The Mandragola was the work of an unhappy man. The prologue offers a curious mixture of haughtiness and fawning, only comparable to the dedication of the Principe and the letter to Vettori.[204] A sense of his own intellectual greatness is combined with an uneasy feeling of failure:

Non è componitor di molta fama.

As an apology for his application to trivialities, he pleads wretchedness and ennui:

E se questa materia non è degna,

Per esser più leggieri

D'un uom che voglia parer saggio e grave,

Scusatelo con questo, che s'ingegna

Con questi vani pensieri

Fare el suo tristo tempo più soave;

Perchè altrove non ave

Dove voltare el viso;

Che gli è stato interciso

Mostrar con altre imprese altra virtue,

Non sendo premio alle fatiche sue.

These verses, indifferent as poetry, are poignant for their revelation of a disappointed life. Left without occupation, unable to display his powers upon a worthy platform, he casts the pearls of his philosophy before the pleasure-seeking swine. The sense of this degradation stings him and he turns upon society with threats. Let them not attempt to browbeat or intimidate him:

Che sa dir male anch'egli,

E come questa fu la sua prim'arte:

E come in ogni parte

Del mondo, ove il sì suona,

Non istima persona,

Ancor che faccia el sergiere a colui

Che può portar miglior mantel di lui.

Throughout his prologue we hear the growl of a wounded lion, helpless in his lair, yet conscious that he still has strength to rend the fools and knaves around him.

Aretino completed the disengagement of Italian from Latin comedy. Ignoring the principles established by the Plautine mannerists, he liberated the elements of satire and of realism held in bondage by their rules. His reasoning was unanswerable. Why should he attend to the unities, or be careful to send the same person no more than five times on the stage in one piece? His people shall come and go as they think fit, or as the argument requires.[205] Why should he make Romans ape he style of Athens? His Romans shall be painted from life; his servants shall talk and act like Italian varlets, not mimicking the ways of Geta or Davus.[206] Why should he shackle his style with precedents from Petrarch and Boccaccio? He will seek the fittest words, the aptest phrases, the most biting repartees from ordinary language.[207] Why condescend to imitation, when his mother wit supplies him with material, and the world of men lies open like a book before his eyes?[208] Why follow in the footsteps of the pedants, who mistake their knowledge of grammar for genius, and whose commentaries are an insult to the poets they pretend to illustrate?[209]

Conscious of his own defective education, and judging the puristic niceties of the age at their true value, Aretino thus flung the glove of defiance in the face of a learned public. It was a bold step; but the adventurer knew what he was doing. The originality of his Ars Poetica took the world by surprise. His Italian audience delighted in the sparkle of a style that gave point to their common speech. Had Aretino been a writer of genius, Italy might now have owed to his audacity and self-reliance the starting-point of national dramatic art.[210] He was on the right path, but he lacked the skill to tread it. His comedies, loosely put together, with no constructive vigor in their plots and no grasp of psychology in their characters, are a series of powerfully-written scenes, piquant dialogues, effective situations, rather than comedies in the higher sense of the word. We must not look for Ariosto's lucid order, for Machiavelli's disposition of parts, in these vagaries of a brilliant talent aiming at immediate success. We must be grateful for the filibustering bravado which made him dare to sketch contemporary manners from the life. The merit of these comedies is naturalness. Such affectation of antithesis or labored epigram as mars their style, was part of Aretino's self. It reveals the man, and is not wearisome like the conceits of the pedantic school. What he had learned, seen or heard in his experience of the world—and Aretino saw, heard and learned the worst of the society in which he lived—is presented with vigor. The power to express is never shackled by a back-thought of reserve or delicacy. Each character stands outlined with a vividness none the less convincing because the study lacks depth. What Aretino cannot supply, is the nexus between these striking passages, the linking of these lively portraits into a coherent whole. Machiavelli's logic, perverse as it may be, produces by its stringent application a more impressive æsthetical effect. The doctrine of style for style's sake, derided by Aretino, satisfies at least our sense of harmony. In the insolence of freedom he spoils the form of his plays by discussions, sometimes dull, sometimes disgusting, in which he vents his spite or airs his sycophancy without regard for the exigencies of his subject. Still, in spite of these defects, Aretino's plays are a precious mine of information for one who desires to enter into direct communication with the men of the Renaissance.

Aretino's point of view is that of the successful adventurer. Unlike Machiavelli, he has no sourness and reveals no disappointment. He has never fallen from the high estate of an impersonal ambition. His report of human depravity is neither scientific nor indignant. He appreciates the vices of the world, by comprehending which, as means to ends, he has achieved celebrity. They are the instruments of his advance in life, the sources of his wealth, the wisdom he professes. Therefore, while he satirizes, he treats them with complacence. Evil is good for its own sake also in his eyes. Having tasted all its fruits, he revels in recalling his sensations, just as Casanova took pleasure in recording his debaucheries. His knowledge of society is that of an upstart, who has risen from the lowest ranks by the arts of the bully, flatterer and pander. We never forget that he began life as a lackey, and the most valuable quality of his comedies is that they depict the great world from the standpoint of the servants' hall. Aretino is too powerful and fashionable to be aware of this. He poses as the sage and satirist. But the revelation is none the less pungent because it is made unconsciously. The Court, idealized by Castiglione, censured by Guarini, inveighed against by La Casa, here shows its inner rottenness for our inspection, at the pleasure of a charlatan who thrives on this pollution. We hear how the valets of debauched prelates, the parasites of petty nobles, the pimps who battened on the vices of the rich, the flatterer who earned his bread by calumny and lies, viewed this world of fashion, how they discussed it among themselves, how they utilized its corruption. We shake hands with ruffians and cut-throats, enter the Roman brothels by their back-door, sit down in their kitchens, and become acquainted with the secrets of their trade. It may be suggested that the knowledge supplied by Aretino, if it concerns such details, is neither profitable nor valuable. No one, indeed, who is not specially curious to realize the manners of Renaissance Italy, should occupy his leisure with these comedies.

The Cortigiana is a parody of Castiglione's Cortegiano. A Sienese gentleman, simple and provincial, the lineal descendant of Pulci's Messer Goro, arrives in Rome to make his fortune.[211] He is bent on assuming the fine airs of the Court, and hopes to become at least a Cardinal before he returns home. On his first arrival Messer Maco falls into the clutches of a sharper, who introduces him to disreputable society, under color of teaching him the art of courtiership. The satire of the piece consists in showing Rome to be the school of profligacy rather than of gentle customs.[212] Before he has spent more than a few days in the Eternal City, the country squire learns the slang of the demi-monde and swaggers among courtesans and rufflers. Maestro Andrea, who has undertaken his education, lectures him upon the virtues of the courtier in a scene of cynical irony:[213] "La principal cosa, il cortigiano vuol sapere bestemmiare, vuole essere giuocatore, invidioso, puttaniere, eretico, adulatore, maldicente, sconoscente, ignorante, asino, vuol sapere frappare, far la ninfa, et essere agente e paziente." Some of these qualities are understood at once by Messer Maco. Concerning others he asks for further information: "Come si diventa eretico? questo è 'l caso.—Notate.—Io nuoto benissimo.—Quando alcuno vi dice che in Corte sia bontà, discrezione, amore, o conoscenza, dite no 'l credo ... in somma a chi vi dice bene de la Corte, dite: tu sei un bugiardo." Again, Messer Maco asks: "Come si dice male?" The answer is prompt and characteristic of Aretino:[214] "Dicendo il vero, dicendo il vero." What Maestro Andrea teaches theoretically, is expounded as a fact of bitter experience by Valerio and Flamminio, the gentlemen in waiting on a fool of fortune named Parabolano.[215] These men, admitted to the secrets of a noble household, know its inner sordidness, and reckon on the vanity and passions of their patron. A still lower stage in the scale of debasement is revealed by the conversations of the lackeys, Rosso and Cappa, who discuss the foibles of their master with the coarseness of the stables.[216] In so far as the Cortigiana teaches any lesson, it is contained in the humiliation of Parabolano. His vices have made him the slave and creature of foul-minded serving-men, who laugh together over the disgusting details of his privacy, while they flatter him to his face in order to profit by his frivolities.[217] Aretino's own experience of life in Rome enabled him to make these pictures of the servants' hall and antechamber pungent.[218] The venom engendered by years of servitude and adulation is vented in his criticism of the Court as censured from a flunkey's point of view. Nor is he less at home in painting the pleasures of the class whom he has chosen for his critics of polite society. Cappa's soliloquy upon the paradise of the tavern, and Rosso's pranks, when he plays the gentleman in his master's fine clothes, owe the effect of humor to their realistic verve.[219] We feel them to be reminiscences of fact. These scenes constitute the salt of the comedy, supported by vivid sketches of town characters—the news-boy, the fisherman of the Tiber, and the superannuated prostitute.[220]

In the Cortigiana it was Aretino's object to destroy illusions about Court-life by describing it in all the vileness of reality.[221] The Marescalco is a study of the same conditions of society, with less malignity and far more geniality of humor.[222] A rich fool has been recommended by his lord and master, the Duke of Mantua, to take a wife. He loathes matrimony, and shrinks from spending several thousand ducats on the dower. But the parasites, buffoons and henchmen of the prince persuade and bully him into compliance. He is finally married to a page dressed as a woman, and his relief at discovering the sex of his supposed wife forms the climax of the plot. The play is conducted with so much spirit that we may not be wrong in supposing Shakspere in Twelfth Night and Ben Jonson in Epicœne to have owed something to its humor. We look, however, in vain for such fine creatures of the fancy as Sir Toby Belch, or for a catastrophe so overwhelming as the crescendo of noise and bustle which subdue the obstinacy of Morose. On the other hand, the two companion scenes in which Marescalco's nurse enlarges on the luxuries of married life, while Ambrogio describes its miseries, are executed with fine sense of comic contrast.[223]

In the Talanta we return to Roman society. This comedy is a study of courtesan life, analyzed with thorough knowledge of its details. The character of Talanta, who plays her four lovers one against the other, extracting presents by various devices from each of them, displays the author's intimate acquaintance with his subject.[224] Talanta on the stage is a worthy pendant to Nanna in the Ragionamenti. But the intrigue is confused, tedious and improbable; and after reading the first act, we have already seen the best of Aretino's invention. The same may be said about the Ipocrita and the Filosofo, two comedies in which Aretino attempted to portray a charlatan of Tartufe's type and a student helpless in his wife's hands. These characters are not ill conceived, but they are too superficially executed to bear the weight of the plot laid upon them. In like manner the pedant in the Marescalco and the swashbuckler in the Talanta are rather silhouettes than finished portraits. Though well sketched, they lack substance. They have neither the lifelike movement of Shakspere's minor persons, nor the impressive mechanism of Jonson's humors. Bobadil and Master Holofernes, though caricatures, move in a higher region of the comic art. The characters Aretino would imitate supremely well, were a page like Giannico in the Marescalco, a footman like Rosso in the Cortigiana, or a woman of the town like Talanta. His comedies are never wanting in bustle and variety of business; while the sarcasm of the author, flying at the best-established reputations, sneering at the most fashionable prejudices of society, renders them effective even now, when all the jealousies he flouted have long been buried in oblivion.[225]

Bibbiena's Calandra is a farce, obscene but not malignant. Ariosto's comedies are studies of society from the standpoint of the middle class. If he is too indulgent to human frailty, too tolerant of vice, we never miss in him the wisdom of a genial observer. Machiavelli's Mandragola casts the dry light of the intellect on an abyss of evil. Nothing but the brilliance of the poet's wit reconciles us to his revelation of perversity. Aretino, by the animation of his sketches, by his prurient delight in what is vile, makes us comprehend that even the Mandragola was possible. Machiavelli stands outside his subject, like Lucifer, fallen but disdainful. Aretino is the Belial who acknowledges corruption for his own domain. Ariosto and Machiavelli are artists each in his kind perfect. Aretino is an improvvisatore, clever with the pen he uses like a burin.

It would be difficult to render an account of the comedies produced by the Italians in the sixteenth century, or to catalogue their authors. A computation has been made which reckons the plays known to students at several thousands. In spite of this extraordinary richness in comic literature, Italy cannot boast of a great comedy. No poet arose to carry the art onward from the point already reached when Aretino left the stage. The neglect that fell on those innumerable comedies, was not wholly undeserved. It is true that their scenes suggested brilliant episodes to French and English playwrights of celebrity. It is true that the historian of manners finds in them an almost inexhaustible store of matter. Still they are literary lucubrations rather than the spontaneous expression of a vivid nationality. Nor have they the subordinate merit of dealing in a scientific spirit with the cardinal vices and follies of society. We miss the original plots, the powerful modeling of character, the philosophical insight which would have reconciled us to a Commedia erudita.

When we examine the plays of Firenzuola, Cecchi, Ambra, Gelli, Il Lasca, Doni, Dolce, we find that a hybrid form of art had been established by the practice of the earlier playwrights. This hybrid implied Plautus and Terence as a necessary basis. It adopted the fusion of Latin arguments with Italian manners which was so ably realized by Ariosto and Machiavelli. It allowed something for the farce traditions which the Rozzi made fashionable at Rome. It assumed ingredients from the Burle and Novelle of the marketplace, reproduced the language of the people, and made use of current scandals to give piquancy to its conventional plots. But notwithstanding the admixture of so many modern elements, the stereotyped Latinism of its form rendered this comedy unnatural. Ingenious contaminatio, to use a phrase in vogue among Roman critics, was always more apparent than creative instinct.

The Commedia erudita presented a framework ready-made to the playwright, and easily accepted on the strength of usage by the audience he sought to entertain. At the same time it left him free, within prescribed limits, to represent the manners of contemporary life. The main object of a great drama "to show the very age and body of the time his form and pressure," is thrust into the second rank; and the most valuable portions of these clever works of skill are their episodes—such scenes, for example, as those which in the Aridosio of Lorenzino de' Medici reveal the dissoluteness of conventual customs in a scholastic rifacimento of the Adelphi and the Mostellaria.[226] Had the fusion of classical and modern elements been complete as in the Epicœne of Jonson, or had the character-drawing been masterly as in Molière's Avare, we should have no cause for complaint. But these are just the qualities of success missed by the Italian playwrights. Their studies from nature are comparatively slight. Having exhibited them in the presentation of the subject or introduced them here and there by way of interludes, they work the play to its conclusion on the lines of Latinistic convention.[227]

Such being the form of cinque cento comedy, it follows that its details are monotonous. The characters are invariably drawn from the ranks of the rich burgher classes; and if we may trust the evidence furnished by the playwrights, the morality of these classes must have been of an almost inconceivable baseness. We survey a society separated from the larger interests than elevate humanity, without public ambition or the sense of national greatness, excluded from the career of arms, dead to honor, bent upon sensual enjoyment and petty intrigues. The motive which sustains the plot, is illicit love; but in its presentation there is no romance, nothing to cloak the animalism of an unchecked instinct. The young men who play the part of primi amorosi, are in debt or without money. It is their object to repair their fortunes by a rich marriage, to secure a maintenance from a neighbor's wife they have seduced, to satisfy the avarice of a greedy courtesan, or to conceal the results of an intrigue which has brought their mistress into difficulties. From the innumerable scenes devoted to these elegant and witty scapegraces, it would be difficult to glean a single sentence expressive of conscience, remorse, sense of loyalty or generous feeling. They submit to the most odious bargains and disreputable subterfuges, sacrificing the honor of their families or the good fame of the women who depend upon them, to the attainment of some momentary self-indulgence.[228] Without respect for age, they expend their ingenuity in robbing their parents and exposing their fathers to ridicule.[229] Nor is it possible to feel much sympathy for the elders, who are so brutally used. The old man of these comedies is either a superannuated libertine, who makes himself ridiculous by his intrigues with a neighbor's wife, or a parsimonious tyrant, or else an indulgent rake, who acts the pander for his good-for-nothing rascal of a son.[230] Mere simpletons like Machiavelli's Nicia, or Aretino's Messer Maco, furnish another type of irreverent age, unredeemed by the comic humor of Falstaff or the gigantic lusts of Sir Epicure Mammon. Between son and father the inevitable servant plays the part of clever rogue. It is he who weaves the meshes of the intrigue that shall cut the purse-strings of the stingy parent, blind the eyes of the husband to his wife's adultery, or cheat the creditor of his dues. Our sympathy is always enlisted on the side of the schemers; and however base their tricks may be, we are invited to applaud the success which crowns them. The girls are worthy of their lovers. Corrupted by nurses; exposed to the contaminating influences of the convent; courted by grooms and servants in their father's household; tampered with by infamous duennas; betrayed by their own mothers or intrusted by their fathers to notorious prostitutes; they accept the first husband proposed to them by their parents, confident in the hope of continuing clandestine intrigues with the neighbor's son who has seduced them.[231] The wives are such as the Novelle paint them, yielding to the barest impulses of wantonness, and covering their debauchery with craft that raises a laugh against the husbands they have cozened. Such are the main actors, the conventional personages, of the domestic comedy. The subordinate characters consist of parasites and flatterers; ignorant pedants and swaggering bravi; priests who ply the trade of pimps; astrologers who thrive upon the folly of their clients; doctors who conceal births; prostitutes and their attendant bullies; compliant go-betweens and rapacious bawds; pages, street urchins, and officers of justice. The adulterous intrigue required such minor persons as instruments; and it often happens that scenes of vivid comic humor, dialogues of the most brilliant Tuscan idiom, are suggested by the interaction of these puppets, whose wires the clever valet and the primo amoroso pull.

The point of interest for contemporary audiences was the burla—the joke played off by a wife upon her husband, by rogues upon a simpleton, by a son upon his father, by a servant on his master's creditors, by a pupil on his pedantic tutor. Accepting the conditions of a comedy so constructed, and eliminating ethical considerations, we readily admit that these jokes are infinitely amusing. The scene in Gelli's Sporta where Ghirigoro de' Macci receives the confidences of the youth who has seduced his daughter, under the impression that he is talking about his money-box, is not unworthy of Molière's Avare. Two scenes in Gelli's Errore, where Gherardo Amieri, disguised as an old woman, is tormented by a street urchin whom his son has sent to teaze him, and afterwards confronted by his angry wife, might have adorned the Merry Wives of Windsor.[232] Cecchi's comedies in like manner abound in comical absurdities, involving exquisitely realistic pictures of Florentine manners.[233] For the student of language, no less than for the student of Renaissance life, they are invaluable. But the similarity of form which marks the comedies of the cinque cento, renders it impossible to do justice to their details in the present work. I must content myself with the foregoing sketch of their structure derived from the perusal of such plays as were accessible in print, and with the further observation that each eminent dramatist developed some side of the common heritage transmitted by their common predecessors. Thus Firenzuola continued the Latin tradition with singular tenacity, adapting classical arguments in his Lucidi and Trinuzia to modern themes with the same inimitable transparency of style he had displayed in his rifacimento of the Golden Ass.[234] Gelli adapted the Aulularia in his Sporta, and closely followed the Clizia in his Errore. The devotion professed for Machiavelli by this playwright, was yielded by Cecchi to Ariosto; and thus we notice two divergent strains of tradition within the circle of Florentine art.[235] Cecchi was a voluminous dramatic writer. Besides his comedies in sdrucciolo and piano verse, he composed Sacre Rappresentazioni and plays of a mixed kind derived from a free handling of that elder form.[236] While Gelli and Cecchi severally followed the example of Machiavelli and Ariosto, Il Lasca attempted to free the Italian drama from the fetters of erudite convention.[237] His comedies are exceedingly witty versions of Novelle, forming dramatic pendants to his narratives in that style. Yet though he strove to make the stage a mirror of contemporary customs, he could not wholly escape from the mannerism into which the dramatic art had fallen. Nor was it possible, now that the last gleam of liberty had expired in Italy, when even Florence accepted her fate, and the Inquisition was jealously watching every new birth of the press, to create what the earlier freedom of the Renaissance had missed. The drama was condemned to trivialities which only too faithfully reflected the political stagnation, and the literary trifling of a decadent civilization.[238]

It is worthy of notice, as a final remark upon the history of the comic stage, that at this very moment of its ultimate frustration there existed the germ of a drama analogous to that of England, only waiting to be developed by some master spirit. That was the Farsa, which Cecchi, the most prolific, original and popular of Florentine playwrights, deigned to cultivate.[239] He describes it thus: "The Farsa is a new third species between tragedy and comedy. It enjoys the liberties of both, and shuns their limitations; for it receives into its ample boundaries great lords and princes, which comedy does not, and, like a hospital or inn, welcomes the vilest and most plebeian of the people, to whom Dame Tragedy has never stooped. It is not restricted to certain motives; for it accepts all subjects—grave and gay, profane and sacred, urbane and rude, sad and pleasant. It does not care for time or place. The scene may be laid in a church, or a public square, or where you will; and if one day is not long enough, two or three may be employed. What, indeed, does it matter to the Farsa? In a word, this modern mistress of the stage is the most amusing, the most convenient, the sweetest, prettiest country-lass that can be found upon our earth."[240] He then goes on to describe the liberty of language allowed in the Farsa, rounding off a picture which exactly applies to our Elizabethan drama. The Farsa, in the form it had assumed when Cecchi used it, was, in fact, the survival of an ancient, obscure species of dramatic art, which had descended from the period of classical antiquity, and which recently had blent with the traditions of the Sacre Rappresentazioni. Had circumstances been favorable to the development of a national drama in Italy, the popular elements of the Pagan farce and the medieval Mystery would have naturally issued through the Farsa in a modern form of art analogous to that produced in England. But the Italians had, as we have seen, no public to demand the rehabilitation of the Farsa; nor was Cecchi a Shakspere, or even a Marlowe, to prove, in the face of Latinizing playwrights, that the national stage lay in its cradle here. It remained for the poets of a far-off island, who disdained Italian jigs and owed nothing to the Farse of either Florentine or Neapolitan contemporaries, acting by instinct and in concert with the sympathies of a great nation, to take this "sweetest, prettiest country-lass" by the hand and place her side by side with Attic Tragedy and Comedy upon the supreme throne of art.

The Italian comedies offer an even more startling picture of social vice than the Novelle.[241] To estimate how far they represent a general truth, is difficult; especially when we remember that they were written in a conventional style, to amuse princes, academicians, and prelates.[242] Comparing their testimony with that of private letters and biographical literature (the correspondence, for example, of Alessandra degli Strozzi, Alberti's treatise on the Family, and statements gleaned from memoirs and Ricordi), we are justified in believing that a considerable difference existed at the commencement of this epoch between public and domestic manners in Italy; between the Court and the home, the piazza and the fireside, the diversions of fashionable coteries and the conversation of friends and kinsmen. The family still retained some of its antique simplicity. And it was not as yet vitiated by the institution of Cicisbeism. But the great world was incredibly corrupt. Each Court formed a nucleus of dissolute living. Rome, stigmatized successively by men so different as Lorenzo de' Medici, Pietro Aretino, Gian-Giorgio Trissino, and Messer Guidiccioni, poisoned the whole Italian nation. Venice entertained a multitude of prostitutes, and called them benemeritæ in public acts. Since, therefore, these centers of aristocratic and literary life drew recruits from the burgher and rural classes, the strongholds of patriarchal purity were continually being sapped by contact with fashionable uncleanliness. And thus in the sixteenth century a common standard of immorality had been substituted for earlier severity of manners. The convulsions of that disastrous epoch, following upon a period of tranquillity, during which the people had become accustomed to luxury, submerged whole families in vice. "Wars, famines, and the badness of the times," wrote Aretino, "inclining men to give themselves amusement, have so debauched all Italy (imputtanita tutta Italia), that cousins and kinsfolk of both sexes, brothers and sisters, mingle together without shame, without a shadow of conscience."[243] Though it is preposterous to see Aretino posing as a censor of morals, his acuteness was indubitable; nor need we suppose that his acquaintance with the disease rendered him less sagacious in detecting its causes. What Corio tells us about Lodovico Sforza's capital, what we read about the excess of luxury into which the nobles of Vicenza and Milan plunged, amid the horrors of the French and Spanish occupation, confirms his testimony.[244] After the Black Death, described by Matteo Villani, the Florentines consoled themselves for previous sufferings by an outburst of profligate and reckless living. So now they sought distraction in unbridled sensuality. Society was in dissolution, and men lived for the moment, careless of consequences. The immorality of the theater was at once a sign and a source of this corruption. "O times! O manners!" exclaims Lilius Giraldus:[245] "the obscenities of the stage return in all their foulness. Plays are acted in every city, which the common consent of Christendom had banned because of their depravity. Now the very prelates of the faith, our nobles, our princes, bring them back again among us, and cause them to be publicly presented. Nay, priests themselves are eagerly ambitious of the infamous title of actors, in order to bring themselves into notoriety, and to enrich themselves with benefices."

It must not be supposed that the immorality of the comic stage consists in the license of language, incident or plot. Had this been all, we should hardly be justified in drawing a distinction between the Italians of the Renaissance and our own Elizabethan playwrights. It lies far deeper, in the vicious philosophy of life paraded by the authors, in the absence of any didactic or satirical aim. Molière, while exposing evil, teaches by example. A canon of goodness is implied, from which the deformities of sin and folly are deflections. But Machiavelli and Aretino paint humanity as simply bad. The palm of success is awarded to unscrupulous villainy. An incapacity for understanding the immutable power of moral beauty was the main disease of Italy. If we seek the cause of this internal cancer, we must trace the history of Italian thought and feeling back to the age of Boccaccio; and we shall probably form an opinion that misdirected humanism, blending with the impieties of a secularized Papacy, the self-indulgence of the despots, and the coarse tastes of the bourgeoisie, had sapped the conscience of society.

CHAPTER XII.

PASTORAL AND DIDACTIC POETRY.

The Idyllic Ideal—Golden Age—Arcadia—Sannazzaro—His Life—The Art of the Arcadia—Picture-painting—Pontano's Poetry—The Neapolitan Genius—Baiæ and Eridanus—Eclogues—The Play of Cefalo—Castiglione's Tirsi—Rustic Romances—Molza's Biography—The Ninfa Tiberina—Progress of Didactic Poetry—Rucellai's Api—Alamanni's Coltivazione—His Life—His Satires—Pastoral Dramatic Poetry—The Aminta—The Pastor Fido—Climax of Renaissance Art.

THE transition from the middle ages to the Renaissance was marked by the formation of a new ideal, which in no slight measure determined the type of Italian literature. The faiths and aspirations of Catholicism, whereof the Divine Comedy remains the monument in art, began to lose their hold on the imagination. The world beyond the grave grew dim to mental vision, in proportion as this world, through humanism rediscovered, claimed daily more attention. Poliziano's contemporaries were as far removed from Dante's apprehension of a future life as modern Evangelicals from Bunyan's vivid sense of sin and salvation. This parallel, though it may seem strained, is close enough to be serviceable. As the need of conversion is taken for granted among Protestants, so the other world was then assumed to be real. Yet neither the expectation of heavenly bliss nor the fear of purgatorial pain was felt with that intense sincerity which inspired Dante's cantos and Orcagna's frescoes. On both emotions the new culture, appearing at one moment as a solvent through philosophical speculation, at another as a corrosive in the skeptical and critical activity it stimulated, was acting with destructive energy. The present offered a distracting tumult of antagonistic passions, harmonized by no great hope. The future, to those inexperienced pioneers of modern thought, was dim, although the haze, through which the vision came to them, seemed golden. Thus it happened that the sensibilities of men athirst for some consoling fancy, took refuge in the dream of a past happy age. Virgil's description of Saturn's reign:

Au reus hanc vitam in terris Saturnus agebat,

Necdum etiam audierant inflari classica, necdum

Impositos duris crepitare incudibus enses:

fascinated their imagination, and they amused themselves with the fiction of a primal state of innocence. Hesiod and the Metamorphoses of Ovid, the Idyls of Theocritus and Virgil's Eclogues, legends of early Greek civility, and romances of late Greek literature contributed their several elements to this conception of a pastoral ideal. It blent with Biblical reminiscences of Eden, with medieval stories of the Earthly Paradise. It helped that transfusion of Christian fancy into classic shape, for which the age was always striving.[246] On one side the ideal was purely literary, reflecting the artistic instincts of a people enthusiastic for form, and affording scope for their imitative activity. But on the other side it corresponded to a deep and genuine Italian feeling. That sympathy with rustic life, that love of nature humanized by industry, that delight in the villa, the garden, the vineyard, and the grove, which modern Italians inherited from their Roman ancestors, gave reality to what might otherwise have been but artificial. Vespasiano's anecdote of Cosimo de' Medici pruning his own fruit-trees; Ficino's description of the village feasts at Montevecchio; Flamminio's picture of his Latin farm; Alberti's tenderness in gazing at the autumn fields—all these have the ring of genuine emotion. For men who felt thus, the Age of Gold was no mere fiction, and Arcady a land of possibilities.

What has been well called la voluttà idillica—the sensuous sensibility to beauty, finding fit expression in the Idyl—formed a marked characteristic of Renaissance art and literature. Boccaccio developed this idyllic motive in all his works which dealt with the origins of society. Poliziano and Lorenzo devoted their best poetry to the praise of rural bliss, the happiness of shepherd folk anterior to life in cities. The same theme recurs in the Latin poems of the humanists, from the sonorous hexameters of the Rusticus down to the delicate hendecasyllables of the later Lombard school. It pervades the elegy, the ode, the sonnet, and takes to itself the chiefest honors of the drama. The vision of a Golden Age idealized man's actual enjoyment of the country, and hallowed, as with inexplicable pathos, the details of ordinary rustic life. Weary with Courts and worldly pleasures, in moments of revolt against the passions and ambitions that wasted their best energies, the poets of that century, who were nearly always also men of state and public office, sighed for the good old times, when honor was an unknown name, and truth was spoken, and love sincere, and steel lay hidden in the earth, and ships sailed not the sea, and old age led the way to death unterrified by coming doom. As time advanced, their ideal took form and substance. There rose into existence, for the rhymsters to wander in, and for the readers of romance to dream about, a region called Arcadia, where all that was imagined of the Golden Age was found in combination with refined society and manners proper to the civil state. A literary Eldorado had been discovered, which was destined to attract explorers through the next three centuries. Arcadia became the wonder-world of noble youths and maidens, at Madrid no less than at Ferrara, in Elizabeth's London and in Marie Antoinette's Versailles. After engaging the genius of Tasso and Guarini, Spenser and Sidney, it degenerated into quaint conventionality. Companions of Turenne and Marlborough told tales of pastoral love to maids of honor near the throne. Frederick's and Maria Theresa's courtiers simpered and sighed like Dresden-china swains and shepherdesses. Crooked sticks with ribbons at the top were a fashionable appendage to red-heeled shoes and powdered perukes. Few phenomena in history are more curious than the prolonged prosperity and widespread fascination of this Arcadian romance.

To Sannazzaro belongs the glory of having first explored Arcadia, mapped out its borders, and called it after his own name. He is the Columbus of this visionary hemisphere. Jacopo Sannazzaro has more than once above been mentioned in the chapters devoted to Latin poetry. But the events of his life have not yet been touched upon.[247] His ancestors claimed to have been originally Spaniards, settled in a village of Pavia called S. Nazzaro, whence they took their name. The poet's immediate forefather was said to have followed Charles of Durazzo in 1380 to the south of Italy, where he received fiefs and lands in the Basilicata. Jacopo was born at Naples in 1458, and was brought up in his boyhood by his mother at S. Cipriano.[248] He studied at Naples under the grammarian Junianus Maius,[249] and made such rapid progress in both Greek and Latin scholarship as soon to be found worthy of a place in Pontano's Academy. In that society he assumed the pseudonym of Actius Sincerus. The friendship between Pontano and Sannazzaro lasted without interruption till the former's death in 1503. Their Latin poems abound in passages which testify to a strong mutual regard, and the life-size effigies of both may still be seen together in the church of Monte Oliveto at Naples.[250] Distinction in scholarship was, after the days of Alfonso the Magnanimous, a sure title to consideration at the Neapolitan Court. Sannazzaro attached himself to the person of Frederick, the second son of Ferdinand I.; and when this prince succeeded to the throne, he conferred upon the poet a pension of 600 ducats and the pleasant villa of Mergoglino between the city and Posillipo.[251] This recompense for past service was considerably below the poet's expectations and deserts; nor did he receive any post of state importance. Yet Sannazzaro remained faithful through his lifetime to the Aragonese dynasty. He attended the princes on their campaigns; espoused their quarrels in his fierce and potent series of epigrams against the Rovere and Borgia Pontiffs; and when Frederick retired to France in 1501, he journeyed into exile with his royal master, only returning to Naples after the ex-king's death. There Sannazzaro continued to reside until his own death in 1530. His later years were imbittered by the destruction of his Villa Mergellina during the occupation of Naples by the imperial troops under the Prince of Orange. But with the exception of this misfortune, he appears to have passed a quiet and honorable old age, devoting himself to piety, contributing to charitable works and church-building, and employing his leisure in study and the society of a beloved lady, Cassandra Marchesa.

In his early youth Sannazzaro formed a romantic attachment for a girl of noble birth, called Carmosina Bonifacia. This love made him first a poet; and the majority of his Italian verses may be referred to its influence. They consist of sonnets and canzoni, modeled upon Petrarch, but marked by independence of treatment, and spontaneity of feeling. The puristic revival had not yet set in, and Sannazzaro's style shows no servile imitation of his model. It may not be out of place to give a specimen in translation of these early Rime. I have chosen a sonnet upon jealousy, which La Casa afterwards found worthy of rehandling:

Horrible curb of lovers, Jealousy,

That with one force doth check and sway my will;

Sister of loathed and impious Death, that still

With thy grim face troublest the tranquil sky;

Thou snake concealed in laughing flowers which lie

Rocked on earth's lap; thou that my hope dost kill;

Amid fair fortunes thou malignant ill;

Venom mid viands which men taste and die!

From what infernal valley didst thou soar,

O ruthless monster, plague of mortals, thou

That darkenest all my days with misery o'er?

Hence, double not these griefs that cloud my brow!

Accurséd fear, why camest thou? Was more

Needed than Love's keen shafts to make me bow?

About the reality of Sannazzaro's passion for Carmosina there can be no doubt. The most directly powerful passages in the Arcadia are those in which he refers to it.[252] His southern temperament exposed him to the fiercest pangs of jealousy; and when he found that love disturbed his rest and preyed upon his health he resolved to seek relief in travel. For this purpose he went to France; but he could not long endure the exile from his native country; and on his return he found his Carmosina dead. The elegies in which he recorded his grief, are not the least poetical of his compositions both in Latin and Italian.[253] After establishing himself once more at Naples, Sannazzaro began the composition of the Eclogæ Piscatoriæ, in which he has been said to have brought the pastoral Muses down to the sea shore. The novelty of these poems secured for them no slight celebrity. Nor are they without real artistic merit. The charm of the sea is nowhere felt more vividly than on the bay of Naples, and nowhere else are the habits of a fishing population more picturesque. Nereids and Sirens, Proteus and Nisa, Cymothoe and Triton, are not out of place in modern verses, which can commemorate Naples, Ischia and Procida, under the titles of Parthenope, Inarime and Prochyte. Happy indeed is the poet, if he must needs write Latin elegies, whose home suggests such harmonies and cadences, for whom Baiæ and Cumæ and the Lucrine Lake, Puteoli and Capreæ and Stabiæ, are household words, and who looks from his study windows daily on scenes which realize the mythology still lingering in names and memories around them by beauty ever-present, inexpressible.

The second mistress of Sannazzaro's heart was a noble lady, Cassandra Marchesa. He paid his addresses to her more Platonico, and chose her for the object of refined compliments in classical and modern verse. The Latin elegies and epigrams are full of her praises; and one of the Eclogues, Pharmaceutria, is inscribed with her name. It would scarcely have been necessary to mention this courtly attachment, but for the pleasant light it casts upon Sannazzaro's character. The lady whom he had celebrated and defended in his manhood, was the friend of his old age. He is said to have died in her house.

The Arcadia was begun at Nocera in Sannazzaro's youth, continued during his first residence in France, and finished on his return to Naples. So much can be gathered from its personal references. The book blends autobiography and fable in a narrative of very languid interest. The poet's circumstances and emotions in exile are described at one moment in plain language, at another are presented with the indirectness of an allegory. Arcadia in some passages stands for a semi-savage country-district in France; in others it is the dream-world of poetry and pastoral simplicity. But in either case its scenery is drawn from Sannazzaro's own Italian home. The inhabitants are shepherds such as Virgil fancied, with even more of personal refinement. Through their lips the poet tells the tale of his own love, and paints his Neapolitan mistress among the nymphs of Mount Parthenion. Throughout, we note an awkward interminglement of subjective and objective points of view. Realism merges into fancy. Experience of life assumes the garb of myth or legend. Neither as an autobiographical romance nor again as a work of pure invention has the Arcadia surpassing merit. Loose in construction and uncertain in aim, it lacks the clearness and consistency of perfect art. And yet it is a masterpiece; because its author, led by prescient instinct, contrived to make it reflect one of the deepest and most permanent emotions of his time. The whole pastoral ideal—the yearning after a golden age, the beauty and pathos of the country, the felicity of simple folk, the details of rustic life, the charm of woods and gardens, the mythology of Pan and Satyrs, Nymphs and Fauns—all this is expressed in a series of pictures, idyllically graceful, artistically felt. It is not for its story that we read Arcadia, but for the Feast of Pales, the games at Massilia's shrine, the Sacrifice to Pan, Androgéo's tomb, the group of girls a-maying, the carved work of the beechen cup, the passion of Carino, the gardens with their flowers, and the bands of youths and maidens meeting under shadowy trees to dance and play. Pictures like these are presented with a scrupulous and loving sincerity, an anxious accuracy of studied style, which proves how serious was the author. His heart, as an artist, is in the realization of his dream-world; and his touch is firm and dry and delicate as Mantegna's. Indeed, we are constantly reminded of the Mantegnesque manner, and one reference justifies the belief that Sannazzaro strove to reproduce its effect.[254] The sensuousness of the Italian feeling for mere beauty is tempered with reticence and something of the coldness of Greek marbles. In point of diction, Boccaccio has been obviously imitated. But Boccaccio's style is not revived, as Masuccio strove to revive it, with the fire and energy of Southern passion substituted for its Tuscan irony and delicacy. On the contrary, the periods are still more artificial, the turns of phrase more tortured. Sannazzaro writes with difficulty in a somewhat unfamiliar language, rendered all the more stubborn by his endeavors to add classical refinements. Boccaccio's humor is gone; his sensuality is purged by contact with antique examples; the waving groves of the Filocopo are clipped and tutored like box-hedges in an academic garden. If there is less of natural raciness than came unsummoned to Boccaccio's aid, there is more of Virgil and Theocritus than he chose to appropriate. The slow deliberate expansion of each picture, stroke by stroke and touch by touch, reminds us of the quattrocento painters; while the précieuseté of the phrasing has affinity to the manner of a late Greek stylist, especially perhaps, though almost certainly unconsciously, to that of Philostratus. This close correspondence of the Arcadia to the main artistic sympathies of the Renaissance, rendered it indescribably popular in its own age, and causes it still to rank as one of the representative masterpieces of the epoch. Through its peculiar blending of classical and modern strains—the feasts of Pales and of Pan taking color from Capo di Monte superstitions; the nymphs of wood and river modeled after girls from Massa and Sorrento; the yellow-haired shepherds of Mount Mænalus singing love-laments for Neapolitan Carmosina—we are enabled more nearly than in almost any other literary essay to appreciate the spirit of the classical revival as it touched Italian art. A little earlier, there was more of spontaneity and naïveté. A little later, there was more of conscious erudition and consummate skill. The Arcadia comes midway between the Filocopo and the Pastor Fido.

It is time to turn from dissertation, and to detach, almost at haphazard, some of those descriptions which render the Arcadia a storehouse of illustrations to the pictures of the fifteenth century. I will first select the frescoes on the front of Pales' chapel, endeavoring so far as possible to reproduce the intricacies and quaint affectations of the style.[255] The constant abuse of epithets, and the structure of the period by means of relatives, pegging its clauses down and keeping them in their places, will be noticed as part of the Boccaccesque tradition. "Intending now to ratify with souls devout the vows which had been made in former times of need, upon the smoking altars, all together in company we went unto the sacred temple, along whose frontal, raised upon a few ascending steps, we found above the doorway painted certain woods and hills of most delightful beauty, full of leafy trees and of a thousand sorts of flowers, among the which were seen many herds that went a-pasture, wending at pleasure through green fields, with peradventure ten dogs to guard them, the footsteps of the which upon the dust were traced most natural to the view. Of the shepherds, some were milking, some shearing wool, others playing on pipes, and there were there a few, who, as it seemed, were singing and endeavoring to keep in tune with these. But that which pleased me to regard with most attention were certain naked Nymphs, the which behind a chestnut bole stayed, as it were, half-hidden, laughing at a ram, who, in his eagerness to gnaw a wreath of oak that hung before his eyes, forgot to feed upon the grass around him. In that while came four Satyrs, with horns upon their heads and goat's feet, stealing through a shrubbery of lentisks, softly, softly, to take the maidens from behind. Whereof when they were ware, they took to flight through the dense grove, shunning nor thorns nor aught else that might annoy them; and of these one, nimbler than the rest, was clinging to a hornbeam's branches, and thence, with a long bough in her hands, defending herself. The others had cast themselves through fright into a river, wherethrough they fled a-swimming; and the clear water hid little or but nothing of their snow-white flesh. But whenas they saw themselves escaped, they sat them down on the further bank, fordone with toil and panting, drying their soaked hair, and thence with word and gesture seemed to mock at those who had not shown the power to capture them. And in one of the sides there was Apollo, with the yellowest hair, leaning upon a wand of wild olive, and watching Admetus' herds beside a river-bed; and thus, intently gazing on two sinewy bulls which jousted with their horns, he was not ware of wily Mercury, who in a shepherd's habit, with a kid-skin girded under his left shoulder, stole the cows away from him. And in that same space stood Battus, the bewrayer of the theft, transformed into a stone, stretching his finger forth in act of one who pointed. A little lower, Mercury was seen again, seated upon a large stone, and playing with swollen cheeks upon a rustic pipe, while his eyes were turned to mark a white calf close beside him, and with most cunning arts he strove to cozen Argus of the many eyes. On the other side, at the foot of an exceeding high oak-tree, was stretched a shepherd asleep among his goats; and a dog stayed near him, smelling at his pouch, which lay beneath his head; and he, forasmuch as the moon gazed at him with glad eyes, methought must be Endymion. Next to him was Paris, who with his sickle had begun to carve Œnone on an elm-tree's bark, and being called to judge between the naked goddesses that stood before him, had not yet been able to complete his work. But what was not less subtle in the thought than pleasant in the seeing was the shrewdness of the wary painter, who, having made Juno and Minerva of such extreme beauty that to surpass them was impossible, and doubting of his power to make Venus so lovely as the tale demanded, had painted her with back turned, covering the defect of art by ingenuity of invention. And many other things right charming and most beautiful to look upon, of the which I now have but a faulty memory, I saw there painted upon divers places." It is clear that Sannazzaro had not read Lessing's Laocoon or noted the distinctions between poetry and painting. Yet in this he was true to the spirit of his age; for actions no less continuous than some of those described by him, may be found represented in the frescoes of Gozzoli or Lippo Lippi.

The finished portrait of Sannazzaro's mistress Carmosina shall supply my next question.[256] The exile is listening to shepherds singing, and one of them has mentioned Amaranta. He knows that she is present, and resolves to choose her by her gestures from the rest. "With wary glance, watching now one and now another, I saw among the maidens one who seemed to me the loveliest. Her hair was covered with a very thin veil, beneath which two eyes, lovely and most brilliant, sparkled not otherwise than the clear stars are wont to shine in a serene and limpid sky; and her face, inclining somewhat to the oval more than the round, of fair shape, with pallor that was not unpleasing, but tempered, as it were toward dark complexion turning, and relieved therewith by vermeil and gracious hues, filled with joy of love the eyes that gazed on her. Her lips were of the sort that surpass the morning roses; between the which, each time she spoke or smiled, she showed some portion of her teeth, of such rare and marvelous grace that I could not have compared them to aught else but orient pearls. Thence passing down to her marble and delicate throat, I saw upon that tender bosom the slight and youthful breasts, which, like two rounded apples, thrust her robe of finest texture somewhat forward; and in the midst of them I could discern the fairest little way, exceeding pleasant to the sight, the which, because it ended and escaped the view, was reason why I dwelt thereon with greater force of thought. And she, with most delicate gait and a gentle and aspiring stature, went through the fair fields, with her white hand plucking tender flowers. With the which when she had filled her lap, no sooner had the singing youth within her hearing mentioned Amaranta, than, dropping her hands and gathered robe, and as it were lost to her own recollection, without her knowing what befell, they all slid from her grasp, sowing the earth with peradventure twenty sorts of colors. Which, as though suddenly brought to herself, when she perceived, she blushed not otherwise than sometimes reddens the enchanted moon with rosy aspect, or as, upon the issuing of the sun, the red Aurora shows herself to mortal gaze. Whereupon she, not for any need methinks compelling her thereto, but haply hoping better thus to hide the blushes that came over her, begotten by a woman's modesty, bent toward earth again to pick them up, as though she cared for only that, choosing the white flowers from the crimson and the dark blue from the violet blossoms." Amaranta makes a pretty picture, but one which is too elaborate in detail. Her sisterhood is described with touches more negligent, and therefore the more artful.[257] "Some wore garlands of privet with yellow buds and certain crimson intermingled; others had white lilies and purple mixed with a few most verdant orange leaves between; one went starred with roses, and yon other whitened with jasmines. So that each by herself and altogether were more like to divine spirits than to human creatures. Whereupon many men there present cried with wonder: O blessed the possessor of such beauties!" The young swains are hardly less attractive than their nymphs.[258] "Logisto and Elpino, shepherds, comely of person and in years within the bounds of earliest youth: Elpino guardian of goats, Logisto of the woolly sheep: both with hair yellower than ripe ears of corn; both of Arcadia; both fit alike to sing and to make answer."

Sannazzaro's touch upon inanimate nature is equally precise. Here is a description of the evening sky.[259] "It was the hour when sunset embroidered all the west with a thousand varieties of clouds; some violet, some darkly blue, and certain crimson; others between yellow and black, and a few so burning with the fire of backward-beaten rays that they seemed as though of polished and finest gold." Here is a garden:[260] "Moved by sympathy for Ergasto, many shepherds had moreover wrought the place about with high hedges, not of thorns or briars, but of junipers, roses and jasmines, and had delved therein with their mattocks a pastoral seat, and at even spaces certain towers of rosemary and myrtles interwoven with the most incomparable art." Here are flowers:[261] "There were lilies, there privets, there violets toned to amorous pallor, and in large abundance the slumberous poppies with their leaning heads, and the ruddy spikes of the immortal amaranth, most comely of coronals mid winter's rudeness."

The same research of phrase marks the exhibition of emotion. Carino, the shepherd, tells how, overwhelmed with grief, he lay upon the ground and seemed lost to life:[262] "Came the oxherds, came the herdsmen of the sheep and goats, together with the peasants of the neighboring farms, deeming me distraught, as of a truth indeed I was; and all with deepest pity asked the reason of my woe. Unto whom I made no answer, but, minding my own weeping, thus with lamentable voice exclaimed: You of Arcady shall sing among your mountains of my death! You of Arcady, who only have the art of song, you of my death shall sing amid your mountains!" His complaint extends to a length which defies quotation. But here is an extract from it:[263] "O gods of heaven and earth, and whosoe'er ye are who have regard for wretched lovers, lend, I pray, your ears of pity to my lamentation, and listen to the dolent cries my tortured spirit sendeth forth! O Naiads, dwellers in the running water brooks! O Napean nymphs, most gracious haunters of far places and of liquid fonts, lift up your yellow tresses but a little from the crystal waves, and receive these my last cries before I perish! O you, O fairest Oreads, who naked on the hanging cliffs are wont to go achase, leave now your lofty mountain realm, and in my misery visit me, for I am sure to win your sorrow by what brings my cruel maid delight! Come forth from your trees, O pitying Hamadryads, ye anxious guardians over them, and turn your thoughts a little toward the martyrdom these hands of mine prepare for me! And you, O Dryads, most beauteous damsels of the woods profound, ye who not once but many and many a time have watched our shepherds at the fall of eve in circle dancing neath the shadow of cool walnut trees, with yellowest curls a-ripple down their snow-white necks, cause now I pray, if you are not with my too changeful fortune changed, that mid these shades my death may not be mute, but ever grow from day to day through centuries to come, so that the tale of years life lacks, may go to lengthen out my fame!"

For English students the Arcadia has a special interest, since it begot the longer and more ambitious work of Sir Philip Sidney. Hitherto I have spoken only of its prose; but the book blends prose and verse in alternating sections. The verse consists of mingled terza rima, canzoni and sestines. Not less artificial and decidedly less original than the prose, Sannazzaro's lyrics and eclogues do not demand particular attention. He put needless restraint upon himself by affecting the awkwardness of sdrucciolo rhymes[264]; and he lacked the roseate fluency, the winning ease, the unaffected graces of Poliziano. One sestine, sung by himself among the shepherds of Arcady, I have translated, because it paints the actual conditions of life which drove Sannazzaro into his first exile.[265] But the singularly charmless form adopted, which even Petrarch hardly rendered tolerable, seems to check the poet's spontaneity of feeling.

Even as a bird of night that loathes the sun,

I wander, woe is me, through places dark,

The while refulgent day doth shine on earth;

Then when upon the world descendeth eve,

I cannot, like all creatures, sink in sleep,

But wake to roam and weep among the fields.

If peradventure amid woods and fields,

Where shines not with his radiance the sun,

Mine eyes, o'er-tired with weeping, close in sleep,

Harsh dreams and wandering visions, vain and dark,

Affright me so that still I shrink at eve,

For fear of sleep, from resting on the earth.

O universal mother, kindly earth,

Shall't ever be that, stretched on verdant fields,

In slumber deep, upon that latest eve,

I ne'er shall wake again, until the sun

Rise to reveal his light to eyelids dark,

And stir my soul again from that long sleep?

From that first moment when I banished sleep,

And left my bed to lay myself on earth,

The cloudless days for me were drear and dark,

And turned to stubbly straw the flowery fields;

So that when morn to men brings back the sun,

It darkens round mine eyes in shadowy eve.

My lady, of her kindness, came one eve,

Joyous and very fair, to me in sleep,

And gladdened all my heart, even as the sun,

When rains are past, is wont to clear the earth;

And said to me: Come, gather from my fields

Some flow'ret; cease to haunt those caverns dark.

Fly hence, fly hence, ye tedious thoughts and dark,

That have obscured me in so long an eve!

For I'll go seek the sunny smiling fields,

Taking upon their herbage honeyed sleep:

Full well I know that ne'er man made of earth

More blest than now I am beheld the sun!

Song, in mid eve thou'lt see the orient sun,

And me neath earth among those regions dark,

Or e'er on yonder fields I take my sleep.

Whether the distinctively Neapolitan note can be discerned in Sannazzaro, seems more than doubtful. As in his Sapphic Odes and Piscatory Eclogues, so also in his Arcadia we detect the working of a talent self-restrained within the limits of finely-tempered taste. The case is very different with Pontano's Latin elegies and lyrics.[266] They breathe the sensuality and self-abandonment to impulse of a Southern temperament. They reflect the profuseness of nature in a region where men scarcely know what winter means, her somewhat too nakedly voluptuous beauties, her volcanic energies and interminglement of living fire with barren scoriæ. For this reason, and because there is some danger of neglecting the special part played by the Southern Province in Italian literary history, I am induced to digress from the main topic of this chapter in the direction of Pontano's poetry.

Though a native of Cerreto in Umbria, Pontano passed his life at Naples, and became, if we may trust the evidence of his lyrics, more Neapolitan than the Neapolitans. In him the southern peoples found a voice, which, though it uttered a dead language, expressed their sentiments. It is unlucky that Pontano, who deserves to be reckoned as the greatest poet of Naples, should have made this important contribution to Italian literature in Latin. Whether at that moment he could have spoken so freely in the vulgar tongue is more than doubtful. But be that as it may, we must have recourse to his Latin poems, in order to supply a needed link in the chain of Italian melody. Carducci acutely remarked that, more than any other poems of the century, they embody "the æsthetic and learned reaction against the mystical idealism of Christianity in a preceding age." They do so better than Beccadelli's, because, where the Hermaphroditus is obscene, the Eridanus, Baiæ, Amor Conjugalis, Pompæ, Næniæ of Pontano are only sensual. The cardinal point in Pontano is the breadth of his feeling. He touches the whole scale of natural emotions with equal passion and sincerity. The love of the young man for his sweetheart, the love of the husband for his bride, the love of a father for his offspring, the love of a nurse for her infant charge, find in his verse the same full sensuous expression. In Pontano there is no more of Teutonic Schwärmerei than of Dantesque transcendentalism. He does not make us marvel how the young man, who has embroidered odes upon the theme of Alma Pellegrina, or who has woven violet and moonshine into some Du bist wie eine Blume, can submit to light the hymeneal torch and face the prose of matrimony. Within the limits of unsophisticated instinct he is perfectly complete and rounded to a flawless whole. He does not say one thing and leave another to be understood—a contradiction that imports some radical unreality into the Platonic or sentimental modes of sexual expression. He expects woman to weigh but little less than man in scales of natural appetite. And yet his Muse is no mere vagrant Venus. She is a respectable if not, according to our present views, an altogether decent Juno. The final truth about her is that she revealed to her uniquely gifted bard, on earth and in the shrine of home, that poetry of love which Milton afterwards mythologized in Eden. The note of unadulterated humanity sounds with a clearness that demands commemoration in this poetry of passion. It is, if not the highest, yet the frankest and most decided utterance of mutual, legitimate desire. As such, it occupies an enviable place in the history of Italian love—equally apart from trecento sickliness and cinque cento corruption; unrefined perchance, but healthy; doing justice to the proletariate of Naples whence it sprung.

Pontano paints all primitive affections in a way to justify his want of reticence. His Fannia, Focilla, Stella, Ariadne, Cinnama—mistress or wife, we need not stop to question—are the very opposite of Dante's or of Petrarch's loves.[267] Liberal of their charms, rejoicing like the waves of the Chiaja in the laughter of the open day, they think it no shame to unbare their beauties to their lover's eyes, or to respond with ardor to his caresses. Christian modesty, medieval asceticism, the strife between the spirit and the flesh, the aspiration after mystic modes of feeling, have been as much forgotten in their portraits, as though the world had never undergone reaction against paganism. And yet they differ from the women of the Roman elegiac poets. They are less artificial than Corinna. Though "the sweet witty soul of Ovid" passed over these honeyed elegies, the Neapolitan poet remains a bourgeois of the fifteenth century. His passion is unreservedly sensual and at the same time tenderly affectionate. Its motive force is sexual desire; its depth and strength are in the love a husband and a father feels. Given the verses upon Fannia alone, we should be justified in calling Pontano a lascivious poet. The three books De Amore Conjugali show him in a different light. He there expounds the duties and relations of the family with the same robust and unaffected force of feeling he had shown in the description of a wanton. After painting his Stella with the gusto of an Italian Rubens, he can turn to shed tears almost sublime in their pathos over the tomb of Lucia his daughter, or to write a cradle-song for his son Luciolus.[268] The carnal appetites which are legitimated by matrimony and hallowed in domestic relations, but which it is the custom of civilized humanity to veil, assume a tone of almost Bacchic rapture in this fluent Latin verse. This constitutes Pontano's originality. Such a combination has never been presented to the world before or since. The genial bed, from which he draws his inspiration, found few poets to appreciate it in ancient days, and fewer who have dared to celebrate it so unblushingly among the moderns.[269]

The same series of Pontano's poems may be read with no less profit for their pictures of Neapolitan life.[270] He brings the baths of Baiæ, unspoiled as yet by the eruption from Monte Nuovo, vividly before us; the myrtle-groves and gardens by the bay; the sailors stretched along the shore; the youths and maidens, flirting as they bathe or drink the waters, their evening walks, their little dinners, their assignations; all the round of pleasure in a place and climate made for love. Or we watch the people at their games, crowded together on those high-built carts, rattling the tambourine and dancing the tarantella—as near to fauns and nymphs in shape as humanity well may be.[271] Each mountain and each stream is personified; the genii of the villages, the Oreads of the copses, the Tritons of the waves, come forth to play with men:[272]

Claudicat hinc heros Capimontius, et de summo

Colle ruunt misti juvenes mistæque puellæ;

Omnis amat chorus, et juncti glomerantur amantes.

Is lento incredit passu, baculoque tuetur

Infirmum femur, et choreis dat signa movendis,

Assuetus choreæ ludisque assuetus amantum.

Nor are these personifications merely frigid fictions. The landscape of Naples lends itself to mythology, not only because it is so beautiful, but because human life and nature interpenetrate, as nowhere else in Europe, on that bay. Pontano has a tale to tell of every river and every grove—how Adonis lives again in the orange trees of Sorrento, how the Sebeto was a boy beloved by one of Nereus' daughters and slain by him in anger.[273] His tendency to personification was irresistible. Not content, like Sannazzaro, with singing the praises of his villa, he feigns a Nympha Antiniana, whom he invokes as the Muse of neo-Latin lyric rapture.[274] In the melodious series of love-poems entitled Eridanus, he exercises the same imaginative faculty on Lombard scenery. After closing this little book, we seem to be no less familiar with the "king of rivers," Phaethon, and the Heliades, than with the living Stella, to frame whose beauty in a fitting wreath these fancies have been woven.[275] Even the Elegy, which he used so freely and with so complete a pleasure in its movement, becomes for him a woman, with specific form and habit, and a love tale taken from some Propertian memory of he poet's Umbrian home. To quote Pontano is neither easy nor desirable. Yet I cannot resist the inclination to present Dame Elegia in her Ionian garb in part at least before a modern audience.[276]

Huc ades, et nitidum myrto compesce capillum,

Huc ades ornatis o Elegia comis.

Inque novam venias cultu prædivite formam,

Laxa fluat niveos vestis adusque pedes.

Quaque moves, Arabum spires mollissima nardum,

Lenis et Assyrio sudet odore liquor.

Tecum etiam Charites veniant, tua cura, puellæ,

Et juvet insolita ducere ab arte choros.

Tu puerum Veneris primis lasciva sub annis

Instruis, et studio perficis usque tuo.

Hinc tibi perpetuæ tribuit Cytherea juventæ

Tempora, neu formæ sint mala damna tuæ;

Ergo ades, et cape, diva, lyram, sed pectine molli,

Sed moveas dulci lenia fila sono.

Quinetiam tu experta novos, ni fallor, amores,

Dulcia supposito gramine furta probas.

Namque ferunt, patrios vectam quandoque per Umbros,

Clitumni liquidis accubuisse vadis:

Hic juvenem vidisse, atque incaluisse natantem,

Et cupisse ulnas iner habere tuas.

Quid tibi lascivis, puer o formose, sub undis?

Deliciis mage sunt commoda prata tuis.

Hic potes e molli viola junxisse coronam,

Et flavam vario flore ligare comam;

Hic potes et gelida somnum quæsisse sub umbra,

Et lassum viridi ponere corpus humo;

Hic et adesse choris Dryadum, et saluisse per herbas,

Molliaque ad teneros membra movere modos.

Hic juvenis succensus amor, formamque secutus

Et facilem cantum, quo capis ipsa deos,

Tecum inter salices, sub amicta vitibus ulmo,

In molli junxit candida membra toro;

Inter et amplexus lassi jacuistis uterque,

Et repetita venus dulce peregit opus.

That this poet was no servile imitator of Tibullus or Ovid is clear. That he had not risen to their height of diction is also manifest. But in Pontano, as in Poliziano, Latin verse lived again with new and genuine vitality.

If it were needful to seek a formal return from this digression to the subject of my chapter there would be no lack of opportunity. Pontano's Eclogues, the description of his gardens, his vision of the golden age and his long discourse on the cultivation of orange trees, justify our placing him among the strictly pastoral poets.[277] In treating of the country he displays his usual warmth and sensuous realism. He mythologizes; but his myths are the substantial forms of genuine emotion and experience. The Fauns he talks of, are such lads as even now may be seen upon the Ischian slopes of Monte Epomeo, with startled eyes, brown skin, and tangled tresses tossed adown their sinewy shoulders. The Bacchus of his vintage has walked, red from the wine-press, crowned with real ivy and vine, and sat down at the poet's elbow, to pledge him in a cup of foaming must.

While Sannazzaro was exploring Arcadia at Naples, Poliziano had already transferred pastoral poetry to the theater at Mantua. Of the Orfeo and its place in Italian literature, I have spoken sufficiently elsewhere. It is enough to remember, in the present connection, that, while Arcady became the local dreamland of the new ideal, Orpheus took the place of its hero. As the institutor of civil society in the midst of a rude population, he personified for our Italian poets the spirit of their own renascent culture. Arcadia represented the realm of art and song, unstirred by warfare or unworthy passions. Orpheus attuned the simple souls who dwelt in it, to music with his ravishing lyre.

Pastoral representations soon became fashionable. Niccolò da Correggio put the tale of Cephalus and Procris on the stage at Ferrara, with choruses of nymphs, vows to Diana, eclogues between Corydon and Thyrsis, a malignant Faun, and a dea ex machinâ to close the scene.[278] At Urbino in the carnival of 1506 Baldassare Castiglione and his friend Cesare Gonzaga recited amœbean stanzas, attired in pastoral dress, before the Court. This eclogue, entitled Tirsi, deserves notice, less perhaps for its intrinsic merits, though these, judged by the standard of bucolic poetry, are not slight, than because it illustrates the worst vices of the rustic style in its adaptation to fashionable usage.[279] The dialogue opens with the customary lament of one love-lorn shepherd to another, and turns upon time-honored bucolic themes, until the mention of Metaurus reminds us that we are not really in Arcadia but at Urbino. The goddess who strays among her nymphs along its bank, is no other than the Duchess, attended by Emilia Pia and the other ladies of her Court. "The good shepherd, who rules these happy fields and holy lands," is Duke Guidubaldo. Then follow compliments to all the interlocutors of the Cortegiano. Bembo is the shepherd, "who hither came from the bosom of Hadria." The "ancient shepherd, honored by all, who wears a wreath of sacred laurel," is Morello da Ortona. The Tuscan shepherd, "wise and learned in all arts," must either be Bernardo Accolti or else Giuliano de' Medici. And yonder shepherd from the Mincio is Lodovico da Canossa. A chorus of shepherds and a morris-dance relieved the recitation, which was also enlivened by the introduction of one solo, sung by Iola. Thus in this early specimen of the pastoral mask we observe that confusion of things real and things ideal, of past and present, of imaginary rustics and living courtiers, which was destined to prove the bane of the species and to render it a literary plague in every European capital. The radical fault existed in Virgil's treatment of the Syracusan idyl. But each remove from its source rendered the falsehood more obnoxious. In Spenser's Eclogues the awkwardness is greater than in Castiglione's. Before Teresa Maria the absurdity was more apparent than before Elizabeth. At last the common sense of the public could no longer tolerate the sham, and Arcadia, with its make-believe and flattery and allegory, became synonymous with affectation.

It is no part of my programme to follow the development of the pastoral drama through all its stages in Italy.[280] For the end of this chapter I reserve certain necessary remarks upon its masterpieces, the Aminta and the Pastor Fido. At present it will suffice to indicate the fact that, on the stage, as in the eclogue, bucolic poetry followed two distinct directions—the one Arcadian and artificial, the other national and closely modeled on popular forms. The Nencia da Barberino and Beca da Dicomano of Lorenzo de' Medici and Luigi Pulci belong to the latter class of eclogues.[281] Their corresponding forms in dramatic verse are Berni's Catrina and Mogliazzo, together with the Tancia and Fiera of Michelangelo Buonarroti the younger.[282] If it is impossible to render any adequate account of pastoral drama, to do this for bucolic idyls would be no less difficult. Their name in Latin and Italian is legion. Poets so different in all things else as were Girolamo Benivieni, Antonio Tebaldeo, Sperone Speroni, Bernardino Baldi, Benedetto Varchi, and Luigi Tansillo—to mention only men of some distinction—brought Mopsus and Tityrus, Menalcas and Melibæus, Amaryllis and Cydippe, from Virgil's Arcadia, and made them talk interminably of their loves and sheep in delicate Italian.[283] Folengo's sharp satiric wit, as we shall remark in another chapter, finally pursued them with the shafts of ridicule in Baldus and Zanitonella. Thus pastoral poetry completed the whole cycle of Italian literature—expressed itself through dialogue in the drama, adhered to Virgilian precedent in the Latinists and their Italian followers, adopted the forms of popular poetry, and finally submitted to the degradation of Maccaronic burlesque.

We can well afford to turn in silence from the common crowd of eclogue-writers. Yet one poet emerges from the rank and file, and deserves particular attention. Francesco Maria Molza stood foremost in his own day among scholars of ripe erudition and literary artists of accomplished skill. His high birth, his genial conversation, his loves and his misfortunes rendered him alike illustrious; and his Ninfa Tiberina is still the sweetest pastoral of the golden age. Molza was born in 1489 at Modena. Since his parents were among the richest and noblest people of that city, it is probable that he acquired the Greek and Latin scholarship, for which he was in after-life distinguished, under tutors at home. At the age of sixteen he went to Rome in order to learn Hebrew, and was at once recognized as a youth of more than ordinary promise by men like Marcantonio Flamminio and Lilio Giraldi. In 1512 he returned to Modena, where he married according to his rank. His wife brought him four children, and he passed a few years at this period with his family. But Molza soon wearied of domestic and provincial retirement. In 1516 he left home again and plunged into the dissipations of Roman life. From this date forward till his death in 1544 he must be reckoned among those Italians for whom Rome was dearer than their native cities. The brilliance of his literary fame and the affection felt for him by men of note in every part of Italy will not distract attention from the ignobility of his career. Faithless to his wife, neglectful of his children, continually begging money from his father, he passed his manhood in a series of amours. Some of these were respectable, but most of them disreputable. A certain Furnia, a low-born Beatrice Paregia, and the notorious Faustina Mancina are to be mentioned among the women who from time to time enslaved him. In the course of his intrigue with Beatrice he received a stab in the back from some obscure rival, which put him in peril of his life. For Faustina he composed the Ninfa Tiberina. She was a Roman courtesan, so famous for her beauty and fine breeding as to attract the sympathy of even severe natures. When she died, the town went into mourning, and the streets echoed with elegiac lamentations. It is curious that among Michelangelo's sonnets should be found one—not, however, of the best—written upon this occasion. While seeking amusement with the Imperias, who took Aspasia's place in Papal Rome, Molza formed a temporary attachment for a more illustrious lady—the beautiful and witty Camilla Gonzaga. He passed two years, between 1523 and 1525, in her society at Bologna. After his return to Rome, Molza witnessed the miseries of the sack, which made so doleful an impression on his mind that, saddened for a moment, he retired like the prodigal to Modena. Rome, however, although not destined to regain the splendor she had lost, shook off the dust and blood of 1527; and there were competent observers who, like Aretino, thought her still more reckless in vice than she had been before. Molza could not long resist the attractions of the Papal city. In 1529 we find him once more in Rome, attached to the person of Ippolito de' Medici, and delighting the Academies with his wit. Two years afterwards, his father and mother died on successive days of August. Molza celebrated their death in one of the most lovely of his many sonnets. But his ill life and obstinate refusal to settle at Modena had disinherited him; and henceforth he lived upon his son Camillo's bounty. To follow his literary biography at this period would be tantamount to writing the history of the two famous Academies delle Virtù and de' Vignaiuoli. Of both he was a most distinguished member. He amused them with his conversation, recited before them his Capitoli, and charmed them with the softness and the sweetness of his manners. Numbers of his sonnets commemorate the friendships he made in those urbane circles.

From the interchange, indeed, of occasional poems between such men as Molza, Soranzo, Gandolfo, Caro, Varchi, Guidiccioni, and La Casa, the materials for forming a just conception of he inner life of men of letters at that epoch must be drawn. They breathe a spirit of gentle urbanity, enlivened by jests, and saddened by a sense, rather uneasy than oppressive, of Italian disaster. The moral tone is pensive and relaxed; and in spite of frequent references to a corrupt Church and a lost nation, scarcely one spark of rage or passion flashes from the dreamy eyes that gaze at us. Leave us alone, they seem to say; it is true that Florence has been enslaved, and the shadow of disgrace rests upon our Rome; but what have we to do with it? And then they turn to indite sonnets on Faustina's hair or elegies upon her modesty[284]; and when they are tired with these recreations, meet together to invent ingenious obscenities.[285] It was in the midst of such trifling that the great misfortune of Molza's life befell him. The disease of the Renaissance, not the least of Italy's scourges in those latter days of heedlessness and dissolute living, overtook him in some haunt of pleasure. After 1539 he languished miserably under the infliction, and died of it, having first suffered a kind of slow paralysis, in February 1544. During the last months of his illness his thoughts turned to the home and children he had deserted. The exquisitely beautiful Latin elegy, in which he recorded the misery of slow decay, speaks touchingly, if such a late and valueless repentance can be touching, of his yearning for them.[286] In the autumn of 1543, accordingly, he managed to crawl back to Modena; and it was there he breathed his last, offering to the world as his biographer is careful to assure us, a rare example of Christian resignation and devotion.[287] All the men of the Renaissance died in the odor of piety; and Molza, as many of his sonnets prove, had true religious feeling. He was not a bad man, though a weak one. In the flaccidity of his moral fiber, his intellectual and æsthetical serenity, his confused and yet contented conscience, he fairly represents his age.

It would be difficult to choose between Molza's Latin and Italian poems, were it necessary to award the palm of elegance to either. Both are marked by the same morbidezza, the same pliancy, as of acanthus leaves that feather round the marble of some Roman ruin. Both are languid alike and somewhat tiresome, in spite of a peculiar fragrance. I have sought through upwards of 350 sonnets contained in two collections of his Italian works, for one with the ring of true virility or for one sufficiently perfect in form to bear transplantation. It is not difficult to understand their popularity during the poet's lifetime. None are deficient in touches of delicate beauty, spontaneous images, and sentiments expressed with much lucidity. And their rhythms are invariably melodious. Reading them, we might seem to be hearing flutes a short way from us played beside a rippling stream. And yet—or rather, perhaps, for this very reason—our attention is not riveted. The most distinctly interesting note in them is sounded when the poet speaks of Rome. He felt the charm of the seven hills, and his melancholy was at home among their ruins. Yet even upon this congenial topic it would be difficult to select a single poem of commanding power.

The Ninfa Tiberina is a monody of eighty-one octave stanzas, addressed by the poet, feigning himself a shepherd, to Faustina, whom he feigns a nymph. It has nothing real but the sense of beauty that inspired it, the beauty, exquisite but soulless, that informs its faultless pictures and mellifluous rhythms. We are in a dream-world of fictitious feelings and conventional images, where only art remains sincere and unaffected. The proper point of view from which to judge these stanzas, is the simply æsthetic. He who would submit to their influence and comprehend the poet's aim, must come to the reading of them attuned by contemplation of contemporary art. The arabesques of the Loggie, the metal-work of Cellini, the stucchi of the Palazzo del Te, Sansovino's bass-reliefs of fruits and garlands, Albano's cupids, supply the necessary analogues. Poliziano's Giostra demanded a similar initiation. But between the Giostra and the Ninfa Tiberina Italian art had completed her cycle from early Florence to late Rome, from Botticelli and Donatello to Giulio Romano and Cellini. The freshness of the dawn has been lost in fervor of noonday. Faustina succeeds to the fair Simonetta. Molza cannot "recapture the first fine careless rapture" of Poliziano's morning song—so exuberant and yet so delicate, so full of movement, so tender in its sentiment of art. The voluttà idillica, which opened like a rosebud in the Giostra, expands full petals in the Ninfa Tiberina; we dare not shake them, lest they fall. And these changes are indicated even by the verse. It was the glory of Poliziano to have discovered the various harmonies, of which the octave, artistically treated, is capable, and to have made each stanza a miniature masterpiece. Under Molza's treatment the verse is heavier and languid, not by reason of relapse into the negligence of Boccaccio, but because he aims at full development of its resources. He weaves intricate periods, and sustains a single sentence, with parentheses and involutions, from the opening of the stanza to its close. Given these conditions, the Ninfa Tiberina is all nectar and all gold.

After an exordium, which introduces

La bella Ninfa mia, che al Tebro infiora

Col piè le sponde,

Molza calls upon the shepherds to transfer their vows to her from Pales. She shall be made the goddess of the spring, and claim an altar by Pomona's. Here let the rustic folk play, dance, and strive in song. Hither let them bring their gifts.[288]

Io dieci pomi di fin oro eletto,

Ch'a te pendevan con soave odore,

Simil a quel, che dal tuo vago petto

Spira sovente, onde si nutre amore,

Ti sacro umil; e se n'avrai diletto,

Doman col novo giorno uscendo fuore,

Per soddisfar in parte al gran disio,

Altrettanti cogliendo a te gl'invio.

E d'ulivo una tazza, ch'ancor serba

Quel puro odor, che già le diede il torno,

Nel mezzo a cui si vede in vista acerba

Portar smarrito un giovinetto il giorno,

E sì 'l carro guidar che accende l'erba,

E sin al fondo i fiumi arde d'intorno,

Stolto che mal tener seppe il viaggio,

E il consiglio seguir fedele e saggio!

The description of the olive cup is carried over the next five stanzas, when the poet turns to complain that Faustina does not care for his piping. And yet Pan joined the rustic reeds; and Amphion breathed through them such melody as held the hills attentive; and Silenus taught how earth was made, and how the seasons come and go, with his sweet pipings. Even yet, perchance, she will incline and listen, if only he can find for her some powerful charm. Come forth, he cries, repeating the address to Galatea, leave Tiber to chafe within his banks and hurry toward the sea. Come to my fields and caves:[289]

A te di bei corimbi un antro ingombra,

E folto indora d'elicrisi nembo

L'edera bianca, e sparge sì dolce ombra,

Che tosto tolta a le verd'erbe in grembo

D'ogni grave pensier te n'andrai sgombra;

E sparso in terra il bel ceruleo lembo,

Potrai con l'aura, ch'ivi alberga il colle,

Seguir securo sonno dolce e molle.

It is perilous for thee to roam the shores where Mars met Ilia. O Father Tiber, deal gently with so fair a maiden. It was thou who erewhile saved the infant hope of Rome, whom the she-wolf suckled near thine overflow! But such themes soar too high for shepherd's pipings. I turn to Caro and to Varchi. Both are shepherds, who know how to stir the streams of Mincius and Arethuse. Even the gods have lived in forest wild, among the woods, and there Anchises by the side of Venus pressed the flowers. What gifts shall I find for my Faustina? Daphnis and Mœris are richer far than I. How can I contend with them in presents to the fair? And yet she heeds them not:

Tanto d'ogni altrui dono poco si cura

Questa vaga angioletta umile e pura.

My passion weighs upon me as love weighed on Aristæus. He forgot his flocks, his herds, his gardens, even his beehives for Eurydice. His heartache made him mad, and he pursued her over field and forest. She fled before him, but he followed:[290]

La sottil gonna in preda a i venti resta,

E col crine ondeggiando addietro torna:

Ella più ch'aura, o più che strale, presta

Per l'odorata selva non soggiorna;

Tanto che il lito prende snella e mesta,

Fatta per paura assai più adorna:

Fende Aristeo la vagha selva anch'egli,

E la man parle aver entro i capegli.

Tre volte innanzi la man destra spinse

Per pigliar de le chiome il largo invito;

Tre volte il vento solamente strinse,

E restò lasso senza fin schernito:

Nè stanchezza però tardollo o vinse,

Perchè tornasse il pensier suo fallito;

Anzi quanto mendico più si sente,

Tanto s'affretta, non che il corso allente.

The story of Eurydice occupies twenty-nine stanzas, and with it the poem ends abruptly. It is full of carefully-wrought pictures, excessively smooth and sugared, recalling the superficial manner of the later Roman painters. Even in the passage that describes Eurydice's agony, just quoted, the forest is odorata or vagha. Fear and flight make the maiden more adorna. The ruffian Aristæus gets tired in the chase. He, too, must be presented in a form of elegance. Not the action, but how the action might be made a groundwork for embroidery of beauty, is the poet's care. We quit the Ninfa Tiberina with senses swooning under superfluity of sweetness—as though we had inhaled the breath of hyacinths in a heated chamber.

Closely allied to bucolic stands didactic poetry. The Works and Days of Hesiod and the Georgics of Virgil—the latter far more effectually, however, than the former—determined this style for the Italians. We have already seen to what extent the neo-Latin poets cultivated a form of verse that, more than any other, requires the skill of a great artist and the inspiration of true poetry, if it is to shun intolerable tedium.[291] The best didactic poems written in Latin by an Italian are undoubtedly Poliziano's Sylvæ, and of these the most refined is the Rusticus.[292] But Poliziano, in composing them, struck out a new line. He did not follow his Virgilian models closely. He chose the form of declamation to an audience, in preference to the time-honored usage of apostrophizing a patron. This relieves the Sylvæ from the absurdity of the poet's feigning to instruct a Memmius or Augustus, a Francis I. or Charles V., in matters about which those warriors and rulers can have felt but a frigid interest. Pontano's Urania and De Hortis Hesperidum are almost free from the same blemish. The former is addressed to his son Lucius, but in words so brief and simple that we recognize the propriety of a father giving this instruction to his child.[293] The latter is dedicated to Francesco Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua, who receives complimentary panegyrics in the exordium and peroration, but does not interfere with the structure of the poem. Its chief honors are reserved, as is right and due, for Virgil:[294]—

Dryades dum munera vati

Annua, dum magno texunt nova serta Maroni,

E molli violâ et ferrugineis hyacinthis,

Quasque fovent teneras Sebethi flumina myrtos.

Pontano's greatness, here as elsewhere, is shown in his mytho-poetic faculty. The lengthy dissertation on the heavens and the lighter discourse on orange-cultivation are adorned and enlivened with innumerable legends suggested to his fertile fancy by the beauty of Neapolitan scenery. When we reach the age of Vida and Fracastoro, we find ourselves in the full tide of Virgilian imitation[295]; and it is just at this point in our inquiry that the transition from Latin to Italian didactic poetry should be effected.

Giovanni Rucellai, the son of that Bernardo, who opened his famous Florentine Gardens to the Platonic Academy, was born in 1475. As the author of Rosmunda, he has already appeared in this book. When he died, in 1526, he bequeathed a little poem on Bees to his brother Palla and his friend Gian Giorgio Trissino. Trissino and Rucellai had been intimate at Florence and in Rome. They wrote the Sofonisba and Rosmunda in generous rivalry, meeting from time to time to compare notes of progress and to recite their verses. An eye-witness related to Scipione Ammirato how "these two dearest friends, when they were together in a room, would jump upon a bench and declaim pieces of their tragedies, calling upon the audience to decide between them on the merits of the plays."[296] Trissino received the MS. of his friend's posthumous poem at Padua, and undertook to see it through the press. The Api was published at Venice in 1539.[297] What remained to be said or sung about bees after the Fourth Georgic? Very little indeed, it must be granted. Yet the Api is no mere translation from Virgil; and though the higher qualities of variety invention and imagination were denied to Rucellai, though he can show no passages of pathos to compete with the Corycius senex, of humor to approach the battle of the hives, no episode, it need be hardly said, to match with Pastor Aristæus, still his modest poem is a monument of pure taste and classical correctness. It is the work of a ripe scholar and melodious versifier, if not of a great singer; and its diction belongs to the best period of polite Italian.

The same moderate praise might be awarded to the more ambitious poem of Luigi Alamanni, entitled Coltivazione, but for its immoderate prolixity.[298] Alamanni resolved to combine the precepts of Hesiod, Virgil and Varro, together with the pastoral passages of Lucretius, in one work, adapting them to modern usage, and producing a comprehensive treatise upon farming. With this object he divided his poem into six books, the first four devoted to the labors of the several seasons, the fifth to gardens, and the sixth to lucky and unlucky days. On a rough computation, the whole six contain some 5,500 lines. La Coltivazione is dedicated to Francis I., and is marred by inordinate flatteries of the French people and their king. Students who have the heart to peruse its always chaste and limpidly flowing blank verse, will be rewarded from time to time with passages like the following, in which the sad circumstances of the poet and the pathos of his regrets for Italy raise the style to more than usual energy and dignity:[299]

Ma qual paese è quello ove oggi possa,

Glorioso Francesco, in questa guisa

Il rustico cultor goderse in pace

L'alte fatiche sue sicuro e lieto?

Non già il bel nido ond'io mi sto lontano,

Non già l'Italia mia; che poichè lunge

Ebbe, altissimo Re, le vostre insegne,

Altro non ebbe mai che pianto e guerra.

I colti campi suoi son fatti boschi,

Son fatti albergo di selvagge fere,

Lasciati in abbandono a gente iniqua.

Il bifulco e 'l pastor non puote appena

In mezzo alle città viver sicuro

Nel grembo al suo signor; chè di lui stesso

Che 'l devria vendicar, divien rapina ...

Fuggasi lunge omai dal seggio antico

L'italico villan; trapassi l'alpi;

Truove il gallico sen; sicuro posi

Sotto l'ali, signor, del vostro impero.

E se quì non avrà, come ebbe altrove

Così tepido il sol, sì chiaro il cielo,

Se non vedrà quei verdi colli toschi,

Ove ha il nido più bello Palla e Pomona;

Se non vedrà quei cetri, lauri e mirti,

Che del Partenopeo veston le piagge;

Se del Benaco e di mill'altri insieme

Non saprà quì trovar le rive e l'onde;

Se non l'ombra, gli odor, gli scogli ameni

Che 'l bel liguro mar circonda e bagna;

Se non l'ampie pianure e i verdi prati

Che 'l Po, l'Adda e 'l Tesin rigando infiora,

Quì vedrà le campagne aperte e liete,

Che senza fine aver vincon lo sguardo, etc.[300]

Luigi Alamanni was the member of a noble Florentine family, who for several generations had been devoted to the Medicean cause. He was born in 1495, and early joined the band of patriots and scholars who assembled in the Rucellai gardens to hear Machiavelli read his notes on Livy. After the discovery of the conspiracy against Cardinal Giulio de' Medici, in which Machiavelli was implicated, and which cost his cousin Luigi di Tommaso Alamanni and his friend Jacopo del Diacceto their lives, Luigi escaped across the mountains by Borgo San Sepolcro to Urbino. Finally, after running many risks, and being imprisoned for a while at Brescia by Giulio's emissaries, he made good his flight to France. His wife and three children had been left at Florence. He was poor and miserable, suffering as only exiles suffer when their home is such a paradise as Italy. In 1527, after the expulsion of the Medici, Luigi returned to Florence, and took an active part in the preparations for the siege as well as in the diplomatic negotiations which followed the fall of the city. Alessandro de' Medici declared him a rebel; and he was forced to avail himself again of French protection. With the exception of a few years passed in Italy between 1537 and 1540, the rest of his life was spent as a French courtier. Both Francis I. and Henri II. treated him with distinction and bounty. Catherine de Medicis made him her master of the household; and his son received the bishopric of Macon. In 1556 he died at Amboise following the Court.

Luigi Alamanni was the greatest Italian poet of whose services Francis I. could boast, as Cellini was the greatest Italian artist. His works are numerous, and all are marked by the same qualities of limpid facility, tending to prolixity and feebleness. Sonnets and canzoni, satires, romantic epics, eclogues, translations, comedies, he tried them all. His translation of the Antigone deserves commendation for its style. His Flora is curious for its attempt to reproduce the comic iambic of the Latin poets. If his satires dealt less in generalities, they might aspire to comparison with Ariosto's. As it is, the poet's bile vents itself in abstract invectives, of which the following verses upon Rome may stand for a fair specimen:[301]

Or chi vedesse il ver, vedrebbe come

Più disnor tu, che 'l tuo Luter Martino,

Porti a te stessa, e più gravose some.

Non la Germania, no, ma l'ozio e 'l vino,

Avarizia, ambizion, lussuria, e gola

Ti mena al fin, che già veggiam vicino.

Non pur questo dico io, non Francia sola,

Non pur la Spagna, tutta Italia ancora

Che ti tien d'eresia, di vizi scola.

E chi nol crede, ne dimandi ognora

Urbin, Ferrara, l'Orso, e la Colonna,

La Marca, il Romagnuol, ma più chi plora

Per te servendo, che fu d'altri donna.

Alamanni is said to have been an admirable improvisatore; and this we can readily believe, for his verses even when they are most polished, flow with a placidity of movement that betrays excessive case.

We have traced the pastoral ideal from its commencement in Boccaccio, through the Arcadia of Sannazzaro, Poliziano's Orfeo, and the didactic poets, up to the point when it was destined soon to find its perfect form in the Aminta and the Pastor Fido. Both Tasso and Guarini lived beyond the chronological limits assigned to this work. The Renaissance was finished; and Italy had passed into a new phase of existence, under the ecclesiastical reaction which is called the Counter-Reformation. It is no part of my programme to enter with particularity into the history of the second half of the sixteenth century. And yet the subject of this and the preceding chapter would be incomplete were I not to notice the two poems which combined the drama and the pastoral in a work of art no less characteristic for the people and the age than fruitful of results for European literature. Great tragedy and great comedy were denied to the Italians. But they produced a novel species in the pastoral drama, which testified to their artistic originality, and led by natural transitions to the opera. Poetry was on the point of expiring; but music was rising to take her place. And the imaginative medium prepared by the lyrical scenes of the Arcadian play, afforded just that generality and aloofness from actual conditions of life, which were needed by the new art in its first dramatic essays.

It would be a mistake to suppose that because the form of the Arcadian romance was artificial, it could not lend itself to the presentation of real passion when adapted to the theater. The study of the Aminta and the Pastor Fido is sufficient to remove this misconception. Though the latter is the more carefully constructed of the two, the plot in either case presents a series of emotional situations, developed with refined art and expressed with lyrical abundance. The rustic fable is but a veil, through which the everlasting lineaments of love are shown. Arcadia, stripped of pedantry and affectation, has become the ideal world of sentiment. Like amber, it incloses in its glittering transparency the hopes and fears, the pains and joys, which flit from heart to heart of men and women when they love. The very conventionality of the pastoral style assists the lyrical utterance of real feeling. For it must be borne in mind that both Aminta and the Pastor Fido are essentially lyrical. The salt and savor of each play are in their choruses and monologues. The dialogue, the fable and the characters serve to supply the poet with motives for emotion that finds vent in song. This being conceded, it will be understood how from their scenes as a whole world of melodrama issued. Whatever may have been the subject of an opera before the days of Gluck, it drew its life-blood from these pastorals.

The central motive of Aminta and the Pastor Fido is the contrast between the actual world of ambition, treachery and sordid strife, and the ideal world of pleasure, loyalty and tranquil ease. Nature is placed in opposition to civil society, the laws of honor to the laws of love, the manners of Arcadia to the manners of Italy. This cardinal motive finds its highest utterance in Tasso's chorus on the Age of Gold:

O bella età dell'oro,

Non già perchè di latte

Sen corse il fiume, e stillò mele il bosco;

Non perchè i frutti loro

Dier dall'aratro intatte

Le terre, e gli angui erràr senz'ira o tosco;

Non perchè nuvol fosco

Non spiegò allor suo velo,

Ma in primavera eterna,

Ch'ora s'accende, e verna,

Rise di luce e di sereno il cielo;

Nè portò peregrino

O guerra, o mercè agli altrui lidi il pino:

Ma sol perchè quel vano

Nome senza oggetto,

Quell'idolo d'errori, idol d'inganno,

Quel che dal volgo insano

Onor poscia fu detto,

Che di nostra natura 'l feo tiranno,

Non mischiava il suo affanno

Fra le liete dolcezze

Dell'amoroso gregge;

Nè fu sua dura legge

Nota a quell'alme in libertate avvezze:

Ma legge aurea e felice,

Che Natura scolpì, "S'ei piace, ei lice."

The last phrase, S'ei piace, ei lice, might be written on the frontispiece of both dramas, together with Dafne's sigh: Il mondo invecchia, E invecchiando intristisce. Of what use is life unless we love?

Amiam, che 'l sol si muore, e poi rinasce;

A noi sua breve luce

S'asconde, e 'l sonno eterna notte adduce.

The girl who wastes her youth in proud virginity, prepares a sad old age of vain regret:

Cangia, cangia consiglio,

Pazzarella che sei;

Che 'l pentirsi da sezzo nulla giova.

It is the old cry of the Florentine Canti and Ballate, "Gather ye rose-buds while ye may!" Di doman non c'è certezza. And the stories of Aminta and Pastor Fido teach the same lesson, that nature's laws cannot be violated, that even fate and the most stubborn bosoms bow to love.

Of the music and beauty of these two dramas, I find it difficult to speak. Before some masterpieces criticism bends in silence. We cannot describe what must be felt. All the melodies that had been growing through two centuries in Italy, are concentrated in their songs. The idyllic voluptuousness, which permeated literature and art, steeps their pictures in a golden glow. It is easy enough to object that their apparent simplicity conceals seduction, that their sentimentalism is unmanly, and their suggestions of physical beauty effeminating:—

Ma come Silvia il ricconobbe, e vide

Le belle guance tenere d'Aminta

Iscolorite in sì leggiadri modi,

Che viola non è che impallidisca

Sì dolcemente, e lui languir sì fatto,

Che parea già ultimi sospiri

Esalar l'alma; in guisa di Baccante,

Gridando e percotendosi il bel petto,

Lasciò cadersi in sul giacente corpo;

E giunse viso a viso, e bocca a bocca.

This passage warns us that an age of cicisbei and castrati has begun, and that the Italian sensuousness has reached its final dissolution. Silvia's kisses in Aminta, Mirtillo's kisses in Pastor Fido, introduce a new refinement of enervation. Marino with his Adone is not distant. But, while we recognize in both these poems—the one perfumed and delicate like flowers of spring, the other sculptured in pure forms of classic grace—evident signs of a civilization sinking to decay; though we almost loathe the beauty which relaxes every chord of manhood in the soul that feels it; we are bound to confess that to this goal the Italian genius had been steadily advancing since the publication of the Filocopo. The negation of chivalry, mysticism, asceticism, is accomplished. After traversing the cycle of comedy, romance, satire, burlesque poetry, the plastic arts, and invading every province of human thought, the Italian reaction against the middle ages assumes a final shape of hitherto unapprehended loveliness in the Aminta and the Pastor Fido. They complete and close the Renaissance, bequeathing in a new species of art its form and pressure to succeeding generations.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE PURISTS.

The Italians lose their Language—Prejudice against the Mother Tongue—Problem of the Dialects—Want of a Metropolis—The Tuscan Classics—Petrarch and Boccaccio—Dante Rejected—False Attitude of the Petrarchisti—Renaissance Sense of Beauty unexpressed in Lyric—False Attitude of Boccaccio's Followers—Ornamental Prose—Speron Sperone—The Dictator Bembo—His Conception of the Problem—The Asolani—Grammatical Essay—Treatise on the Language—Poems—Letters—Bembo's Place in the Cortegiano—Castiglione on Italian Style—His Good Sense—Controversies on the Language—Academical Spirit—Innumerable Poetasters—La Casa—His Life—Il Forno—Peculiar Melancholy—His Sonnets—Guidiccioni's Poems on Italy—Court Life—Caro and Castelvetro—Their Controversies—Castelvetro accused of Heresy—Literary Ladies—Veronica Gambara—Vittoria Colonna—Her Life—Her Friendship for Michelangelo—Life of Bernardo Tasso—His Amadigi and other Works—Life of Giangiorgio Trissino—His Quarrel with his Son Giulio—His Critical Works—The Italia Liberata.

IT was the misfortune of the Italians that, when culture had become national and the revival of the vulgar literature had been effected, they found themselves in nearly the same relation to their own language as to Latin. After more than a hundred years absorbed in humanistic studies, the authors of the fourteenth century were hardly less remote than the Augustan classics; and to all but Tuscans their diction was almost foreign. At the beginning of the cinque cento, the living mother-tongue of Italy which Dante sought—the Vulgare, quod superius venabamur, quod in qualibet redolet civitate, nec cubat in ulla—was still to seek. Since the composition of Dante's essay De Vulgari Eloquio, the literary activity of the nation had, indeed, created a desire for some fixed standard of style in modern speech. But the experiments of the quattro cento had not far advanced the matter. They only proved that Tuscan was the dialect to imitate, and that success in the future must depend on adherence to the Tuscan authors. Hence it happened that Petrarch and Boccaccio came to be studied with the same diligence, the same obsequious reverence, as Cicero and Virgil. Italian was written with no less effort after formal purity, no less minute observance of rules, than if it had been a dead language. At the same time, as a consequence of this system, the vices of the humanistic style—its tendency to servile imitation, emptiness, rhetorical verbosity, and preference of form to matter—were imported into the vernacular literature.

While noting these drawbacks, which attended the resurgence of Italian at an epoch when the whole nation began to demand a common language, we must give due credit to the sagacity displayed by scholars at that epoch in grappling with the problem before them. The main points at issue were, first, to overcome the prejudice against the mother tongue, which still lingered among educated people; secondly, to adjust Italian to the standards of taste established by the humanistic movement; and, thirdly, to decide whether Tuscan should reign supreme, or be merged in a speech more representative of the Italians as a nation. Early in the century, the battle of Italian against Latin was practically won. There remained no obstinate antagonism to a purely national and modern literature. Still the type to which this literature should conform, the laws by which it should be regulated, were as yet unsettled. These questions had to be decided by intelligence rather than by instinct; for the Italians possessed no common medium of conversation, no common opportunities of forensic or parliamentary debate. That insensible process whereby French style has been modeled on the usages of conversation, and English style has been adapted to the tone of oratory, had to be performed, so far as this was possible, by conscious analysis. The Italians were aware that they lacked a language, and they set themselves deliberately to remedy this defect. These peculiar circumstances gave a pedantic tone to the discussion of the problem. Yet the problem itself was neither puerile nor pedantic. It concerned nothing less than the formation of an instrument of self-expression for a people, who had reached the highest grade of artistic skill in the exercise of the dead languages, and who, though intellectually raised to an equality of culture, were divided by tenacious local differences.

That Petrarch and Boccaccio should have been chosen as models of classical Italian style, was not only natural but inevitable. Writers, trained in the method of the humanists, required the guidance of authoritative masters. Just as they used Cicero and Virgil for the correction of medieval Latin, so Petrarch and Boccaccio were needed for the castigation of homespun dialects. Dante, had he been comprehended by such men, would not have satisfied ears educated in the niceties of Latin versification; nor could the builders of Ciceronian perorations have revived the simple prose of the Villani. Petrarch contented their sense of polish; Boccaccio supplied them with intricate periods and cadences of numerous prose. Yet the choice was in either case unfortunate, though for somewhat different reasons.

It was impossible for poets of the sixteenth century to follow Petrarch to the very letter of his diction, without borrowing his tone. Consequently these versifiers affected to languish and adore, wove conceits and complained of cruelty, in the fashion of Vaucluse. Their facile mistresses became Lauras; or else they draped a lay-figure, and wrote sonnets to its painted eyebrows. The confusion between literary ceremony and practical experience of passion wrought an ineradicable discord. Authors of indecent burlesques penned Platonic odes. Bembo, who was answerable for the Menta in its Latin form, praised his mistress Morosina in polished sonnets and elegiac threnodies. Firenzuola published the poems to Selvaggia and the Capitolo in praise of a specific against infamous diseases. La Casa gratified the same Academies with his panegyric of the Oven and his scholastic exercises in a metaphysical emotion. Reading thee diverse compositions side by side, we wake to the conviction that the Petrarchistic counterfeits, however excellent in form, have precisely the same mediocrity as Sannazzaro's epic, while the Bernesque effusions express the crudest temper of the men who wrote them. The one class of poems is redolent of affectation, the other of coarse realism. The middle term between these opposites is wanting. Nor could it well be otherwise. The conditions of society in the sixteenth century rendered Petrarch's sentiment impossible. His melancholy, engendered by the contest between passion and religious duty, had become a thing of the far past. The license of the times rendered this halting between two impulses ridiculous, when no man was found to question the divine right of natural appetite. Even the reverential attitude assumed by Petrarch as a lover, was out of date; and when his imitators aped it, their insincerity was patent. The highest enthusiasm of the Renaissance revealed itself through the plastic arts in admiration for corporeal beauty. This feeling, while it easily degenerated into sensuality, had no point of contact with Petrarch's medieval Platonism. Therefore the tone of the Petrarchisti was hypocritical, and the love they professed, a sham.

We have a further reason for resenting this devotion to a poet with whose habitual mood the men of that age could not sympathize. We know that they had much to say which remained buried beneath their fourteenth-century disguises. The sincerity of feeling, the fervid passion of poets like Bembo, Molza, or La Casa, cannot be denied. But their emotion found no natural channel of expression. It is not without irritation that we deplore the intellectual conditions of an age, which forced these artists to give forth what they felt in one of two equally artificial forms. Between transcription from the Latin elegists and reproduction of Petrarch there lay for them no choice. Consequently, the Renaissance lacked its full development upon the side of lyric poetry. The secret of the times remained unspoken—a something analogous to Venetian painting, a something indicated in Firenzuola's and Luigini's dialogues on female beauty, a something indirectly presented in Ariosto's episodes, which ought to have been uttered from the heart in song by men who felt the loveliness of plastic form. Instead of this lyrical expression of a ruling passion, we have to content ourselves with pseudo-platonic rhymes and with the fervid sensualities of Pontano's elegiacs. The sensibility to corporeal beauty, which was abundantly represented by Titian, Lionardo, Raphael, Correggio, Michelangelo in art, in literature was either shorn of its essential freedom by the limitations of conventional Platonism, or exaggerated on the side of animalism by imitation of erotic Latin poets. Furthermore, we have some right to regard the burlesque obscenity of academical literature as a partial reaction against the hypocritical refinements of the Petrarchistic mannerism. Thus the deepest instinct of the epoch, that which gave its splendor to the painting of the golden age, found no spontaneous utterance in lyric verse.

The academical study of Boccaccio proved disastrous for a different reason. In this case there was no division between the master and his pupils; for we have seen already that the author of the Decameron anticipated the Renaissance in the scope and tenor of his work. But he supplied students with a false standard. His Latinizing periods, his involved construction of sentences and oratorical amplification of motives encouraged the worst qualities of humanistic style. Boccaccio prevented the Italians from forming a masculine prose manner. Each writer, whatever might be the subject of his work, aimed at ornate diction. Cumbrous and circuitous phrases were admired for their own sake. The simplicity of the Chronicles was abandoned for ponderous verbosity, and Machiavelli's virile force found no successors in the crowd of academicians who dissected the Decameron for flowers of rhetoric.

Thus the efforts of the purists took a false direction from the outset both in prose and verse. The literature which aimed at being national, began with archaistic exercises; and Italy, at the moment of attaining self-consciousness, found herself, without a living language, forced to follow in the steps of antiquated authors. The industry and earnestness of the disciples made their failure the more notable; for while they pursued a track that could not lead to aught but mannerism, they plumed themselves upon the soundness of their method. In order to illustrate the spirit of this movement, I will select a passage from the works of Speron Sperone, who was by no means the least successful stylist of the period. He is describing his earlier essays in the art of writing and the steps by which he arrived at what he clearly thought to be perfection:[302]

"Being in all truth desirous beyond measure from my earliest years to speak and to write my thoughts in our mother tongue, and that not so much with a view to being understood, which lies within the scope of every unlettered person, as with the object of placing my name upon the roll of famous men, I neglected every other interest, and gave my whole attention to the reading of Petrarch and the hundred Novels; in which studies having exercised myself for many months with little profit and without a guide, under the inspiration of God I finally betook me to our revered Master Trifone Gabrielli[303]; by whose kindly assistance I arrived at perfect comprehension of those authors, whom, through ignorance of what I ought to notice, I had frequently before misunderstood. This excellent man and true father of ours first bade me observe the vocables, then gave me rules for knowing the declension and conjugation of nouns and verbs in Tuscan, and lastly explained to me articles, pronouns, participles, adverbs, and other parts of speech; so that, collecting all that I had learned, I composed a grammar for myself, by following the which while writing I so controlled my style that in a short space of time the world held me for a man of erudition, and still considers me as such. When it seemed to me that I had taken rank as a grammarian, I set myself, with the utmost expectation of every one who knew me, to the making of verses; and then, my head full of rhythms, sentences and words from Petrarch and Boccaccio, for a few years, I produced things that appeared wonderful to my judgment; but afterwards, thinking that my vein was beginning to dry up (inasmuch as words frequently failed me, and, not finding what to say in different sonnets, it occurred to me to rehandle the same thoughts), I had recourse to that which all the world does now[304]; for, using the greatest diligence, I composed a rhyming dictionary or vocabulary of Italian phrases; in the which I classed by the alphabet every word those two authors had used; moreover I collected in another book their divers ways of describing things, as day, night, anger, peace, hate, love, fear, hope, beauty, in such wise that not a single word or thought came from me which had not its precedent in their sonnets and novels." At this point Sperone frankly admits that his practice was too slavish. He then proceeds to tell how he compared Petrarch's Latin with his vulgar style in order to discover the correct rules of Italian versification. "Conquered by the arguments and experiments I have described, I returned to my earlier studies; and then, in addition to continual self-exercise in the reading of Petrarch (which by itself and without any other artifice may procure great benefit), by fixing my mind more diligently than before upon his modes of diction, I observed (as I believed) certain qualities pertaining in an eminent degree to the poet and also the orator; which, since you desire it, I will briefly expound. In the first place, while numbering and weighing his words one by one, I became aware that I discovered none common and none base, few harsh, all clear, all elegant; and all, moreover, so adapted to common use that one might have supposed he had selected and accumulated them with the concurrence of all Italy in conclave. Among the which (like stars amid the limpid space of midnight) some few shone out with special luster; for some part ancient words, but not unpleasing through their age, as uopo, unquanco, sovente; for some part beautiful and very graceful words, which like jewels that delight the eyes of all men, are only used by gentle and high intellects, such as gioia, speme, rai, disio, soggiorno, beltà, and others of like quality, the which no learned tongue would utter, nor hand write, unless the ear consented. Time would fail to tell in detail of the verbs, adverbs, and other parts of speech, which make his verses noble; but one thing I will not pass in silence, namely that, when speaking of his lady, now of her person, now of her soul, now of her tears, now of her smile, now of her movement, now of her taking rest, now of her anger, now of her pity, and now of her age, in a word when describing and magnifying her alive or dead, he generally avoids the proper name of things, and by some wonderful art adorns each thing by words appropriate to others, calling her head fine gold and roof of gold, her eyes suns, stars, sapphires, nest and home of love, her cheeks now snow and roses, now milk and fire, rubies her lips, pearls her teeth, her throat and breast now ivory, now alabaster." Halfway up this Gradus ad Parnassum we are forced to stop and take deep breath. Sperone has launched the theory of "poetic diction," and advances boldly to its extreme consequences. We need not follow his analysis further into particulars. He carries it through the several topics of tautology, periphrasis, antithesis, and proportion of syllables in words of different length; after which the subject of prosody proper is discussed. Having finished with Petrarch, he then proceeds to render the same account of his studies in Boccaccio, observing the variety and choice of his phrases, but calling special attention to the numbers of his periods, and winding up with this sonorous sentence on prose architecture. "But you must know that as the composition of prose is a marshaling of the sounds of words in proper order, so its numbers are certain orders in their syllables; pleasing the ear wherewith, the art of oratory opens, continues and finishes a period: forasmuch as every clause has not only a beginning but also a middle and an end; at the beginning it puts itself in motion and ascends; in the middle, as though weary with exertion, it rests upon its feet awhile; then it descends, and flies to the conclusion for repose."[305]

What is admirable, in spite of pedantry and servility, in this lengthy diatribe is the sense of art as art, the devotion to form for its own sake, the effort to grapple with the problems of style, the writer's single-hearted seeking after perfection. Nothing but a highly-developed artistic instinct in the nation could have produced students of this type. At the same time we feel an absence of spontaneity, and the tendency to aim at decorative writing is apparent. When the glow of discovery, which impelled Sperone and his fellow-pioneers to open a way across the continent of literature, had failed; when the practice of their school had passed into precepts, and their inventions had been formulated as canons of style; nothing remained for travelers upon this path but frigid repetition, precise observance of conventional limitations, and exercises in sonorous oratory. The rhetoric of the seventeenth century was a necessary outgrowth of pedantic purism. The conceits of Marini and his imitators followed inevitably from a rigorous application of rules that denied to poetry the right of natural expression. It may be urged that for a nation so highly sensitive to form as the Italians, without a metropolis to mold the language in the process of development, and without a spoken dialect of good society, there existed no common school of style but the recognized classics of Tuscany.[306] When each district habitually used a different speech for private and public utterance, men could not write as they talked, and they were therefore forced to write by rule. There is force in these arguments. Yet the consequences of a too minute and fastidious study of the Tuscan authors proved none the less fatal to the freedom of Italian literature; and what is more, sagacious critics foresaw the danger, though they were unable to avert it.

The leader in this movement, acknowledged throughout Italy for more than half a century as dictator in the republic of letters, "foster-father of the language" (balio della lingua), "guide and master of our tongue" (guida e maestro di questa lingua), was Pietro Bembo.[307] Though only sixteen years junior to Angelo Poliziano, whom he had himself saluted as "ruler of the Ausonian lyre," Bembo outlived his master for the space of fifty-one years, and swayed the literary world at a period when Italian succeeded to the honors of Latin scholarship.[308] He was a Venetian. This fact is not insignificant, since it clearly marks the change that had come over the nation, when the scepter of learning was transferred to the northern provinces, and the exclusive privilege of correct Italian composition was shared with Tuscans by men of other dialects.[309] In his early youth Bembo had the good sense to perceive that the mother tongue was no less worthy of cultivation than Greek and Latin. The arguments advanced by Dante, by Alberti, by Lorenzo de' Medici, recurred with fresh force to his mind. He therefore made himself the champion of Italian against those exclusive students who, like Ercole Strozzi, still contended that the dead languages were alone worthy of attention.[310] He also saw that it was necessary to create a standard of correct style for writers who were not fortunate enough to have been born within the bounds of Tuscany. Accordingly, he devoted himself to the precise and formal study of fourteenth-century literature, polishing his own Italian compositions with a diligence that, while it secured transparent purity of diction, deprived them of originality and impulse. It is said that he passed each of his works through forty successive revisions, keeping as many portfolios to represent the stages at which they had arrived.

Having already sketched the life of Bembo, I shall here restrict myself to remarks upon those of his works which were influential in reviving the practice of Italian composition.[311] Among these the first place must be awarded to Gli Asolani, a dialogue on Love, written in his early manhood and dedicated to Lucrezia Borgia. The beauty of its language and the interest of the theme discussed rendered this treatise widely fashionable. Yet it is not possible to study it with pleasure now. Those Platonic conversations, in which the refined society of the Italian Courts delighted, have lost their attraction for us. Nothing but the charming description of Asolo, where the Queen of Cyprus had her garden, surrounded by trimmed laurels and divided crosswise with a leafy pergola of vines, retains its freshness. That picture, animated by the figures of the six novitiates of Love, now sauntering through shade and sunlight under the vine-branches, now seated on the grass to hear a lute or viol deftly touched, is in the best idyllic style of the Venetian masters. At the Court of Urbino, where Bembo was residing when his book appeared, it was received with acclamation, as a triumph of divine genius. The illustrious circle celebrated by Castiglione in his Cortegiano perused it with avidity, and there is no doubt that the publication gave a powerful impulse to Italian studies. These were still further fostered by Bembo's Defense of the Vulgar Tongue.[312] He had secured the hearing of the world by his Asolani. Women and the leaders of fashionable society were with him; and he pushed his arguments home against the Latinizing humanists. "To abandon our own language for another," he reminded them, "is the same as withdrawing supplies from our mother to support a strange woman." This phrase is almost identical with what Dante had written on the same topic two centuries earlier. But Bembo's standing-ground was different from Dante's. The poet of the fourteenth century felt called to create a language for his nation. The student of the sixteenth, imbued with the assimilative principles of scholarship, too fastidious to risk a rough note in his style, too feeble to attempt a new act of creation, was content to "affect the fame of an imitator."[313] His piety toward the mother-tongue was generous; his method of rehabilitation was almost servile.

With the view of illustrating his practice by precepts, Bembo published a short Italian grammar, or compendium of Regole Grammaticali. It went through fourteen editions, and formed the text-book for future discussions of linguistic problems. Though welcomed with enthusiasm, this first attempt to reduce Italian to system was severely criticised, especially by Sannazzaro, Caro, Castelvetro and the Florentine Academy.

I have already had occasion to observe that, as a Latin poet, Bembo succeeded best with memorial verses. The same may be said about his Italian poems. The Canzoni on the death of his brother, and that on the death of his mistress Morosina, are justly celebrated for their perfection of form; nor are they so wanting in spontaneous emotion as many of his Petrarchistic exercises. Bembo was tenderly attached to this Morosina, whom he first met at Rome, and with whom he lived till her death at Padua in 1525. She was the mother of his three children, Lucilio, Torquato and Elena. The Canzone in question, beginning:

Donna, de' cui begli occhi alto diletto:

was written so late as 1539, three months after Bembo had been raised to the dignity of Cardinal.[314] As a specimen of the conceits which he tolerated in poetry, I have thought it worth while to present the following translation of a sonnet:[315]

Ah me, at one same moment forced to cry

And hush, to hope and fear, rejoice and grieve,

The service of one master seek and leave,

Over my loss laugh equally and sigh!

My guide I govern; without wings I fly;

With favoring winds, to rocks and sandbanks cleave;

Hate haughtiness, yet meekness disbelieve;

Mistrust all men, nor on myself rely.

I strive to stay the sun, set snows on fire;

Yearn after freedom, run to take the yoke:

Defend myself without, but bleed within;

Fall, when there's none to lift me from the mire;

Complain, when plaints are vain, of fortune's stroke;

And power, being powerless, from impuissance win.

In the sixteenth century verses of this stamp passed for masterpieces of incomparable elegance. The same high value was set on Bembo's familiar letters. He wrote them with a view to publication, and they were frequently reprinted during the course of the next fifty years.[316] These may still be read with profit by students for the light they cast upon Italian society during the first half of the cinque cento, and with pleasure by all who can appreciate the courtesies of refined breeding expressed in language of fastidious delicacy. The chief men of the day, whether Popes, princes, Cardinals or poets, and all the illustrious ladies, including Lucrezia Borgia, Veronica Gambara, and Vittoria Colonna, are addressed with a mingled freedom and ceremony, nicely graduated according to their rank or degree of intimacy, which proves the exquisite tact developed by the intercourse of Courts in men like Bembo.

Since the composition and publication of such letters formed a main branch of literary industry in the period we have reached,[317] it will be well to offer some examples of Bembo's epistolary style; and for this purpose, the correspondence with Lucrezia Borgia may be chosen, not only because of the interest attaching to her friendship with the author, but also because the topics treated display the refinement of his nature in a very agreeable light.[318] In one of these, written upon the occasion of her father's death, he calls Alexander VI. quel vostro così gran padre. In a second, touched with the deepest personal feeling, he announces the death of his own brother Carlo, mio solo e caro fratello, unico sostegno e sollazzo della vita mia.[319] In a third he thanks her for her letters of condolence: Le lagrime alle quali mi scrivete essere stata constretta leggendo nelle mei lettere la morte del mio caro e amato fratello M. Carlo, sono dolcissimo refrigerio stato al mio dolore, se cosa dolce alcuna m'è potuta venire a questo tempo. In a fourth he turns this graceful compliment: Pregherei eziandio il cielo, che ogni giorno v'accrescerebbe la bellezza; ma considero che non vi se ne può aggiungere. In a fifth he congratulates Lucrezia upon the birth of a son and heir, and in a sixth condoles with her upon his early death. Then another boy is born, just when the Duke of Urbino dies; and Bembo mingles courtly tears with ceremonious protestations of his joy. It would be impossible to pen more scholarly exercises upon similar occasions; and through the style of the professed epistolographer we seem to feel that Bembo had real interest in the events he illustrates so elegantly. The fatal defect of his letters is, that he is always thinking more of his manner than of his matter. Like the humanists from whom he drew his mental lineage, he labored for posterity without reckoning on the actual demands posterity would make. Success crowned his efforts in the pleasure he afforded to the public of his day; but this was a success comparable with that of Bernardo Accolti or Tibaldeo of Ferrara, whom he scorned. He little thought that future students would rate an annalist of Corio's stamp, for the sake of his material, at a higher value than the polished author of the Lettere. Yet such is the irony of fame that we could willingly exchange Bembo's nicely-turned phrases for a few solid facts, a few spontaneous effusions.

Bembo was a power in literature, the exact force of which it is difficult to estimate without taking his personal influence into consideration. Distinguished by great physical beauty, gifted with a noble presence, cultivated in the commerce of the best society, he added to his insight and his mental energy all the charm that belongs to a man of fashion and persuasive eloquence in conversation. He was untiring in his literary industry, unfailing in his courtesy to scholars, punctual in correspondence, and generous in the use he made of his considerable wealth. At Urbino, at Venice, at Rome, and at Padua, his study was the meeting-place of learned men, who found the graces of the highest aristocracy combined in him with genial enthusiasm for the common interests of letters. Thus the man did even more than the author to promote the revolution he had at heart. This is brought home to us with force when we consider the place assigned to him in Castiglione's Cortegiano—a masterpiece of composition transcending, in my opinion, all the efforts made by Bembo to conquer the difficulties of style. Castiglione is no less correct than the dictator strove to be; but at the same time he is far more natural. He treats the same topics with greater ease, and with a warmth of feeling and conviction which endears him to the heart of those who read his golden periods. Yet Castiglione gives the honors of his dialogue to the author of the Asolani, when he puts into the mouth of Bembo that glowing panegyric of Platonic love, which forms the close and climax of his dialogue upon the qualities of a true gentleman.[320]

The crowning merit of the Cortegiano is an air of good breeding and disengagement from pedantic prejudices. This urbanity renders it a book to read with profit and instruction through all time. Castiglione's culture was the result of a large experience of men and books, ripened by intercourse with good society in all its forms. His sense and breadth of view are peculiarly valuable when he discusses a subject like that which forms the topic of the present chapter. There is one passage in his book, relating to the problem of Italian style, which, had it been treated with the attention it deserved, might have saved his fellow-countrymen from the rigors of pedagogical despotism.[321]

Starting from his cardinal axiom that good manners demand freedom from all affectation, he deprecates the use in speech or writing of those antiquated Tuscan words the purists loved. As usual, he hits the very center of the subject in his comments on this theme. "It seems to me, therefore, exceedingly strange to employ words in writing which we avoid in all the common usages of conversation. Writing is nothing but a form of speaking, which continues to exist after a man has spoken, and is, as it were, an image or rather the life of the words he utters. Therefore in speech, which, as soon as the voice has issued from the mouth, is lost, some things may be tolerated that are not admissible in composition, because writing preserves the words, subjects them to the criticism of the reader, and allows time for their mature consideration. It is consequently reasonable to use greater diligence with a view to making what we write more polished and correct, yet not to do this so that the written words shall differ from the spoken, but only so that the best in spoken use shall be selected for our composition." After touching on the need of lucidity, he proceeds "I therefore should approve of a man's not only avoiding antiquated Tuscan phrases, but also being careful to employ such as are in present use in Tuscany and other parts of Italy, provided they have a certain grace and harmony."[322] At this point another interlocutor in the dialogue observes that Italy possesses no common language. In the difficulty of knowing whether to follow the custom of Florence or of Bergamo, it is desirable to recognize a classical standard of style. Petrarch and Boccaccio should be selected as models. To refuse to imitate them is mere presumption. Here Castiglione states the position of the school he combats. In his answer to their argument he makes Giuliano de' Medici, one of the company, declare that he, a Tuscan of the Tuscans as he is, should never think of employing any words of Petrarch or Boccaccio which were obsolete in good society. Then the thread of exposition is resumed. The Italian language, in spite of its long past, may still be called young and unformed. When the Roman Empire decayed, spoken Latin suffered from the corruptions introduced by barbarian invaders. It retained greater purity in Tuscany than elsewhere. Yet other districts of Italy preserved certain elements of the ancient language that have a right to be incorporated with the living tongue; nor is it reasonable to suppose that a modern dialect should at a certain moment have reached perfection any more than Latin did. The true rule to follow is to see that a man has something good to say. "Making a division between thoughts and words is much the same as separating soul and body. In order, therefore, to speak or write well, our courtier must have knowledge; for he who has none, and whose mind is void of matter worthy to be apprehended, has naught to say or write." He must be careful to clothe his thoughts in select and fitting words, but above all things to use such "as are still upon the lips of the people." He need not shun foreign phrases, if there be a special force in them above their synonyms in his own language. Nor is there cause to fear lest the vulgar tongue should prove deficient in resources when examined by grammarians and stylists. "Even though it be not ancient Tuscan of the purest water, it will be Italian, common to the nation, copious and varied, like a delicious garden full of divers fruits and flowers." Here Castiglione quotes the precedent of Greek, showing that each of its dialects contributed something to the common stock, though Attic was recognized as sovereign for its polish. Among the Romans likewise, Livy was not tabooed because of his patavinity, nor Virgil because the Romans recognized a something in him of rusticity. "We, meanwhile, far more severe than the ancients, impose upon ourselves certain newfangled laws that have no true relation to the object. With a beaten track before our eyes, we try to walk in bypaths. We take a willful pleasure in obscurity, though our language, like all others, is only meant to express our thoughts with force and clearness. While we call it the popular speech, we plume ourselves on using phrases that are not only unknown to the people, but unintelligible to men of birth and learning, and which have fallen out of conversation in every district of the land." If Petrarch and Boccaccio were living at our epoch, they would certainly omit words that have fallen out of fashion since their days; and it is mere impertinence for a purist to tell me that I ought to say Campidoglio instead of Capitolio and so forth, because some elder Tuscan author wrote it, or the peasants of the Tuscan district speak it so. You argue that only pride prevents our imitating Petrarch and Boccaccio. But pray inform me whom they imitated? To model Latin poems upon Virgil or Catullus is necessary, because Latin is a dead language. But since Italian is alive and spoken, let us write it as we use it, with due attention to artistic elegance. "The final master of style is genius, and the ultimate guide is a sound natural judgment." Do we require all our painters to follow one precedent? Lionardo, Mantegna, Raphael, Michelangelo, Giorgione have struck out different paths of excellence in art. Writers should claim the same liberty of choice, the same spontaneity of inspiration. "I cannot comprehend how it should be right, instead of enriching Italian and giving it spirit, dignity and luster, to make it poor, attenuated, humble and obscure, and so to pen it up within fixed limits as that every one should have to copy Petrarch and Boccaccio. Why should we, for example, not put equal faith in Poliziano, Lorenzo de' Medici, Francesco Diaceto, and others who are Tuscan too, and possibly of no less learning and discretion than were Petrarch and Boccaccio? However, there are certain scrupulous persons abroad nowadays, who make a religion and ineffable mystery of their Tuscan tongue, frightening those who listen to them, to the length of preventing many noble and lettered men from opening their lips, and forcing them to admit they do not know how to talk the language they learned from their nurses in the cradle."[323]

If the Italians could have accepted Castiglione's principles, and approached the problem of their language in this liberal spirit, the nation would have been spared its wearisome, perpetually recurrent quarrel about words. But the matter had already got into the hands of theorists; and local jealousies were inflamed. The municipal wars of the middle ages were resuscitated on the ground of rhetoric and grammar. Unluckily, the quarrel is not over; adhuc sub judice lis est, and there is no judge to decide it. But in the nineteenth century it no longer rages with the violence that made it a matter of duels, assassinations and lifelong hatreds in the sixteenth. The Italians have recently secured for the first time in their history the external conditions which are necessary to a natural settlement of the dispute by the formation of a common speech through common usage. The parliament, the army, the newspapers of United Italy are rapidly creating a language adequate to all the needs of modern life; and though purists may still be found, who maintain that Passavanti's Specchio is a model of style for leading articles in Fanfulla, yet the nation, having passed into a new phase of existence, must be congratulated on having exchanged the "golden simplicity of the trecento" for a powerful and variously-colored instrument of self-expression.

To stir the dust of those obsolete controversies on the language of Italy—to make extracts from Varchi's, Sperone's or Bembo's treatises upon the Tongues—to set Tolommei's claims for Tuscan priority in the balance against Muzio's more modest pleas in favor of Italian[324]—to describe how one set of scholars argued that the vernacular ought to be called Tuscan, how another dubbed it Florentine or Sienese, and how a third, more sensible, voted for Italian[325]—to enumerate the blasts and counterblasts of criticism blown about each sentence in Boccaccio and Petrarch[326]—to resuscitate the orthographical encounters between Trissino and Firenzuola on the matter of the letter K—is no part of my present purpose. It must suffice to have noted that these problems occupied the serious attention of the literary world, and to have indicated by extracts from Sperone and Castiglione the extreme limits of pedantry and sound sense between which the opinion of the learned vibrated. The details of the quarrel may be left to the obscurity of treatises, long since doomed to "dust and an endless darkness."

Much unprofitable expenditure of time and thought upon verbal questions of no vital interest was encouraged by the Academies, which now began to sprout like mushrooms in all towns of Italy.[327] The old humanistic societies founded by Cosimo de' Medici, Pomponius Lætus, Pontano, and Aldo for the promotion of classical studies, had done their work and died away. Their successor, the Umidi of Florence, the Pellegrini of Venice, the Eterei of Padua, the Vignaiuoli of Rome, professed to follow the same objects, with special attention to the reformation of Italian literature. Yet their very titles indicate a certain triviality and want of manly purpose. They were clubs combining conviviality with he pursuit of study; and it too frequently happened that the spirit of their jovial meetings extended itself to the dicerie, cicalate and capitoli recited by their members, when the cloth was drawn and the society sat down to intellectual banquets. At the same time the Academies were so fashionable and so universal that they gave the tone to literature. It was the ambition of all rising students to be numbered with the more illustrious bodies; and when a writer of promise joined one of these, he naturally felt the influence of his companions. Member vied with member in producing sonnets and rhetorical effusions on the slenderest themes; for it was less an object to probe weighty matters or to discover truth, than to make a display of ingenuity by clothing trifles in sonorous language. Surrounded by a crowd of empty-pated but censorious critics, exercised in the minutiæ of style and armed with precedents from Petrarch, the poet read his verses to the company. They were approved or rejected according as they satisfied the sense of correctness, or fell below the conventional standard of imitative diction. To think profoundly, to feel intensely, to imagine boldly, to invent novelties, to be original in any line, was perilous. The wealth of the Academies, the interest of the public in purely literary questions, and the activity of the press encouraged the publication and circulation of these pedantic exercises. Time would fail to tell of all the poems and orations poured forth at the expense of these societies and greedily devoured by friends prepared to eulogize, or rival bodies eager to dissect and criticise. Students who are desirous of forming some conception of the multitudes of poets at this period, must be referred to the pages of Quadrio with a warning that Tiraboschi is inclined to think that even Quadrio's lists are incomplete. All ranks and conditions both of men and women joined in the pursuit. Princes and plebeians, scholars and worldlings, noble ladies and leaders of the demi-monde, high-placed ecclesiastics and penniless Bohemians aspired to the same honors; and the one idol of the motley crowd was Petrarch. There is no doubt that the final result of their labors was the attainment of a certain grace and the diffusion of literary elegance. Yet these gains carried with them a false feeling about poetry in general, a wrong conception of its purpose and its scope. The Italian purists could scarcely have comprehended the drift of Milton's excursion, in his "Reason of Church Government urged against Prelaty," upon the high vocation of the prophet-bard. They would have been no less puzzled by Sidney's definition of poetry, and have felt Shelley's last word upon the poetic office, "Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world," to be no better than a piece of pardonable lunacy.

In this thick-spreading undergrowth of verse, where, as Tiraboschi aptly remarks, "beneath the green and ample foliage we seek in vain for fruit," it is difficult to see the wood by reason of the trees. Poet so closely resembles poet in the mediocrity of similar attainment, that we are forced to sigh for the energy of Michelangelo's unfinished sonnets, or the crudities of Campanella's muse. Yet it is possible to make a representative selection of writers, who, while they belonged to the school of the purists and were associated with the chief Academies of the day, distinguished themselves by some originality of style or by enduring qualities of literary excellence. Foremost among these may be placed Monsignore Giovanni della Casa. He was born in 1503 of noble Florentine parents, his mother being a member of the Tornabuoni family. Educated at Bologna, he entered the service of the Church, and already in 1538 had reached the dignity of Apostolic Clerk. Rome was still what Lorenzo de' Medici had called it, "a sink of all the vices," and very few ecclesiastics escaped its immoralities. La Casa formed some permanent connection, the fruit of which was his acknowledged son Quirino.[328] In 1540 he was sent on a special mission to Florence with the title of Apostolic Commissary; and in 1544 he was raised to the Archbishopric of Benevento, and soon afterwards appointed Nuncio at Venice. During the pontificate of Julius III., finding himself out of favor with the Vatican, he continued to reside at Venice, employing his leisure in literary occupations. Paul IV. recalled him to Rome, and made him Secretary of State. But though he seemed upon the point of touching the highest ecclesiastical dignity, La Casa was never promoted to the Cardinalate. It is difficult to find a reason for this omission, unless we accept the traditional belief that the scandal of his Capitolo del Forno barred La Casa's entrance to the Sacred College.[329] This burlesque poem, at any rate, supplied the Protestants with a weapon which they used against the Church. The legend based upon its audacious obscenities was credited by Bayle, and in part refuted by the Antibaillet of Ménage. Though by no means more offensive to good taste than scores of similar compositions, the high rank of its author and the offices of trust he had discharged for the Papal Curia, emphasized its infamy, and caused La Casa to be chosen as the scapegoat for his comrades. He died in 1556.

La Casa's name is best known in modern literature by his treatise on the manners of the finished gentleman. In his short essay, entitled Galateo, he discusses the particulars of social conduct, descending to rules about the proper use of the drinking-glass at table, the employment of the napkin, the dressing of the hair, and the treatment of immodest topics by polite periphrases.[330] Galateo is recommended not to breathe hard in the face of the persons he is speaking to, not to swear at his servants in company, not to trim his nails in public, not to tell indecent anecdotes to girls, and so forth. He is shown how to dress with proper pomp, what ceremonies to observe, and which to omit as servile or superfluous, how to choose his words, and how to behave at dinner. The book is an elaborate discourse on etiquette; and while it never goes far below the surface, it is full of useful precepts based upon the principles of mutual respect and tolerance which govern good society. We might accept it as a sequel to the Courtier; for while Castiglione drew the portrait of a gentleman, La Casa explained how this gentleman should conduct himself among his equals. The chief curiosity about the book is, that a man of its author's distinction should have thought it worthy of his pains to formulate so many rules of simple decency. From the introduction it is clear that La Casa meant the Galateo to be a handbook for young men entering upon the world. That it fulfilled this purpose, seems proved by the fact that its title passed into a proverb. "To teach the Galateo" is synonymous in Italian with to teach good manners.

One whole volume of La Casa's collected works is devoted to his official and familiar correspondence, composed in choice but colorless Italian.[331] Another contains his Italian and Latin poems. No poet of the century expressed his inner self more plainly than La Casa in his verse. The spectacle is stern and grave. From the vocabulary of the Tuscan classics he seems to have chosen the gloomiest phrases, to adumbrate some unknown terror of the soul.[332] Sometimes his sonnets, in their vivid but polished grandeur, rise even to sublimity, as when he compares himself to a leafless wood in winter, beaten by fiercer storms, with days more cold and short in front, and with a longer night to follow.[333] It is a cheerless prospect of old age and death, uncomforted by hope, unvisited by human love. The same shadow, intensified by even a deeper horror of some coming doom, rests upon another sonnet in which he deplores his wasted life.[334] It drapes, as with a funeral pall, the long majestic ode describing his early errors and the vanity of worldly pomp.[335] It adds despair to his lines on jealousy, intensity to his satire on Court-life, and incommunicable sadness to the poems of his love.[336] Very judicious were the Italian critics who pronounced his style too stern for the erotic muse. We find something at once sinister and solemn in his mood. The darkness that envelops him, issues from the depth of his own heart. The world around is bright with beautiful women and goodly men; but he is alone, shut up with fear and self-reproach. Such a voice befits the age, as we learn to know it in our books of history, far better than the light effusions of contemporary rhymsters. It suits the black-robed personages painted by Moroni, whose calm pale eyes seem gazing on a world made desolate, they know not why. Its accents are all the more melancholy because La Casa yielded to no impulses of rage. He remained sober, cold, sedate; but by some fatal instinct shunned the light and sought the shade. The gloom that envelops him is only broken by the baleful fires of his Capitoli. That those burlesque verses, of which I shall speak in another place, were written in his early manhood, and that the Rime were perhaps the composition of his age, need not prevent us from connecting them together. The dreariness of La Casa's later years may well have been engendered by the follies of his youth. It is the despondency of exhaustion following on ill-expended energy, the tædium vitæ which fell on Italy when she awoke from laughter.

In illustration 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.

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 Phœbus 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 assails.

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 assuaged thy thirst!

Not Phœbus 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 noble 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 hell 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 fictitious 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 passionate 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 mass 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 faggi, 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!

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 Fossombrone 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 illustrious 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!

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

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 illustrate 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, pass 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 classic beauty and facility of phrase. But the great achievement of his life was a transcription of the Æneid into blank verse. Though Caro's poem exceeds the original by about 5,500 lines, and therefore cannot pass 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 passed 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 antitheses 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 pronounce upon its merits. Castelvetro, who was wayward and independent beyond the usual prudence of his class, 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.

Lodovico Castelvetro was born in 1505 at Modena. He studied successively at Bologna, Ferrara, Padua, and Siena. Thence he passed 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 principals, 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 assassins 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.

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 illustrious men of letters at this epoch, were almost as numerous as the songsters of the other sex. Lodovico Domenichi in the year 1559 published the poems of no less than fifty authoresses in his Rime di alcune nobilissime e virtuosissime Donne. Subjected to the same intellectual training as men, they felt the same influences, and passed 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.

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 noble woman should be in an age when virtue shone by contrast with especial luster. 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 noble questions Bembo and Cappello, Molza and Mauro, and all the famous men of Europe who followed the Italian Courts."[350]

Fabrizio, the father of Vittoria Colonna, was Grand Constable of Naples. He married Agnesina di Montefeltro, daughter of Duke Federigo of Urbino. Their child Vittoria was born at Marino, a feud of the Colonna family, in the year 1490. At the age of four she was betrothed to Ferrante Francesco D'Avalos, a boy of the same age, the only son of the Marchese di Pescara. His father died while he was still a child: and in their nineteenth year the affianced couple were married at Ischia, the residence of the house of D'Avalos. The splendor of two princely families alike distinguished in the annals of Spanish and Italian history and illustrious by their military honors, conferred unusual luster upon this marriage. It was, moreover, on the bride's side at least, a love-match. Vittoria was beautiful and cultivated; the young Marquis of Pescara chivalrous and brave. She was tenderly attached to him, and he had not as yet revealed the darker side of his mixed character. Yet their happiness proved of very short duration. In 1512 he was wounded and made prisoner at the battle of Ravenna; and though he returned to his wife for a short interval, his duties again called him to the field of war in Lombardy in 1515. Vittoria never saw him after this date; and before his death the honor of her hero was tarnished by one of the darkest deeds of treason recorded in Italian history. Acting as general for the Spanish emperor, the Marquis entered Milan immediately after the battle of Pavia in 1525. He there and then began his intrigues with Girolamo Morone, Grand Chancellor of Francesco Sforza's duchy. Morone had formed a plan for reinstating his master in Milan by the help of an Italian coalition. With the view of securing the Marquis of Pescara, by which bold stroke he would have paralyzed the Spanish military power, Morone offered the young general the crown of Naples, if he would consent to join the league. D'Avalos turned a not unwilling ear to these proposals; but while the plot was hatching, he saw good reason to doubt of its success, and determined to clear himself with Charles V. by revealing the conspiracy. Accordingly, he made his lieutenant, Antonio de Leyva, assist at a privy conference between Morone and himself. Concealed behind the arras, this Spanish officer heard enough to be able afterwards to deliver direct testimony against the conspirators, while the Marquis averred that he had led them on designedly to this end. It may be difficult to estimate the precise amount of Pescara's guilt. But whether he was deceiving Morone from the first, or whether, as seems more probable, he entered the negotiation resolved to side with Charles or with the League as best might suit his purpose, there can be no doubt that he played an odious part in this transaction. He did not long survive the treason; for his constitution had been ruined by wounds received at Pavia. It was also rumored that Charles accelerated his death by poison. He died on November 25, 1525, execrated by the Italians, and handed down by their historians too perpetual infamy. Something of national jealousy mingled undoubtedly in their resentment. D'Avalos was a Spaniard, and made no concealment of his contempt for the Italian character. Finally, it must be admitted that if he really was acting throughout in his master's interest, his betrayal of Morone was but a bold stroke of policy which Machiavelli might have approved. The game was a dangerous one; but it was thoroughly consistent with statecraft as then understood.[351]

No suspicion of her husband's guilt seems to have crossed Vittoria Colonna's mind. Though left so young a widow, beautiful and illustrious by her high rank and education, she determined to consecrate her whole life to his memory and to religion. She survived him two-and-twenty years, which were spent partly in retirement at Ischia, partly in convents at Orvieto and Viterbo, partly in a semi-monastic seclusion at Rome. While still a girl and during her husband's absence in the field, she had amused her leisure with study. This now became her chief resource in the hours she spared from pious exercises. There was no man of great name in the world of letters who did not set his pride on being thought her friend. The collections of letters and poems belonging to that period abound in allusions to her genius, her holiness, and her great beauty. But her chief associates were the group of earnest thinkers who felt the influences of the Reformation without ceasing to be children of the Church. With Vittoria Colonna's name are inseparably connected those of Gasparo Contarini, Reginald Pole, Giovanni Morone, Jacopo Sadoleto, Marcantonio Flamminio, Pietro Carnesecchi, and Fra Bernardino Ochino. The last of these avowed his Lutheran principles; and Carnesecchi was burned for heresy; but Vittoria never adopted Protestantism in any of its dogmatic aspects. She remained an orthodox Catholic to the last, although it seems tolerably certain that she was by no means ignorant of the new doctrines nor unsympathetic to their spirit.[352] Her attitude was probably the same as that of many Italians who, before the opening of the Council of Trent, desired a reformation from within the Church. To bring it back to purer morals and an evangelical sincerity of faith, was their aim. Like Savonarola, they shrank from heresy, and failed to comprehend that a radical renovation of religion was inseparable, in the changed conditions of modern thought, from a metamorphosis of dogma and a new freedom accorded to the individual conscience. While the Teutonic world struck boldly for the liberation of the reason, the Italians dreamed of an impossible harmony between Catholicism and philosophy. Their compromises led to ethical hypocrisies and to that dogmatic despotism which was confirmed by the Tridentine Council.

A pleasant glimpse into Vittoria's life at Rome is given by the Portuguese artist, Francesco d'Olanda, who visited her about the year 1548. "Madonna Vittoria Colonna," he says, "Marchioness of Pescara and sister to the Lord Antonio Colonna, is one of the most excellent and famous women of Europe,—that is, of the whole civilized world. Not less chaste than beautiful, learned in Latin literature and full of genius, she possesses all the qualities and virtues that are praiseworthy in woman. After the death of her hero husband, she now leads a modest and retired life. Tired with the splendor and grandeur of her former state, she gives her whole affections to Christ and to serious studies. To the poor she is beneficent, and is a model of true Catholic devotion." He then proceeds to describe a conversation held with her, in which Michelangelo Buonarroti took a part.[353]

Vittoria Colonna's Rime consist for the most part of sonnets on the death of her husband, and on sacred and moral subjects. Penetrated by genuine feeling and almost wholly free from literary affectation, they have that dignity and sweetness which belongs to the spontaneous utterance of a noble heart. Like the poets of an earlier and simpler age, Vittoria listens to the voice of Love, and when he speaks, records the thoughts dictated by his inspiration.[354] That the object of her lifelong regret was unworthy of her, does not offend our sense of fitness.[355] It is manifest that her own feeling for the Marquis of Pescara, il mio bel sole, mio lume eterno, as she loves to call him with pathetic iteration of the chosen metaphor, had satisfied her unsuspecting nature.[356] Death consecrates her husband for Vittoria, as death canonized Laura for Petrarch. He has become divine, and her sole desire is to rejoin him in a world where parting is impossible.[357] The blending of the hero with the saint, of earthly fame with everlasting glory, in this half Christian half Pagan apotheosis, is characteristic of the Renaissance. Michelangelo strikes the same note in the Capitolo upon his father's death: "Or sei tu del morir morto e fatto divo." It is said that, in her first grief, Vittoria thought of suicide as the means of escaping from this world. But she triumphed over the temptation, and in Bembo's words proved herself vincitrice di se stessa. We seem to trace the anguish of that struggle in a sonnet which may possibly have suggested Bembo's phrase.[358]

The religious sonnets are distinguished in general by the same simplicity and sincerity of style.[359] While Vittoria proves herself a Catholic by her invocation of Madonna and S. Francis,[360] it is to the cross of Christ that she turns with the deepest outgoings of pious feeling.[361] Her cry is for lively faith, for evangelical purity of conviction. There is nothing in these meditations that a Christian of any communion may not read with profit, as the heartfelt utterances of a soul athirst for God and nourished on the study of the Gospel.

The memory of Vittoria Colonna is inseparable from that of Michelangelo Buonarroti, who was her intimate companion during the closing years of her life. Of that famous friendship this is not the place to speak at length. It may be enough to report Condivi's words about Michelangelo's grief when he had lost her. "I remember having heard him say that nothing caused him so much sorrow as that, when he went to visit her upon her passage from this life, he had not kissed her forehead and face, even as he kissed her hand. Her death left him oftentimes astonied and, as it were, deprived of reason." Some of Michelangelo's best sonnets were composed for Vittoria Colonna in her lifetime. Others record his sorrow for her loss. Those again which give expression to his religious feelings, are animated by her spirit of genuine piety. It is clear that her influence affected him profoundly.

To include any notice of Michelangelo's poetry in a chapter devoted to the purists, may seem paradoxical.[362] His verses are remarkable for the imperfection of their style, and the rugged elevation of their thoughts. With the school of Bembo he has nothing in common except that Platonism which the versifiers of the time affected as a fashion, but which had a real meaning for his creative genius. In the second half of the sixteenth century Michelangelo's sonnets upon the divine idea, lifting the soul by contemplation to her heavenly home, reach our ears like utterances from some other and far distant age. Both in form and in spirit they are alien to the cinque cento. Yet the precisians of the time admired these uncouth verses for the philosophic depth of thought they found in them. Benedetto Varchi composed a learned treatise on the sonnet "Non ha l'ottimo artista"; and when the poems were printed, Mario Guidicci delivered two lectures on them before the Florentine Academy.[363]

There is no sort of impropriety in placing Bernardo Tasso and Giangiorgio Trissino upon the list of literary purists. The biographies of these two men, more interesting for the share they took in public life than for their poetical achievements, shall close a chapter which has been, almost of necessity, rambling. Bernardo Tasso was a member of the noble and ancient Bergamasque family Dei Tassi.[364] He was born at Venice in 1493. Left an orphan in his early childhood, an uncle on his father's side, the Bishop of Recanati, took charge of him. But this good man was murdered in 1520, at the time when Bernardo had just begun a brilliant career in the University of Padua. The loss of his father and his uncle threw the young student on the world, and he was glad to take service as secretary with the Count Guido Rangone. At this epoch the Rangoni stood high among the first nobility of Italy, and Count Guido was Captain-General of the Church. He employed Bernardo in a mission to Paris in 1528, on the occasion of Ercole d'Este's marriage to Renée, daughter of Louis XII. Tasso went to France as servant of the Rangoni. He returned to Italy in the employment of the Estensi. But he did not long remain at the Court of Ferrara. About the year 1532, we find him with Ferrante Sanseverino, Prince of Salerno, whom he accompanied in 1535 on the expedition to Tunis. It cannot have been much later than this date that he married the beautiful Porzia de' Rossi, who was the mother of his illustrious son, Torquato. But though this marriage was in all respects a happy one, in none more fortunate than in the birth of Italy's fourth sovran poet, Bernardo was not destined to lead a life of tranquil domesticity. His master, whom he followed whithersoever military service called him, fell out of favor with the Spanish Court in 1547. Maddened by the injustice of his treatment, the Prince deserted from Charles V. to his rival, Francis, was declared a rebel and deprived of his vast domains. Bernardo resolved to share his fortunes, and in return for this act of loyalty, found himself involved in the ruin of the Sanseverini. Henceforth he lived a wandering life, away from Porzia and his family, and ill-contented with the pittance which his patron could afford. In 1556, at Duke Guidubaldo's invitation, he joined the Court of Urbino; and again in 1563 he entered the service of the Duke of Mantua. He died in 1569 at Ostiglia.

It will be seen from this brief sketch that Bernardo Tasso spent his life in mixed employments, as courtier, diplomatist, and military secretary. His career was analogous to that of many nobly-born Italians, for whom there existed no sphere outside the service of a prince. Yet he found time, amid his journeys, campaigns and miscellaneous Court duties, to practice literature. The seven books of his collected poems—sonnets, odes and epithalamial hymns—placed him among the foremost lyrists of the century; while his letters displayed the merits which were usual in that species of composition. Had this been all, he would have deserved honorable mention by the side of Caro, on a somewhat lower level than Bembo. But he was also ambitious of giving a new kind of epic to Italian literature. With this view, he versified the Spanish romance of Amadis of Gaul in octave stanzas. The Amadigi is a chivalrous poem in the style of the Orlando, but without the irony of Ariosto.[365] It cannot be reckoned a success; for though written with fertile fancy and a flowing vein, its prolixity is tedious. Tasso lacked the art of sustaining his reader's attention. His attempt to treat the ideal of feudalism seriously, without the faith and freshness of the chivalrous epoch, deprived his work of that peculiar charm which belongs to the Italian romantic epic. While still in MS., he submitted his poem to literary friends, and read it at the Court of Urbino. The acclamation it received from men whose literary principles coincided with his own, raised Tasso's expectations high. He imagined that the world would welcome Amadigi as a masterpiece, combining the interest of Orlando with the dignity and purity of a classic. When it appeared, however, the public received it coldly, and on this occasion the verdict of the people was indubitably right. Another mortification awaited the author. He had dedicated his epic to Philip II. and filled its cantos with adulation of the Spanish race. But the king took no notice of the gift; and two years after the publication of Amadigi, it appeared that Tasso's agents at the Spanish Court had not taken the trouble to present him with a copy.[366]

Bernardo Tasso is the representative of a class which was common in Renaissance Italy, when courtiers and men of affairs devoted their leisure to study and composed poetry upon scholastic principles. His epic failed precisely through the qualities for which he prized it. Less the product of inspiration than pedantic choice, it bore the taint of languor and unpardonable dullness. Giangiorgio Trissino, in the circumstances of his life no less than in the nature of his literary work, bears a striking resemblance to the author of the Amadigi. The main difference between the two men is that Trissino adopted by preference the career of diplomacy into which poverty drove Tasso.[367] He was born at Vicenza in 1478 of wealthy and noble ancestors, from whom he inherited vast estates. His mother was Cecilia, of the Bevilacqua family. During his boyhood Trissino enjoyed fewer opportunities of study than usually fell to the lot of young Italian nobles. He spent his time in active exercises; and it was only in 1506 that he began his education in earnest. At this date he had been married nine years, and had already lost his wife, the mother of two surviving children, Francesco and Giulio.[368]

Trissino's inclination toward literature induced him to settle at Milan, where he became a pupil of the veteran Demetrius Chalcondylas. He cultivated the society of learned men, collected MSS., and devoted himself to the study of Greek philosophy. From the first, he showed the decided partiality for erudition which was destined to rule his future career. But scholars at that epoch, even though they might be men of princely fortune, had little chance of uninterrupted leisure. Trissino's estates gave him for a while as much trouble as poverty had brought on Tasso. Vicenza was allotted to the Empire in 1509; and afterwards, when the city gave itself to the Venetian Republic, Trissino's adherence to Maximilian's party cost him some months of exile in Germany and the temporary confiscation of his property. Between 1510 and 1514, after his return from Germany, but before he made his peace with Venice, Trissino visited Ferrara, Florence and Rome. These years determined his life as a man of letters. The tragedy of Sofonisba, which was written before 1515, won for its author a place among the foremost poets of the time.[369] The same period decided his future as a courtier. Leo X. sent him on a mission to Bavaria, and upon his return procured his pardon from the Republic of S. Mark. There is not much to be gained by following the intricate details of Trissino's public career. After Leo's death, he was employed by Clement VII. and Paul III. He assisted at the coronation of Charles V., and on this occasion was made Knight and Count. Gradually he assumed the style of a finished courtier; and though he never took pay from his Papal or princely masters, no poet carried the art of adulation further.[370]

This self-subjection to the annoyances and indignities of Court-life is all the more remarkable because Trissino continued to live like a great noble. When he traveled, he was followed by a retinue of servants. A chaplain attended him for the celebration of Mass. His litter was furnished with silver plate, and with all the conveniences of a magnificent household. His own cook went before, with couriers, to prepare his table; and the equipage included a train of sumpter-mules and serving-men in livery.[371] At home, in his palace at Vicenza or among his numerous villas, he showed no less magnificence. Upon the building of one country-house at Cricoli, which he designed himself and surrounded with the loveliest Italian gardens, enormous sums were spent; and when the structure was completed, he opened it to noble friends, who lived with him at large and formed an Academy called after him La Trissiniana.[372] Trissino was, moreover, a diligent student and a lover of solitude. He spent many years of his life upon the island of Murano, in a villa secluded from the world, and open to none but a few guests of similar tastes.[373] Yet in spite of the advantages which fortune gave him, in spite of his studious habits, he could not resist the attraction which Courts at that epoch exercised over men of birth and breeding throughout Europe. He was for ever returning to Rome, although he expressed the deepest horror for the corruptions of that sinful city.[374] No sooner had he established himself in quiet among the woods and streams of the Vicentine lowlands or upon the breast of the Venetian lagoons, than the hankering to shine before a Prince came over him, and he resumed his march to Ferrara, or made his bow once more in the Vatican.

The end of Trissino's life was troubled by a quarrel with his son Giulio, in which it is difficult to decide whether the father or the son was more to blame. Some years after the death of his first wife, he married a cousin, Bianca Trissino, by whom he had another son, Ciro. Giulio was sickly, and had taken to the ecclesiastical career. His father's preference for Ciro was decided, and he openly expressed it. That Bianca was not entirely responsible for the ensuing quarrel, is certain from the fact that Trissino separated from this second wife in 1535. But it appears that Giulio opened hostilities by behaving with brutal rudeness to his stepmother. Trissino refused to receive him, and cut off his allowance. Giulio then went to law with his father. A hollow peace was patched up, and, after Bianca's death in 1540, Giulio was appointed steward of the family estates. His management of Trissino's property led to new disputes, and new acts of violence. On one occasion the son broke into his father's palace at Vicenza, and tried to turn him by armed force into the streets upon a bitter night of Christmas. Meanwhile fresh lawsuits were on foot, and Giulio's cause triumphed in the courts of Venice, whither the case had been removed on appeal from Vicenza. Infuriated by what he deemed a maladministration of justice, the old poet hurled sonnets and invectives against both cities, execrating their infamy in the strongest verse he ever penned.[375] But he could not gain redress against the son he hated. At the age of seventy-two, in the midst of these private troubles, Trissino undertook his last journey to Rome. There he died in 1550, and was buried near John Lascaris in the church of S. Agata in Suburra.

Whatever may have been the crimes of Giulio against his father, Trissino used a cruel and unpardonable revenge upon his eldest son. Not content with blackening his character under the name of Agrilupo in the Italia Liberata,[376] he wrote a codicil to his will, in which he brought against Giulio the most dangerous charge it was then possible to make. He disinherited him with a curse, and accused him of Lutheran heresy.[377] It was clearly the father's intention to hand his son down to an immortality of shame in his great poem, to ruin him in his temporal affairs, and to deprive him of his ecclesiastical privileges. Posterity has defeated his first purpose; for few indeed are the readers of Trissino's Italia Liberata. In his second and his third objects, he was completely successful. Giulio was prosecuted for heresy in 1551, cited before the Inquisition of Bologna in 1553, excommunicated by the Roman Holy Office in 1554, condemned as a contumacious heretic in 1556, driven into hiding at Venice, attacked in bed and half murdered there in 1568, and finally thrown into prison in 1573. He died in prison in 1576, without having shown any signs of repentance, a martyr to his Lutheran opinions.[378] Ciro Trissino, the third actor in this domestic tragedy, had already been strangled in his villa at Cornedo in the year 1574.

Trissino's literary labors bring us back to the specific subject of this chapter. He made it the aim of his life to apply the methods of the ancients to the practice of Italian poetry, and to settle the vexed questions of the language on rational principles. Conscious of the novelty and ambitious nature of his designs, he adopted the Golden Fleece of Jason for an emblem, signifying that his voyages in literature led far beyond the ordinary track, with an inestimable prize in view.[379] Had his genius been equal to his enterprise, he might have effected a decisive revolution. But Trissino was a man of sterling parts and sound judgment rather than a poet: a formulator of rules and precepts rather than a creator. His bent of mind was critical; and in this field he owed his success more to coincidence with prevalent opinion than to originality. Though he fixed the type of Italian tragedy by his Sofonisba, and tied comedy down to Latin models by his Simillimi, we cannot rate his talents as a playwright very high. The Poetica, in which he reduced Horace and Aristotle to Italian prose, and laid down laws for adapting modern literature to antique system, had a wide and lasting influence.[380] We may trace the canon of dramatic unities, which through Italian determined French practice, up to this source: but had not Trissino's precepts been concordant with the tendencies of his age, it is probable that even this treatise would have carried little weight. When he attempted to reform Italian orthography on similar principles, he met with derision and resistance.[381] The world was bent on aping the classics; it did not care about adopting the Greek Kappa, Zeta, Phi, etc. Trissino intervened with more effect in the dispute on language. He pleaded that the vernacular, being the common property of the whole nation, should be called Italian and cultivated with a wise tolerance of local diction. Having discovered a copy of Dante's De Eloquio, he communicated this treatise to the learned world in support of his own views, and had a translation of it printed.[382] This publication embittered the strife which was then raging. Some Florentine scholars, led by Martelli, impugned its genuineness. But the De Eloquio survived antagonistic criticism, and opened a new stage in the discussion.

In his attempt to add the heroic species of the epic to Italian literature, Trissino was even less successful than in his dramatic experiments. Disgusted with Ariosto's success in what he regarded as a barbarous style of art, he set himself to make an epic on the model of Homer, with scrupulous obedience to Aristotle's rules. For his subject he chose an episode from Italian history, and used blank verse instead of the attractive octave stanza. The Italia Liberata cost its author twenty years of labor.[383] It was a masterpiece of erudition, displaying profound acquaintance with Roman tactics, and a competent knowledge of Roman topography. But in spite of its characters plaqués upon those of the Iliad, in spite of its learnedly-constructed episodes, in spite of its fidelity to Aristotle, the Italia Liberata was not a poem. The good sense of the nation refused it. Tasso returned to the romantic method and the meretricious charms of the ottava rima. Only Gravina among critics spoke a good word for it. The subject lacked real grandeur. Italy delivered from the Goths, was only Italy delivered to the Lombards. The unity of the poem was not the unity of an epic, but of a chapter from a medieval Chronicle. The machinery of angels, travestied with classic titles, was ridiculous. The Norcian Sibyl, introduced in rivalry with Virgil's Sibyl of Avernus, was out of place. And though Trissino expunged what made the old romantic poems charming, he retained their faults. Intricate underplots and flatteries of noble families were consistent with a species which had its origin in feudal minstrelsy. They were wholly out of character with a professed transcription from the Greek. Neither style nor meter rose to the heroic level. The blank verse was pedestrian and prolix. The language was charged with Lombardisms. Thus the Italia Liberata proved at all points that Trissino could make rules, but that he could not apply them to any purpose. It is curious to compare his failure with Milton's success in a not entirely dissimilar endeavor. The poet achieves a triumph where the pedant only suffers a defeat; and yet the aim of both was almost identical. So different is genius guided by principles from the mechanical carpentry of imitative talent.

CHAPTER XIV.

BURLESQUE POETRY AND SATIRE.

Relation of Satiric to Serious Literature—Italy has more Parody and Caricature than Satire or Comedy—Life of Folengo—His Orlandino—Critique of Previous Romances—Lutheran Doctrines—Orlando's Boyhood—Griffarosto—Invective against Friars—Maccaronic Poetry—The Travesty of Humanism—Pedantesque Poetry—Glottogrysio Ludimagistro—Tifi Odassi of Padua—The Pedant Vigonça—Evangelista Fossa—Giorgio Alione—Folengo employs the Maccaronic Style for an Epic—His Address to the Muses—His Hero Baldus—Boyhood and Youth—Cingar—The Travels of the Barons—Gulfora—Witchcraft in Italy—Folengo's Conception of Witchcraft—Entrance into Hell—The Zany and the Pumpkin—Nature of Folengo's Satire—His Relation to Rabelais—The Moscheis—The Zanitonella—Maccaronic Poetry was Lombard—Another and Tuscan Type of Burlesque—Capitoli—Their Popular Growth—Berni—His Life—His Mysterious Death—His Character and Style—Three Classes of Capitoli—The pure Bernesque Manner—Berni's Imitators—The Indecency of this Burlesque—Such Humor was Indigenous—Terza Rima—Berni's Satires on Adrian VI. and Clement VII.—His Caricatures—His Sonnet on Aretino—The Rifacimento of Boiardo's Orlando—The Mystery of its Publication—Albicante and Aretino—The Publishers Giunta and Calvi—Berni's Protestant Opinions—Eighteen Stanzas of the Rifacimento printed by Vergerio—Hypothesis respecting the Mutilation of the Rifacimento—Satire in Italy.

IN all classical epochs of literature comedy and satire have presented their antithesis to ideal poetry, by setting the actual against the imagined world, or by travestying the forms of serious art. Thus the Titanic farce of Aristophanes was counterposed to Æschylean tragedy; and Molière portrayed men as they are, before an audience which welcomed Racine's pictures of men as the age conceived they ought to be. It is the mark of really great literature when both thesis and antithesis, the aspiration after the ideal and the critique of actual existence, exhibit an equality of scale. The comic and satiric species of poetry attain to grandeur only by contact with impassioned art of a high quality, or else by contrast with a natural greatness in the nation that produces them. Both mask and anti-mask reveal the mental stature of the people. Both issue from the conscience of society, and bear its impress.

If so much be admitted, we can easily understand why burlesque poetry formed the inevitable pendent to polite literature in Italy. There was no national tragedy; therefore there could be no great comedy. The best work of the age, typified by Ariosto's epic, was so steeped in irony that it offered no vantage-ground for humorous counterpoise. There was nothing left but to exaggerate its salient qualities, and to caricature its form. Such exaggeration was burlesque; such caricature was parody. In like manner, satire found no adequate sphere. The nation's life was not on so grand a scale as to evolve the elements of satire from the contrast between faculties and foibles. Nor again could a society, corrupt and satisfied with corruption, anxious to live and let live, apply the lash with earnestness to its own shoulders. Facit indignatio versus, was Juvenal's motto; and indignation tore the heart of Swift. But in Italy there was no indignation. All men were agreed to tolerate, condone, and compromise. When vices come to be laughingly admitted, when discords between practice and profession furnish themes for tales and epigrams, the moral conscience is extinct. But without an appeal to conscience the satirist has no locus standi. Therefore, in Italy there was no great satire, as in Italy there was no great comedy.

The burlesque rhymsters portrayed their own and their neighbors' immorality with self-complacent humor, calling upon the public to make merry over the spectacle. This poetry, obscene, equivocal, frivolous, horribly sincere, supplied a natural antithesis to the pseudo-platonic, pedantic, artificial mannerism of the purists. In point of intrinsic value, there is not much to choose between the Petrarchistic and the burlesque styles. Many burlesque poets piqued themselves with justice on their elegance, and clothed gross thoughts in diction of elaborate polish. Meanwhile they laid the affectations, conventions and ideals of the age impartially under contribution. The sonneteers suggested parodies to Aretino, who celebrated vice and deformity in women with hyperboles adapted from the sentimental school.[384] The age of gold was ridiculed by Romolo Bertini.[385] The idyl found its travesty in Berni's pictures of crude village loves and in Folengo's Zanitonella. Chivalry became absurd by the simple process of enforcing the prosaic elements in Ariosto, reducing his heroes to the level of plebeian life, and exaggerating the extravagance of his romance. The ironical smile which played upon his lips, expands into broad grins and horse-laughter. Yet, though the burlesque poets turned everything they touched into ridicule, these buffoons were not unfrequently possessed of excellent good sense. Not a few of them, as we shall see, were among the freest thinkers of their age. Like Court jesters they dared to utter truths which would have sent a serious writer to the stake. Lucidity of intellectual vision was granted at this time in Italy to none but positive and materialistic thinkers—to analysts like Machiavelli and Pomponazzi, critics like Pietro Aretino, poets with feet firmly planted on the earth like Berni and Folengo. The two last-named artists in the burlesque style may be selected as the leaders of two different but cognate schools, the one flourishing in Lombardy, the other in Florence.

Girolamo Folengo was born in 1491 of noble parents at Cipada, a village of the Mantuan district. He made his first studies under his father's roof, and in due time proceeded to Bologna. Here he attended the lectures of Pomponazzi, and threw himself with ardor into the pleasures and perils of the academical career. Francesco Gonzaga, a fantastical and high-spirited libertine from Mantua, was the recognized leader of the students at that moment. Duels, challenges, intrigues and street-quarrels formed the staple of their life. It was an exciting and romantic round of gayety and danger, of which the novelists have left us many an animated picture. Folengo by his extravagant conduct soon exhausted the easy patience of the university authorities. He was obliged to quit Bologna, and his father refused to receive him. In this emergency he took refuge in a Benedictine convent at Brescia. When he made himself a monk, Folengo changed his Christian name to Teofilo, by which he is now best known in literature. But he did not long endure the confinement of a cloister. After six years spent among the Benedictines, he threw the cowl aside, and ran off with a woman, Girolama Dieda, for whom he had conceived an insane passion.[386] This was in the year 1515. During the next eleven years he gave himself to the composition of burlesque poetry. His Maccaronea appeared at Venice in 1519, and his Orlandino in 1526. The former was published under he pseudonym of Merlinus Cocaius, compounded of a slang word in the Mantuan dialect, and of the famous wizard's title of romance.[387] The latter bore the nom de plume of Limerno Pitocco—an anagram of Merlino, with the addition of an epithet pointing to the poet's indigence. These works brought Folengo fame but little wealth, and he was fain to return at last to his old refuge.[388] Resuming the cowl, he now retired to a monastery in the kingdom of Naples, visited Sicily, and died at last near Padua, in the convent of S. Croce di Campese. This was in 1544. The last years of his life had been devoted to religious poetry, which is not read with the same curiosity as his burlesque productions.

Teofilo Folengo, or Merlinus Cocaius, or Limerno Pitocco, was, when he wrote his burlesque poems, what the French would call a déclassé. He had compromised his character in early youth and had been refused the shelter of his father's home. He had taken monastic vows in a moment of pique, or with the baser object of getting daily bread in idleness. His elopement from the convent with a paramour had brought scandal on religion. Each of these steps contributed to place him beyond the pale of respectability. Driven to bay and forced to earn his living, he now turned round upon society; and spoke his mind out with a freedom born of bile and cynical indifference. If he had learned nothing else at Bologna, he had imbibed the materialistic philosophy of Pomponazzi together with Gonzaga's lessons in libertinage. Brutalized, degraded in his own eyes, rejected by the world of honest or decorous citizens, but with a keen sense of the follies, vices and hypocrisies of his age, he resolved to retaliate by a work of art that should attract attention and force the public to listen to his comments on their shame. In his humorous poetry there is, therefore, a deliberate if not a very dignified intention. He does not merely laugh, but mixes satire with ribaldry, and points buffoonery with biting sarcasm. Since the burlesque style had by its nature to be parasitical and needed an external motive, Folengo chose for the subject of his parody the romance of Orlando, which was fashionable to the point of extravagance in Italy after the appearance of the Furioso. But he was not satisfied with turning a tale of Paladins to ridicule. He used it as the shield behind which he knew that he might safely shoot his arrows at the clergy and the princes of his native land, attack the fortresses of orthodoxy, and vent his spleen upon society by dragging its depraved ideals in the mire of his own powerful but vulgar scorn.

Folengo has told us that the Orlandino was conceived and written before the Maccaronea, though it was published some years later. It is probable that the rude form and plebeian language of this burlesque romance found but little favor with a public educated in the niceties of style. They were ready to accept the bastard Latin dialect invented for his second venture, because it offended no puristic sensibilities. But the coarse Italian of the Orlandino could not be relished by academicians, who had been pampered with the refinements of Berni's wanton Muse.[389] Only eight cantos appeared; nor is there reason to suppose that any more were written, for it may be assumed that the fragment had fulfilled its author's purpose.[390] That purpose was to satirize the vice, hypocrisy and superstition of the clergy, and more particularly of the begging friars. In form the Orlandino pretends to be a romance of chivalry, and it bears the same relation to the Orlando of Boiardo and Ariosto as the Secchia Rapita to the heroic poems of Tasso's school. It begins with a burlesque invocation to Federigo Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua, in which the poet bluntly describes his poverty and begs for largess. Then Folengo passes to an account of his authorities and to the criticism of his predecessors in romantic poetry. He had recourse, he says, to a witch of Val Camonica, who mounted him upon a ram, and bore him to the country of the Goths. There he found forty decades of Turpin's history among the rubbish of old books stolen from Italy. Of these, three decades had already been discovered and translated by Boiardo; but, after versifying a large portion of the second, the poet left the rest of it to Ariosto. The sixth was stolen from him by Francesco Bello. The last he gave with his own hands to Poliziano, who put it into rhyme and allowed Pulci to have the credit of his labors.[391] Folengo himself took a portion of the first decade, and thus obtained material for treating of the birth and boyhood of Orlando. This exordium is chiefly valuable as a piece of contemporary criticism:

Queste tre Deche dunque sin quà trovo

Esser dal fonte di Turpin cavate;

Ma Trebisonda, Ancroia, Spagna, e Bovo

Coll'altro resto al foco sian donate:

Apocrife son tutte, e le riprovo

Come nemiche d'ogni veritate;

Boiardo, l'Ariosto, Pulci, e'l Cieco

Autenticati sono, ed io con seco.

If we may accept this stanza as expressing the opinion of Italians in the sixteenth century relative to their romantic poets, we find that it almost exactly agrees with that of posterity. Only the Mambriano of Bello has failed to maintain its place beside the Morgante and Orlando.

Embarking upon the subject of his tale, Folengo describes the Court of Charlemagne, and passes he Paladins in review, intermingling comic touches with exaggerated imitations of the romantic style. The peers of France preserve their well-known features through the distorting medium of caricature; while humorous couplets, detonating here and there like crackers, break the mock-heroical monotony. Gano, for example, is still the arch-traitor of the tribe of Judas:

Figliuol non d'uomo, nè da Dio creato,

Ma il gran Diavol ebbelo cacato.

The effect of parody is thus obtained by emphasizing the style of elder poets and suddenly breaking off into a different vein. Next comes the description of Berta's passion for Milone, with a singularly coarse and out-spoken invective against love.[392] Meanwhile Charlemagne has proclaimed a tournament. The peers array themselves, and the Court is in a state of feverish expectation. Parturiunt montes: instead of mailed warriors careering upon fiery chargers, the knights crawl into the lists on limping mules and lean asses, with a ludicrous array of kitchen-gear for armor. The description of this donkey-tournament, is one of Folengo's triumphs.[393] When Milone comes upon the scene and jousts beneath his lady's balcony, the style is heightened to the tone of true romance, and, but for the roughness of the language, we might fancy that a page of the Orlando were beneath our eyes. A banquet follows, after which we are regaled with a Court-ball, and then ensues the comic chain of incidents which bring Milone and Berta to the fruition of their love. They elope, take ship, and are separated by a series of mishaps upon the open sea. Berta is cast ashore alone in Italy, and begs her way to Sutri, where she gives birth to Orlando in a shepherd's cabin. During the course of these adventures, Folengo diverts his readers with many brilliant passages and bits of satire, at one time inveighing against the license of balls, at another describing the mixed company on board a ship of passage; now breaking off into burlesque pedigrees, and then again putting into Berta's mouth a string of Lutheran opinions. Though the personages are romantic, the incidents are copied with realistic fidelity from actual life. We are moving among Italian bourgeois in the masquerade of heroes and princesses.

Berta's prayer when she found herself alone upon the waters in an open boat, is so characteristic of Folengo's serious intention that it deserves more than a passing comment.[394] She addresses herself to God instead of to any Saints:

A te ricorro, non a Piero, o Andrea,

Chè l'altrui mezzo non mi fa mestiero:

Ben tengo a mente che la Cananea

Non supplicò nè a Giacomo nè a Piero.

It is the hypocrisy of friars, Folengo says, who sacrifice to Moloch, while they use the name of Mary to cloak their crimes—it is this damnable hypocrisy which has blinded simple folk into trusting the invocation of Saints. Avarice is the motive of these false priests: and lust moves them to preach the duty of confession:

E quì trovo ben spesso un Confessore

Essere più ruffiano che Dottore.

Therefore, cries Berta, I make my confession to God alone and from Him seek salvation, and vow that, if I escape the fury of the sea, I will no more lend belief to men who sell indulgences for gold. So far the poet is apparently sincere. In the next stanza he resumes his comic vein:

Cotal preghiere carche d'eresia

Berta facea, mercè ch'era Tedesca;

Perchè in quel tempo la Teologia

Era fatta Romana e fiandresca;

Ma dubito ch'alfin nella Turchia

Si troverà vivendo alla Moresca;

Perchè di Cristo l'inconsutil vesta

Squarciata è sì che più non ve ne resta.

The blending of buffoonery and earnestness in Folengo's style might be illustrated by the bizarre myth of the making of peasants, where he introduces Christ and the Apostles:[395]

Transibat Jesus per un gran villaggio

Con Pietro, Andrea, Giovanni, e con Taddeo;

Trovan ch'un asinello in sul rivaggio

Molte pallotte del suo sterco feo.

Disse allor Piero al suo Maestro saggio:

En, Domine, fac homines ex eo.

Surge, Villane, disse Cristo allora;

E 'l villan di que' stronzi saltò fora.

His fantastic humor, half-serious, half-flippant, spares nothing sacred or profane. Even the Last Judgment receives an inconceivably droll treatment on the slender occasion of an allusion to the disasters of Milan.[396] Folengo has just been saying that Italy well deserves her title of barbarorum sepultura.[397]

Chè veramente in quell'orribil giorno

Che in Giosafatto suonerà la tromba,

Facendosi sentire al mondo intorno,

E i morti salteran fuor d'ogni tomba,

Non sarà pozzo, cacatojo, o forno,

Che mentre il tararan del ciel ribomba,

Non getti fuora Svizzeri, Francesi,

Tedeschi, Ispani, e d'altri assai paesi;

E vederassi una mirabil guerra,

Fra loro combattendo gli ossi suoi:

Chi un braccio, chi una man, chi un piede afferra;

Ma vien chi dice—questi non son tuoi—

Anzi son miei—non sono; e sulla terra

Molti di loro avran gambe di buoi,

Teste di muli, e d'asini le schiene,

Siccome all'opre di ciascun conviene.

The birth of Orlando gives occasion for a mock-heroic passage, in which Pulci is parodied to the letter.[398] All the more amusing for the assumption of pompous style, is the ensuing account of the hero's boyhood among the street-urchins of Sutri. When he is tall enough to bestride a broomstick, Orlandino proves his valor by careering through the town and laughing at the falls he gets. At seven he shows the strength of twelve:

Urta, fracassa, rompe, quassa, e smembra;

Orsi, leoni, tigri non paventa,

Ma contro loro intrepido s'avventa.

The octave stanzas become a cataract of verbs and nouns to paint his tempestuous childhood. It is a spirited comic picture of the Italian enfant terrible, stone-throwing, boxing, scuffling, and swearing like a pickpocket. At the same time the boy grows in cunning, and supports his mother by begging from one and bullying another of the citizens of Sutri:—

Io v'addimando per l'amor di Dio

Un pane solo ed un boccal di vino;

Officio non fu mai più santo e pio

Che se pascete il pover pellegrino:

Se non men date, vi prometto ch'io,

Quantunque sia di membra si piccino,

Ne prenderò da me senza riguardo;

Chè salsa non vogl'io di San Bernardo.

Cancar vi mangi, datemi a mangiare,

Se non, vi butterò le porte giuso;

Per debolezza sentomi mancare,

E le budella vannomi a riffuso.

Gente devota, e voi persone care

Che vi leccate di buon rosto il muso,

Mandatemi, per Dio, qualche minestra,

O me la trate giù dalla finestra.

In the course of these adventures Orlandino meets Oliver, the son of Rainero, the governor, and breaks his crown in a quarrel. This brings about the catastrophe; for the young hero pours forth such a torrent of voluble slang, mixed with imprecations and menaces, that Rainero is forced to acknowledge the presence of a superior genius.[399] But before the curtain falls upon the discovery of Orlandino's parentage and his reception into the company of peers, Folengo devotes a canto to the episodical history of the Prelate Griffarosto.[400] The name of this Rabelaisian ecclesiastic—Claw-the-roast—sufficiently indicates the line of the poet's satire.

Whatever appeared in the market of Sutri fit for the table, fell into his clutches, or was transferred to the great bag he wore beneath his scapulary. His library consisted of cookery books; and all the tongues he knew, were tongues of swine and oxen.[401] Orlandino met this Griffarosto fat as a stalled ox, one morning after he had purchased a huge sturgeon:

La Reverenzia vostra non si parta;

Statemi alquanto, prego, ad ascoltare.

Nimis sollicita es, O Marta, Marta,

Circa substantian Christi devorare.

Dammi poltron, quel pesce, ch'io 'l disquarta,

Per poterlo in communi dispensare,

Nassa d'anguille che tu sei, lurcone;

E ciò dicendo dagli col bastone.

The priest was compelled to disgorge his prey, and the fame of the boy's achievement went abroad through Sutri. Rainero thereupon sent for Griffarosto, and treated the Abbot to such a compendious abuse of monks in general as would have delighted a Lutheran.[402] Griffarosto essayed to answer him with a ludicrous jumble of dog Latin; but the Governor requested him to defer his apology for the morrow. The description of Griffarosto's study in the monastery, where wine and victuals fill the place of books, his oratory consecrated to Bacchus, the conversation with his cook, and the ruse by which the cook gets chosen Prior in his master's place, carry on the satire through fifty stanzas of slashing sarcasm. The whole episode is a pendent picture to Pulci's Margutte. Then, by a brusque change from buffoonery to seriousness, Folengo plunges into a confession of faith, attributed to Rainero, but presumably his own.[403] It includes the essential points of Catholic orthodoxy, abjuring the impostures of priests and friars, and taking final station on the Lutheran doctrine of salvation by faith and repentance. Idle as a dream, says Folengo, are the endeavors made by friars to force scholastic conclusions on the conscience in support of theses S. Paul would have rejected. What they preach, they do not comprehend. Their ignorance is only equal to their insolent pretension. They are worse than Judas in their treason to Christ, worse than Herod, Anna, Caiaphas, or Pilate. They are only fit to consort with usurers and slaves. They use the names of saints and the altar of the Virgin as the means of glutting their avarice with the gold of superstitious folk. They abuse confession to gratify their lusts. Their priories are dens of dogs, hawks, and reprobate women. They revel in soft beds, drink to intoxication, and stuff themselves with unctuous food. And still the laity intrust their souls to these rogues, and there are found many who defraud their kith and kin in order to enrich a convent![404]

It would not be easy to compose an invective more suited to degrade the objects of a satirist's anger by the copiousness and the tenacity of the dirt flung at them. Yet the Orlandino was written by a monk, who, though he had left his convent, was on the point of returning to it; and the poem was openly printed during the pontificate of Clement VII. That Folengo should have escaped inquisitorial censure is remarkable. That he should have been readmitted to the Benedictine order after this outburst of bile and bold diffusion of heretical opinion, is only explicable by the hatred which subsisted in Italy between the rules of S. Francis and S. Benedict. While attacking the former, he gratified the spite and jealousy of the latter. But the fact is that his auditors, whether lay or clerical, were too accustomed to similar charges and too frankly conscious of their truth, to care about them. Folengo stirred no indignation in the people, who had laughed at ecclesiastical corruption since the golden days of the Decameron. He roused no shame in the clergy, for, till Luther frightened the Church into that pseudo-reformation which Sarpi styled a deformation of manners, the authorities of Rome were nonchalantly careless what was said about them.[405] An atrabilious monk in his garret vented his spleen with more than usual acrimony, and the world applauded. Ha fatto un bel libro! That was all. Conversely, it is not strange that the weighty truths about religion uttered by Folengo should have had but little influence. He was a scribbler, famous for scurrility, notoriously profligate in private life. Free thought in Italy found itself too often thus in company with immorality. The names of heretic and Lutheran carried with them at that time a reproach more pungent and more reasonable than is usual with the epithets of theological hatred.[406]

In the Orlandino, Ariosto's irony is degraded to buffoonery. The prosaic details he mingled with his poetry are made the material of a new and vulgar comedy of manners. The satire he veiled in allegory or polite discussion, bursts into open virulence. His licentiousness yields to gross obscenity. The chivalrous epic, as employed for purposes of art in Italy, contained within itself the germs of this burlesque. It was only necessary to develop certain motives at the expense of general harmony, to suppress the noble and pathetic elements, and to lower the literary key of utterance, in order to produce a parody. Ariosto had strained the semi-seriousness of romance to the utmost limits of endurance. For his successors nothing was left but imitation, caricature, or divergence upon a different track. Of these alternatives, Folengo and Berni, Aretino and Fortiguerra, chose the second; Tasso took the third, and provided Tassoni with the occasion of a new burlesque.

While the romantic epic lent itself thus easily to parody, another form of humorous poetry took root and flourished on the mass of Latin literature produced by the Revival. Latin never became a wholly dead language in Italy; and at the height of the Renaissance a public had been formed whose appreciation of classic style insured a welcome for its travesty. To depreciate the humanistic currency by an alloy of plebeian phrases, borrowed from various base dialects; to ape Virgilian mannerism while treating of the lowest themes suggested by boisterous mirth or satiric wit; was the method of the so-called Maccaronic poets. It is matter for debate who first invented this style, and who created the title Maccaronea. So far back as the thirteenth century, we notice a blending of Latin with French and German in certain portions of the Carmina Burana.[407] But the two elements of language here lie side by side, without interpenetration. This imperfect fusion is not sufficient to constitute the genuine Maccaronic manner. The jargon known as Maccaronic must consist of the vernacular, suited with Latin terminations, and freely mingled with classical Latin words. Nothing should meet the ear or eye, which does not sound or look like Latin; but, upon inspection, it must be discovered that a half or third is simple slang and common speech tricked out with the endings of Latin declensions and conjugations.[408] In Italy, where the modern tongue retained close similarity to Latin, this amalgamation was easy; and we find that in the fifteenth century the hybrid had already assumed finished form. The name by which it was then known, indicates its composition. As maccaroni is dressed with cheese and butter, so the maccaronic poet mixed colloquial expressions of the people with classical Latin, serving up a dish that satisfied the appetite by rarity and richness of concoction. At the same time, since maccaroni was the special delicacy of the proletariate, and since a stupid fellow was called a Maccherone, the ineptitude and the vulgarity of the species are indicated by its title. Among the Maccaronic poets we invariably find ourselves in low Bohemian company. No Phœbus sends them inspiration; nor do they slake their thirst at the Castalian spring. The muses they invoke are tavern-wenches and scullions, haunting the slums and stews of Lombard cities.[409] Their mistresses are of the same type as Villon's Margot. Mountains of cheese, rivers of fat broth, are their Helicon and Hippocrene. Their pictures of manners demand a coarser brush than Hogarth's to do them justice.

Before engaging in the criticism of this Maccaronic literature, it is necessary to interpolate some notice of a kindred style, called pedantesco. This was the exact converse of the Maccaronic manner. Instead of adapting Italian to the rules of Latin, the parodist now treated Latin according to the grammatical usages and metrical laws of Italian. A good deal of the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili is written in lingua pedantesca. But the recognized masterpiece of the species is a book called I Cantici di Fidentio Glottogrysio Ludimagistro. The author's real name was Camillo Scrofa, a humanist and schoolmaster of Vicenza. Though more than once reprinted, together with similar compositions by equally obscure craftsmen, his verses are exceedingly rare.[410] They owe their neglect partly to the absurdity of their language, partly to the undisguised immorality of their subject-matter. Of the stilo pedantesco the following specimen may suffice. It describes a hostelry of boors and peasants:[411]

Pur pedetentim giunsi ad un cubiculo,

Sordido, inelegante, ove molti hospiti

Facean corona a un semimortuo igniculo.

Salvete, dissi, et Giove lieti e sospiti

Vi riconduca a i vostri dolci hospitii!

Ma responso non hebbi; o rudi, o inhospiti!

Io che tra veri equestri e tra patritii

Soglio seder, mi vedi alhor negligere

Da quegli huomini novi et adventitii.

Non sapea quasi indignabundo eligere

Partito; pur al fin fu necessario

Tra lor per calefarmi un scanno erigere.

Che colloquio, O Dii boni, empio e nefario

Pervenne a l'aure nostre purgatissime,

Da muover nausea a un lenone a un sicario!

One of the most famous and earliest, if not absolutely the first among the authors of Maccaronic verse, was Tifi Odassi, a Paduan, whose poems were given to the press after his death, in at least two editions earlier than the close of the fifteenth century.[412] He chose a commonplace Novella for his theme; but the interest of his tale consists less in its argument than in its vivid descriptions of low town-life. Odassi's portraits of plebeian characters are executed with masterly realism, and the novelty of the vehicle gives them a singularly trenchant force. It is unfortunately impossible to bring either the cook-shop-keeper or his female servant, the mountebank or the glutton, before modern readers. These pictures are too Rabelaisian.[413] I must content myself with a passage taken from the description of a bad painter, which, though it is inferior in comic power, contains nothing unpardonably gross.[414]

Quodsi forte aliquem voluit depingere gallum,

Quicunque aspiciat poterit jurare cigognam;

Depinxitque semel canes in caza currentes,

Omnes credebant natantes in æquore luzos;

Sive hominem pingit, poteris tu credere lignum

In quo sartores ponunt sine capite vestes;

Seu nudos facit multo sudore putinos,

Tu caput a culo poteris dignoscere nunquam;

Sive facit gremio Christum retinere Mariam,

Non licet a filio sanctam dignoscere matrem;

Pro gardelinis depingit sepe gallinas,

Et pro gallinis depingit sepe caballos:

Blasfemat, jurat, culpam dicit esse penelli,

Quos spazzaturas poteris jurare de bruscho;

Tam bene depingit pictorum pessimus iste,

Nec tamen inferior se cogitat esse Bellino.

It will be seen from this specimen that Italian and Latin are confounded without regard to either prosody or propriety of diction. The style, far from being even pedestrian, is reptile, and the inspiration is worthy of the source imagined by the poet.[415] As Odassi remarks in his induction:

Aspices, lector, Prisciani vulnera mille

Gramaticamque novam, quam nos docuere putane.

The note struck by Odassi was sustained by his immediate imitators. Another Paduan author used this parody of humanistic verse to caricature a humanist, whom he called Vigonça.[416] Like Odassi, he invoked Venus Volgivaga; and like Odassi's, very little of his verse is quotable. The following extracts may be found acceptable for their humorous account of a Professor's inaugural lecture in the university of Padua.[417] Vigonça announces the opening of his course:

Ipse ante totis facit asavere piacis,

Et totis scolis mandat bolletina bidelis,

Quæ bolletina portabant talia verba:

"Comes magnificus cavalerius ille Vigonça,

Patricius Patavus comesque ab origine longa,

Vos rogat ad primam veniatis quisque legendam;

Qui veniet, magnum fructum portabit a casa."

Omnes venturos sese dixere libenter;

Promissit comes, capitaneus atque potestas,

Et paduani vechi juvenesque politi.

Lux promissa aderat, qua se smatare Vigonça

Debebat, atque suam cunctis monstrare matieram.

Ille tamen totam facit conçare la scolam,

De nigro totam facit conzare cathedram,

In qua debebat matus sprologare Vigonça;

Cetera fulgebant banchalis atque thapetis,

Et decem in brochis dicit spendidisse duchatos.

After narrating how the whole town responded to Vigonça's invitation, and how the folk assembled to hear his first address, the poet thus describes the great occasion:[418]

Sed neque bastabat ingens intrantibus ussus;

Rumpebant cupos parietes atque fenestras,

Inque ipso multos busos fecere parete.

Tunc ibi bidelus cunctos ratione pregavit,

Et sibi cavavit nigrum Vigonça biretum,

Et manicas alzans dedit hic sua verba de mato,

Et començavit sanctam faciendo la crucem.

"Magnifice pretor, pariter generose prefecte,

Tu facunde comes auri portando colanam,

Magnus philosophus, lingua in utraque poeta,

Tu primicerius, Venete spes alma paludis,

Et vos doctores, celeberrima fama per orbem,

Vos cavalerii multum sperone dorati,

Vosque scolares, cives, charique sodales!

Non ego perdivi tempus futuendo putanas,

Non ego zugando, non per bordella vagando;

Non ego cum canibus lepores seguendo veloces,

Non cum sparveris, non cum falconibus ipse;

Non ego cum dadis tabulam lissando per ullam;

Non ego cum chartis volui dissipare dinaros,

Qualiter in Padue faciunt de nocte scolares.

Quum jocant alii, stabat in casa Vigonça

Et studiabat guardando volumina longa."

This Paduan caricature may be reckoned among the most valuable documents we possess for the illustration of the professorial system in Italy during the ascendancy of humanism. Some material of the same kind is supplied by the Virgiliana of Evangelista Fossa, a Cremonese gentleman, who versified a Venetian Burla in mock-heroic Latin. He, too, painted the portrait of a pedant, Priscianus:[419]

Est mirandus homo; nam sunt miracula in illo,

Omnes virtutes habet hic in testa fichatas ...

Nam quicquid dicit, semper per littera parlat,

Atque habet in boccham pulchra hæc proverbia semper....

Est letrutus nam multum, studiavit in omni

Arte, fuit Padoe, fuit in la citta de Perosa,

Bononie multum mansit de senno robando.

But Fossa's Virgiliana, while aiming at a more subtle sort of parody than the purely maccaronic poems, misses their peculiar salt, and, except for the Hudibrastic description of the author on horseback,[420] offers nothing of great interest.

Brief notice also may be taken of Giovan Giorgio Alione's satire on the Lombards. Alione was a native of Asti, and seasoned his maccaroni with the base French of his birthplace. For Asti, transferred to the House of Orleans by Gian Galeazzo Visconti, was more than half a French city and its inhabitants spoke the Gallic dialect common to Piedmont.[421] Alione is proud of this subjection, and twits the Lombards of Milan and Pavia with being unworthy of their ancient origin no less than of their modern masters.[422] Unlike the ordinary run of burlesque poems, his Macharonea is virulently satirical. Animated by a real rage against the North Italians, Alione paints them as effeminate cowards, devoid of the sense of honor and debased by the vices of ill-bred parvenus. The opening of a Novella he relates, may be cited as a fair specimen of his style:[423]

Quidam Franzosus, volens tornare Parisum,

Certum Mìlaneysum scontravit extra viglianam

Sine capello docheti testa bagnatum:

Et cum ignoraret Gallicus hic unde fuisset

Dixit vulgariter estes vous moglie mon amicus?

Ille qui intelligit a la rebusa, respondit

Sy sy mi che ho mogle Milani et anca fiolos.

Gallus tunc cernens Lombardum fore loquela,

Et recordatus quod tempore guerre Salucis

Alixandrini fecerant pagare menestram

Scutumque sibi sgrafignarant de gibesera,

Sfodravit ensem dicens o tretre ribalde

Rendez moy sa mon escu, sy non a la morte spazat.

The end of the story is far too crude to quote, and it is probable that even the most curious readers will already have had enough of Alione's peculiar gibberish.

The maccaronic style had reached this point when Folengo took possession of it, stamped it with his own genius, and employed it for one of the most important poems of the century. He is said to have begun a serious Latin epic in his early manhood, and to have laid this aside because he foresaw the impossibility of wresting the laurels from Virgil. This story is probably a legend; but it contains at least an element of truth. Folengo aimed at originality; he chose to be the first of burlesque Latin poets rather than to claim the name and fame of a Virgilian imitator.[424] In the proemium to his Moscheis he professes to have found the orthodox Apollo deaf to his prayers:

Illius heu frustra doctas captare sorores

Speravi ac multa laude tenere polos.

The reason of the god's anger was that his votary had sullied the clear springs of Hippocrene:

Nescio quas reperi musas, turpesve sorores,

Nescio quas turpi carmina voce canunt.

Limpida Pegasidum vitiavi stagna profanus,

Totaque sunt limo dedecorata meo.

The exordium to the Maccaronea introduces us to these vulgar Muses, grossæ Camœnæ, who fill their neophytes with maccaronic inspiration:

Jam nec Melpomene, Clio, nec magna Thalia,

Nec Phœbus grattando lyram mihi carmina dictet,

Qui tantos olim doctos fecere poetas;

Verum cara mihi foveat solummodo Berta,

Gosaque, Togna simul, Mafelina, Pedrala, Comina.

Veridicæ Musæ sunt hæ, doctæque sorellæ;

Quarum non multis habitatio nota poetis.

The holy hill of Folengo's Muses is a mountain of cheese and maccaroni, with lakes of broth and rivers of unctuous sauces:

Stant ipsæ Musæ super altum montis acumen,

Formajum gratulis durum retridando foratis.

Here he seeks them, and here they deign to crown him poet:[425]

Ergo macaronicas illic cattavimus artes,

Et me grossiloquum vatem statuere sorores.

We have seen already that the maccaronic style involved a free use of plebeian Italian, imbedded in a mixed mass of classical and medieval Latinity. Folengo refined the usage of his predecessors, by improving the versification, adopting a more uniformly heroic tone, and introducing scraps of Mantuan dialect at unexpected intervals, so that each lapse into Italian has the force of a surprise—what the Greeks called παρὰ προσδοκιαν. The comic effect is produced by a sustained epical inflation, breaking irregularly into the coarsest and least pardonable freaks of vulgarity. It is as though the poet were improvising, emulous of Virgil; but the tide of inspiration fails him, he falls short of classical phrases to express his thoughts, and is forced in the hurry of the moment to avail himself of words and images that lie more close at hand. His Pegasus is a showy hack, who ambles on the bypaths of Parnassus, dropping now and then a spavined hock and stumbling back into his paces with a snort. His war-trumpet utters a sonorous fanfaronnade; but the blower loses breath, and breaks his note, or suffers it to lapse into a lamentable quaver.

Tifi Odassi, who may be regarded as Folengo's master in this species of verse, confined the Maccaronic Muse to quaintly-finished sketches in the Dutch style.[426] His pupil raised her to the dignity of Clio and composed an epic in twenty-five books. The length of this poem and the strangeness of the manner render it unpalatable to all but serious students at the present time. Its humor has evaporated, and the form itself strikes us as rococo. We experience some difficulty in sympathizing with those readers of the sixteenth century, who, perfectly acquainted with Latin poetry and accustomed to derive intellectual pleasure from its practice, found exquisite amusement in so cleverly constructed a parody. Nor is it possible for Englishmen to appreciate the more delicate irony of the vulgarisms, which Folengo adopted from one of the coarsest Italian dialects, and cemented with subtle skill upon the stately structure of his hexameters. Still we may remember that the Maccaronea was read with profit by Rabelais, and that much of Butler's humor betrays a strong affinity to this antiquated burlesque.

In substance the Maccaronea begins with a rehandling of the Orlandino. Guido, peerless among Paladins, wins the love of his king's daughter, Baldovina of France. They fly together into Italy, and she dies in giving birth to a son at Cipada, near Mantua. Guido disappears, and the boy, Baldus, is brought up by a couple of peasants. He believes himself to be their child, and recognizes the rustic boor, Zambellus, for his brother. Still the hero's nature reveals itself in the village urchin; and, like the young Orlando, Baldus performs prodigies of valor in his boyhood:

Non it post vaccas, at sæpe caminat ad urbem,

Ac ad Panadæ dispectum praticat illam;

In villam semper tornabat vespere facto,

Portabatque caput fractum gambasque macatas.

When he goes to school, he begins by learning his letters with great readiness. But he soon turns away from grammar to books of chivalry:

Sed mox Orlandi nasare volumina cœpit:

Non vacat ultra deponentia discere verba,

Non species, numeros, non casus atque figuras,

Non Doctrinalis versamina tradere menti:

Fecit de norma scartazzos mille Donati

Inque Perotinum librum salcicia coxit.

Orlandi solum, nec non fera bella Rinaldi

Aggradant; animum faciebat talibus altum:

Legerat Ancrojam, Tribisondam, gesta Danesi,

Antonæque Bovum, mox tota Realea Francæ,

Innamoramentum Carlonis et Asperamontem,

Spagnam, Altobellum, Morgantis facta gigantis.

And so forth through the whole list of chivalrous romances, down to the Orlando Furioso and the Orlandino. The boy's heart is set on deeds of daring. He makes himself the captain of a band of rogues who turn the village of Cipada upside down. Three of these deserve especial notice—Fracassus, Cingar, and Falchettus; since they became the henchmen of our hero in all his subsequent exploits. Fracassus was descended in the direct line from Morgante:

Primus erat quidam Fracassus prole gigantis,

Cujus stirps olim Morganto venit ab illo,

Qui bachiocconem campanæ ferre solebat

Cum quo mille hominum colpo sfracasset in uno.

Cingar in like manner drew his blood from Pulci's Margutte:

Alter erat Baldi compagnus, nomine Cingar,

Accortus, ladro, semper truffare paratus;

Scarnus enim facie, reliquo sed corpore nervis

Plenus, compressus, picolinus, brunus, et atrox,

Semper habens nudam testam, rizzutus et asper.

Iste suam traxit Marguti a sanguine razzam,

Qui ad calcagnos sperones ut gallus habebat

Et nimio risu simia cagante morivit.

Falchettus boasted a still stranger origin:[427]

Sed quidnam de te, Falchette stupende, canemus?

Tu quoque pro Baldo bramasti prendere mortem.

Forsitan, o lecor, quæ dico, dura videntur,

Namque Pulicano Falchettus venit ab illo

Quem scripsere virum medium, mediumque catellum;

Quapropter sic sic noster Falchettus habebat

Anteriora viri, sed posteriora canina.

It would be too long to relate how Baldus received knightly education from a nobleman who admired his daring; how, ignorant of his illustrious blood, he married the village beauty Berta; and how he made himself the petty tyrant of Cipada. The exploits of his youth are a satire on the violence of local magnates, whose manners differed little from those of the peasants they oppressed. In course of time Baldus fell under the displeasure of a despot stronger than himself, and was shut up in prison.[428] In the absence of his hero from the scene, the poet now devotes himself to the exploits of Cingar among the peasants of Cipada. Without lowering his epic tone, Folengo fills five books with whimsical adventures, painting the manners of the country in their coarsest colors, and introducing passages of stinging satire on the monks he hated.[429] Cingar, finding himself on one occasion in a convent, gives vent to a long soliloquy which expresses Folengo's own contempt for the monastic institutions that filled Italy with rogues:

Quo diavol, ait, tanti venere capuzzi?

Nil nisi per mundum video portare capuzzos:

Quisquam vult fieri Frater, vult quisque capuzzum

Postquam giocarunt nummos, tascasque vodarunt,

Postquam pane caret cophinum, celaria vino,

In Fratres properant, datur his extemplo capuzzus.

Undique sunt isti Fratres, istique capuzzi.

Qui sint nescimus; discernare nemo valeret

Tantas vestitum foggias, tantosque colores:

Sunt pars turchini, pars nigri, parsque morelli,

Pars albi, russi, pars gialdi, parsque bretini.

Si per iter vado telluris, cerno capuzzos:

Si per iter pelagi, non mancum cerno capuzzos;

Quando per armatos eo campos, cerno capuzzos;

Sive forum subeo, sive barcam, sive tabernam,

Protinus ante oculos aliquem mihi cerno capuzzum.

There will soon be no one left to bear arms, till the fields, or ply the common handicrafts. All the villains make themselves monks, aspiring to ecclesiastical honors and seeking the grade of superiority denied them by their birth. It is ambition that fills the convents:

Illic nobilitas sub rusticitate laborat,

Ambitio quoniam villanos unica brancat.

This tirade is followed by the portrait of Prae Jacopinus, a village parson whose stupidity is only equaled by his vices. Jacopino's education in the alphabet is a masterpiece of Rabelaisian humor, and the following passage on his celebration of the Mass brings all the sordidness of rustic ceremonial before our eyes:[430]

Præterea Missam foggia dicebat in una,

Nec crucis in fronte signum formare sciebat.

Inter Confiteor parvum discrimen et Amen

Semper erat, jam jam meditans adjungere finem;

Incipiebat enim nec adhuc in nomine Patris,

Quod tribus in saltis veniebat ad Ite misestum.

From generalities Folengo passes to particulars in the following description of a village Mass:[431]

Inde Jacopinus, chiamatis undique Pretis,

Cœperat in gorga Missam cantare stupendam;

Subsequitant alii, magnisque cridoribus instant.

Protinus Introitum spazzant talqualiter omnem,

Ad Chyrios veniunt, quos miro dicere sentis

Cum contrappunto, veluti si cantor adesset

Master Adrianus, Constantius atque Jachettus.

Hic per dolcezzam scorlabant corda vilani

Quando de quintis terzisque calabat in unam

Musicus octavam noster Jacopinus et ipsas

Providus octavas longa cum voce tirabat.

Gloria in excelsis passat, jam Credo propinquat;

Oh si Josquinus Cantorum splendor adesset!

Meanwhile Baldus has been left in prison, and it is time for Cingar to undertake his rescue. He effects this feat, by stripping two Franciscan monks, and dressing himself up in the frock he had just filched from one of them, while he coaxes the unfortunate Zambellus to assume the other. Then he persuades the people of Mantua that he has seen himself assassinated on the high road; gains access to Baldus in the dungeon, on the plea of hearing his confession; and contrives to leave Zambellus there in the clothes of Baldus, after disguising his friend in one of the friar's tunics. The story is too intricate for repetition here.[432] Suffice it to say that Baldus escapes and meets a knight errant, Leonardus, at the city gate, who has ridden all the way from Rome to meet so valorous a Paladin. The swear eternal friendship. The three henchmen of the hero muster round the new comrades in arms; and the party thus formed set forth upon a series of adventures in the style of Astolfo's journey to the moon.

This part of the epic is a close copy of the chivalrous romances in their more fantastic details. The journey of the Barons, as they are now invariably styled, is performed in a great ship. They encounter storms and pirates, land on marvelous islands, enter fairy palaces, and from time to time recruit their forces with notable rogues and drunkards whom they find upon their way. The parody consists in the similarity of their achievements to those of knight-errantry, while they are themselves in all points unlike the champions of chivalry. One of their most cherished companions, for example, is Boccalus, a Bergamasque buffoon, who distinguishes himself by presence of mind in a great storm:[433]

Ille galantus homo, qui nuper in æquora bruttam

Jecerat uxorem, dicens non esse fagottum

Fardellumque homini plus laidum, plusque pesentum

Quam sibi mojeram lateri mirare tacatam

Quæ sit oca ingenio, quæ vultu spazzacaminus.

The tale of adventures is diversified, after the manner of the romantic poets, by digressions, sometimes pathetic, sometimes dissertational. Among these the most amusing is Cingar's lecture on astronomy, in which the planetary theories of the middle ages are burlesqued with considerable irony.[434] The most affecting is the death of Leonardus, who chooses to be torn in pieces by bears rather than yield his virginity to a vile woman. This episode suggests one of the finest satiric passages in the whole poem. Having exhibited the temptress Muselina, the poet breaks off with this exclamation:[435]

Heu quantis noster Muselinis orbis abundat!

He then enumerates their arts of seduction, and winds up with a powerful dramatic picture, painted from the life, of a mezzana engaged in corrupting a young man's mind during Mass-time:

Dum Missæ celebrantur, amant cantonibus esse,

Postque tenebrosos mussant chiachiarantque pilastros;

Ah miserelle puer, dicunt, male nate, quod ullam

Non habes, ut juvenes bisognat habere, morosam!...

Numquid vis fieri Frater Monachusve, remotis

Delitiis Veneris, Bacchi, Martisque, Jovisque,

Quos vel simplicitas, vel desperatio traxit?...

Nemo super terram sanctus; stant æthere sancti:

Nos carnem natura facit, quo carne fruamur.

As the epic approaches its conclusion, Baldus discovers his true father, Guido, under the form of a holy hermit, and learns that it is reserved for him by destiny, first to extirpate the sect of witches under their queen Smirna Gulfora, and afterwards to penetrate the realms of death and hell. The last five books of the Maccaronea are devoted to these crowning exploits. Merlin appears, and undertakes the guidance of the Barons on their journey to Avernus.[436] But first he requires full confession of their sins from each; and this humorous act of penitence forms one of the absurdest episodes, as may be easily imagined, in the poem. Absolved and furnished with heroic armor, the Barons march to the conquest of Gulfora and the destruction of her magic palace. Folengo has placed it appropriately on the road to hell; for under Gulfora he allegorizes witchcraft. The space allotted to Smirna Gulfora and the importance attached to her overthrow by Baldus and his Barons, call attention to the prevalence of magic in Italy at this epoch.[437] It may not, therefore, be out of place, before engaging in this portion of the analysis, to give some account of Italian witchcraft drawn from other sources, in order to estimate the truth of the satire upon which Folengo expended his force.

"Beautiful and humane Italy," as Bandello calls his country in the preface to one of his most horrible Novelle, was, in spite of her enlightenment, but little in advance of Europe on the common points of medieval superstition. The teaching of the Church encouraged a belief in demons; and the common people saw on every chapel wall the fresco of some saint expelling devils from the bodies of possessed persons, or exorcising domestic utensils which had been bewitched.[438] Thus the laity grew up in the confirmed opinion that earth, air, and ocean swarmed with supernatural beings, whom they distinguished as fiends from hell or inferior sprites of the elements, called spiriti folletti.[439] While the evil spirits of both degrees were supposed to lie beneath the ban of ecclesiastical malediction, they lent their aid to necromancers, witches and wizards, who, defying the interdictions of the Church, had the audacity to use them as their slaves by the employment of powerful spells and rites of conjurations. There was a way, it was believed, of taming both the demons and the elves, of making them the instruments of human avarice, ambition, jealousy and passion. Since all forms of superstition in Italy lent themselves to utilitarian purposes, the necromancer and the witch, having acquired this power over supernatural agents, became the servants of popular lusts. They sold their authority to the highest bidders, undertaking to blast the vines or to poison the flocks of an enemy; to force young men and maidens to become the victims of inordinate appetites; to ruin inconvenient husbands by slowly-wasting diseases; to procure abortion by spells and potions; to confer wealth and power upon aspirants after luxury; to sow the seeds of discord in families—in a word, to open a free path for the indulgence of the vain desires that plague ill-regulated egotisms. A class of impostors, half dupes of their own pretensions, half rogues relying on the folly of their employers, sprang into existence, who combined the Locusta of ancient Rome with the witch of medieval Germany. Such was the Italian strega—a loathsome creature, who studied the chemistry of poisons, philtres, and abortion-hastening drugs, and while she pretended to work her miracles by the help of devils, played upon the common passions and credulities of human kind.[440] By her side stood her masculine counterpart, the stregone, negromante or alchimista, who plays so prominent a part in the Italian comedies and novels.

Witchcraft was localized in two chief centers—the mountains of Norcia, and the Lombard valleys of the Alps.[441] In the former we find a remnant of antique superstition. The witches of this district, whether male or female, had something of the classical Sibyl in their composition and played upon the terrors of their clients. Like their Roman predecessors, they plied the trades of poisoner, quack-doctor and bawd. In Lombardy witchcraft assumed a more Teutonic complexion. The witch was less the instrument of fashionable vices, trading in them as a lucrative branch of industry, than the hysterical subject of a spiritual disease. Lust itself inflamed the victims of this superstition, who were burned by hundreds in the towns, and who were supposed to hold their revels in the villages of Val Camonica. Like the hags of northern Europe, these Lombard streghe had recourse to the black art in the delirious hope of satisfying their own inordinate ambitions, their own indescribable desires. The disease spread so wildly at the close of the fifteenth century that Innocent VIII., by his Bull of 1484, issued special injunctions to the Dominican monks of Brescia, Bergamo and Cremona, authorizing them to stamp it out with fire and torture.[442] The result was a crusade against witchcraft, which seems to have increased the evil by fascinating the imagination of the people. They believed all the more blindly in the supernatural powers to be obtained by magic arts, inasmuch as this traffic had become the object of a bloody persecution. When the Church recognized that men and women might command the fiends of hell, it followed as a logical consequence that wretches, maddened by misery and intoxicated with ungovernable lusts, were tempted to tamper with the forbidden thing at the risk of life and honor in this world and with the certainty of damnation in the other. After this fashion the confused conscience of illiterate people bred a formidable extension of this spiritual malady throughout the northern provinces of Italy. Some were led by morbid curiosity; others by a vain desire to satisfy their appetites, or to escape the consequences of their crimes. A more dangerous class used the superstition to acquire power over their neighbors and to make money out of popular credulity.

Born and bred in Lombardy at the epoch when witchcraft had attained the height of popular insanity, Folengo was keenly alive to the hideousness of a superstition which, rightly or wrongly, he regarded as a widespread plague embracing all classes of society. It may be questioned whether he did not exaggerate its importance. But there is no mistaking the verisimilitude of the picture he drew. All the uncleanliness of a diseased imagination, all the extravagances of wanton desire, all the consequences of domestic unchastity—incest, infanticide, secret assassination, concealment of births—are traced to this one cause and identified by him with witchcraft. The palace of the queen Gulfora is a pandemonium of lawless vice:

Quales hic reperit strepitus, qualemque tumultum,

Quales mollities turpes, actusque salaces,

Utile nil scribi posset, si scribere vellem.

Her courts are crowded with devils who have taken human shape to gratify the lusts of her votaries:

Leggiadros juvenes, bellos, facieque venustos,

Stringatos, agiles, quos judicat esse diablos,

Humanum piliasse caput moresque decentes,

Conspicit, innumeras circum scherzare puellas,

Quæ gestant vestes auri brettasque veluti.

The multitude is made up of all nations, sexes, ages, classes:

Obstupet innumeros illic retrovare striones,

Innumerasque strias vecchias, modicasque puellas.

Non ea medesimo generatur schiatta paeso;

At sunt Italici, Græci, Gallique, Spagnoles,

Magnates, poveri, laici, fratresque, pretesque,

Matronæ, monighæ per forzam claustra colentes.

Some of them are engaged in preparing love-potions and poisonous draughts from the most disgusting and noxious ingredients. Others compound unguents to be used in the metamorphosis of themselves on their nocturnal jaunts. Among these are found poets, orators, physicians, lawyers, governors, for whose sins a handful of poor old women play the part of scapegoats before the public:

Sed quia respectu legis prævertitur ordo,

Namque solent grossi pisces mangiare minutos,

Desventuratæ quædam solummodo vecchiæ

Sunt quæ supra asinos plebi spectacula fiunt,

Sunt quæ primatum multorum crimina celant,

Sunt quæ sparagnant madonnis pluribus ignem.

Some again are discovered compiling books of spells:

Quomodo adulterium uxoris vir noscere possit,

Quomodo virgineæ cogantur amare puellæ,

Quomodo non tumeat mulier cornando maritum,

Quomodo si tumuit fantinum mingat abortum,

Quomodo vix natos vitient sua fascina puttos,

Quomodo desiccent odiati membra mariti.

The elder witches keep a school for the younger, and instruct them in the secrets of their craft. Among these Baldus recognizes his own wife, together with the principal ladies of his native land.

It is clear that under the allegory of witchcraft, in which at the same time he seems to have believed firmly, Folengo meant to satirize the secret corruption of society. When Gulfora herself appears, she holds her court like an Italian duchess:

Longa sequit series hominum muschiata zibettis,

Qui cortesanos se vantant esse tilatos,

Quorum si videas mores rationis ochialo,

Non homines maschios sed dicas esse bagassas.

The terrible friar then breaks into a tirade against the courtiers of his day, comparing them with Arthur's knights:

Tempore sed nostro, proh dii, sæcloque dadessum,

Non nisi perfumis variis et odore zibetti,

Non nisi, seu sazaræ petenentur sive tosentur,

Brettis velluti, nec non scufiotibus auri,

Auri cordiculis, impresis, atque medallis,

Millibus et frappis per calzas perque giupones,

Cercamus carum merdosi germen amoris.

Baldus exterminates the whole vile multitude, while Fracassus pulls Gulfora's palace about her ears. After this, the Barons pursue their way to Acheron, and call upon Charon to ferry them across. He refuses to take so burdensome a party into his boat; but by the strength of Fracassus and the craft of Cingar they effect a passage. Their entry into hell furnishes Folengo with opportunities for new tirades against the vices of Italy. Tisiphone boasts how Rome, through her machinations, has kept Christendom in discord. Alecto exults in her offspring, the Guelph and Ghibelline factions:

Unde fides Christi paulatim lapsa ruinet,

Dum gentes Italæ bastantes vincere mundum

Se se in se stessos discordant, seque medesmos

Vassallos faciunt, servos, vilesque famejos

His qui vassalli, servi, vilesque fa meji

Tempore passato nobis per forza fu ere.

After passing the Furies, and entering the very jaws of Hades, Baldus encounters the fantasies of grammarians and humanists, the idle nonsense of the schoolmen, all the lumber of medieval philosophy mixed with the trifles of the Renaissance.[443] He fights his way through the thick-crowding swarm of follies, and reaches the hell of lovers, where a mountebank starts forward and offers to be his guide. Led by this zany, the hero and his comrades enter an enormous gourd, the bulk of which is compared to the mountains of Val Camonica. Within its spacious caverns dwell the sages of antiquity, with astrologers, physicians, wizards, and false poets. But, having brought his Barons to this place Merlinus Cocajus can advance no further. He is destined to inhabit the great gourd himself. Beyond it he has no knowledge; and here, therefore, he leaves the figments of his fancy without a word of farewell:

Nec Merlinus ego, laus, gloria, fama Cipadæ,

Quamvis fautrices habui Tognamque Gosamque,

Quamvis implevi totum macaronibus orbem,

Quamvis promerui Baldi cantare batajas,

Non tamen hanc zuccam potui schifare decentem,

In qua me tantos opus est nunc perdere dentes,

Tot, quot in immenso posui mendacia libro.

With this grotesque invention of the infernal pumpkin, where lying bards are punished by the extraction of teeth which never cease to grow again, Folengo breaks abruptly off. His epic ends with a Rabelaisian peal of laughter, in which we can detect a growl of discontent and anger.

Laying the book down, we ask ourselves whether the author had a serious object, or whether he meant merely to indulge a vein of wayward drollery. The virulent invectives which abound in the Maccaronea, seem to warrant the former conclusion; nor might it be wholly impossible to regard the poem as an allegory, in which Baldus should play the part of the reason, unconscious at first of its noble origin, consorting with the passions and the senses, but finally arriving at the knowledge of its high destiny and defeating the powers of evil.[444] Yet when we attempt to press this theory and to explain the allegory in detail, the thread snaps in our hands. Like the romances of chivalry which it parodies, the Maccaronea is a bizarre mixture of heterogeneous elements, loosely put together to amuse an idle public and excite curiosity. If its author has used it also as the vehicle for satire which embraces all the popular superstitions, vices and hypocrisies of his century; if, as he approaches the conclusion, he assumes a tone of sarcasm more sinister than befits the broad burlesque of the commencement; we must rest contented with the assumption that his choleric humor led him from the path of comedy, while the fury of a soul divided against itself inspired his muses of the cook-shop with loftier strains than they had promised at the outset.[445] Should students in the future devote the same minute attention to Folengo that has been paid to Rabelais, it is not improbable that the question here raised may receive solution. The poet is not unworthy of such pains. Regarded merely as the precursor of Rabelais, Folengo deserves careful perusal. He was the creator of a style, which, when we read his epic, forces us to think of the seventeenth century; so strongly did it influence the form of humorous burlesque in Europe for at least two hundred years. On this account, the historian of modern literature cannot afford to neglect him. For the student of Italian manners in Lombardy during the height of the Renaissance, the huge amorphous undigested mass of the Maccaronea is one of the most valuable and instructive documents that we possess. I do not hesitate, from this point of view, to rank it with the masterpieces of the age, with the Orlando of Ariosto, with Machiavelli's comedies, and with the novels of Bandello.

Folengo used the maccaronic style in two other considerable compositions. The one entitled Moscheis is an elegant parody of the Batrachomyomachia, relating the wars of ants and flies in elegiac verse. The other, called Zanitonella, celebrates the rustic loves of Zanina and Tonello in a long series of elegies, odes and eclogues. This collection furnishes a complete epitome of parodies modeled on the pastorals in vogue. The hero appears upon the scene in the following Sonolegia, under which title we detect a blending of the Sonnet and the Elegy:[446]

Solus solettus stabam colegatus in umbra,

Pascebamque meas virda per arva capras.

Nulla travajabant animum pensiria nostrum,

Cercabam quoniam tempus habere bonum.

Quando bolzoniger puer, o mea corda forasti;

Nec dedit in fallum dardus alhora tuus.

Immo fracassasti rationis vincula, quæ tunc

Circa coradam bastio fortis erat.

The lament is spun out to the orthodox length of fourteen verses, and concludes with a pretty point. Who the bolzoniger puer was, is more openly revealed in another Sonolegia:[447]

Nemo super terram mangiat mihi credite panem

Seu contadinus, seu citadinus erit,

Quem non attrapolet Veneris bastardulus iste,

Qui volat instar avis, cæcus, et absque braga.

To follow the poet through all his burlesques of Petrarchistic and elegiac literature, Italian or Latin, would be superfluous. It is enough to say that he leaves none of their accustomed themes untouched with parody. The masterpiece of his art in this style is the sixth Eclogue, consisting of a dialogue between two drunken bumpkins—interloquutores Tonellus et Pedralus, qui ambo inebriantur.[448]

The maccaronic style was a product of North Italy, cultivated by writers of the Lombard towns, who versified comic or satiric subjects in parodies of humanistic poetry. The branch of burlesque literature we have next to examine, belonged to Tuscany, and took its origin from the equivocal carnival and dance songs raised to the dignity of art by Lorenzo de' Medici. Its conventional meter was terza rima, handled with exquisite sense of rhythm, but degraded to low comedy by the treatment of trivial or vulgar motives. The author of these Capitoli, as they were called, chose some common object—a paint-brush, salad, a sausage, peaches, figs, eels, radishes—to celebrate; affected to be inspired by the grandeur of his subject; developed the drollest tropes, metaphors and illustrations; and almost invariably conveyed an obscene meaning under the form of innuendoes appropriate to his professed theme. Though some exceptions can be pointed out, the Capitoli in general may be regarded as a species of Priapic literature, fashioned to suit the taste of Florentines, who had been accustomed for many generations to semi-disguised obscenity in their vernacular town poetry.[449] Taken from the streets and squares, adopted by the fashionable rhymsters of academies and courtly coteries, the rude Fescennine verse lost none of its license, while it assumed the polish of urbane art. Were it not for this antiquity and popularity of origin, which suggests a plausible excuse for the learned writers of Capitoli and warns us to regard their indecency as in some measure conventional, it would be difficult to approach the three volumes which contain a selection of their poems, without horror.[450] So deep, universal, unblushing is the vice revealed in them.

To Francesco Berni belongs the merit, such as it is, of having invented the burlesque Capitoli. He gave his name to it, and the term Bernesque has passed into the critical phraseology of Europe. The unique place of this rare poet in the history of Italian literature, will justify a somewhat lengthy account of his life and works. Studying him, we study the ecclesiastical and literary society of Rome in the age of Leo X. and Clement VII.

Francesco Berni was born at Lamporecchio, in the Val di Nievole, about the end of the fifteenth century.[451] His parents were poor; but they were connected with the family of the Cardinal Bibbiena, who, after the boy's education at Florence, took him at the age of nineteen to Rome. Upon the death of this patron in 1520, Berni remained in the service of Bibbiena's nephew, Agnolo Dovizio. Receiving no advancement from these kinsmen, he next transferred himself, in the quality of secretary, to the household of Giammatteo Giberti, Bishop of Verona, who was a distinguished Mecænas of literary men. This change involved his taking orders. Berni now resided partly at Rome and partly at Verona, tempering the irksome duties of his office by the writing of humorous poetry, which he recited in the then celebrated Academy of the Vignajuoli. This society, which numbered Molza, Mauro, La Casa, Lelio Capilupi, Firenzuola, and Francesco Bini among its members, gave the tone to polite literature at the Courts of Leo and Clement.

Berni survived the sack of 1527, which proved so disastrous to Italian scholars; but he lost everything he possessed.[452] Monsignor Giberti employed him on various missions of minor importance, involving journeys to Venice, Padua, Nice, Florence, and the Abruzzi. After sixteen years of Court-life, Berni grew weary of the petty duties, which must have been peculiarly odious to a man of his lazy temperament, if it is true, as he informs us, that the Archbishop kept him dancing attendance till daylight, while he played primiera with his friends. Accordingly, he retired to Florence, where he held a canonry in the cathedral. There, after a quiet life of literary ease, he died suddenly in 1535. It was rumored that he had been poisoned: and the most recent investigations into the circumstances of his death tend rather to confirm this report. All that is known, however, for certain, is that he spent the evening of May 25 with his friends the Marchionesse di Massa in the Palazzo Pazzi, and that next morning he breathed his last. His mysterious and unexplained decease was ascribed to one of the two Medicean princes then resident in Florence. A sonnet in Berni's best style, containing a vehement invective against Alessandro de' Medici, is extant. The hatred expressed in this poem may have occasioned the rumor (which certainly acquired a certain degree of currency) that Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici attempted to use the poet for the secret poisoning of his cousin, and on his refusal had him murdered. Other accounts of the supposed assassination ascribe a like intention to the Duke, who is said to have suggested the poisoning of the Cardinal to Berni. Both stories agree in representing his tragic end as the price paid for refusal to play the part of an assassin. The matter remains obscure; but enough suspicion rests upon the manner of his death to render this characteristic double legend plausible; especially when we remember what the customs of Florence with respect to poisoning were, and how the Cardinal de' Medici ended his own life.[453]

Such is the uneventful record of Berni's career. He was distinguished among all the poets of the century for his genial vein of humor and amiable personal qualities. That he was known to be stained with vices which it is not easy to describe, but which he frankly acknowledged in his poetical epistles, did not injure his reputation in that age of mutual indulgence.[454] Willing to live and let live, with a never-failing fund of drollery, and with a sincere dislike for work of any sort, he lounged through existence, an agreeable, genial and witty member of society. If this were all we should not need to write about him now. But with this easy-going temperament he combined a genius for poetry so peculiar and delicate, that his few works mark an epoch in Italian literature.

The best description of Berni is contained in the burlesque portrait of himself, which forms part of his Boiardo Innamorato.[455] This has been so well translated by an English scholar, the late W.S. Rose, that I cannot do better than refer the student to his stanzas. They convey as accurate a notion of the Bernesque manner as can be derived from any version in a foreign language.[456] The character he there has given to himself for laziness is corroborated by his extant epistles in prose. Berni represents himself as an incurably bad correspondent, pleased to get letters, but overcome with mortal terror when he is obliged to answer them.[457] He confides to his friend Francesco Bini that the great affair in life is to be gay and to write as little as possible:[458] "A vivere avemo sino alla morte a dispetto di chi non vuole, e il vantaggio è vivere allegramente, come conforto a far vio, attendando a frequentar quelli banchetti che si fanno per Roma, e scrivendo sopra tutto manco che potete. Quia hæc est victoria, quæ vincit mundum." The curse has been laid upon him of having to drive his quill without ceasing:[459] "O ego lævus, che scrivo d'ogni tempo, e scrivo ora che ho una gamba al collo, che ieri tornando dalla Certosa mi ruppe la mia cavalla, cascandomivi sopra. Sono pure un gran coglione!" So his pen runs on. The man writes just as he spoke, without affectation, mixing his phrases of Latin with the idiom of common life. The whole presents an agreeable contrast to the stilted style of Bembo, La Casa's studied periods, and the ambitious epistolary efforts of Aretino. Sometimes he breaks into doggrel:[460] "S'io avessi l'ingenio del Burchiello, Io vi farei volentier un sonetto, Che non ebbi giammai tema e subietto, Più dolce, più piacevol, nè più bello." When his friends insist upon his writing to them, rhyme comes to his aid, and he affects a comic fit of rage:[461]

Perchè m'ammazzi con le tue querele,

Priuli mio, perchè ti duole a torto,

Che sai che t'amo più che l'orso il miele, etc.

Importuned to publish the poems he recited with so much effect in private circles, he at last consents because he cannot help it:[462] "Compare, io non ho potuto tanto schermirmi che pure m'è bisognato dar fuori questo benedetto Capitolo e Comento della Primiera; e siate certo che l'ho fatto, non perchè mi consumassi d'andare in stampa, nè per immortalarmi come il cavalier Casio, ma per fuggire la fatica mia, e la malevolenza di molti che domandandomelo e non lo avendo mi volevano mal di morte." Nor were these the ordinary excuses of an author eager to conceal his vanity. The Capitolo upon the game of primiera was the only poem which appeared with his consent.[463] He intended his burlesque verses for recitation, and is even said to have preserved no copies of them, so that many of his compositions, piratically published in his lifetime, were with difficulty restored to a right text by Il Lasca in 1548. This indifference to public fame did not imply any carelessness of style. Mazzuchelli, who had seen some of his rough copies, asserts that they bore signs of the minutest pains bestowed upon them. The melody of versification, richness of allusion, refinement of phrase, equality and flowing smoothness, which distinguish Berni's work from that of his imitators confirm the belief that his Capitoli and sonnets, in spite of their apparent ease, were produced with the conscientious industry of a real artist.

Berni's theory of poetry revealed a common-sense and insight which were no less rare than commendable in that age of artificial literature. He refused to write at command, pleading that spontaneity of inspiration is essential to art, and quoting Vida's dictum:

Nec jussa canas, nisi forte coactus

Magnorum imperio regum.

Notwithstanding his avoidance of publication and parsimony of production, Berni won an almost unique reputation during his lifetime, and after his death was worshiped as a saint by the lovers of burlesque.[464] In one of his drollest sonnets he complains that poets were wont to steal their neighbors' verses, but that he is compelled to take the credit of more than he ever wrote:[465]

A me quei d'altri son per forza dati,

E dicon tu gli arai, vuoi o non vuoi.

A piece of comic prose or verse cannot appear but that it is at once ascribed to him:

E la gente faceta

Mi vuole pure impiastrar di prose e carmi,

Come s'io fussi di razza di marmi:

Non posso ripararmi;

Come si vede fuor qualche sonetto,

Il Berni l'ha composto a suo dispetto.

E fanvi su un guazzetto

Di chiose e di sensi, che rinnieghi il cielo,

Se Luter fa più stracci del Vangelo.

One of the glosses referred to in this coda, lies before me as I write. It was composed by Gianmaria Cecchi on Berni's sonnet which begins "Cancheri e beccafichi." The sonnet is an amusing imprecation upon matrimony, written in one paragraph, and containing the sting of the epigram in its short coda of three lines.[466] But it did not need a commentary, and Cecchi's voluminous annotations justify the poet's comic anger.

Berni's Capitoli may be broadly divided into three classes. The first includes his poetical epistles, addressed to Fracastoro, Sebastian del Piombo, Ippolito de' Medici, Marco Veneziano, and other friends. Except for the peculiar humor, which elevates the trivial accidents of life to comedy, except for the consummate style, which dignifies the details of familiar correspondence and renders fugitive effusions classical, these letters in verse would scarcely detach themselves from a mass of similar compositions. As it is, Berni's personality renders them worthy companions of Ariosto's masterpieces in a similar but nicely differentiated branch of literature. It remains for the amateurs of autobiographical poetry to choose between the self-revelation of the philosophizing Ferrarese poet and the brilliant trifling of the Florentine. The second class embraces a number of occasional poems—the Complaint against Love, the Deluge in Mugello, the Satire upon Adrian VI., the Lamentation of Nardino—descriptive or sarcastic pieces, where the poet chooses a theme and develops it with rhetorical abundance. The third class may be regarded as the special source and fountain of the Bernesque manner, as afterwards adopted and elaborated by Berni's imitators. Omitting personal or occasional motives, he sings the praises of the Plague, of Primiera, of Aristotle, of Peaches, of Debt, of Eels, of the Urinal, of Thistles, and of other trifling subjects. Here his burlesque genius takes the most fantastic flight, soaring to the ether of absurdity and sinking to the nadir of obscenity, combining heterogeneous elements of fun and farce, yet never transgressing the limits of refined taste. These Capitoli revealed a new vehicle of artistic expression to his contemporaries. Penetrated with their author's individuality, they caught the spirit of the age and met its sense of humor. Consequently they became the touchstones of burlesque inspiration, the models which tempted men of feebler force and more uncertain tact to hopeless tasks of emulation. We still possess La Casa's Capitolo on the Oven; Molza's on Salad and the Fig; Firenzuola's on the Sausage and the Legno Santo; Bronzino's on the Paint-brush and the Radish; Aretino's on the Quartan Fever; Franzesi's on Carrots and Chestnuts; Varchi's on Hard Eggs and Fennel; Mauro's on Beans and Priapus; Dolce's on Spittle and Noses; Bini's on the Mal Franzese; Lori's on Apples; Ruscelli's on the Spindle—not to speak of many authors, the obscurity of whose names and the obscenity of the themes they celebrated, condemn them to condign oblivion. Not without reason did Gregorovius stigmatize these poems as a moral syphilis, invading Italian literature and penetrating to the remotest fibers of its organism. After their publication in academical circles and their further diffusion through the press, simple terms which had been used to cloak their improprieties, became the bywords of pornographic pamphleteers and poets. Figs, beans, peaches, apples, chestnuts acquired a new and scandalous significance. Sins secluded from the light of day by a modest instinct of humanity, flaunted their loathsomeness without shame beneath the ensigns of these literary allegories. The corruption of society, hypocritically veiled or cynically half-revealed in coteries, expressed itself too plainly through the phraseology invented by a set of sensual poets. The most distinguished members of society, Cardinals like Bembo, prelates like La Casa, painters like Bronzino, critics like Varchi, scholars like Molza, lent the prestige of their position and their talents to the diffusion of this leprosy, which still remains the final most convincing testimony to the demoralization of Italy in the Renaissance.[467]

To what extent, it may be asked, was Berni responsible for these consequences? He brought the indecencies of the piazza, where they were the comparatively innocuous expression of coarse instincts, into the close atmosphere of the study and the academical circle, refined their vulgarisms, and made their viciousness attractive by the charm of his incomparable style. This transition from the Canto Carnascialesco to the Capitolo may be observed in Berni's Caccia di Amore, a very licentious poem dedicated to "noble and gentle ladies." It is a Carnival Song or Canzone a Ballo rewritten in octave stanzas of roseate fluency and seductive softness. A band of youthful huntsmen pay their court in it to women, and the double entendre exactly reproduces the style of innuendo rendered fashionable by Lorenzo de' Medici. Yet, though Berni is unquestionably answerable for the obscene Capitoli of the sixteenth century, it must not be forgotten that he only gave form to material already sufficiently appropriated by the literary classes. With him, the grossness which formed the staple of Mauro's, Molza's, Bini's, La Casa's and Bronzino's poems, the depravities of appetite which poisoned the very substance of their compositions, were but accidental. The poet stood above them and in some measure aloof from them, employing these ingredients in the concoction of his burlesque, but never losing the main object of his art in their development. A bizarre literary effect, rather than the indulgence of a sensual imagination, was the aim he had in view. Therefore, while we regret that his example gave occasion to coarser debaucheries of talent, we are bound to acknowledge that the jests to which he condescended, do not represent his most essential self. This, however, is but a feeble apology. That without the excuse of passion, without satirical motive or overmastering personal proclivity, he should have penned the Capitolo a M. Antonio da Bibbiena, and have joked about giving and taking his metaphorical peaches, remains an ineradicable blot upon his nature.[468]

The Bernesque Capitoli were invariably written in terza rima, which at this epoch became the recognized meter of epistolary, satirical, and dissertational poetry throughout Italy.[469] Thus the rhythm of the Divine Comedy received final development by lending itself to the expression of whims, fancies, personal invectives and scurrilities. To quote from Berni's masterpieces in this style would be impossible. Each poem of about one hundred lines is a perfect and connected unity, which admits of no mutilation by the detachment of separate passages. Still readers may be referred to the Capitolo a Fracastoro and the two Capitoli della Peste as representative of the poet's humor in its purest form, without the moral deformities of the still more celebrated Pesche or the uncleanliness of the Orinale.

At the close of the Capitolo written on the occasion of Adrian VI.'s election to the Papacy, Berni declared that it had never been his custom to speak ill of people:

L'usanza mia non fu mai di dir male;

E che sia il ver, leggi le cose mie,

Leggi l'Anguille, leggi l'Orinale,

Le Pesche, i Cardi e l'altre fantasie:

Tutte sono inni, salmi, laudi ed ode.

We have reason to believe this declaration. Genial good humor is a characteristic note of his literary temperament. At the same time he was no mean master of caricature and epigram. The Capitolo in question is a sustained tirade against the Fleming, who had come to break the peace of polished Rome—a shriek of angry lamentation over altered times, intolerable insults, odious innovations. The amazement and discomfiture of the poet, contrasted with his burlesque utterance, render this composition comic in a double sense. Its satire cuts both ways, against the author and the object of his rage. Yet when Adrian gave place to Giulio de' Medici, and Berni discovered what kind of a man the new Pope was, he vented nobler scorn in verse of far more pungent criticism. His sonnet on Clement is remarkable for exactly expressing the verdict posterity has formed after cool and mature inquiry into this Pope's actions. Clement's weakness and irresolution must end, the poet says, by making even Adrian seem a saint:[470]

Un Papato composto di rispetti,

Di considerazioni e di discorsi,

Di più, di poi, di ma, di sì, di forsi,

Di pur, di assai parole senza effetti;

Di pensier, di consigli, di concetti,

Di congetture magre per apporsi

D'intrattenerti, purchè non si sborsi,

Con audienze, risposte, e bei detti:

Di piè di piombo e di neutralità,

Di pazienza, di dimostrazione,

Di Fede, di Speranza e Carità,

D'innocenza, di buona intenzione;

Ch'è quasi come dir, semplicità.

Per non le dare altra interpretazione,

Sia con sopportazione,

Lo dirò pur, vedrete che pian piano

Farà canonizzar Papa Adriano.

The insight into Clement's character displayed in this sonnet, the invective against Adrian, and the acerbity of another sonnet against Alessandro de' Medici:

Empio Signor, che de la roba altrui

Lieto ti vai godendo, e del sudore:

would gain in cogency, could we attach more value to the manliness of Berni's utterances. But when we know that, while he was showering curses on the Duke of Cività di Penna, he frequented the Medicean Court and wrote a humorous Capitolo upon Gradasso, a dwarf of Cardinal Ippolito, we feel forced to place these epigrammatic effusions among the ebullitions of personal rather than political animosity. There was nothing of the patriot in Berni, not even so much as in Machiavelli, who himself avowed his readiness to roll stones for the Signori Medici.

As a satirist, Berni appears to better advantage in his caricatures of private or domestic personages. The portrait of his housekeeper, who combined in her single person all the antiquities of all the viragos of romance:

Io ho per cameriera mia l'Ancroja

Madre di Ferraù, zia di Morgante,

Arcavola maggior dell'Amostante,

Balia del Turco e suocera del Boja:

Alcionio upon his mule:

Quella che per soperchio digiunare

Tra l'anime celesti benedette

Come un corpo diafano traspare:

Ser Cecco who could never be severed from the Court, nor the Court from Ser Cecco:

Perch'ambedue son la Corte e ser Cecco:

the pompous doctor:

l'ambasciador del Boja,

Un medico, maestro Guazzaletto:

Domenico d'Ancona, the memory of whose beard, shorn by some Vandal of a barber, draws tears from every sympathetic soul:

Or hai dato, barbier, l'ultimo crollo

Ad una barba la più singolare

Che mai fosse descritta in verso o 'n prosa:

these form a gallery of comic likenesses, drawn from the life and communicated with the force of reality to the reader. Each is perfect in style, clearly cut like some antique chalcedony, bringing the object of the poet's mirth before us with the exact measure of ridicule he sought to inflict.[471]

This satiric power culminates in the sonnet on Pietro Aretino.[472] The tartness of Berni's more good-humored pasquinades is concentrated to vitriol by unadulterated loathing. He flings this biting acid in the face of one whom he has found a scoundrel. The sonnet starts at the white heat of fury:

Tu ne dirai e farai tante e tante,

Lingua fracida, marcia, senza sale.

It proceeds with execration; and when the required fourteen lines have been terminated, it foams over into rage more voluble and still more voluble, unwinding the folds of an interminable Coda with ever-increasing crescendo of vituperation, as though the passion of the writer could not be appeased. The whole has to be read at one breath. No quotation can render a conception of its rhetorical art. Every word strikes home because every word contains a truth expressed in language of malignant undiluted heartfelt hate. That most difficult of literary triumphs, to render abuse sublime, to sustain a single note of fierce invective without relaxing or weakening the several grades that lead to the catastrophe, has been accomplished. This achievement is no doubt due in some measure to the exact correspondence between what we know of Pietro Aretino and what Berni has written of him. Yet its blunt fidelity to fact does not detract from the skill displayed in the handling of those triple series of rhymes, each one of which descends like a lash upon the writhing back beneath:

Ch'ormai ogni paese

Hai ammorbato, ogn'uom, ogn'animale,

Il ciel e Dio e 'l diavol ti vuol male.

Quelle veste ducale,

O ducali accattate e furfantate,

Che ti piangono addosso sventurate,

A suon di bastonate

Ti saran tratte, prima che tu muoja,

Dal reverendo padre messer boja,

Che l'anima di noja,

Mediante un capestro, caveratti,

E per maggior favore squarteratti;

E quei tuoi leccapiatti,

Bardassonacci, paggi da taverna,

Ti canteranno il requiem eterna.

Or vivi e ti governa,

Bench'un pugnale, un cesso, overo un nodo

Ti faranno star cheto in ogni modo.

From this conclusion the rest may be divined. Berni paid dearly for the satisfaction of thus venting his spleen. Aretino had found more than his match. Though himself a master in the art of throwing dirt, he could not, like Berni, sling his missiles with the certainty of gaining for himself by the same act an immortality of glory. This privilege is reserved for the genius of style, and style alone. Therefore he had to shrink in silence under Berni's scourge. But Aretino was not the man to forego revenge if only an opportunity for inflicting injury upon his antagonist, full and effectual, and without peril to himself, was offered. The occasion came after Berni's death; and how he availed himself of it, will appear in the next paragraphs.

Though the Capitoli and sonnets won for their author the high place he occupies among Italian poets, Berni is also famous for his rifacimento or remodeling of the Orlando Innamorato. He undertook this task after the publication of the Furioso; and though part was written at Verona, we know from references to contemporary events contained in the rifacimento, that Berni was at work upon it in the last years of his life at Florence. It was not published until some time after his death. Berni subjected the whole of Boiardo's poem to minute revision, eliminating obsolete words and Lombard phrases, polishing the verse, and softening the roughness of the elder poet's style. He omitted a few passages, introduced digressions, connected the episodes by links and references, and opened each canto with a dissertation in the manner of Ariosto. Opinions may vary as to the value of the changes wrought by Berni. But there can be no doubt that his work was executed with artistic accuracy, and that his purpose was a right one. He aimed at nothing less than rendering a noble poem adequate to the measure of literary excellence attained by the Italians since Boiardo's death. The Innamorato was to be made worthy of the Furioso. The nation was to possess a continuous epic of Orlando, complete in all its parts and uniformly pure in style. Had Berni lived to see his own work through the press, it is probable that this result would have been attained. As it happened, the malignity of fortune or the malice of a concealed enemy defeated his intention. We only possess a deformed version of his rifacimento. The history, or rather the tragedy, of its publication involves some complicated questions of conjecture. Yet the side-lights thrown upon the conditions of literature at that time in Italy, as well as on the mystery of Berni's death, are sufficiently interesting to justify the requisite expenditure of space and time.

The rifacimento appeared in a mutilated form at Venice in 1541, from the press of the Giunti, and again in 1542 at Milan from that of Francesco Calvo. These two issues are identical, except in the title and tail pages. The same batch of sheets was in fact divided by the two publishers. In 1545 another issue, called Edizione Seconda, saw the light at Venice, in which Giunta introduced a very significant note, pointing out that certain stanzas were not the work of "M. Francesco Berni, but of one who presumptuously willed to do him so great an injury."[473] This edition, differing in many respects from those of 1541 and 1542, was on the whole an improvement. It would seem that the publishers, in the interval between 1541 and 1545, regretted that Berni's copy had been tampered with, and did their best, in the absence of the original, to restore a correct text. Still, as Giunta acknowledged, the rifacimento had been irretrievably damaged by some private foe.[474] The introductory dedication to Isabella Gonzaga, where we might have expected an allusion to Boiardo, is certainly not Berni's; and the two lines,

Nè ti sdegnar veder quel ch'altri volse

Forse a te dedicar, ma morte il tolse,

must be understood to refer to Berni's and not to Boiardo's death. Comparison of the two editions makes it, moreover, clear that Berni's MS. had been garbled, and the autograph probably put out of the way before the publication of the poem.

Who is to be held responsible for this fraud? Who was the presumptuous enemy who did such injury to Berni? Panizzi, so far back as 1830, pointed out that Giovanni Alberto Albicante took some part in preparing the edition of 1541-2. This man prefixed sonnets written by himself to the rifacimento; "whence we might conclude that he was the editor."[475] Signor Virgili, to whose researches attention has already been directed, proved further by references to Pietro Aretino's correspondence that this old enemy of Berni had a hand in the same work. Writing to Francesco Calvo from Venice on February 16, 1540, Aretino approaches the subject of the rifacimento in these words:[476] "Our friend Albicante informs me, with reference to the printing of Orlando defamed by Berni, that you are good enough to meet my wishes, for which I thank you.... You will see that, for the sake of your own modesty, you are bound either not to issue the book at all, or else to purge it of all evil-speaking." He then states that it had been his own intention "to emend the Count of Scandiano's Innamoramento, a thing in its kind of heroic beauty, but executed in a trivial style, and expressed with phrases at once plebeian and obsolete." This task he renounced upon reflection that it would bring him no fame to assume the mask of a dead man's labors. In another letter to the same Calvo, dated February 17, 1542, Aretino resumes the subject. Sbernia (so he chooses to call Berni) has been "overwhelmed beneath the ruins he pulled down upon himself by his undoing of the Innamoramento."[477] Now, it is certain that the ruin proclaimed by Aretino did really fall on Berni's labors. In 1545 Lodovico Domenichi published a second rifacimento, far inferior in style to that of Berni, and executed with the slovenliness of a literary hack. But this was several times reprinted, whereas Berni's remained neglected on the shelves of the librarians until the year 1725, when it was republished and welcomed with a storm of exaggerated enthusiasm.

We have therefore reached this conclusion, that Aretino, aided by Albicante, both of them notable literary brigands, contrived to send a mutilated version of the rifacimento to press, with a view of doing irreparable mischief to Berni's reputation.[478] We have also seen that there was something dangerous in Berni's work, described by Aretino as maldicentia, which he held as a threat over the Milanese publisher. Lastly, Giunta recognized too late that he had made himself the party to some act of malice by issuing a garbled copy. Aretino had, we know, a private grudge to satisfy. He could not forget the castigation he received at Berni's hands, in the sonnet which has been already described. The hatred subsisting between the two men had been further exasperated by the different parts they took in a literary duel. Antonio Broccardo, a young Venetian scholar, attacked Pietro Bembo's fame at Padua in 1530, and attempted to raise allies against the great dictator. Aretino took up the cudgels for Bembo, and assailed Broccardo with vehement abuse and calumny. Berni ranged himself upon Broccardo's side. The quarrel ended in Broccardo's death under suspicious circumstances in 1531 at Padua. He was, indeed, said to have been killed by Aretino.[479] Berni died mysteriously at Florence four years later, and Aretino caused his rifacimento, "purged of evil-speaking," to be simultaneously published at Venice and Milan.

The question still remains to be asked how Aretino, Berni's avowed enemy, obtained possession of the MS. Berni had many literary friends. Yet none of them came forward to avert the catastrophe. None of them undertook the publication of his remains. His last work was produced, not at Florence, where he lived and died, but at Venice; and Albicante, Aretino's tool, was editor. In the present state of our knowledge it is impossible to answer this question authoritatively. Considerable light, however, is thrown upon the mystery by a pamphlet published in 1554 by the heretic Vergerio. He states that Berni undertook his rifacimento with the view of diffusing Protestant doctrines in a popular and unobtrusive form; but that the craft of the devil, or in other words the policy of the Church, effected its suppression at the very moment when it was finished and all but printed.[480] Here, then, we seem to find some missing links in the dark chain of intrigue. Aretino's phrase maldicentia is explained; his menace to Francesco Calvo becomes intelligible; the silence of Berni's friends can be accounted for; and the agency by which the MS. was placed in Albicante's hands, can be at least conjectured. As a specimen of Berni's Lutheran propaganda, Vergerio subjoins eighteen stanzas, written in the poet's purest style, which were addressed to Battista Sanga, and which formed the induction to the twentieth Canto. This induction, as it stands in Berni's Innamorato, is reduced to seven stanzas, grossly garbled and deformed in diction. Very few of the original lines have been retained, and those substituted are full of vulgarisms.[481] From a comparison of the original supplied by Vergerio with the mutilated version, the full measure of the mischief practiced upon Berni's posthumous work can be gauged. Furthermore, it must be noticed that these compromising eighteen stanzas contained the names of several men alive in Italy, all of whom were therefore interested in their suppression, or precluded from exposing the fraud.

The inference I am inclined to draw from Signor Virgili's researches, combined with Vergerio's pamphlet, is that the Church interfered to prevent the publication of Berni's heretical additions to Boiardo's poem. Berni's sudden death, throwing his affairs into confusion at the moment when he was upon the point of finishing the business, afforded an excellent occasion to his ecclesiastical and personal opponents, who seem to have put some pressure on his kinsmen to obtain the MS. or the sheets they meant to mutilate.[482] The obnoxious passages may have been denounced by Aretino; for we know that he was intimate with Vergerio, and it is more than probable that the verses to Sanga were already in circulation.[483] Aretino, strange to say, was regarded in clerical quarters as a pillar of the Church. He therefore found it in his power to wreak his vengeance on an enemy at the same time that he posed as a defender of the faith. That he was allowed to control the publication, appears from his letters to Calvo; and he confided the literary part of the business to Albicante. His threats to Calvo have reference to Berni's heresy, and the maldicentia may possibly have been the eighteen stanzas addressed to Sanga. The terror of the Inquisition reduced Berni's friends to silence. Aretino, even if he had not denounced Berni to the Church, had now identified himself with the crusade against his poem, and he was capable of ruining opponents in this unequal contest by charges they would have found it impossible to refute. The eighteen stanzas were addressed to a secretary of Clement VII.; and men of note like Molza, Flamminio, Navagero, Fondulo, Fregoso, were distinctly named in them. If, then, there is any cogency in the conclusions I have drawn from various sources, Berni's poem, and perhaps his life, was sacrificed to theological hatred in combination with Aretino's personal malice. The unaccountable inactivity of his friends is explained by their dread of being entangled in a charge of heresy.[484]

Enough has been already said about Berni's imitators in the burlesque style. Of satire in the strict sense of the term, the poets of the sixteenth century produced nothing that is worth consideration. The epistolary form introduced by Ariosto, and the comic caprices rendered fashionable by Berni, determined the compositions of Pietro Aretino, of Ercole Bentivoglio, of Luigi Alamanni, of Antonio Vinciguerra, of Giovanni Andrea dell'Anguillara, of Cesare Caporali, and of the minor versifiers whose occasional poems in terza rima, seasoned with more or less satirical intention, are usually reckoned among the satires of the golden age.[485] Personal vituperation poured forth in the heat of literary quarrels, scarcely deserves the name of satire. Else it might be necessary in this place to mention Niccolò Franco's sonnets on Pietro Aretino, or the far more elegant compositions of Annibale Caro directed against his enemy Castelvetro.[486] Models for this species of poetical abuse had been already furnished by the sonnets exchanged between Luigi Pulci and Matteo Franco in a more masculine age of Italian literature.[487] It is not, however, incumbent upon the historian to resuscitate the memory of those forgotten and now unimportant duels. The present allusion to them may suffice to corroborate the opinion already stated that, while the Italians of the Renaissance were ingenious in burlesque, and virulent in personal invective, they lacked the earnestness of moral conviction, the indignation, and the philosophic force that generate real satire.

CHAPTER XV.

PIETRO ARETINO.

Aretino's Place in Italian Literature and Society—His Birth and Boyhood—Goes to Rome—In the Service of Agostino Chigi—At Mantua—Gradual Emergence into Celebrity—The Incident of Giulio Romano's Postures—Giovanni delle Bande Nere—Aretino settles at Venice—The Mystery of his Influence—Discerns the Power of the Press—Satire on the Courts—Magnificent Life—Aretino's Wealth—His Tributary Princes—Bullying and Flattery—The Divine Aretino—His Letter to Vittoria Colonna—To Michelangelo—His Admiration of Artists—Relations with Men of Letters—Epistle to Bernardo Tasso—His Lack of Learning—Disengagement from Puristic Prejudices—Belief in his own Powers—Rapidity of Composition—His Style—Originality and Independence—Prologue to Talanta—Bohemian Comrades—Niccolò Franco—Quarrel with Doni—Aretino's Literary Influence—His Death—The Anomaly of the Renaissance—Estimate of Aretino's Character.

PIETRO ARETINO, as I have already had occasion to observe, is a representative name in the history of Italian literature. It is almost as impossible to slur him over with a passing notice as it would be to dwell but casually upon Machiavelli or Ariosto, Cellini or Poliziano, in reviewing the Renaissance. Base in character, coarse in mental fiber, unworthy to rank among real artists, notwithstanding his undoubted genius, Aretino was the typical ruffian of an age which brought ruffianism to perfection, welcomed it when successful, bowed to its insolence, and viewed it with complacent toleration in the highest places of Church, State, and letters. He was the condottiere of the pen in a society which truckled to the Borgias. He embodied the infamy and cowardice which lurked beneath the braveries of Italian Court-life—the coarseness of speech which contradicted literary purism—the cynicism and gross strength of appetite for which convention was a flimsy veil.[488] The man himself incarnated the dissolution of Italian culture. His works, for the student of that period, are an anti-mask to the brilliant display of Ariosto's or of Tasso's puppets. It is the condemnation of Italy that we are forced to give this prominence to Aretino. If we place Poliziano or Guicciardini, Bembo or La Casa, Bandello or Firenzuola, Cellini or Berni, Paolo Giovio or Lodovico Dolce—typical men of letters chosen from the poets, journalists, historians, thinkers, artists, novel-writers of the age—under the critical microscope, we find in each and all of them a tincture of Aretino. It is because he emphasizes and brings into relief one master element of the Renaissance, that he deserves the rank assigned to him. In Athens Aristophanes is named together with Sophocles, Thucydides and Plato, because, with genius equal to theirs, he represented the comic antithesis to tragedy, philosophy and history. In Italy Aretino is classed with Machiavelli and Ariosto for a different reason. His lower nature expressed, not an antithesis, but a quality, which, in spite of intellectual and moral superiority, they possessed in common with him, which he exhibited in arrogant abundance, and which cannot be omitted from the survey of his century. The alloy of cynicism in Machiavelli, his sordid private pleasures, his perverse admiration for Cesare Borgia, his failure to recognize the power of goodness in the world, condemn him to the company of this triumvir. The profligacy of genius in Ariosto, his waste of divine gifts upon trifles, his lack of noble sentiment, his easy acquiescence in conditions of society against which he should have uttered powerful protest, consign him, however undeservedly, to the same association.[489]

Pietro was born at Arezzo in 1492. His reputed father was a nobleman of that city, named Luigi Bacci. His mother, Tita, was a woman of the town, whose portrait, painted as the Virgin of the Annunciation, adorned the church-door of S. Pietro. The boy, "born," as he afterwards boasted, "in a hospital with the spirit of a king," passed his childhood at Arezzo with his mother. He had no education but what he may have picked up among the men who frequented Tita's house, or the artists who employed her as a model. Of Greek and Latin he learned nothing either now or afterwards. Before growing to man's estate, he had to quit his native city—according to one account because he composed and uttered a ribald sonnet on indulgences, according to another because he robbed his mother. He escaped to Perugia, and gained his livelihood by binding books. Here he made acquaintance with Firenzuola, as appears from a letter of the year 1541, in which he alludes to their youthful pranks together at the University. One of Aretino's exploits at Perugia became famous. "Having noticed in a place of much resort upon the public square a picture, in which the Magdalen was represented at the feet of Christ, with extended arms and in an attitude of passionate grief, he went privily and painted in a lute between her hands." From Perugia he trudged on foot to Rome, and entered the service of Agostino Chigi, under whose patronage he made himself useful to the Medici, remaining in the retinue of both Leo X. and Clement VII. between 1517 and 1524. This period of seven years formed the man's character; and it would be interesting to know for certain what his employment was. Judging by the graphic descriptions he has left us of the Roman Court in his comedy of the Cortigiana and his dialogue De le Corti, and also by his humble condition in Perugia, we have reason to believe that he occupied at first the post of lackey, rising gradually by flattery and baser arts to the position of a confidential domestic, half favorite, half servant.[490] That he possessed extraordinary social qualities, and knew how to render himself agreeable by witty conversation and boon companionship, is obvious from the whole course of his subsequent history. It is no less certain that he allowed neither honor nor self-respect to interfere with his advancement by means which cannot be described in detail, but which opened the readiest way to favor in that profligate society of Rome. His own enormous appetite for sensual enjoyment, his cynicism, and his familiarity with low life in all its forms, rendered him the congenial associate of a great man's secret pleasures, the convenient link of communication between the palace and the stews.[491]

Yet though Pietro resided at this time principally in Rome, he had by no means a fixed occupation, and his life was interrupted by frequent wanderings. He is said to have left Agostino Chigi's service, because he stole a silver cup. He is also said to have taken the cowl in a Capuchin convent at Ravenna, and to have thrown his frock to the nettles on the occasion of Leo's election to the Papacy. We hear of him parading in the Courts of Lombardy, always on the lookout for patronage, supporting himself by what means is unapparent, but gradually pushing his way to fame and fashion, loudly asserting his own claims to notice, and boasting of each new favor he received. Here is a characteristic glimpse into his nomadic mode of life:[492] "I am now in Mantua with the Marquis, and am held by him in so high favor that he leaves off sleeping and eating to converse with me, and says he has no other pleasure in life; and he has written to the Cardinal about me things that will not fail to help me greatly to my credit. I have also received a present of 300 crowns. He has assigned to me the very same apartment which Francesco Maria, Duke of Urbino, occupied when he was in exile; and has appointed a steward to preside over my table, where I always have some noblemen of rank. In a word, more could not be done for the entertainment of the greatest prince. Besides, the whole Court worships me. Happy are they who can boast of having got a verse from me. My lord has had all the poems ever writ by me copied, and I have made some in his praise. So I pass my life here, and every day get some gift, grand things which you shall see at Arezzo. But it was at Bologna they began to make me presents. The Bishop of Pisa had a robe of black satin embroidered with gold cut for me; nothing could be handsomer. So I came like a prince to Mantua. Everybody calls me 'Messere' and 'Signore.' I think this Easter we shall be at Loreto, where the Marquis goes to perform a vow; and on this journey I shall be able to satisfy the Dukes of Ferrara and Urbino, both of whom have expressed the desire to make my acquaintance."

On the election of Clement VII., Pietro returned to Rome with a complimentary sonnet in his pocket for the new Pope. He had now acquired an Italian reputation, and was able to keep the state of an independent gentleman, surrounded by a band of disreputable hangers-on, the bardassonacci, paggi da taverna, of Berni's satirical sonnet. But a misfortune obliged him suddenly to decamp. Giulio Romano had designed a series of obscene figures, which Marcantonio Raimondi engraved, and Aretino illustrated by sixteen sonnets, describing and commenting upon the lewdness of each picture. Put in circulation, these works of immodest art roused the indignation of the Roman prelates, who, though they complacently listened to Berni's Pesche or La Casa's Forno behind the closed doors of a literary club, disliked the scandal of publicity. Raimondi was imprisoned; Giulio Romano went in the service of the Marquis of Mantua to build the famous Palazzo del Te; and Aretino discreetly retired from Rome for a season. Of the three accomplices in this act of high treason against art, Aretino was undoubtedly the guiltiest. Yet he had the impudence to defend his sonnets in 1537, and to address them with a letter of dedication, unmatched for its parade of shamelessness, to Messer Battista Zatti of Brescia.[493] In this epistle he takes credit to himself for having procured the engraver's pardon and liberation from Clement VII. However this may be, he fell in 1524 under the special ban of Monsignor Giberti's displeasure, and had to take refuge with Giovanni de' Medici delle Bande Nere.[494] This famous general was a wild free-liver. He conceived a real affection for Aretino, made him the sharer in his debaucheries, gave him a place even in his own bed, and listened with rapture to his indecent improvisations. Aretino's fortune was secured. It was discovered that he had the art of pleasing princes. He knew exactly how to season his servility with freedom, how to flatter the great man by pandering to his passions and tickling his vanity, while he added the pungent sauce of satire and affected bluntness. Il gran Diavolo, as Giovanni de' Medici was called, introduced Aretino to Francis I., and promised, if fortune favored him, to make the adventurer master of his native town, Arezzo.[495]

Aretino's intercourse with these powerful protectors was broken by a short visit to Rome, where he seems to have made peace with the prelates. It was probably inconvenient to protract hostilities against a man who had gained the friendship of a King of France and of the greatest Italian condottiere of his age. But fortune had ceased to smile on our hero in Rome. It so happened that he wrote a ribald sonnet on a scullion-wench in the service of Monsignor Giberti, to whom a certain Achille della Volta was at the same time paying his addresses. The bravo avenged this insult to his mistress by waylaying Aretino in the Trastevere and stabbing him several times in the breast and hands. When Aretino recovered from his wounds, he endeavored in vain to get justice against Achille. The Pope and his Datary refused to interfere in this ignoble quarrel. Aretino once more retired from Rome, vowing vengeance against Clement, whom he defamed to the best of his ability in scurrilous libels and calumnious conversation.[496]

He now remained with Giovanni de' Medici until that general's death in 1526. The great captain died in Aretino's arms at Mantua from the effect of a wound inflicted by an unknown harquebuss in Frundsperg's army.[497] This accident decided Aretino to place no further reliance on princely patronage. He was thirty-two years of age, and had acquired a singular reputation throughout Italy for social humor, pungent wit and literary ability. Though deficient in personal courage, as the affair of Achille della Volta proved, he contrived to render himself formidable by reckless evil-speaking; and while he had no learning and no style, he managed to pass for a writer of distinction. How he attained this position in an age of purists, remains a puzzle; we possess nothing which explains the importance attached to his compositions at this early period. His sonnets had made what the French call a success of scandal; and the libertines who protected him, were less particular about literary elegance than eager to be amused. If we inquire minutely into the circumstances of Aretino's career, we find that he had worked himself into favor with a set of princes—the Marquis of Mantua, the Dukes of Ferrara and Urbino, Giovanni de' Medici, and the King of France—who were powerful enough to confer fashion upon an adventurer, and to place him in a position where it would be perilous to contest his claims, but who were not eminent for literary taste. In the Court of the two Medici at Rome, who exacted more scholarship and refinement than Aretino possessed, he never gained firm footing; and this was perhaps the chief reason of his animosity against Clement. He had in fact become the foremost parasite, the wittiest and most brilliant companion of debauch, in the less cultivated Italian Courts. This reputation he now resolved to use for his own profit. From the moment when he retired to Venice in 1527, resolved to support himself by literary work, until his death, in 1557, he enjoyed a princely income, levying tribute on kings and nobles, living with prodigal magnificence, corresponding with the most illustrious men of all nations, and dictating his own terms to the society he alternately flattered and insulted. The history of these last thirty years, which may be clearly read in the six bulky volumes of his published correspondence, and in the four volumes of letters written to him, is one of the most extraordinary instances on record of celebrity and power acquired by calculated imposture and audacious brigandism.[498]

Aretino showed prudence in the choice of Venice for his fixed abode. In Venice there was greater liberty both of life and speech than elsewhere at that time in Italy. So long as a man refrained from politics and offered no cause of suspicion to the State, he might do and publish pretty much what he chose, without fear of interference and without any serious peril from the Inquisition. For a filibuster of Aretino's type, Venice offered precisely the most advantageous harbor, whence he could make sallies and predatory excursions, and whither he might always return to rest at ease beneath the rampart of a proud political indifference. His greatness consisted in the accurate measure he had taken of the society upon which he now intended to live by literary speculation. His acute common sense enabled him to comprehend the power of the press, which had not as yet been deliberately used as a weapon of offense and an instrument of extortion. We have seen in another portion of this book how important a branch of literature the invectives of the humanists had been, how widely they were read, and what an impression they produced upon society. The diatribes of Poggio and Filelfo circulated in manuscript; but now the press was in full working order, and Aretino perceived that he might make a livelihood by printing threats and libels mixed with eulogies and personal panegyrics. The unwieldy three-decker of the invective should be reduced to the manageable form of the epistolary torpedo and gunboat. To propagate calumnies and to render them imperishable by printing was the menace he addressed to society. He calculated wisely on the uneasiness which the occasional appearance of stinging pamphlets, fully charged with personalities, would produce among the Italians, who were nothing if not a nation of readers at this epoch. At the same time he took measures to secure his own safety. Professing himself a good Christian, he liberally seasoned his compositions with sacred names; and, though he had no more real religion than Fra Timoteo in Machiavelli's Mandragola he published pious romances under the titles of I tre libri della Humanità di Christo, I Sette Salmi de la penitentia di David, Il Genesi di Pietro Aretino, La Vita di Catherina Vergine, La Vita di Maria Vergine, La Vita di S. Tommaso Signor d'Aquino. These books, proceeding from the same pen as the Sonetti lussuriosi and the pornographic Ragionamenti, were an insult to piety. Still they served their author for a shield, behind which he shot the arrows of his calumnies, and carried on the more congenial game of making money by pandering to the licentiousness or working on the cowardice of the wealthy.[499]

Aretino, who was able to boast that he had just refused a flattering invitation from the Marquis of Montferrat, was received with honor by the State of Venice. Soon after his arrival he wrote thus to the Doge Andrea Gritti:[500] "I, who, in the liberty of so great and virtuous a commonwealth, have now learned what it is to be free, reject Courts henceforth for ever, and here make my abiding tabernacle for the years that yet remain to me; for here there is no place for treason, here favor cannot injure right, here the cruelty of prostitutes exerts no sway, here the insolence of the effeminate is powerless to command, here there is no robbing, no violence to the person, no assassination. Wherefore I, who have stricken terror into kings, I, who have restored confidence to virtuous men, give myself to you, fathers of your people, brothers of your servants, sons of truth, friends of virtue, companions of the stranger, pillars of religion, observers of your word, executors of justice, treasuries of charity, and subjects of clemency." Then follows a long tirade in the same stilted style upon the majesty of Venice. The Doge took Aretino by the hand, reconciled him with Clement and the Bishop of Verona, and assured him of protection, so long as the illustrious author chose to make the city of the lagoons his home. Luigi Gritti, the Doge's son, assigned him a pension; and though invitations came from foreign Courts, Aretino made his mind up to remain at Venice. He knew that the very singularity of his resolve, in an age when men of letters sought the patronage of princely houses, would enable him to play the game he had in view. Nor could he forget the degradation he had previously undergone in courtly service. "Only let me draw breath outside that hell! Ah! your Court! your Court! To my mind a gondolier here is better off than a chamberlain there. Look you at yonder poor waiting man, tortured by the cold, consumed by the heat, standing at his master's pleasure—where is the fire to warm him? where is the water to refresh him? When he falls ill, what chamber, what stable, what hospital will take him in? Rain, snow, mud! Faugh, it murders a man to ride in such weather with his patron or upon his errands. Think how cruel it is to have to show a beard grown in the service of mere boys, how abject are white hairs, when youth and manhood have been spent in idling around tables, antechamber doors, and privies? Here I sit when I am tired; when I am hungry, eat; when I feel the inclination, sleep; and all the hours are obedient to my will."[501] He revels in the sense of his own freedom. "My sincerity, and my virtue, which never could stomach the lies that bolster up the Court of Rome, nor the vices that reign in it, have found favor in the eyes of all the princes of the world. Emperors, thank God, are not Popes, nor Kings Cardinals! Therefore I enjoy their generosity, instead of courting that hypocrisy of priests, which acts the bawd and pander to our souls. Look at Chieti, the parasite of penitence! Look at Verona, the buffoon of piety! They at least have solved the doubts in which their ambitious dissimulation held those who believed that the one would not accept the hat, and the other was not scheming for it. I meanwhile praise God for being what I am. The hatred of slaves, the rancors of ambition no longer hem me round. I rob no man's time. I take no delight in seeing my neighbors go naked through the world. Nay, I share with them the very shirts off my back, the crust of bread upon my plate. My servant-girls are my daughters, my lackeys are my brothers. Peace is the pomp of my chambers, and liberty the majordomo of my palace. I feast daily off bread and gladness; and, wishing not to be of more importance than I am, live by the sweat of my ink, the luster of which has never been extinguished by the blasts of malignity or the mists of envy."[502] At another time he breaks into jubilant descriptions of his own magnificence and popularity. "I swear to you by the wings of Pegasus that, much as may have reached your ears, you have not heard one half the hymn of my celebrity. Medals are coined in my honor; medals of gold, of silver, of brass, of lead, of stucco. My features are carved along the fronts of palaces. My portrait is stamped upon comb-cases, engraved on mirror-handles, painted on majolica. I am a second Alexander, Cæsar, Scipio. Nay more: I tell you that some kinds of glasses they make at Murano, are called Aretines. Aretine is the name given to a breed of cobs—after one Pope Clement sent me and I gave to Duke Frederick. They have christened the little canal that runs beside my house upon the Canalozzo, Rio Aretino. And, to make the pedants burst with rage, besides talking of the Aretine style, three wenches of my household, who have left me and become ladies, will have themselves known only as the Aretines."[503]

These self-congratulations were no idle vaunts. His palace on the Grand Canal was crowded with male and female servants, thronged with visitors, crammed with costly works of art and presents received from every part of Italy and Europe. The choicest wines and the most exquisite viands—rare birds, delicate fruits, and vegetables out of season—arrived by special messengers to furnish forth his banquets. Here he kept open house, enjoying the society of his two bosom friends, Titian and Sansovino, entertaining the magnificent Venetian prostitutes, and welcoming the men of fashion or of learning who made long journeys to visit him.[504] "If I only spent in composition one third of the time I fling away, the printers would do nothing but attend to the issuing of my works. And yet I could not write so much if I would; so enormous is the multitude which comes incessantly to see me. I am often forced to fly from my own house, and leave the concourse to take care of itself."[505] "So many lords and gentlemen are eternally breaking in upon me with their importunities, that my stairs are worn by their feet like the Capitol with wheels of triumphal chariots. Turks, Jews, Indians, Frenchmen, Germans, Spaniards, flock to see me. You can fancy how many Italians come! I say nothing about the common folk. You could not find me without a flock of friars and priests. I have come to be the Oracle of Truth, the Secretary of the Universe: everybody brings me the tale of his injury by this prince or that prelate."[506] This sumptuous train of life demanded a long purse, and Aretino had nothing but his brains to live by. Yet, by the sale of his books and the contributions levied on great folk, he accumulated a yearly income sufficient to his needs. "Thanks to their Majesties of Spain and France, with the addition of a hundred crowns of pension allowed me by the Marquis of Vasto, and the same amount paid by the Prince of Salerno, I have six hundred crowns of fixed income, besides the thousand or thereabouts I make yearly with a quire of paper and a bottle of ink."[507] In another place he says that in the course of eighteen years "the alchemy of his pen had drawn over twenty-five thousand crowns from the entrails of various princes."[508] It was computed that, during his lifetime, he levied blackmail to the extent of about 70,000 crowns, or considerably more than a million of francs, without counting his strictly professional earnings. All this wealth he spent as soon as he laid hands upon it, boasting loudly of his prodigality, as though it were a virtue. He dressed splendidly, and denied himself no sensual indulgence. His house contained a harem of women, devoted to his personal pleasures and those, apparently, of his familiar friends. He had many illegitimate daughters, whom he dowered. Moreover, he was liberal to poor people; and while squandering money first upon his vices, he paid due attention to his reputation for generosity.[509] The bastard of Arezzo vaunted he had been born in a hospital with the soul of a king.[510] Yet he understood nothing of real magnanimity; his charity was part of an openhanded recklessness, which made him fling the goods of fortune to the wind as soon as gained—part of the character of grand seigneur he aspired to assume.[511]

It would fatigue the patience of the reader to furnish forth a complete list of the presents made to Aretino and acknowledged by him in his correspondence. Chains, jewels, horses, pictures, costly stuffs, cups, mirrors, delicacies of the table, wines—nothing came amiss to him; and the more he received, the more he cried continually, give, give, give! There was hardly a reigning prince in Europe, hardly a noble of distinction in Italy, who had not sent some offering to his shrine. The Sultan Soliman, the pirate Barbarossa, the Pope, the Emperor, were among his tributaries.[512] The Empress gave him a golden collar worth three hundred crowns. Philip, Infante of Spain, presented him with another worth four hundred. Francis I. bestowed on him a still more costly chain, wrought of pure gold, from which hung a row of red enameled tongues, bearing the inscription Lingua ejus loquetur mendacium. Aretino received these presents from the hands of embassadors, and wore them when he sat to Titian or to Tintoretto for his portrait. Instead of resenting the equivocal compliment of the French king's motto, he gloried in it. Lies, no less than flattery, were among the openly-avowed weapons of his armory.[513] Upon the medals struck in his honor he styled himself Divus P. Aretinus, Flagellum Principum, the Divine Pietro Aretino, Scourge of Princes. Another inscription ran as follows: I Principi tributati dai popoli il Servo loro tributano—Princes who levy tribute from their people, bring tribute to their servant. And there is Aretino seated on a throne, with noble clients laying golden vases at his feet.[514]

It is incredible that arrogance so palpable should have been tolerated, inconceivable how such a braggart exercised this fascination. What had Emperors and Kings to gain or lose by Aretino's pen? What was the secret of his power? No satisfactory answer has yet been given to these questions. The enigma does not, indeed, admit of solution. We have to deal in Aretino's case with a blind movement among "the better vulgar," expressing itself as fashion; and nothing is more difficult to fathom than the fashion of a bygone age.[515] The prestige which attached itself to people like Cagliostro or S. Germains or Beau Nash is quite incalculable. Yet some account may be rendered of what seems to have been Aretino's method. He assiduously cultivated a reputation for reckless freedom of speech. He loudly trumpeted his intention of speaking evil when and where it pleased him. He proclaimed himself the champion of veracity, asserted that nothing was so damnatory as the truths he had to tell, and announced himself the "Censor of the world," the foe of vice, the defender of virtue. Having occupied the ear of society by these preliminary fanfaronnades, he proceeded to satirize the Courts in general, and to vilify the manners of princes, without mentioning any in particular.[516] It thus came to be believed that Aretino was a dangerous person, a writer it would be wiser to have upon one's side, and who, if he were not coaxed into good humor, might say something eminently disagreeable.[517] There was pungency enough in his epigrams, in the slashing, coarse, incisive brutality of his style, to make his attack formidable. People shrank from it, as they now shrink from articles in certain libelous weekly papers. Aretino was recognized as a Cerberus, to whom sops should be thrown. Accordingly, the custom began of making him presents and conferring on him pensions. Then it was discovered that if he used a pen dipped in vitriol for his enemies, he had in reserve a pen of gold for his patrons, from which the gross mud-honey of flatteries incessantly trickled.[518] To send him a heavy fee was the sure way of receiving an adulatory epistle, in which the Scourge of Princes raised his benefactor of the moment to the skies. In a word, Aretino's art consisted in making each patron believe that the vigilant satirist of other people's vices bestowed just eulogy on him alone, and that his praises were wrung from the mouth of truth by singular and exceptional merit. The fact is that though Aretino corresponded with all the princes of Europe and with at least thirty Cardinals, his letters are nothing but a series of the grossest flatteries. There is a hint here and there that the benefactor had better loosen his purse strings, if he wishes the stream of sycophancy to continue. When Cerberus has been barking long without a sop, we hear an angry growl, a menace, a curt and vicious snarl for gold.[519] But no sooner has the gift been sent, than the fawning process recommences. In this way, by terrorism and toad-eating, by wheedling and bullying, by impudent demands for money and no less impudent assertions of his power to confer disgrace or fame, the rascal held society at his disposal. He boasted, and not without reason, that from his study in Venice he could move the world by a few lines scribbled on a piece of paper with his pen. What remains inconceivable, is that any value should have been attached to his invectives or his panegyrics—that persons of distinction should have paid him for the latter, and have stooped to deprecate the former. But it had become the fashion to be afraid of Aretino, the fashion to court his goodwill, the fashion to parade his praises. Francis I. and Charles V. led this vogue. The other princes followed suit. Charles wished to knight Aretino: but the adventurer refused a barren honor. Julius III. made him knight of S. Peter with a small pension. Henry VIII. sent him a purse of 300 crowns for a dedicatory epistle.[520] It was even talked of elevating him to the rank of Cardinal, and engrossing his talents for the service of the Church.[521] Nobody thought of addressing him without the prefix of Divino.[522] And yet, all this while, it was known to every one in Italy that Aretino was a pander, a coward, a liar, a debauchee, who had wallowed in every lust, sold himself to work all wickedness, and speculated on the grossest passions, the basest curiosities, the vilest vices of his age.[523]

Sometimes he met with men stout enough to treat him as he deserved. The English embassador at Venice cudgeled him within an inch of his life. Pietro Strozzi threatened to assassinate him if he showed his face abroad, and Aretino kept close so long as the condottiere remained in Venice. Tintoretto offered to paint his portrait; and when he had got the fellow inside his studio, grimly took his measure with a cutlass. Aretino never resented these insults. Bully as he was, he bowed to blows, and kissed the hand that dared to strike him. We have already seen how he waited till Berni's death before he took revenge for the famous sonnet. All this makes the general adulation of society for the "divine Aretino" the more unintelligible. We can only compare the treatment he received with the mingled contempt and flattery, the canings and the invitations, showered at the present time on editors of scandal-mongering journals.

The miracle of Aretino's dictatorship is further enhanced by the fact that he played with cards upon the table. His epistles were continually being printed—in fact, were sent to the press as soon as written. Here all the world could see the workings of his mind, his hypocrisies, his contradictions, the clamorousness of his demands for gold, the grossness and universality of his flatteries, his cynical obscenity, his simulation of a superficial and disgusting piety. Yet the more he published of his correspondence, the louder was the acclamation of society. The charlatan of genius knew his public, and won their favor by effronteries that would have ruined a more cautious impostor. Some of his letters are masterpieces of infernal malice. The Marchioness of Pescara had besought him to change his mode of life, and to dedicate his talents only to religion.[524] This is how he answers her:[525] "It gives me pleasure, most modest lady, that the religious pieces I have written do not displease the taste of your good judgment. Your doubt, whether to praise me or to dispraise me for expending my talents on aught else than sacred studies, is prompted by that most excellent spirit which moves you to desire that every thought and every word should turn toward God, forasmuch as He is the giver of virtue and of intellectual power. I confess that I am less useful to the world, and less acceptable to Christ, when I exhaust my studious energies on lying trifles, and not on the eternal verities. But all this evil is caused by the pleasure of others, and by my own necessities; for if the princes were as truly pious as I am indigent, I would employ my pen on nothing else but Misereres. Excellent my lady, all men are not gifted with the graces of divine inspiration. They are ever burning with lustful desires, while you are every hour inflamed with angelic fire. For you the services of the Church and sermons are what music and comedies are for them. You would not turn your eyes to look at Hercules upon his pyre, nor yet on Marsyas without his skin: while they would hardly keep a S. Lawrence on the gridiron or a flayed Bartholomew in their bedroom. There's my bosom friend Bruciolo; five years ago he dedicated his Bible to the King, who calls himself Most Christian, and yet he has not had an answer. Perhaps the book was neither well translated nor well bound. On this account my Cortigiana, which drew from his Majesty the famous chain of gold, abstained from laughing at his Old Testament; for this would be indecent. So you see I ought to be excused if I compose jests for my livelihood and not for evil purpose. Anyhow, may Jesus inspire you with the thought of paying me through M. Sebastiano of Pesaro—from whom I received your thirty crowns—the rest, which I owe, upon my word and honor. From Venice. The 9th of January, 1537."

This letter, one long tissue of sneers, taunts and hypocritical sarcasms, gives the complete measure of Aretino's arrogance. Yet the illustrious and pious lady to whom it was addressed, suffered the writer—such was this man's unaccountable prestige—to remain her correspondent. The collection of his letters contains several addressed to Vittoria Colonna, of which the date is subsequent to 1537.[526] Not less remarkable were Aretino's dealings with the proud, resentful, solitary Michelangelo. Professing the highest admiration for Buonarroti's genius, averring that "the world has many kings but one only Michelangelo," Aretino wrote demanding drawings from the mighty sculptor, and giving him advice about his pictures in the Sistine. Instead of treating these impertinent advances with silence or sending a well-merited rebuff, we have a letter from Michelangelo addressed to "M. Pietro, my lord and brother," requesting the dictator to write something concerning him:[527] "Not only do I hold this dear, but I implore you to do so, since kings and emperors regard it as the height of favor to be mentioned by your pen." Was this the depth of humility, or the acme of irony, or was it the acquiescence of a noble nature in a fashion too prevalent to be examined by the light of reason? Let those decide who have read a portion of Aretino's letters to his "singularly divine Buonaruoto." For my own part, in spite of their strange but characteristic fusion of bullying and servility, I find in these epistles a trace of Aretino's most respectable quality—his worship of art, and his personal attachment to great artists. It may be said in passing that he never shows so well as in the epistles to Sansovino and Titian, men from whom he could gain but indirectly, and to whom he clung by an instinct of what was truest and sincerest in his nature. It is, therefore, not improbable that Michelangelo gave him credit for sincerity, and, instead of resenting his importunity, was willing to accept his advances in a kindly spirit.[528]

Thus far we have been dealing with Aretino's relation to sovereigns, ladies, and people of importance in the world of art. That he should have imposed upon them is singular. But his position in the republic of letters offers still stranger food for reflection. In an age of literary refinement and classical erudition, this untaught child of the people arrogated to himself the fame of a prominent author, and had his claims acknowledged by men like Bembo, Varchi, Molza, Sperone.[529] All the Academies in Italy made him their member with extraordinary honors, and he corresponded with every writer of distinction. He treated the scholars of his day as he treated the princes of Italy, abusing them collectively for pedantry, and showering the epithets of divino, divinissimo, upon them individually. With his usual sagacity, Aretino saw how to command the public by running counter to the prejudices of his century, and proclaiming his independence of its principles. He resolved to win celebrity by contrast, by piquancy of style, by the assertion of his individual character, by what Machiavelli termed virtù. As he had boasted of the baseness of his origin, so now he piqued himself upon his ignorance. He made a parade of knowing neither Latin nor Greek, derided the puristic veneration for Petrarch and Boccaccio then in vogue, and asserted that his mother-wit was the best source of inspiration. This audacity proved successful. While the stylists of the day were polishing their labored periods to smoothness, he expressed such thoughts as occurred to him in the words which came first to hand, seeking only vivacity, relief and salience. He wrote as he talked; and the result was that he acquired a well-won reputation for freshness, wit, originality and vigor. This is how he dictates the terms of epistolary style to Bernardo Tasso:[530] "I, who am more your brother in benevolence than you show yourself to be my friend in honor, did not believe that the serenity of my mind would ever again be dimmed by those clouds, which, after thunders and lightnings, burst in the bolt that sent Antonio Broccardo beneath the earth. Pride and vanity, for certain, prompted you to tell the excellent and illustrious Annibale Caro that no writer of letters is worthy to be imitated at the present day, sagaciously hinting at yourself as the right man to be imitated. Without doubt, your inordinate self-love, combined with your inattention to the claims of others, brought your judgment to this pass. I published letters before you, and you borrowed your style, in so far as it is worth anything, from me. Yet you cannot produce even a counterfeit of my manner. My sentences and similes are made to live; yours issue stillborn from your mind. It is time that you copy a few of my familiar phrases, word by word. What else can you do? Your own taste is rather inclined to the scent of flowers than the savor of fruits. You have the graces of a certain celestial style, fit for epithalamial odes and hymns. But all that sweetness is out of place in epistles, where we want the salience of invention, not the illuminated arabesques of artifice. I am not going to sing my own praises, nor to tell you that men of merit ought to mark my birthday with white chalk—I, who without scouring the post-roads, without following Courts, without stirring from my study, have made every living duke, prince, sovereign, tributary to my virtue—I, who hold fame at my discretion through the universe—I, whose portrait is revered, whose name is honored in Persia and the Indies. To end this letter, I salute you with the assurance that nobody, so far as your epistles go, blames you for envy's sake, while many, very many, praise you through compassion for your having written them." There was no limit to his literary self-confidence.[531] "Of the three opinions current respecting the talents which keep my name alive, time has refuted that, which, hearing I had no erudition, judged my compositions to be nonsense, together with that other, which, finding in them some gust of genius, affirmed they were not mine. Whence it follows that only one remains, the opinion, to wit, that I, who never had a tutor, am complete in every branch of knowledge. All this comes from the poverty of art, which ever envies the wealth of nature, from whom I borrow my conceptions. Wherefore, if you are of the number of those who, in order to deprive me of nature's favor, attribute to me the learning that comes from study, you deceive yourself, for I swear by God I hardly understand my mother tongue." Meanwhile his tirades against the purists are full of excellent good sense. "O mistaken multitude, I tell you again, and yet again that poetry is a caprice of nature in her moments of gladness; it depends on a man's own inspiration, and if this fails, a poet's singing is but a tambourine without rattles, a bell-tower without bells. He who attempts to write verses without the gift is like the alchemists, who, for all their industry and eager avarice, never yet made gold, while nature, without labor, turns it out in plenty, pure and beautiful. Take lessons from that painter, who, when he was asked whom he imitated, pointed to a crowd of living men, meaning that he borrowed his examples from life and reality. This is what I do, when I write or talk. Nature herself, of whose simplicity I am the secretary, dictates that which I set down."[532] And again: "I laugh at those pedants, who think that learning consists in Greek and Latin, laying down the law that one who does not understand these languages, cannot open his mouth. It is not because I do not know them, that I have departed from Petrarch's and Boccaccio's precedents; but because I care not to lose time, patience, reputation, in the mad attempt to convert myself into their persons. The true aim of writing is to condense into the space of half a page, the length of histories, the tedium of orations; and this my letters clearly show that I have done." "It is far better to drink out of one's own wooden cup than another's golden goblet; and a man makes a finer show in his own rags than in stolen velvets. What have we to do with other people's property?"[533] "What have we to do with words which, however once in common use, have now passed out of fashion?"[534] At times he bursts into a fury of invective against erudition: "Those pedants, the asses of other people's books, who, after massacring the dead, rest not till they have crucified the living! It was pedantry that murdered Duke Alessandro, pedantry that flung the Cardinal of Ravenna into prison, and, what is worse, stirred up heresy against our faith through the mouth of that arch-pedant Luther."[535] This is admirable. It plunges to the very root of the matter. Sharpened by his hostility to the learning he did not share, and the puerile aspects of which he justly satirized, this acute and clairvoyant critic is enabled to perceive that both Italian tyrannicide and German Reformation had their origin in the humanistic movement of the fifteenth century. He is equally averse to either consequence. Erudition spoils sport, stiffens style, breaks in upon the pastimes of the principalities and papacies, which breed the lusts on which an Aretino lives.

It was Aretino's boast that he composed as fast as the pen would move across the paper, and that his study contained no books of reference—nothing but the quire of paper and the bottle of ink, which were necessary to immortalize the thick-crowding fancies of his brain. His comedy of the Filosofo was written in ten mornings; the Talanta and the Ipocrita in "the hours robbed from sleep during perhaps twenty nights."[536] Referring to his earlier fertility in 1537, he says:[537] "Old age begins to stupefy my brains, and love, which ought to wake them up, now sends them off to sleep. I used to turn out forty stanzas in a morning; now I can with difficulty produce one. It took me only seven mornings to compose the Psalms; ten for the Cortigiana and the Marescalco; forty-eight for the two Dialogues; thirty for the Life of Christ." The necessary consequences of this haste are discernible in all his compositions. Aretino left nothing artistically finished, nothing to which it is now possible to point in justification of his extraordinary celebrity. His sonnets are below contempt. Frigid, inharmonious, pompous, strained, affected, they exhibit the worst vices to which this species of poetry is liable. His Capitoli, though he compared them to "colossal statues of gold or silver, where I have carved the forms of Julius, a Pope, Charles, an Emperor, Catherine, a Queen, Francesco Maria, a Duke, with such art that the outlines of their inner nature are brought into relief, the muscles of their will and purpose are shown in play, the profiles of their emotions are thrown into salience"[538]—these Capitoli will not bear comparison for one moment with Berni's. They are coarse and strident in style, threadbare in sentiment, commonplace in conception, with only one eminent quality, a certain gross prolific force, a brazen clash and clangor of antithesis, to compensate for their vulgarity. Yet, such as they are, the Capitoli must be reckoned the best of his compositions in verse. Of his comedies I have already spoken. These will always be valuable for their lively sketches of contemporary manners, their free satiric vein of humor. The Dialoghi, although it is scarcely possible to mention them in a decent book of history, are distinguished by the same qualities of veracity, acumen, prolific vigor, animal spirits, and outspokenness. Aretino's religious works, it need hardly be said, are worthless or worse. Impudent romances, penned by one of the most unscrupulous of men, frankly acknowledged by their author to be a tissue of "poetical lies," we are left to marvel how they could have deceived the judgment and perverted the taste of really elevated natures.[539] That the Marchioness of Pescara should have hailed the coarse fictions of the Life of S. Catherine, which Aretino confessed to have written out of his own head, as a work of efficient piety, remains one of the wonders of that extraordinary age.

What then, it may finally be asked, was Aretino's merit as an author? Why do we allude to him at all in writing the history of sixteenth-century literature? The answer can be given in two words—originality and independence. It was no vain boast of Aretino that he trusted only to nature and mother-wit. His intellectual distinction consisted precisely in this confidence and self-reliance, at a moment when the literary world was given over to pedantic scruples and the formalities of academical prescription. Writing without the fear of pedagogues before his eyes—seeking, as he says, relief, expression, force, and brilliancy of phrase, he produced a manner at once singular and attractive which turned to ridicule the pretensions of the purists. He had the courage of his personality, and stamped upon his style the very form and pressure of himself. As a writer, he exhibited what Machiavelli demanded from the man of action—virtù, or the virility of self-reliance. That was the secret of his success. The same audacity and independence characterize all his utterances of opinion—his criticisms of art and literature—his appreciation of natural beauty. In some of the letters written to painters and sculptors, and in a description of a Venetian sunset already quoted in this book, we trace the dawnings of a true and natural school of criticism, a forecast of the spontaneity of Diderot and Henri Beyle. This naturalness of expression did not save Aretino from glaring bad taste. His letters and his dedicatory introductions abound in confused metaphors, extravagant concetti, and artificial ornaments. It seems impossible for him to put pen to paper without inventing monstrous and ridiculous periphrases. Still the literary impropriety, which would have been affectation in any one else, and which became affectation in his imitators, was true to the man's nature. He could not be true to himself without falseness of utterance, because there was in him an inherent insincerity, and this was veiled by no scholastic accuracy or studied purity of phrase.

Much of the bad taste of the later Renaissance (the tropes of Marini and the absurdities of seicentismo) may be ascribed to the fascination exercised by this strange combination of artificiality and naturalness in a style remarkable for vigor. Who, for instance does not feel that the mannerism of our euphuistic prosaists is shadowed forth in the following passage from the introduction to the Talanta?[540] The Prologue, on the drawing of the curtain, takes the audience into his confidence, and tells them that he long had hesitated which of the Immortal Gods to personate. Mars, Jupiter, Phœbus, Venus, Mercury, and all the Pantheon in succession were rejected, for different appropriate reasons, till the God of Love appeared. "When at last it came to Cupid's turn, I immediately said Yes! and having so assented, I felt wings growing at my shoulders, the quiver at my side, the bow within my hands. In a moment I became all steel, all fire; and eager to be ware what things are done in love, I cast a glance upon the crowd of lovers; whence I soon could see who has the rendezvous, who is sent about his business, who prowls around his mistress' house, who enters by the door, who clambers up the walls, who scales the rope, who jumps from the window, who hides himself within a tub, who takes the cudgel, who gets a gelding for his pains, who is stowed away by the chambermaid, who is kicked out by the serving-man, who goes mad with anxiety, who bursts with passion, who wastes away in gazing, who cuts snooks at hope, who lets himself be hoodwinked, who spends a fortune on his mistress to look grand, who robs her for a freak, who saps her chastity with threats, who conjures her with prayers, who blabs of his success, who hides his luck, who bolsters up his vaunt with lies, who dissembles the truth, who extols the flame that burns him, who curses the cause of his heart's conflagration, who cannot eat for grief, who cannot sleep for joy, who compiles sonnets, who scribbles billets-doux, who dabbles in enchantments, who renews assaults, who takes counsel with bawds, who ties a favor on his arm, who mumbles at a flower the wench has touched, who twangles the lute, who hums a glee, who thrusts his rival through the body, who gets killed by his competitors, who eats his heart out for a mylady, who dies of longing for a strumpet. When I understood the things aforesaid, I turned round to these female firebrands, and saw how the devil (to chastise them for the perverse ways they use toward men who serve them, praise them, and adore them) gives them up, easy victims, to a pedant, a plebeian, a simpleton, a loon, a groom, a graceless clown, and to a certain mange that catches them."

Aretino congregated round him a whole class of literary Bohemians, drawing forth the peccant humors of more than one Italian city, and locating these greedy adventurers in Venice as his satellites. It is enough to mention Niccolò Franco, Giovanni Alberto Albicante, Lorenzo Veniero, Doni, Lodovico Dolce. They were, most of them, hack writers, who gained a scanty livelihood by miscellaneous work for the booksellers and by selling dedications to patrons. More or less successfully, they carried on the trade invented and developed by Aretino; remaining on terms of intimacy with him, at first as friends or secretaries, afterwards as enemies and rivals. We have already seen what use was made of Albicante for the mutilation of Berni's Innamoramento. This poetaster was a native of Milan, who published a history of the war in Piedmont, which Aretino chose to ridicule in one of his Capitoli.[541] Albicante replied with another poem in terza rima, and Aretino seems to have perceived that he had met a worthy adversary. It was Albicante's glory to be called furibondo and bestiale. He affected an utter indifference to consequences, an absolute recklessness concerning what he did and said. Whether Aretino was really afraid of him, or whether he wished to employ him in the matter of Berni's Innamoramento, is not certain. At any rate, he made advances to Albicante in a letter which begins: "My brother, the rage of poets is but a frenzy of stupidity." The antagonists were reconciled, and the Academy of the Intronati at Siena thought this event worthy of commemoration in a volume: "Combattimento poetico del divino Aretino e del bestiale Albicante occorso sopra la Guerra di Piemonte, e la pace loro celebrata nella Accademia de gli Intronati a Siena."

Niccolò Franco was a native of Benevento, whom Aretino took into his service, as a kind of secretary.[542] Being deficient in scholarship, he needed a man capable of supplying him with Greek and Latin quotations, and who could veneer his coarse work with a show of humanistic erudition. Franco undertook the office; and it is probable that some of Aretino's earlier works of piety and learning—the Genesis, for instance—issued from this unequal collaboration. But their good accord did not last long. Franco proved to be a ruffian of even fiercer type than his master. If Aretino kept a literary poignard in the scabbard, ready to strike when his utility demanded, Franco went about the world with unsheathed dagger, stabbing for the pleasure of the sport. "I would rather lose a dinner," he writes, "than omit to fire my pen off when the fancy takes me." The two men could not dwell together in union. When Aretino published the first series of his letters, Franco issued a rival volume, in the last epistle of which, addressed to Envy, he made an attack on his patron. Ambrogio degli Eusebi, an âme damnée of the Aretine, about whom many scurrilous stories were told, stabbed Franco, while Aretino published invective after invective against him in the form of letters. Franco left Venice, established himself for a while at Casale in the lordship of Montferrat, opened a school at Mantua, and ran a thousand infamous adventures, pouring forth satirical sonnets all the while at Aretino. In the course of his wanderings, he completed a Latin commentary on the Priapea. These two works together—the centuries of sonnets against Aretino, and the Priapic lucubrations—obtained a wide celebrity. Speaking of the book, Tiraboschi is compelled to say that "few works exist which so dishonor human nature. The grossest obscenities, the most licentious evil-speaking, the boldest contempt of princes, Popes, Fathers of the Council, and other weighty personages, are the gems with which he adorned his monument of perverse industry." Franco proved so obnoxious to polite society that he was at last taken and summarily hanged in 1569. The curious point about this condemnation of a cur is, that he was in no whit worse than many other scribblers of the day. But he made more noise; he had not the art to rule society like Aretino; he committed the mistake of trusting himself to the perilous climates of Lombardy and Rome. His old master drove him out of Venice, and the unlucky reprobate paid the penalty of his misdeeds by becoming the scapegoat for men whom he detested.

Doni began his Venetian career as a friend of Aretino, whose companion he was in the famous Academy of the Pellegrini. They quarreled over a present sent to Doni by the Duke of Urbino, and the bizarre Florentine passed over to the ranks of Aretino's bitterest enemies. In 1556 he declared war, with a book entitled "Terremoto del Doni Fiorentino." The preface was addressed to "the infamous and vicious Pietro Aretino, the source and fountain of all evil, the stinking limb of public falsehood, and true Antichrist of our century." Soon after the appearance of this volume, followed Aretino's death. But Doni pursued his animosity beyond the grave, and was instrumental in causing his rival's writings to be subjected to ecclesiastical interdiction.

We tire of these low literary quarrels. Yet they form an integral part of the history of Italian civilization; and the language of invective used in them, originating with Aretino and improved upon by Doni and Franco, became the model of vituperative style in Europe. Doni's "Earthquake, with the Ruin of a great Bestial Colossus, the Antichrist of our age," brings to mind a score of pamphlets, published in Europe during the conflict of the Church with Reformation. We find an echo of its strained metaphors in the polemical writings of Bruno and Campanella. The grotesque manner of the seventeenth century begins with Aretino and his satellites, just as its far-fetched conceits may be traced in the clear language of Guarini. Gongora, Marini, Euphues, and the Précieuses Ridicules of the Hôtel Rambouillet are contained, as it were, in germ among this little knot of refugees at Venice, who set their wits against the academical traditions of pure Italian taste.

A characteristic legend is told of Aretino's death. Two of his sisters kept, it is said, a house of ill fame; and the story runs that he died of immoderate laughter, flinging himself backward in his chair and breaking his neck, on hearing some foul jest reported by them. It is difficult to believe that this tale has any foundation in fact. We must take it as a scurrilous invention, proving the revolution of public opinion, which since his books had been put upon the Index in 1559, undoubtedly took place. Of like tenor is the epitaph which was never really placed upon his grave:[543]

Qui giace l'Aretin poeta tosco,

Che disse mal d'ognun fuorchè di Cristo,

Scusandosi col dir: non lo conosco.

His features, though formed upon a large and not ignoble type, bore in later life a mixed expression of the wolf and the fox; nor was it without oblique satire that the engraver of his portrait, Giuseppe Patrini, surrounded the medallion with a wolf's hide, the grinning snarl and slanting eyes of the brute mimicking the man's physiognomy. It was a handsome face, no doubt, in youth, when, richly attired in the satin mantle cut for him by a bishop, and mounted on his white charger, he scoured the streets of Reggio at Giovanni de' Medici's side, curling his blue-black beard, and fixing his bold bright eyes upon the venal beauties they courted in company. But the thick lips and open sensual mouth, the distended nostrils, and the wicked puckers of the wrinkles round his eyes and nose, show that the beast of prey and appetite had been encouraged through a life of self-indulgence, until the likeness of humanity yielded to victorious animalism. The same face, at once handsome and bestial, never to be forgotten after a first acquaintance, leans out, in the company of Sansovino and Titian, from the bronze door of the Sacristy in S. Mark's Church.[544] The high relief is full of life and movement, one of Sansovino's masterpieces. And yet it strikes one here with even greater strangeness than the myths of Ganymede and Leda on the portals of S. Peter's at Rome.

Aretino is, in truth, not the least of the anomalies which meet us everywhere in the Italian Renaissance. Was he worse, was he not even in some respects better than his age? How much of the repulsion he inspires can be ascribed to altered taste and feeling? To what extent was the legend of the man, so far as this is separable from the testimony of his writings, made black by posthumous malevolence and envy? These are the questions which rise in our mind when we reflect upon the incidents of his extraordinary career, and calmly estimate his credit with contemporaries. The contradictions of the epoch were concentrated in his character. He was a professed Christian of the type formed by Rome before the Counter-Reformation. He helped the needy, tended the sick, dowered orphans, and kept open house for beggars. He was the devoted friend of men like Titian, a sincere lover of natural and artistic beauty, an acute and enthusiastic critic. At the same time he did his best to corrupt youth by painting vice in piquant colors. He led a life of open and voluptuous debauchery. He was a liar, a bully, a braggart, venomous in the pursuit of private animosities, and the remorseless foe of weaker men who met with his displeasure. From the conditions of society which produced Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia, Pier Luigi Farnese and Gianpaolo Baglioni, it was no wonder that a writer resolved on turning those conditions to account, should have arisen. The credit of originality, independence, self-reliant character—of what Machiavelli called virtù—does certainly belong to him. It is true that he extracted the means of a luxurious existence from patrons upon whom he fawned. Yet he was superior to the common herd of courtiers, in so far as he attached himself to no master, and all his adulation masked a battery of menaces. The social diseases which emasculated men of weaker fiber, he turned to the account of his rapacious appetites. His force consisted in the clear notion he had formed of his own aim in life, and the sagacity with which he used the most efficient means for attaining it. The future, whether of reputation or of literary fame, had no influence over his imagination. He resolved to enjoy the present, and he succeeded beyond expectation. Corruption is itself a kind of superiority, when it is consummate, cynical, self-conscious. It carries with it its own clairvoyance, its own philosophy of life, its own good sense. More than this, it imposes on opinion and fascinates society. Aretino did not suffer from a divided will. He never halted between two courses, but realized the ideal of the perfettamente tristo. He lived up to Guicciardini's conception of the final motive, which may be described as the cult of self. Sneering at all men less complete in purpose than himself, he disengaged his conduct from contemporary rules of fashion; dictated laws to his betters in birth, position, breeding, learning, morals, taste; and vindicated his virility by unimpeded indulgence of his personal proclivities. He was the last, the most perfect, if also the most vitiated product of Renaissance manners. In the second half of the sixteenth century, when hypocrisy descended like a cloud upon the ineradicable faults of Italy, there was no longer any possibility for the formation of a hero after Aretino's type.

Thus at the close of any estimate of Aretino, we are forced to do justice to the man's vigor. It is not for nothing that even a debased society bows to a dictatorship so autocratic; nor can eminence be secured, even among the products of a decadent civilization, by undiluted defects. Aretino owed his influence to genuine qualities—to the independence which underlay his arrogance, to the acute common sense which almost justified his vanity, to the outspokenness which made him satirize the vices that he shared and illustrated.[545] We have abundant and incontrovertible testimony to the fact that his Dialoghi, when they were first published, passed for powerful and drastic antidotes to social poisons[546]; and it is clear that even his religious works were accepted by the pious world as edifying. The majority of his contemporaries seem to have beheld in him the fearless denouncer of ecclesiastical and civil tyrants, the humble man's friend, and the relentless detective of vice. The indescribable nastiness of the Dialoghi, the false feeling of the Vita di S. Catherina, which makes us turn with loathing from their pages, did not offend the taste of his century. While, therefore, he comprehended and expressed his age in its ruffianism and dissoluteness, he stood outside it and above it, dealing haughtily and like a potentate with evils which subdued less hardened spirits, and with personages before whom his equals groveled. We must not suffer our hatred of his mendacity, uncleanliness, brutality, and arrogance to blind us to the elements of strength and freedom which can be discerned in him.[547]

CHAPTER XVI.

HISTORY AND PHILOSOPHY.

Frivolity of Renaissance Literature—The Contrast presented by Machiavelli—His Sober Style—Positive Spirit—The Connection of his Works—Two Men in Machiavelli—His Political Philosophy—The Patria—Place of Religion and Ethics in his System—Practical Object of his Writings—Machiavellism—His Conception of Nationality—His Relation to the Renaissance—Contrast between Machiavelli and Guicciardini—Guicciardini's Doctrine of Self-interest—The Code of Italian Corruption—The Connection between these Historians and the Philosophers—General Character of Italian Philosophy—The Middle Ages in Dissolution—Transition to Modern Thought and Science—Humanism counterposed to Scholasticism—Petrarch—Pico—Dialogues on Ethics—Importance of Greek and Latin Studies—Classical substituted for Ecclesiastical Authority—Platonism at Florence—Ficino—Translations—New Interest in the Problem of Life—Valla's Hedonism—The Dialogue De Voluptate—Aristotle at Padua and Bologna—Arabian and Greek Commentators—Life of Pietro Pomponazzi—His Book on Immortality—His Controversies—Pomponazzi's Standpoint—Unlimited Belief in Aristotle—Retrospect over the Aristotelian Doctrine of God, the World, the Human Soul—Three Problems in the Aristotelian System—Universals—The First Period of Scholastic Speculation—Individuality—The Second Period of Scholasticism—Thomas Aquinas—The Nature of the Soul—New Impulse given to Speculation by the Renaissance—Averroism—The Lateran Council—Is the Soul Immortal?—Pomponazzi reconstructs Aristotle's Doctrine by help of Alexander Aphrodisius—The Soul is Material and Mortal—Man's Place in Nature—Virtue is the End of Man—Pomponazzi on Miracles and Spirits—His Distinction between the Philosopher and the Christian—The Book on Fate—Pomponazzi the Precursor—Coarse Materialism—The School of Cosenza—Aristotle's Authority Rejected—Telesio—Campanella—Bruno—The Church stifles Philosophy in Italy—Italian Positivism.

THE literature which has occupied us during the last nine chapters, is a literature of form and entertainment. Whether treating chivalrous romance, or the Arcadian ideal, or the conditions of contemporary life, these poets, playwrights and novelists had but one serious object—the perfection of their art, the richness and variety of their pictures. In the conscious pursuit of beautiful form, Poliziano and Ariosto, Bembo and Berni, Castiglione and Firenzuola, Il Lasca and Molza, were alike earnest. For the rest, they sought to occupy their own leisure, and to give polite society the pastime of refined amusement. The content of this miscellaneous literature was of far less moment to the authors and their audience than its mode of presentation. Even when they undertook some theme involving the realities of life, they dwelt by preference upon externals. In the Cortegiano and Galateo, for example, conduct is studied from an æsthetical far more than from a moral point of view. The questions which stirred and divided literary coteries, were questions of scholarship, style, language. Matter is everywhere subordinated to expression; the writer's interest in actuality is slight; the power or the inclination to think is inferior to the faculty for harmonious construction. These characteristics of literature in general, render the exceptions noticeable, and force me, at some risk of repetition, to devote a chapter to those men in whom the speculative vigor of the race was concentrated. These were the historians and a small band of metaphysicians, who may be fitly represented by a single philosopher, Pietro Pomponazzi. Of the Florentine historiographers, from Villani to Guicciardini, I have already treated at some length in a previous portion of this work.[548] I shall therefore confine myself to resuming those points in which Machiavelli and Guicciardini uttered the reflections of their age on statecraft and the laws that govern political life.

When we compare Machiavelli with his contemporaries, we are struck by his want of sympathy with the prevalent artistic enthusiasms. Far from being preoccupied with problems of diction, he wrote with the sole object of making what he had to say plain. The result is that, without thinking about expression, Machiavelli created Italian prose anew, and was the first to form a monumental modern style. Language became, beneath his treatment, a transparent and colorless medium for presenting thoughts to the reader's mind; and his thoughts were always removed as little as possible from the facts which suggested them. He says himself that he preferred in all cases the essential reality of a fact to its modification by fancy or by theory.[549] His style is, therefore, the reverse of that which the purists cultivated. They uttered generalities in ornamented and sonorous phrases. Machiavelli scorned ornament, and ignored the cadence of the period. His boldest abstractions are presented with the hard outline and relief of concrete things. Each sentence is a crystal, formed of few but precise words by a spontaneous process in his mind. It takes shape from the thought; not from any preconceived type of rhythm, to which the thought must be accommodated. It is perfect or imperfect according as the thinking process has been completely or incompletely victorious over the difficulties of language. It is figurative only when the fact to be enforced derives new energy from the imagination. Beauty is never sought, but comes unbidden, as upon the limbs and muscles of an athlete, whose aim has been to gain agility and strength. These qualities render Machiavelli's prose a model worthy of imitation by all who study scientific accuracy.

The style is the man; and Machiavelli's style was the mirror of his mind and character. While the literary world echoed to the cry of Art for Art, he followed Science for the sake of Science. Occupied with practical problems, smiling at the supra-mundane aspirations of the middle ages, scorning the æsthetical ideals of the Renaissance, he made the political action of man, l'homme politique, the object of exclusive study. His resolute elimination of what he considered irrelevant or distracting circumstances from this chosen field of research, justifies our placing him among the founders or precursors of the modern scientific method. We may judge his premises insufficient, his conclusions false; but we cannot mistake the positive quality of his mind in the midst of a rhetorical and artistic generation.

There is a strict link of connection between Machiavelli's works. These may be divided into four classes—official, historical, speculative and literary. To the first belongs his correspondence with the Florentine Government; to the second, his Florentine History and several minor studies, the Vita di Castruccio, the Ritratti, and the Metodo tenuto dal Duca Valentino; to the third, his Discorsi, Principe, Arte della Guerra and Discorso sopra la Riforma di Firenze; to the fourth, his comedies, poems, novel of Belfagor, and Descrizione della Peste. The familiar letters should be used as a key to the more intimate understanding of his character. They illustrate some points in his political philosophy, explain his personal motives, and throw much light upon his purely literary compositions. We learn from them to know him as a friend, the father of a family, the member of a little social circle, and finally as the ever-restless aspirant after public employment. Valuable as these letters are for the student of Machiavelli's writings, his private reputation would have gained by their destruction. They show that the man was inferior to the thinker. In spite of his logical consistency of intellect, we become convinced, while reading them, that there were two persons in Machiavelli. The one was a faithful servant of the State, a student of books and human nature, the inaugurator of political philosophy for modern Europe. The other was a boon companion, stooping to low pleasures, and soiling his correspondence with gossip which breathes the tainted atmosphere of Florentine vice. These letters force us to reject the theory that he wrote his comedies with any profound ethical purpose, or that he personally abhorred the moral corruption of which he pointed out the weakening results for Italy. The famous epistle from San Casciano paints the man in his two aspects—at one moment in a leathern jerkin, playing games of hazard with the butcher, or scouring the streets of Florence with a Giuliano Brancaccio; at another, attired in senatorial robes, conversing with princes, approaching the writers of antiquity on equal terms, and penning works which place him on a level with Ariosto and Galileo. The second of these Machiavellis claims our exclusive attention at the present moment. Yet it is needful to remember that the former existed, and was no less real. Only by keeping this in mind can we avoid the errors of those panegyrists who credit the Mandragola with a didactic purpose, and refuse to recognize the moral bluntness betrayed in Machiavelli's theorization of human conduct. The man who thought and felt in private what his familiar letters disclose, was no right censor of the principles that rule society. We cannot trust his moral tact or taste.

Machiavelli was not a metaphysician. He started with the conception of the State as understood in Italy. His familiarity with the Latin classics, and his acquaintance with the newly-formed monarchies of Europe, caused him, indeed, to modify the current notion. But he did not inquire into the final cause of political communities, or present to his own mind a clear definition of what was meant by the phrase patria. We are aware of a certain hesitancy between the ideas of the Commune and the race, the State and the Government, which might have been removed by a more careful preliminary analysis. Between the Roman Republic, on the one hand, and the modern nation, on the other, we always find an Italian city. From this point of view, it is to be regretted that he did not appropriate Plato's Republic or Aristotle's Politics.[550] He might by such a course of study have avoided the severance of politics from ethics, which renders his philosophy unnatural. We must, however, remember that he did not propose to plan a scientific system. His works have a practical aim in view. They are directed toward the grand end of Italy's restoration from weakness and degeneracy to a place among the powerful peoples of the world. This purpose modifies them in the most minute particulars. It is ever present to Machiavelli's mind. It makes his philosophy assume the form of a critique. It explains the apparent discord between the Discorsi and the Principe. It enables us to comprehend the nature of a patriotism which subordinates the interests of the individual to the body politic, even though the State were in the hands of an unscrupulous autocrat. The salvation of Italy, rather than any metaphysical principle, is the animating motive of Machiavelli's political writings. Yet we may note that if he had laid a more solid philosophical basis, if he had striven more vigorously to work out his own conception of the patria, and to understand the laws of national health, instead of trusting to such occasional remedies as the almost desperate state of Italy afforded, he would have deserved better of his country and more adequately fulfilled his own end.

Though Machiavelli had not worked out the conception of a nation as an organic whole, he was penetrated with the thought, familiar to his age, that all human institutions, like men, have a youth, a manhood, and a period of decline. Looking round him, he perceived that Italy, of all the European nations, had advanced farthest on the path of dissolution. He calls the Italians the reproach and corruption of the world—la corruttela, il vituperio del mondo. When he inquires into the causes of this ruin, he is led to assign (i) the moral debasement of his country to the Roman Church; (ii) her sloth and inefficiency in warfare to the despots and the mercenaries; (iii) her inability to cope with greater nations to the want of one controlling power in the peninsula. A nation, he argues, cannot be a nation while divided into independent and antagonistic States. It needs to be united under a monarch like France, reduced beneath the sway of a presiding commonwealth like ancient Rome, or connected in a federation like the Swiss. This doctrine of the nation, or, to use his own phrase, of the patria, as distinguished from the Commune and the Empire, was highly original in Italy at the time when Machiavelli gave it utterance. It contained the first logically reasoned aspiration after that independence in unity, which the Italians were destined to realize between the years 1858 and 1871. He may be said to have formed it by meditating on the Roman historians, and by comparing Italy with the nascent modern nations. The notion of ethnology did not enter into it so much as the notion of political and social cohesion. Yet nationality was not excluded; for he conceived of no power, whether Empire or Church, above the people who had strength to define themselves against their neighbors. To secure for the population of the Italian peninsula that unity which he rightly considered essential to the patria, and the want of which constituted their main inferiority, was the object of all his speculations.

The word patria sounds the keynote of his political Army, and a patriot is synonymous for him with a completely virtuous man. All energies, public and private, are only valuable in so far as they build up the fabric of the commonwealth. Religion is good because it sustains the moral fiber of the people. It is a powerful instrument in the hands of a wise governor; and the best religion is that which develops hardy and law-loving qualities. He criticises Christianity for exalting contemplative virtues above the energies of practical life, and for encouraging a spirit of humility. He sternly condemns the Church because she has been unfaithful even to the tame ideal of her saints, and has set an example of licentious living. Religion is needed as the basis of morality; and morality itself must be encouraged as the safeguard of that discipline which constitutes a nation's vigor. A moralized race is stronger than a corrupt one, because it has a higher respect for law and social order, because it accepts public burdens more cheerfully, because it is more obedient to military ordinances. Thus both religion and morality are means to the grand end of human existence, which is strenuous life in a united nation. I need hardly point out how this conception runs counter to the transcendentalism of the Middle Ages.

Machiavelli admires the Germans for their discipline and sobriety, which he ascribes to the soundness of their religious instincts. France and Spain, he says, have been contaminated by the same corrupting influence as Italy; but they owe their present superiority to the fact of their monarchical allegiance. This opens a second indictment against the Church. Not only has the Church demoralized the people; but it is chiefly due to the ambition of the Popes that Italy has never passed beyond the stage of conflict and disunion.

An important element in this conception of the patria is that it should be militant. Races that have ceased from war, are on the road to ruin; and only those are powerful which train the native population to arms. The feebleness of Italy can be traced to the mercenary system, introduced by despots adopted by commercial republics, and favored by ecclesiastics. If the Italians desire to recover freedom, they must form a national militia; and this can best be done by adapting the principles of the Roman army to modern requirements. The Art of War is a development of this theme. At its close, Machiavelli promises the scepter of Italy, together with the glory of creating Italian nationality, to any State clear-sighted and self-denying enough to arm its citizens and take the lead in the peninsula. That State, he says, shall play the part of Macedon. Reading the peroration of the Art of War by the light of recent history, its paragraphs sound like a prophecy. What Machiavelli there promised, has been achieved, much in the way he indicated, by Piedmont, the Macedon of United Italy.

When Machiavelli discusses the forms of constitutions, he is clearly thinking of cities rather than of nations as we understand them. He has no conception of representative government, but bases all his observations on the principle of burghership. There is no sound intermediate, he says, between a commonwealth and a principality. In the former, the burghers have equal rights. In the latter there will be a hierarchy of classes. Though his sympathies are with the former (since he holds that the equality of the citizens is the best safeguard for the liberties and law abiding virtues of the State), he is yet by no means unfavorable to despotism. The decadence of Italy, indeed, had gone so far that her best chance of restoration depended on a prince. Therefore, while he suggests measures for converting despotic States into republics by crushing the aristocracy, and for creating principalities out of free commonwealths by instituting an order of nobles, he regards the latter as the easier task of the two. Upon such topics we must always bear in mind that what he says is partly speculative, and partly meant to meet the actual conditions of Italian politics. The point of view is never simply philosophical nor yet simply practical. So long as the great end could be achieved, and a strong military power could rise in Italy, he is indifferent to the means employed. The peroration of the Art of War is an appeal to either prince or republic. The peroration of the Riforma di Firenze is an appeal to a patriotic Nomothetes. He there says to Clement: You have one of those singular opportunities offered to you, which confer undying glory on a mortal; you may make Florence free, and, by wise regulations, render her the bulwark of renascent Italy. The peroration of the Principe is an appeal to an ambitious autocrat. Follow the suggestions of ancient and contemporary history, which all point to the formation of a native army. Comprehend the magnitude of the task, and use the right means for executing it; and you will earn the fame of restoring your country to her place among the nations.

The case of Italy is almost desperate. Yet there is still hope. A prudent lawgiver may infuse life into the decaying commonwealth of Florence. A spirited despot may succeed in bringing the whole peninsula by force of arms beneath his sway. Machiavelli will not scrutinize the nature of the remedy too closely. He is ready to sacrifice his republican sympathies, and to welcome the saviour who comes even in the guise of Cesare Borgia. When the salvation of the patria is at stake, none but precisians can hesitate about the choice of instruments.

This indifference to means, provided the end be secured, is characteristic of the man. Machiavelli's Machiavellism consists in regarding politics as a game of skill, where all ways are justified, and fixity of purpose wins. He does not believe in Fortune, though he admits the favorable circumstances which smoothed the way for men like Cesare. With Juvenal, he says: Nos te, nos facimus, Fortuna, deam. Again, he does not believe in Providence. Though a prophet speak with the voice of God, he will not succeed unless, like Moses, he be provided with a sword to ratify his revelation. History is a logical sequence of events, the sole intelligible nexus between its several links being the human will. Virtue is decision of character, accompanied by intellectual sagacity; it is the strong man's subordination of his passions, prejudices, predilections, energies, to the chosen aim. We all admit that it is better to be good than bad. Yet morality has little to do with political success. What lies in the way of really great achievement, is the mediocrity of human nature. Men will not be completely bad or perfectly good. They spoil their best endeavors by vacillation and incompetence to guide their action with regard to the sole end in view.

Enough has been said in different portions of this book about the morality of Machiavelli's political essays. Yet this much may be here repeated. Those who wish to understand it, must not forget the Medieval background of the despots—Ezzelini, Visconti, Scaligeri, Estensi, Carreresi—which lay behind Machiavelli. The sinfulness, treason, masterful personality, Thyestean tragedies, enormous vices and intolerable mischief of the Renaissance—all this was but a pale reflex of the middle ages. In those earlier tyrants, the Centaur progenitors of feebler broods, through generations in which men gradually discriminated the twy-formed nature of their ancestry, the lust and luxury of sin had been at their last apogee. In istis peccandi voluptas erat summa. What followed in Machiavelli's age, was reflection succeeding to action—evil philosophized in place of evil energetic.

Though Machiavelli perceived that the decadence of Italy was due to bad education, corrupt customs, and a habit of irreligion, he did not insist on the necessity of reformation. He was satisfied with invoking a Dictator, and he counseled this Dictator to meet the badness of his age with fraud and violence. Thus he based his hope of national regeneration upon those very vices which he indicated as the cause of national degeneracy. Whether we ascribe this error to the spirit of the times in which he lived, or to something defective in his own character, it is clear he had not grasped the fundamental principle of righteousness, as that which can alone be safely trusted by a people or its princes. Perhaps he thought that, for practical purposes, the method of radical reformation was too tardy. Perhaps he despaired of seeing it attempted. Of all Italian institutions, the Church, in his opinion, was the most corrupted. Yet the Church held religious monopoly, and controlled education. And the Church had severed morality from religion, religion from the State; making both the private concern of individuals between their conscience and their God.

Just as Machiavelli proved himself incapable of transcending the corruption of his age, though he denounced it; so, while he grasped the notion of a patria superior to the commune, he was not able to disengage his mind from the associations of Italian diplomacy. He perceived that the débris of medieval society in Italy—the Papacy, the nobles, the condottieri—afforded no foundation for the State he dreamed of building. He relied on the masses of the people as the only sound constituent of his ideal patria. He foresaw a united nation, to which the individual should devote himself, and which should absorb the dispersed forces of the race. And yet he had not conceived of the nation as a living whole, obeying its own laws of evolution and expansion. He regarded the State as a mechanical or artificial product, to be molded by the will of a firm ruler. In his theory there is always a Nomothetes, a Dictator, the intervenient skill of a constructor, whom he imagines capable of altering the conditions of political existence by a coup d'état or by a readjustment of conflicting rights and interests. Even while praising the French monarchy for its stability, in words that show a just appreciation of constitutional government, he hypothesizes a lawgiver in the past. Chi ordinò quello stato, volle che quelli rè—he who organized that State, willed that those kings, etc. The ordinò and volle are both characteristic of his habitual point of view. Probably this faith in manipulation arose from his lifelong habit of regarding small political communities, where change was easily effected. In his works we do not gain any broad prospect from the vantage-ground of comprehensive principles, but a minutely analytical discussion of statecraft, based in the last resort upon the observation of decadent Italian cities. The question always presents itself: how, given certain circumstances, ought a republic or a prince to use them to the best advantage? The deeper problem, how a nation stirred by some impulse, which combines all classes in a common heroism or a common animosity, must act, hardly occurs to his mind. England, with forces intellectual, emotional and practical at fullest strain, in combat with the Spanish tyranny, adopting a course of conduct which reveals the nation to itself by the act of its instinctive will—such a phase of the larger, more magnetic life of peoples, which Milton compared to the new youth of the eagle, had not been observed by Machiavelli. The German Reformation, the French Revolution, the American War of Independence, might have taught him to understand that conception of the modern nation which he had divined, but which the conditions of his experience prevented his appropriating. Had he fully grasped it, we can scarcely believe that the Principe would have been written. The good faith of that essay depends upon a misconception.

In like manner Machiavelli discerned the weaknesses of the Renaissance without escaping from its enthusiasms. He despised the æsthetical ideal of his age. He was willing to sacrifice form, beauty, rhythm, the arts of culture and learned leisure, to stern matters of fact and stringent discipline. Yet he believed as firmly as any humanist, that the regeneration of his country must proceed from a revival of the past. It is the loss of antique virtues that has enervated our character, he cries. It is the neglect of historical lessons that renders our policy so suicidal. We need to recover the Roman military system, the Roman craft of conquest, the Roman pride and poverty, the Roman subordination of the individual to the State. What we want is a dictator or a lawgiver after the Roman fashion—a Romulus, a Numa, a Camillus, a Coriolanus. The patria, as he imagines it, is less the modern nation than the Roman Commonwealth before the epoch of the Empire. This unquestioning belief in the efficacy of classical revival finds vent, at the close of the Arte della Guerra, in a sentence highly characteristic of the Renaissance. "This province, Italy," he says, "seems made to give new birth to things dead, as we have seen in poetry, in painting, and in sculpture." Hence, he argues, it may be her vocation to bring back the military system and supremacy of ancient Rome.

Thus, to resume what has been said, Machiavelli ascribed the weakness of the Italians to their loss of morality; but he was not logical enough to insist that their regeneration must begin with a religious revolution. He foresaw the modern nation; but he attempted to construct it on the outlines of antiquity. Believing that States might be formed or reformed by ingenious manipulation of machinery, he acquired no true notion of constitutional development or national evolution. His neglect to base his speculations on a thorough-going definition of the State and its relation to man as a social being, caused him to assume a severance between ethics and politics, which no sound philosophy of human life will warrant.

On what, then, if these criticisms are just, is founded his claim to rank among the inaugurators of historical and political science? The answer has been already given. It was not so much what he taught, as the spirit in which he approached the problems of his inquiry, which was scientific in the modern sense. Practical, sincere and positive, Machiavelli never raises points deficient in actuality. He does not invite us to sympathize with the emotions of a visionary, or to follow the vagaries of a dreamer. All that he presents, is hard, tangible fact, wrought into precise uncompromising argument, expressed in unmistakably plain language. Not only do his works cast floods of light upon Italian history; but they suggest questions of vital importance, which can still be discussed upon the ground selected by their author. They are, moreover, so penetrated with the passion of a patriot, however mistaken in his plan of national reconstitution, that our first sense of repulsion yields to a warmer feeling of admiration for the man who, from the depths of despair, could thus hope on against hope for his country.

Studying Guicciardini, we remain within the same sphere of conceptions, limited by the conditions of Italian politics in the beginning of the sixteenth century. There is no less stringency of minute analysis, an even sharper insight into motives, an equal purity and precision of language.[551] But the moral atmosphere is different. The corruption which Machiavelli perceived and criticised, is now accepted. In the place of desperate remedies suggested by the dread of certain ruin, Guicciardini has nothing to offer but indifference and self-adjustment to the exigencies of the moment. Machiavelli was a visionary and an idealist in spite of his positive bias. Guicciardini is a practical diplomatist, bent on saving his own State and fortune from the wreck which he contemplated. What gives grandeur to Machiavelli's speculation is the conception of the patria, superior to the individual, demanding unlimited self-sacrifice, and repaying the devotion of the citizens by strength in union. This idea has disappeared in Guicciardini's writings. In its stead he offers us self-interested egotism. Where Machiavelli wrote patria, he substituted il particolare. It follows from this cold acquiescence in a base theory of public conduct, adapted to a recognized state of social anarchy, that Guicciardini's philosophy is far more immoral than Machiavelli's. The Ricordi, in which, under the form of aphorisms, he condensed the results of his experience and observation, have been well described as the "code of Italian corruption." Resistance has to be abandoned. Remedies are hopeless. Let us sit down and calmly criticise the process of decay. A wise man will seek to turn the worst circumstances to his own profit; and what remains for political sagacity is the accumulation of wealth, honors, offices of power on the ambitious individual.

Machiavelli and Guicciardini had this in common, that their mental attitude was analytical, positive, critically scientific. It negatived the à priori idealism of medieval political philosophy, and introduced a just conception of the method of inquiry. This quality connects them on the one hand with the practical politicians of their age, and on the other with its representative thinkers in the field of metaphysics.

It is no part of my plan to attempt a general history of Italian philosophy during the Renaissance period, or even to indicate its leading moments. On the scale of my present work, any such endeavor would of necessity be incomplete; for the material to be dealt with is obscure, and the threads of thought to be interwoven are scattered, requiring no little patience and no slight expenditure of exposition on the part of one who seeks to place them in their proper relations. Of philosophy, in the strict sense of the term, the Italian Renaissance had not much to offer. We do not revert to that epoch, expecting to meet with systematic theories of the universe, plausible analyses of the laws of thought, or ingenious speculations upon the nature of being. It is well known that the thinkers of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries can scarcely claim to have done more than lead the revolt of reason against scholastic tyranny and obsolete authorities, appealing with often misdirected enthusiasm to original sources, and suggesting theories and methods which, in the hands of abler speculators, at a more fortunate epoch, generated the philosophies of modern Europe. Yet even so the movement of thought in Italy was of no slight moment, and the work accomplished deserves to be recorded with more honor than it has hitherto received from the historians of philosophy.

The Renaissance in general may be called the Middle Ages in dissolution. That the period was transitional in its chief aspects, has often already been insisted on. The massive fabrics of feudalism and the Church were breaking up. The vast edifice of scholastic theology was being undermined by men who had the energy to free themselves from orthodox tradition, but scarcely force enough or opportunity to mold the thought of the new age. The Italians who occupied themselves with philosophical problems, from Petrarch to Campanella, hold an intermediate place between the schoolmen and the founders of modern metaphysics. They accomplish the transition from S. Thomas and Occam to Bacon, Descartes and Spinoza. It is possible to mark three phases in this process of transition, each of which was necessary in the progress of the mind from theological ontology to science and free speculation. The thinkers of the first stage began by questioning the authority of dogma. Those of the second stage accepted the authority of the ancients. Those of the third appealed to Nature against ecclesiastical and classical authority alike. Humanism was thus intermediate between scholasticism and what, for want of a more definite phrase, may be termed rationalism. Succeeding to the schoolmen, the scholars cleared the groundwork of philosophy of old encumbrances, and reappropriated antique systems of thought. After them, the schools of Lower Italy, including Telesio, Campanella and Bruno, prepared the path to be immediately followed; with what profit is apparent to the dullest intellect. Clearly, and beyond the possibility of question, they propounded the main problems which have agitated all the scientific schools of modern Europe. To them belongs the credit of having first speculated knowledge and reality from no external standpoint, but from the immediate consciousness. The Interrogatio Naturæ and the Cogito, ergo sum, which became the watchwords of modern empiricism and rationalism, are theirs. But, at the very moment when the Italians of the Revival had performed their pioneering task-work, all vital vigor in the nation was extinguished or suspended by the deadly influences of Spanish domination and Papal terrorism.[552] It was left for other races to enter on the promised land which they had conquered.

Upon its first appearance, it was clear that humanism would run counter to both currents of medieval thought, the orthodox and the heretical, the Thomistic and Averroistic. Dante designed his epic in accordance with the fixed outlines of Thomistic theology. The freethinkers of the Lombard universities expressed a not uncertain adhesion to the materialistic doctrines which passed for Averroism. But Petrarch, the hero of the coming age, pronounced his contempt for scholastic quibbles, and at the same time waged war against the tenants of Averroes. He introduced a new spirit into philosophical discussion, a new style of treatment, literary rather than scientific, which tended to substitute humane culture for logical pedantry. The departure from medieval lines of thought, thus signalized by Petrarch, was followed by the students of the next two centuries. Questions which had agitated Europe since the days of Roscelin, now seemed to lose the interest of actuality. The distinctions of Nominalism and Realism retained no attraction for men who were engaged in discovering manuscripts, learning to write correct Latin, acquiring Greek, and striving to penetrate the secret of antiquity. The very style of the schoolmen became a byword for ineptitude and barbarism. It required no little courage and a prestige as brilliant as Pico's to sustain the cause of Albertus Magnus or Johannes Scotus.[553] Scholars of the type of Poggio and Filelfo, Beccadelli and Poliziano, abhorred their ponderous metaphysics, as though they were grotesque chimeras generated by the indigestion of half-starved intellectual stomachs. Orpheus had reappeared. He bade the world thenceforward move to music and melodious rhythms both of thought and language. The barbarians might harbor Mercury within their hearts, to quote Pico's apology; they might display wisdom in unvarnished plainness; but what were these claims worth in an age that required the lips rather than the soul to be eloquent, and when a decorated fiction found more favor than a naked truth? No more decided antithesis than that of scholastic philosophy to the new classical ideal is conceivable.

Thus the first movement of the Revival implied an uncompromising abandonment of medieval thought as worse than worthless. If men educated by the humanistic method were to speculate, they would do so upon lines different from those suggested by the schoolmen. Cicero and Seneca became their models; and the rhetorical treatment of moral topics passed muster with them for philosophy. A garrulous colloquial skimming in fair Latin over the well-trodden ground of ethics supplanted the endeavor to think strictly upon difficult subjects. Much of this literature—the dialogues of Alberti, for example, and Landino's Camaldolese Disputations—can still be read with profit. But regarded from the point of view of systematic thought, it has slight importance. We value it principally for the light it casts upon contemporary manners and modes of opinion.

The study of Greek and Latin texts revealed a world to the Italians far wider than the regions where the medieval mind had moved in narrow limits. The immediate effect of this discovery was not, however, wholly salutary. The ancients began to exercise a kind of despotism; and a new authority, no less stringent than that of dogma, bound the scholars of the Revival beneath the tyranny of classical names. It was impossible for the intellect to free itself from fetters at a single leap. This second servitude seemed destined to be even more pernicious than the first; for as yet there was no criticism, and the superincumbent masses of antique literature, extending from the earliest dawn of Greek history to the latest commentators of Byzantium and Ravenna, underwent but little process of sifting. It was enough for the Italians of that epoch to assimilate. Nothing which bore the stamp of antiquity came amiss to their omnivorous appetite. Compilations from second or third sources were valued as equally precious with original texts. The testimony of hearsay reporters passed for conclusive evidence in matters of history. Masters in philosophy were confounded with expositors, who flourished at the distance of some centuries. Athens and Alexandria, Rome and Constantinople, were indiscriminately regarded as a single Holy Land of wisdom.

While this fermentation of assimilative erudition was still at its height, Gemistos Plethon preached his Neo-platonic mysticism at Florence; and the first attempt at a new philosophy for Western Europe, independent of the schoolmen, uninfluenced by orthodoxy, proceeded from the Medicean academy. The Platonism of Ficino and Pico, we now know, was of a very mixed and ill-determined quality. Uncontrolled by critical insight, and paralyzed by the prestige attaching to antiquity, the Florentine school produced little better than an unintelligent eclecticism. Their so-called philosophical writings were commonplace-books of citations, anthologies of ill-digested abstracts, in which Greek and Asiatic and Christian opinions issued in an incoherent theosophy. It must be reckoned a great misfortune for Italian thought that the Platonists were able to approach the masterpieces of their Attic teacher through a medium of Alexandrian and Byzantine enthusiasm. Had they been forced to attack the "Republic" without the intervention of Plotinus and Gemistos, they might have started on some fruitful line of speculation. They would at least have perceived that Plato's theology formed a background to his psychological, ethical, educational and political theories, instead of fastening upon those visionary systems which his later Greek expositors extracted from the least important portions of his works. At the same time, this Neo-platonic mysticism was only too sympathetic to the feebler pietism of the middle ages for men who had discovered it, to doubt its inspiration.

What was finally accomplished for sound scholarship by Ficino, lay in the direction, not of metaphysics or of history, but of translation. The enduring value of Pico's work is due, not to his Quixotic quest of an accord between Pagan, Hebrew and Christian traditions, but to the noble spirit of confidence and humane sympathy with all great movements of the mind, which penetrates it. If we cannot rate the positive achievements of the Florentines in philosophy at a high value, still the discussion of Platonic and Aristotelian doctrines which their investigations originated, caused the text of the Greek philosophers to be accurately examined for the first time in Western Europe. Their theories, though devoid of originality and clogged at every point with slavish reverence for classical authority, marked a momentous deviation from the traditional methods of medieval speculation.

Thus a vast and tolerably accurate acquaintance with the chief thinkers of antiquity, re-enforced by the translation of their principal works, was the main outcome of the Platonic revival at Florence. Uncritically, and with many a blundering divergence into the uncongenial provinces of Oriental thought, the Italian intellect appropriated Greek philosophy. A groundwork was laid down for the discussion of fundamental problems in the forms under which they had presented themselves to the ancient world. But while the Platonists were wrangling with the Aristotelians about the superiority of their respective masters; while the scholars were translating from the original languages; while the mystics were building castles in the air, composed of fragments from Neo-platonic and Neo-pythagorean systems, cementing them with the mortar of Christianity and adding quaint outbuildings of Cabbalistic and astrological delusions; the writers of ethical treatises pursued another line of inquiry, which was no less characteristic of the age and no less fruitful of results. During the middle ages thought of every kind had been concentrated on the world beyond this life. The question of how to live here was answered with reference to eternal interests solely. Human existence had no meaning except as the prelude to heaven or hell. But contact with antiquity introduced a new class of problems. Men began once more to ask themselves how they ought to live in this world, not with the view of avoiding misery and securing happiness in the next, but with the aim of making their terrestrial home most comfortable and their sojourn in it most effective for themselves and their companions. The discussion of the fundamental question how to live to best advantage, without regard for the next world and unbiased by the belief in a rigid scheme of salvation, occupies an important place in the philosophical essays of the time. Landino, for example, in his Camaldolese Disputations, raises the question whether the contemplative or the practical life offers superior attractions to a man desirous of perfecting self-culture. Alberti touches the same topic in his minor dialogues, while he subjects the organism of the Family in all its relations to a searching analysis in his most important essay.

Valla, in the famous dialogue De Voluptate, attacks the problem of conduct from another point of view.[554] Contrasting the Stoical with the Epicurean ideals, asceticism with hedonism, he asks which of the two fulfills the true end of human life. His treatise on Pleasure is, indeed, a disputation between renascent paganism, naturalism, and humanism on the one side, and the medieval scheme of ethics on the other. Man according to nature contends with man according to grace; the soul, obeying the desires of the flesh, defends her cause against the spirit, whose life is hid with a crucified Christ in God. Thus the two points of view between which the Renaissance wavered, are placed in powerful contrast; and nowhere has their antagonism been more ably stated. For the champion of hedonism Valla appropriately chose the poet Beccadelli, while he committed the defense of asceticism to Niccolò Niccoli. Though at the close of the argument he awarded the palm of victory to the latter,[555] it is clear that his sympathies lay with the former, and all the strength of his reasoning faculty is employed in the statement and support of Beccadelli's thesis. The first and far the longest part of the dialogue, where we detect a true note of sincerity, is a remorseless onslaught upon monasticism under the name of Stoicism, resulting in a no less uncompromising defense of physical appetite. Some of the utterances upon sexual morality are penetrated with the rancor of rebellion.[556] It is the revolt of the will against unnatural restrictions, the reassertion of natural liberty, emboldened by the study of classical literature, imbittered by long centuries of ecclesiastical oppression. Underlying the extravagances of an argument which owes its crudity and coarseness to the contradictions of the century, we find one central thought of permanent importance. Nature can do nothing wrong: and that must be wrong which violates nature.[557] It is man's duty, by interrogation of nature, to discover the laws of his own being and to obey those. In other words, Valla, though in no sense a man of science, proclaims the fundamental principle of science, and inaugurates a new criterion of ethics.

Three main points may be discriminated in the intellectual movement briefly surveyed in the preceding paragraphs. The first is an abrupt breach with scholasticism. The whole method of philosophy has been changed, and the canon of authority has altered. The second is the acquisition of classical thought, and the endeavor, especially at Florence, among the Platonists to appropriate it and adapt it to Christianity. The third is the introduction of a new problem into philosophical discussion. How to make the best of human life, is substituted for the question how to insure salvation in the world beyond the grave. It will be observed that each of these three points implies departure from the prescribed ground of medieval speculation, which always moved within the limits of theology. Theology, except in the mysticism of the Platonists, except in occasional and perfunctory allusions of the rhetoricians, has no place in this medley of scholarship, citation, superstition, and frank handling of practical ideals.

While the Florentine Platonists were evolving an eclectic mysticism from the materials furnished by their Greek and Oriental studies; while the Ciceronian humanists were discussing the fundamental principles which underlie the various forms of human life; the universities of Lombardy continued their exposition of Aristotle upon the lines laid down by Thomistic and Averroistic schoolmen. Padua and Bologna extended the methods of the middle ages into the Renaissance. Their professors adhered to the formal definitions and distinctions of an earlier epoch, accumulating comment upon comment, and darkening the text of their originals with glosses. Yet the light shed by the Revival penetrated even to the lecture-rooms of men like Achillini. Humanism had established the principle of basing erudition on the study of authentic documents. The text of Aristotle in the Greek or in first-hand translations, had become the common property of theologians and philosophers. It was from these universities that the first dim light of veritable science was to issue. And here the part played by one man in the preparation of a new epoch for modern thought is so important that I may be allowed to introduce him with some prolixity of biographical details.[558]

Pietro Pomponazzi was born of noble lineage at Mantua in 1462. He completed his studies at Padua, where he graduated in 1487 as laureate of medicine. It may be remarked incidentally that teachers of philosophy at this era held the degree of physicians. This point is not unimportant, since it fixes our attention on the fact that philosophy, as distinguished from theology, had not yet won a recognized position. Logic formed a separate part of the educational curriculum. Rhetoric was classed with humanistic literature. Philosophy counted as a branch of Physics. At Florence, in the schools of the Platonists, metaphysical inquiries assumed a certain hue of mysticism. At Padua and Bologna, in the schools of the physicians, they assimilated something of materialism. During the middle ages they had always flourished in connection with theology. But that association had been broken; and as yet a proper place had not been assigned to the science of the human mind. A new department of knowledge was in process of formation, distinct from theology, distinct from physics, distinct from literature. But at the epoch of which we are now treating, it had not been correctly marked off from either of these provinces, and in the schools of Lombardy it was confounded with physical science.

In 1488 Pomponazzi, soon after taking his degree as a physician, was appointed Professor Extraordinary of Philosophy at Padua. He taught in concurrence with the veteran Achillini, who was celebrated for his old-world erudition and his leaning toward the doctrines of Averroes. Pomponazzi signalized his début in the professorial career, by adopting a new method of instruction. Less distinguished for learning than acuteness, he confined himself to brilliant elucidations of his author's text. For glosses, citations and hair-splitting distinctions, he substituted lucid and precise analysis. It is probable that he was a poor Greek scholar. Paolo Giovio goes so far, indeed, as to assert that, of the two classical languages, he only knew Latin; nor is there anything in his own writings to demonstrate that he had studied Greek philosophy in the original. But he proved himself a child of the new era by his style of exposition, no less than by a strict adherence to Alexander of Aphrodisias, the Greek commentator of Aristotle. What that divergence from the system of his rival, Achillini, who still adhered to the commentaries of Averroes, implied, I shall endeavor to make clear in the sequel. For the present, we must follow his career as a professor. Before the year 1495 he had been appointed to the ordinary chair of Natural Philosophy at Padua; and there he resided until 1509, when the schools of Padua were closed. He spent this period chiefly in lecturing on Aristotle's Physics, for the sake presumably of the medical students who crowded that university. Forced by circumstances to leave Padua, Pomponazzi found a home in Ferrara, where he began to expound Aristotle's treatise De Animâ. Unlike Padua, the University of Ferrara had a literary bias; and we may therefore conclude that Pomponazzi availed himself of this first favorable opportunity to pursue the studies in Aristotelian psychology for which he had a decided personal preference. In 1512 he was invited to Bologna, where he remained until his death, in the capacity of Professor of Natural and Moral Philosophy. His stipend, increased gradually through a series of engagements, varied from a little over 200 to 600 golden ducats. Bologna, like Ferrara, was not distinguished for its school of medicine. Consequently, we find that from the date of his first settlement in that city, Pomponazzi devoted himself to psychological and ethical investigations. All the books on which his fame are founded were written at Bologna. In the autumn of 1516 he published his treatise De Immortalitate Animæ. It was dedicated to Marcantonio Flavio Contarini; and, finding its way to Venice, it was immediately burned in public because of its heretical opinions. A long and fierce controversy followed this first publication. Contarini, Agostino Nifo, Ambrogio Fiandino, and Bartolommeo di Spina issued treatises, in which they strove to combat the Aristotelian materialism of Pomponazzi with arguments based on Thomistic theology or Averroistic mysticism. He replied with an Apologia and a Defensorium, avowing his submission to the Church in all matters of faith, but stubbornly upholding a philosophical disagreement with the doctrine of the immortality of the human soul. During this discussion Pomponazzi ran some risk of being held accountable for his opinions. The friars and preachers of all colors were loud in their denunciations; and it is said that Bembo's intercession with Pope Leo in behalf of his old master was needed to secure Pomponazzi from ecclesiastical procedure. During the last years of his life the professor of Bologna completed two important treatises, De Incantationibus and De Fato. They were finished in 1520 but not published until after his death, when they appeared in the Basle edition of his collected works. He died in 1525, and was buried at Mantua. Pomponazzi had been thrice married. He left behind him an unsullied reputation for virtuous conduct and sweet temper. He was, physically, a little man, and owed to this circumstance the sobriquet of Peretto. We gain a glimpse of him in one of Bandello's novels. But, with this exception, the man is undiscernible through the mists of three intervening centuries. With the author the case is different. In his books Pomponazzi presents a powerful and unmistakable personality. What remains to be said about him and his influence over Italian thought must be derived from an examination of the three treatises already mentioned.

In order to make Pomponazzi's position intelligible, it will be needful to review the main outlines of Aristotelian thought, as it was transmitted through the middle ages to the men of the Renaissance. Pomponazzi claimed to be no more than an expositor of Aristotle's system. If he diverged from the paths of orthodox philosophy, it was because he recognized a discrepancy upon vital points between Thomas of Aquino and the Peripatetic writings. If he rejected some fashionable theories of the freethinkers who preceded him, it was because he saw that Averroes had misinterpreted their common master. He aimed at stating once again the precise doctrine of the Greek philosopher. He believed that if he could but grasp Aristotle's real opinion, he should by that mental act arrive at truth. The authority of the Stagirite in all matters of human knowledge lay for him beyond the possibility of question; or, what amounted to nearly the same thing, his interest in speculative questions was confined to making Aristotle's view intelligible. Thus, under the humble garb of a commentator, one of the boldest and in some respects the most original thinkers of his age stepped forth to wage war with superstition and ecclesiastical despotism. The Church, since the date of Thomas Aquinas, had so committed herself to Aristotle that proving a discrepancy between her dogma and the Aristotelian text upon any vital point, was much the same as attacking the dogma itself. This must be kept steadily in mind if we wish to appreciate Pomponazzi.[559] His attitude cannot easily be understood at the present day, when science has discarded authority, and the ipse dixit of a dead man carries no weight outside religious or quasi-religious circles. This renders the prefatory remarks I have to make necessary.

In the Platonic system it was impossible to explain the connection between ideas, conceived as sole realities, and phenomena, regarded as distinct from that ideal world to which they owed their qualities of relative substantiality and cognizability. Aristotle attempted to solve Plato's problem by his theory of form and matter, activity and passivity, energy and potentiality, inseparable in the reality of the individual. He represented the intelligible world as a scale of existences, beginning with form and matter coherent in the simplest object, and ending in God. God was the form of forms, the thought of thoughts, independent of matter, immovable and unchangeable, although the cause of movement and variety. The forms resumed in God, as species are included in the Summum Genus, were disseminated through the universe in a hierarchy of substances, from the most complex immediately below God, to the most simple immediately above the groundwork given by incognizable matter. In this hierarchy matter was conceived as the mere base; necessary, indeed, to every individual but God; an essential element of reality; but beyond the reach of knowledge. The form or universal alone was intelligible. It may already be perceived that in this system, if the individual, composed of form and matter, alone is substantial and concrete, while the universal alone is cognizable, Aristotle admitted a division between reality and truth. The former attribute belongs to the individual, the latter to the universal. The place of God, too, in the system is doubtful. Is He meant to be immanent in the universe, or separated from it? Aristotle uses language which supports each of these views. Again, God is immaterial, universal, the highest form; and yet at the same time He is an individual substance; whereas, by the fundamental conception of the whole scheme, the coherence of form and matter in the individual is necessary to reality. It might seem possible to escape from these difficulties by regarding Aristotle's Deity as the Idea of the Universe, and each inferior form in the ascending series of existences as the material of its immediate superior, until the final and inclusive form is reached in God. But what, then, becomes of matter in itself, which, though recognized as unintelligible, is postulated as the necessary base of individual substances?

In Aristotle's theory of life there is a similar ascending scale. The soul (ψυχὴ) is defined as the form of the body. Its vegetative, motive, sensitive, appetitive faculties (ψυχὴ θρεπτικὴ, κινητικὴ, αισθητικὴ, ὀρεκτικὴ), are subordinated to the active intellect (νοῦς παθητικὸς), which receives their reports; and this in its turn is subordinated to the active intellect (νοῦς ποιητικὸς), which possesses the content of the passive intellect as thought. The intellect (νοῦς) is man's peculiar property: and Aristotle in plain words asserts that it is separate from the soul (ψυχὴ). But he has not explained whether it is separate as the highest series of an evolution may be called distinct from the lower, or as something alien and communicated from without is separate. The passive intellect, being a receptacle for images and phantasms furnished by the senses, perishes with the soul, which, upon the dissolution of the body, whereof it is the form, ceases to exist. But the active intellect is immortal and eternal, being pure thought, and identifiable in the last resort with God. So much Aristotle seems to have laid down about the immortality of the intellect. It is tempting to infer that he maintained a theory of man's participation in the divine Idea—that is to say, in the complex of the categories which render the universe intelligible and distinguish it as a cosmos. But, just as Aristotle failed to explain the connection of God with the world, so he failed to render his opinion regarding the relation of God to the human intellect, and of the immortal to the perishable part of the soul, manifest. It can, however, be safely asserted that he laid himself open to a denial of the immortality of each individual person. This, at any rate, would follow from the assumption that he believed us to be persons by reason of physical existence, of the soul's faculties, and of that blending of the reason with the orectic soul which we call will. As the universe culminates in God, so man culminates in thought, which is the definition of God; and this thought is eternal, the same for all and for ever. It does not, however, follow that each man who has shared the divine thought, should survive the dissolution of his body. The person is a complex, and this complex perishes. The active intellect is imperishable, but it is impersonal. In like manner the whole hierarchy of substances between the ground of matter and the form of forms is in perpetual process of combination and dissolution. But the supreme Idea endures, in isolation from that flux and reflux of the individuals it causes. Whether we regard the ontological or the psychological series, only the world of pure thought, the Idea, is indissoluble, subject to no process of becoming, and superior to all change. The supreme place assigned to Thought in either hierarchy is clear enough. But the nexus between (i) God and the Universe (ii) God and the active intellect (iii) the active intellect, or pure thought, and the inferior faculties of the soul, which supply it with material for thought, is unexplained.

Three distinct but interpenetrating problems were presented by the Aristotelian system. One concerns the theory of the Universal. Are universals or particulars prior? Do we collect the former from the latter; or do the latter owe their value as approximate realities to the former? The second concerns the theory of the Individual. Assuming that the Individual is a complex of form and matter, are we to regard the matter or the form as its essential substratum? The third concerns the theory of the human Soul. Is it perishable with the body, or immortal? If it is immortal, does the incorruptible quality perpetuate the person who has lived upon this globe; or is it the common property of all persons, surviving their decease, but not insuring the prolongation of each several consciousness? The first of these problems formed the battlefield of Nominalists, Realists and Conceptualists in the first period of medieval thought. It was waged upon the data supplied by Porphyry's abstract of the Aristotelian doctrine of the predicaments. The second problem occupied the encyclopædic thinkers of the second period, Albertus Magnus, Duns Scotus and Thomas of Aquino. Their contest was fought out over the Metaphysics of Aristotle. The third problem arrested the attention of speculators in the age of the Renaissance. The text which they disputed was Aristotle's essay De Animâ. This movement of medieval thought from point to point was not unnatural nor unnecessitated. In the first period Aristotle was unknown; but the creeds of Christianity supplied a very definite body of conceptions to be dealt with. About the personality of God, the immortality of the soul, and the concrete reality of the human individual, there was then no doubt. Theology was paramount; and the contention of the schoolmen at this epoch regarded the right interpretation of the Universal. Was it a simple conception of the mind, or an external and substantial reality? Was it a name or an entity? The Nominalists, who adopted the former of these two alternatives, fell necessarily beneath the ban of ecclesiastical censure and suspicion; not because their philosophical conclusions were unwarranted, but because these ran counter to the prevailing spirit of the Christian belief. Their definitions sapped the basis of that transcendentalism on which the whole fabric of medieval thought reposed. Nevertheless, at the end of the battle, the Nominalists virtually gained the day. Abelard's Conceptualism was an attempt to harmonize antagonistic points of view by emphasizing the abstractive faculty of the human subject. In the course of this warfare the problem of the Individual had been neglected. The reciprocity of form and matter had not been expressly made a topic of dispute. Meanwhile a flood of new light was being cast upon philosophical questions by the introduction into Europe of Latin texts translated by Jewish scholars from the Arabic versions of Aristotle, as well as by the commentaries of Averroes. This rediscovery of Aristotle forced the schoolmen of the second period to consider the fundamental relation of matter to form. The master had postulated the conjunction of these two constituents in the individual. Thomas of Aquino and Duns Scotus advanced opposing theories to explain the ground and process of individualization. With regard to the elder problem of the Universal, S. Thomas declared himself for modified Conceptualism. With regard to the second problem, he pronounced matter to be the substratum of individuals—matter stamped as with a seal by the form impressed upon it. Thus he adhered as closely as was possible for a theologian to the Peripatetic doctrines. For a student of philosophy to advance opinions without reckoning with Aristotle was now impossible. The great Dominican Doctor achieved the task of bringing Aristotle into satisfactory accord with Christian dogma. Nor was this so difficult as it appears. Aristotle, as we have seen, did not define his views about the soul and God. Moreover, he had written no treatise on theology proper. Whether he ascribed personality or conscious thought to God was more than doubtful. His God stood at the apex of the world's pyramid, inert, abstract, empty, and devoid of life. Christendom, meanwhile, was provided with a robust set of theological opinions, based on revelation and held as matters of faith. To transfer these to the account of the Aristotelian Deity, to fill out the vacuous and formal outline, and to theosophize the whole system was the work of S. Thomas. To the fixed dogmas of the Latin Church he adjusted the more favorable of Aristotle's various definitions, and interpreted his dubious utterances by the light of ecclesiastical orthodoxy.

Up to this point the doctrine of personal immortality had been accepted by all Christians as requiring no investigation. Human life was only studied in relation to the world beyond the grave, where each man and woman was destined to endure for all eternity. To traverse this fundamental postulate, was to proclaim the grossest heresy; and though Epicureans, as Dante calls them, of that type were found, they had not formulated their opinions regarding the soul's corruptibility in any scientific theory, nor based them on the authority of Aristotle. S. Thomas viewed the soul as the essential form of the human body; he further affirmed its separate existence in each person, and its separate immortality. The soul, he thought, although defined as the form of a physical body, acquired a habit of existence in the body, which sufficed for its independent and perpetual survival. These determinations were clearly in accordance with the Christian faith. But the time was approaching when the problem of the soul itself should be narrowly considered. Averroes had interpreted Aristotle to mean that the active intellect alone, which he regarded as common to all human beings, was immortal. This was tantamount to denying the immortality of the individual. Men live and die, but the species is eternal. The active intellect arrives continually at human consciousness in persons, who participate in it and perish. Knowledge is indestructible for the race, transitory for each separate soul. At one end of the universal hierarchy is matter; at the other end is God. Between God and man in the descending scale are the intelligences of the several spheres. From the lowest or lunar sphere humanity derives the active intellect. This active intellect is a substantial entity, separate no less from God than from the human soul on which it rains the knowledge of a lifetime. It is not necessary to point out how much of mystical and Oriental material Averroes ingrafted on Aristotle's system. His doctrine, though vehemently repudiated by orthodox schoolmen, found wide acceptance; and there were other heretics who asserted the perishable nature of the human soul, without distinction of its faculties. These heterodoxies gained ground so rapidly through the first two centuries of the Italian revival (1300-1500), that in December, 1513, it was judged needful to condemn them, and to reassert the Thomistic doctrine by a Council of the Lateran over which Leo X. presided.[560]

If we consider the intellectual conditions of the Renaissance, it becomes clear why the problem of Immortality acquired this importance, and why heretical opinions spread so widely as to necessitate a confirmation of the orthodox dogma. Medieval speculation had a perpetual tendency to transcend the sphere of this earth. The other world gave reality and meaning to human life. All eyes were fixed on the Beyond, at first with an immediate expectation of the Judgment, afterwards with a continued looking forward to Paradise or Punishment. This attitude toward eternity was an absorbing preoccupation. But with the dawn of the new age our life on earth acquired a deeper significance; and the question was not unnaturally posed—this soul, whose immortality has been postulated, on whose ultimate destiny so many anticipations of weal and woe have been based, what is it? Are we justified in assuming its existence as an incorruptible and everlasting self? What did Aristotle really think about it? The age inclined with overmastering bias toward a practical materialism. Men were eager to enjoy their lives and to indulge their appetites. They tired of the restrictions imposed upon their nature by the prospect of futurity. They found in their cherished classics, whose authority had triumphed over Church and Council, but vague and visionary hints of immortality. Even in the highest ecclesiastical quarters it was fashionable to speak lightly of the fundamental dogmas of the Christian creed. Leo X., who presided over the Lateran Council of 1513, did not disguise his doubts concerning the very doctrine it had re-enforced. The time had come for a reconsideration ab initio of a theory which the middle ages had accepted as an axiom. The battle was fought out on the ground of Aristotle's treatise on the soul. Independent research had not yet asserted its claims against authority; and the problem which now presented itself to the professors and students of Italy, was not: Is the soul immortal? but: Did Aristotle maintain the immortality of the soul? The philosopher of Stagira, having been treated on his first appearance as a foe of the faith and then accepted as its bulwark, was now to be used as an efficient battering-ram against the castles of orthodox opinion.

There were two ways of regarding Aristotle's doctrine of the active intellect. The one was to view the Nous as a development from the soul, which in its turn should be conceived as a development from the senses. The other was to recognize it as separate from the soul and imported from without. Each claimed substantial support in various dicta of the master. The latter found able exposition at the hands of his Arabic commentator Averroes. The former was maintained by the fullest and latest of the Greek peripatetics, Alexander of Aphrodisias. In the later middle ages free thought, combating the Thomistic system, inclined to Averroism. Pomponazzi, the chief Aristotelian of the Renaissance, declared for Alexander. His great work, De Immortalitate Animæ, is little more than an attempt to reconstruct the doctrine of Aristotle by the help of Alexander. Pomponazzi starts by laying down the double nature of the human soul. It is both sensitive and intelligent. On this point philosophers are agreed; the questions at issue relate to the mode of connection between the two portions, and the prospect of immortality for both or either. He next proceeds to state the opinions of Averroes, the Platonists, and Thomas of Aquino, meeting their several arguments, and showing how and where they diverge from Aristotle, and endeavoring to prove the superiority of his master's doctrine. Pomponazzi agrees with S. Thomas as to the division of the soul and its relation to the body. He differs with him on the point of immortality, declaring with sufficient clearness that no portion of the human soul can be other than perishable. If we admit that the soul in general is the act or form of the body, the intelligent portion of the soul is included in this definition. It cannot dispense with the body, at least as the object of its intelligent activity. But if it be thus intimately bound up with the body, it must suffer corruption with the body; or even should we suppose it to survive, it will have no images or phantasms furnished by the senses, which are the necessary pabulum of its thinking faculty.[561] The order of nature admits of no interruption. It will not do to say that the soul thinks in one way during life on earth, and in another way after death. This contradicts the first principle of continuity. Man occupies a middle place between imperishable and perishable things.[562] He has a certain odor of immateriality, a mere shadow of intellect, because he stands upon the confine between these regions.[563] But his very conduct shows how vain and unsubstantial is his claim to pure reason. If we see a few men elevate themselves toward God, there are thousands who descend toward the brutes; and of those who spend their lives in clarifying their intelligence, none can boast of more than an obscure and cloudy vision.[564] In the hierarchy of souls we can broadly distinguish three grades; the pure intelligences of the astral spheres, who have no need of physical organs; the souls of brutes, immersed in matter, and no better than a mode of it; the souls of men, which occupy a middle place, requiring matter as the object of their thought, but rising by speculation above it. Even so within the mind of man we may discern a triple series—the factive, practical, and speculative intellects. The first subserves utility; man shares it with the brutes. The third enables him to lift himself toward God. The second is essentially human; he uses it in moral action, and performs his duty by obeying it. Both the sensitive soul and the intellect are material in the full sense of extension.[565] To conceive of them otherwise is contradictory to reason and to Aristotle. It is therefore impossible to hold that either soul or intellect, although the latter has certain affinities to imperishable intelligence, should survive the body. The senses supply the object of thought; the phantasms dealt with by the intellect depend upon the physical organs: abstract these, and where is the cogitative faculty? Having thus attempted to demonstrate the mortality of the human soul, Pomponazzi feels bound to attack the problem of the final end of human beings. Hitherto, throughout the ages of Christianity, men had lived on this world with eternity in view. That was their aim and goal. He has removed this object; and he anticipates hostile argument by affirming that virtue itself is the proper end of man on earth. The practical intellect is the attribute of humanity as distinguished both from the brutes and from the separate intelligences of the spheres. To act in accordance with the nature of this specific quality—in other words, to follow virtue—is the end of man. Virtue is her own reward, as vice is its own punishment.[566] The question whether the soul be mortal or immortal, whether we have a right to expect future judgment or not, has really nothing to do with the matter.[567] With this ethical conclusion Pomponazzi terminates his argument. He is careful, however, to note that though he disbelieves in the immortality of the soul as a philosopher, he accepts it in the fullest sense as a Christian.[568] It has been suggested that the orthodox doctrine of the resurrection of the body might have supplied Pomponazzi with a link between science and faith.[569] However, he did not avail himself of it; and his philosophy stands in abrupt and open conflict with his creed.

The treatise De Incantatione presents the same antithesis between Peripatetic science and Christian faith. Pomponazzi composed it at the instance of a physician, his friend, who begged him to offer an explanation of some apparently supernatural phenomena. It is, in fact, an essay upon demons and miracles. As a philosopher, Pomponazzi stoutly rejects both. The order of nature cannot be interrupted. Angels and devils only exist in the popular imagination. Miracles are but imperfectly comprehended manifestations of natural forces, which the vulgar ascribe to the intervention of God or spirits.[570] Each religion has its own miracles and its own saints, to whom the common folk attribute supernatural power.[571] But Moses, Mahomet and Christ stand upon the same level; the thaumaturgists of every creed are equally unable to alter the universal order.[572] Credulity and ignorance ascribe to all of them faculties they cannot possess. Having, as a philosopher, expressed these revolutionary ideas, as a Christian, he briefly and summarily states his belief in all that he has just denied.[573]

Basing his argument upon the ground of reason, which, for him, was no other than the Aristotelian doctrine of the Cosmos, Pomponazzi recognizes no agency that interrupts the sequence of cause and effect in nature. But the astral intelligences are realities, and their operation has been as clearly ascertained as that of any other natural force. Therefore Pomponazzi refers to the planets many extraordinary exhibitions of apparently abnormal power, conceding upon this point as much as could have been desired by the most superstitious of his contemporaries. Not only are the lives of men subject to planetary influence; but all human institutions rise, flourish and decay in obedience to the same superior laws. Even religions have their day of inevitable decline, and Christianity is no exception to the general rule. At the present moment, says Pomponazzi, we may discern signs of approaching dissolution in the fabric of our creed.[574] He is careful to add, as usual, that he holds this doctrine as a philosopher; but that, as a Christian, he believes in the permanence of revealed religion. Faith and reason could not be brought into more glaring antagonism, nor is it possible to affirm contradictory propositions with less attempt at reconciliation. Pomponazzi seems determined to act out by anticipation Pascal's axiom, Il faut être Pyrrhonniste accompli et Chrétien soumis. What the real state of his mind was, and whether the antithesis which seems to us so untenable, did not present itself to him as an anomaly, hardly admits of explanation. A similar unresolved discord may be traced in nearly all the thinkers of this epoch.

It remains to mention one more treatise of Pomponazzi, the Book on Fate. Here he raises the question of human freedom face to face with God and the unbroken order of the Universe. The conclusions at which he arrives are vacillating and unsatisfactory; nor is there much in his method of handling this ancient problem to arrest attention. The essay, however, contains one sentence which deserves to be recorded. "A very Prometheus," he says, "is the philosopher. Seeking to penetrate the secret things of God, he is consumed with ceaseless cares and cogitations; he forgets to thirst, to hunger, to eat, to sleep, to spit; he is derided of all men, and held for a fool and sacrilegious person; he is persecuted by inquisitors; he becomes a gazing-stock to the common folk. These, then, are the gains of the philosophers; these are their guerdons."[575] Not only were these words spoken from the man's own heart, smarting under the attacks to which his treatise on the soul had exposed him; but they were in a profound sense prophetic. While reading them, we think of Campanella's lifelong imprisonment and sevenfold tortures; of Bruno's death by fire, and Vanini's tongue torn out before his execution; of Galileo's recantation and disgrace; of Carnesecchi, Paleario and Montalcino burned or strangled. A whole procession of Italian martyrs to free thought and bold avowal of opinion passes before our eyes.

Reviewing Pomponazzi's work, we find that, though he occupied for the most part the modest place of a commentator and expositor, he valiantly asserted the rights of reason face to face with ecclesiastical authority. Under the ægis of the formula salvâ fide, he attacked the popular belief, disputed the fiats of Church Councils, denied miracles, rejected supernatural causes, and proclaimed that science must be based upon the axiom of an unalterable permanence in the order of the universe. The controversy which his treatise on immortality inflamed in Italy, popularized the two conceptions of God's immanence in nature and of the evolution of the human soul from corporeal organs. In other words it struck a powerful blow at transcendental, extra-mundane speculation, and prepared the way for sounder physical investigations. The positive spirit appeared in Pomponazzi, never thenceforward to be set at rest until the cycle of modern scientific illumination shall be accomplished.

The deep impression produced by this controversy on the mind of the Italians, may be illustrated by a little story. Pomponazzi's disciple, Simone Porzio, when invited to lecture at Pisa, opened Aristotle's meteorological treatises at the commencement of his course. The assembly, composed of students and people of the town, who had assembled, as was then the custom, to gaze upon the new professor and to judge his manner,[576] cried in a loud voice: "Quid de animâ? Speak to us about the soul!" He had to close his book, and take up the De Animâ. This Porzio frankly professed his belief that the human soul differed in no essential point from the soul of a lion or a plant, and that those who thought otherwise, were prompted by a generous pity for our mean estate.[577] Materialism of the purest water became fashionable and expressed itself in pithy sentences, which, though devoid of historical accuracy, sufficiently paint the temper of the folk who gave them currency. Of this type is the apocryphal epitaph of Cesare Cremonini, one of the latest of the Italian peripateticians. He died in 1631, and on his grave was said to have been written at his own request Hic jacet Cremoninus totus. To the same Cremonini is ascribed the Jesuitical motto Foris ut moris, intus ut libet, which may be regarded as a cynical version of Pomponazzi's oft-repeated protestation of belief in dogmas he had demonstrated contrary to reason.[578] Had it been possible for the Church to continue her tolerance of Leo's age, or had the Counter-Reformation taken a direction less inimical to free inquiry, the studied hypocrisy of this epigram, so painfully characteristic of the age that gave it birth, might have been avoided. The men who uttered it and acted by it, were the same of whom Milton spoke in Areopagitica: "I have sat among their learned men (for that honor I had), and been counted happy to be born in such a place of philosophic freedom as they supposed England was, while themselves did nothing but bemoan the servile condition into which learning amongst them was brought; that this was it which had damped the glory of Italian wits; that nothing had been written now these many years but flattery and fustian."

Central and Northern Italy performed the first two stages of Renaissance thought. Florence, true to the destiny which made her artful and form-giving, attempted to restore Platonic philosophy in accordance with the conditions determined by the middle ages. Bologna, gifted with a personality no less substantial, adhered to scholastic traditions, but accommodated their rigid subject-matter to the spirit breathed upon them by more liberal scholarship. It remained for the South of Italy to complete the work, and to supply the fulcrum needed for the first true effort of modern science. Hitherto, whether at Florence or Bologna, philosophy had recognized authority. Discarding the yoke of the Church, both Platonists and Aristotelians recognized masters, whose words they were contented to interpret. Reason dared not declare herself, except beneath the mask of some great teacher—Plato or Plotinus, Aristotle or Alexander or Averroes. The school of Cosenza cut itself adrift from authority, ecclesiastical or classical. This is the import of the first sonnet in Campanella's series, preserved for us by the fortunate mediation of his disciple, the German with the Italianized patronymic, Tobia Adami:[579]

Born of God's Wisdom and Philosophy,

Keen lover of true beauty and true good,

I call the vain self-traitorous multitude

Back to my mother's milk; for it is she,

Faithful to God her spouse, who nourished me,

Making me quick and active to intrude

Within the inmost veil, where I have viewed

And handled all things in eternity.

If the whole world's our home where we may run,

Up, friends, forsake those secondary schools

Which give grains, units, inches for the whole!

If facts surpass mere words, melt pride of soul,

And pain, and ignorance that hardens fools,

Here in the fire I've stolen from the Sun!

Campanella calls the students of truth back to Nature from the "secondary schools" of the philosophers, Plato, Aristotle, Thomas of Aquino, or Averroes; who imposed upon their reason by the word "authority." In his fifth sonnet he enforces the same theme:[580]

The world's the book where the eternal sense

Wrote his own thoughts; the living temple where,

Painting his very self, with figures fair

He filled the whole immense circumference.

Here then should each man read, and gazing find

Both how to live and govern, and beware

Of godlessness; and, seeing God all-where,

Be bold to grasp the universal mind.

But we tied down to books and temples dead,

Copied with countless errors from the life,—

These nobler than that school sublime we call.

O may our senseless souls at length be led,

To truth by pain, grief, anguish, trouble, strife!

Turn we to read the one original!

Tyrants, hypocrites and sophists—that is to say, the triple band of State and Church oppressors, of interested ecclesiastics, and of subtle logicians—have drawn their threefold veil between the human intelligence and the universe, from which alone, as their proper home and milieu, men must derive the knowledge that belongs to them. Campanella, with the sincerity of one to whom the truth is dearer than his own reputation, yields the spolia opima of this latest victory over the strongholds of authority to his master—the master whom he never knew in life, but over whose bier he wept and prayed in secret, hiding the fire of modern freedom and modern science beneath the black cowl of a Dominican friar:[581]

Telesius, the arrow from thy bow

Midmost his band of sophists slays that high

Tyrant of souls that think; he cannot fly:

While Truth soars free, loosed by the self-same blow.

Proud lyres with thine immortal praises glow,

Smitten by bards elate with victory:

Lo, thine own Cavalcante, stormfully

Lightning, still strikes the fortress of the foe!

Good Gaieta bedecks our saint serene

With robes translucent, light-irradiate,

Restoring her to all her natural sheen;

The while my tocsin at the temple-gate

Of the wide universe proclaims her queen,

Pythia of first and last ordained by fate.

In these verses, the saint and queen proclaimed by Campanella is Nature. During the middle ages truth had seemed to descend as by a sort of inspiration upon man from an extra-mundane God. During the first and second periods of the Renaissance the human intellect repudiated this transcendentalism, but yielded itself, a willing victim, to the authority of books, Plato or Aristotle, and their commentators. Now the mind of man stands face to face with nature, and knows that there, and there alone, is inspiration. The great Baconian secret, the Interrogation of Nature, has been revealed. It is now acknowledged on all sides that not what Telesio or Campanella, or their famous disciple, Bacon, achieved in actual discovery, was noteworthy. But the spirit communicated from Telesio and Campanella to Bacon, is the spirit of modern science. Meanwhile, another native of South Italy, Giordano Bruno, proclaimed the immanence of God in the world, the identification of the universe with God in thought, the impossibility of escaping from God in nature, because nature, realizing God for the human soul, is divine. The central conception of the third age of Italian thought, underlying the apparently divergent systems of Campanella and Bruno—the conception, namely, of a real and indestructible correlation between the human spirit and the actual universe, and the consequent reliance of the human consciousness upon its own testimony in the search for truth—contained the germ of all that has, in very various regions, been subsequently achieved by French, Dutch, English, and German speculators. Telesio and Campanella, long before Bacon, founded empirical science. Campanella and Bruno, long before Descartes, established the principle of idealistic philosophy in the self-conscious thinking faculty of man. The sensualism of Telesio, the spiritualism of Bruno, and Campanella's dualism, foreshadow all possible sects of empiricists, rationalists and eclectics, which have since divided the field of modern speculation. It is easy enough now to look down either from the height of full-blown transcendental metaphysics or from the more modest eminence of solid physical science upon the intellectual abortions generated by this potent conception in its earliest fusion with medieval theology. Yet it is impossible to neglect the negative importance of the work effected by men who declared their independence of ecclesiastical and classical authority in an age when the Church and antiquity contended for the empire of the human reason. Still less possible is it to deny the place of Galileo, Descartes, Bacon, Spinoza, among the offspring begotten of the movement which Pomponazzi, Telesio, Campanella and Bruno inaugurated and developed.

Thus, therefore, by the substitution of human for revealed authority; by the suggestion of new and real topics of inquiry, and finally by the repudiation of all authority except that of nature's ascertained laws; by the rending of all veils between the human reason and the universe, the Italian philosophers of the Renaissance effected for Europe the transition from the middle ages to the modern era.

What is the link of connection between Machiavelli and Pomponazzi, the two leaders of Italian thought at the height of the Renaissance? It may be expressed in one formula—a vivid sense of man and the world as they are; or, in other words, positivism. Machiavelli dispenses with Providence, smiles incredulously at Fortune, explains all social and historical problems by reference to the will and thought of men in action. He studies human nature as he finds it, not as it ought to be according to some ideal standard. Pomponazzi shatters transcendentalism at a blow. He proves that there is no convincing argument for immortality. He demonstrates that the end of man is to be found in conduct. He treats religions without exception as transitory institutions, subject to the universal laws of birth and corruption, useful to society in their day of vigor, but destined to succeed each other with the waxing and the waning of the influences that control our globe and all that it contains. On this point Machiavelli and Pomponazzi are in complete accord. Both of them interpret the spirit of their century.

As Machiavellism existed in Italian politics before Machiavelli theorized it, so materialism leavened society before Pomponazzi gave it the consistency of demonstration. The middle ages with their political and theological idealism were at an end. Machiavelli and Pomponazzi contemporaneously philosophized the realism on which science was destined to be founded. They were the deicides of elder faiths; the hierophants of a new revelation, as yet but dimly apprehended; the Columbus and Vespucci of an intellectual hemisphere which it remained for their posterity to colonize. The conditions of public and private life in the Italian cities—the decline of religious feeling, the corruption of morality, the paganizing tendencies of humanism, the extinction of political activity, the decay of freedom, the survival of the Church and Commune when their work was ended—rendered any such movement as that of the German Reformation wholly impossible. The people lacked the spiritual stuff for it. We have seen that it was chiefly men like Berni and Folengo who gave open utterance to Lutheran opinions; and from sources like those no pure or vivifying waters could be drawn. Italy's work lay in another direction. Those very conditions which unfitted her for a religious revival, enabled her to perform her true mission. It was no slight achievement to have set up the pillars of Hercules for transcendentalism, and at the same time to have discovered the continent of positive science. For the fruits and recognition of her labors she has had to wait. Her history since the date of Machiavelli's death has been obscure until the middle of this century, and in the race of the nations she has been left behind.[582] But the perturbation of the intellectual current caused by the Reformation is now nearly over, and the spirit of modern science still finds itself in harmony with that of the Italian thinkers who gave it earliest expression.

CHAPTER XVII.

CONCLUSION.

Retrospect—Meaning of the Renaissance—Modern Science and Democracy—The Preparation of an Intellectual Medium for Europe—The Precocity of Italy—Servitude and Corruption—Antiquity and Art—The Italian Provinces—Florence—Lombardy and Venice—The March of Ancona, Urbino, Umbria—Perugia—Rome—Sicily and Naples—Italian Ethnology—Italian Independence on the Empire and the Church—Persistence of the Old Italic Stocks—The New Nation—Its Relation to the Old—The Revival of Learning was a National Movement—Its Effect on Art—On Literature—Resumption of the Latin Language—Affinities between the Latin and Italian Genius—Renascence of Italian Literature combined with Humanism—Greek Studies comparatively Uninfluential—The Modern Italians inherited Roman Qualities—Roman Defects—Elimination of Roman Satire—Decay of Roman Vigor—Italian Realism—Positivism—Sensuousness—Want of Mystery, Suggestion, Romance—The Intellectual Atmosphere—A Literature of Form and Diversion—Absence of Commanding Genius—Lack of Earnestness—Lack of Piety—Materialism and Negation—Idyllic Beauty—The Men of the Golden Age—The Cult of Form—Italy's Gifts to Europe—The Renaissance is not to be Imitated—Its Importance in Human Development—Feudalism, Renaissance, Reformation, Revolution.

AT the end of a long journey it is natural to review the stages of the way that has been traversed. We resume the impressions made upon our mind, and extract that element of generality from recollection, which the rapid succession of scenes, incidents and interests denied to the experience of travel. In like manner, those who have been engaged in some historical inquiry, after examining each province of the subject separately, seek a vantage-ground of contemplation, whence the conclusions they have reached can be surveyed in their relation to each other.

What we call, for want of a better name, the Renaissance, was a period of transition from the middle ages to the first phase of modern life. It was a step which had to be made, at unequal distances of time and under varying influences, by all the peoples of the European community. Its accomplishment brought the several members of that community into international relationship, and formed a confederation of reciprocally balanced powers out of the Occidental races who shared the inheritance of imperial Rome. At the commencement of this period, the modern nations acquired consistency and fixity of type. Mutually repelled by the principle of nationality, which made of each a separate organism, obeying its own laws of growth according to peculiarities of climate, blood and social institutions, they were at the same time drawn and knit together by a common bond of intellectual activities and interests. The creation of this international consciousness or spirit, which, after the lapse of four centuries, justifies us in regarding the past history of Europe as the history of a single family, and encourages us to expect from the future a still closer interaction of the Western nations, can be ascribed in a great measure to the Renaissance. One distinctive feature of that epoch was, reaction against the main forces of the middle ages. And since reaction implies a vivid principle of vitality, we find, in the further progress of this movement, the new ideas of democracy and science counterposed to feudalism and the Church. So vast a revolution as the reconstruction of society upon new bases, could not be effected by any simple or continuously progressive process. The nations educated by the Church and disciplined by feudalism, could not pass into a new phase of being without checks, hesitations, retrogressions, hindrances innumerable. Nor was it to be expected that the advance of each member in the European community should proceed upon an exactly similar method, or with equally felicitous results. It was inevitable that both feudalism and the Church should long remain in liquidation, resisting the impact of skepticism inherent in the Reformation; opposing stubborn resistance to republican energy liberated by the Revolution; crystallizing the counter-movement of the modern spirit at one point in monarchical absolutism, at another in Protestant establishments; receding from this rebellious province to fortify and garrison that loyal stronghold; tolerating no compromise here, and there achieving a temporary triumph by transaction with the steadily-advancing forces ranged against them. The battle even now is being waged with varying success over the wide field of Europe; and whatever may be our conviction as to the ultimate issue of the struggle, it is impossible to foresee a definite end, or to assign even probable limits to the extent and the duration of the conflict.

Although we may hold the opinion that science and democracy constitute the fundamental points in modern as distinguished from medieval history, it would be paradoxical to assert that they emerged into prominence during the initial stage of the Renaissance. A common intellectual atmosphere had first to be prepared for Europe. The sense of human freedom had to be acquired by studies and discoveries which made man master of himself and of the world around him. His attention had to be diverted from the life beyond the grave to his life upon this planet. The culture, which formed the great achievement of the Italian Renaissance and which was diffused through Europe, uniting men of all races and all creeds in speculative and literary activity, evoking sympathies and stimulating antagonisms upon vital questions of universal import, was necessary for the evolution of the modern world as we now know it. In many senses we have already transcended the original conditions of that culture. But we owe to it our spiritual solidarity, our feeling of intellectual identity, our habit of pouring convergent contributions from divers quarters into the stock of indestructible experience.

Quickened to livelier consciousness by contact with the masterpieces of antiquity, in the dawn of that new age, the reason rapidly engaged in exploratory expeditions. Both human nature and the material universe presented themselves with altered aspect to thought and senses, which had lain dormant during centuries of incubation. At first, like the blind man of the miracle, the awakening intelligence saw confusedly. It is easy with our clearer vision to despise the hybrid fancies of a time when things old and new were so romantically blent—"the men as trees, walking," of that inexperienced intuition, the childish science and the scarce-fledged criticism of discoverers, who, while they reached forth to the future, still retained the hold of custom and long reverence on the past. A note of imperfection, vacillation, tentative endeavor, can be traced in all the productions of the Renaissance—everywhere, in fact, but in the fine arts, where a simpler insight and more unimpeded faculties were exercised at that period than the last three centuries have boasted. In another important department the men of that age proved themselves more than merely precocious and immature. The humanistic system of mental training has survived with little alteration to the present day, and still forms the basis of what is called a liberal education.

This transition from the middle ages to the modern era, which we designate by the metaphor of Renascence or new birth, made itself first powerfully felt in Italy. Of all the European nations, the Italians alone can boast of a great and uninterrupted history, extending over the twenty-five centuries which are known to us by tolerably trustworthy records. They first gave the civilization of republican and imperial Rome to the Western world. They formed the Latin Church, and extended the organization of ecclesiastical Rome to European Christendom. This was their double work in what we call the ancient and medieval periods. At the close of the latter, they inaugurated the age of culture, science and associated intellectual endeavor, in which we are now living. In Italy the people preserved unbroken memories of their classical past; and, as we have seen throughout these volumes, the point of departure for modern reconstruction was a renewed and vital interest in antiquity. Here, too, the characteristic institutions of feudalism had taken but slight hold, while the secularization of the Papacy had undermined the spiritual prestige of the Church. Thus the forces to be overcome were feebler in Italy than elsewhere, while the current of fresh energy was stronger.

The conditions under which the Italians performed their task in the Renaissance were such as seem at first sight unfavorable to any great achievement. Yet it is probable that, the end in view being the stimulation of mental activity, no better circumstances than they enjoyed could have been provided. Owing to a series of adverse accidents, and owing also to their own instinctive preference for local institutions, they failed to attain the coherence and the centralized organization which are necessary to a nation as we understand that word. Their dismemberment among rival communities proved a fatal source of political and military weakness, but it developed all their intellectual energies by competition to the utmost.

At the middle of the fifteenth century their communes had lost political liberty, and were ruled by despots. Martial spirit declined. Wars were carried on by mercenaries; and the people found itself in a state of practical disarmament, when the neighboring nations quarreled for the prize of those rich provinces. At the same time society underwent a rapid moral deterioration. When Machiavelli called Italy "the corruption of the world," he did not speak rhetorically. An impure and worldly clergy; an irreligious, though superstitious, laity; a self-indulgent and materialistic middle class; an idle aristocracy, excluded from politics and unused to arms; a public given up to pleasure and money-getting; a multitude of scholars, devoted to trifles, and vitiated by studies which clashed with the ideals of Christianity—from such elements in the nation proceeded a widely-spread and ever-increasing degeneracy. Public energy, exhausted by the civil wars and debilitated by the arts of the tyrants, sank deep and deeper into the lassitude of acquiescent lethargy. Religion expired in laughter, irony and license. Domestic simplicity yielded to vice, whereof the records are precise and unmistakable. The virile virtues disappeared. What survived of courage assumed the forms of ruffianism, ferocity and treasonable daring. Still, simultaneously with this decline in all the moral qualities which constitute a powerful people, the Italians brought their arts and some departments of their literature to a perfection that can only be paralleled by ancient Greece. The anomaly implied in this statement is striking; but it is revealed to us by evidence too overwhelming to be rejected. We must be careful not to insist on any causal link of connection between the moral and intellectual conditions of Italian society at this epoch. Still we are forced to admit that servitude and corruption are the commanding features of the age in which Italy for the third time in her history won and held the hegemony of the world. In politics, in religion, in ethics, she seemed to have been left devoid of guiding principles; and tragic interest is added to the climax of her greatness by the long series of disasters, culminating in Spanish enslavement and ecclesiastical tyranny, which proved her internal rottenness and put an end to her unrivaled intellectual triumphs.

It has been my object in this work to review the part played by the Italians at the beginning of modern history, subjecting each department of their activity to separate examination. In the first of the five volumes I described the social and political conditions under which the renascence of the race took place. In the second I treated of that retrogressive movement toward antiquity, which constitutes the most important factor in the problem offered by that age. The third volume was devoted to the Fine Arts, wherein the main originality of modern Italy emerged. It was through art that the creative instincts of the people found their true and adequate channel of expression. Paramount over all other manifestations of the epoch, fundamental beneath all, penetrative to the core of all, is the artistic impulse. The slowly self-consolidating life of a great kingdom, concentrating all elements of national existence by the centripetal force of organic unity, was wanting. Commonwealths and despotisms, representing a more imperfect stage of political growth, achieved completion and decayed. But art survived this disintegration of the medieval fabric; and in art the Italians found the cohesion denied them as a nation. While speaking thus of art, it is necessary to give a wide extension to that word. It must be understood to include literature. Nor, in the case of Italy, does this imply an undue strain upon its meaning. The last two volumes of my work have been devoted to the stages whereby vernacular literature absorbed into itself the elements of scholarship, and gave form to the predominating thoughts and feelings of the people. This process of form-giving was controlled, more or less consciously throughout, by the artistic instincts of which I have been speaking. Thus we are justified in regarding the literary masterpieces of the sixteenth century as the fullest and most representative expression of the Italian temperament at the climax of its growth. The literature of the golden age implies humanism, implies painting. It will be seen that the logic of the whole subject necessitated the reservation of this department for final treatment, and justified a more minute investigation than had been accorded to the rest.

It is not only possible but right to speak of Italy collectively when we review her work in the Renaissance. Yet it should not be forgotten that Italy at this time was a federation, presenting upon a miniature scale the same diversities in her component parts as the nations of Europe do now. If for this reason alone, we may profitably survey the different shares claimed by her several communities in the general achievement.

At the beginning of such a review, we cannot fail to be struck with the predominance of Florence. The superiority of the Tuscans was threefold. In the first place, they determined the development of art in all its branches. In the second place, they gave a language to Italy, which, without obliterating the local dialects, superseded them in literature when the right moment for intellectual community arrived. That moment, in the third place, was rendered possible by the humanistic movement, which began at Florence. The humanists prepared the needful literary medium by introducing classical studies into every town of the peninsula. Without this discipline, Tuscan could not so speedily have produced Italian, or have been so readily accepted by North and South. It may, indeed, be affirmed without exaggeration that, prior to the close of the fifteenth century, what we call the Italian genius was, in truth, the genius of Florence.

What the Lombards and Venetians produced in fine art and literature was of a later birth.[583] Yet the novelists of Lombardy, the Latin lyrists of Garda, the school of romantic and dramatic poets at Ferrara, the group of sculptors and painters assembled in Milan by the Sforza dynasty, the maccaronic Muse of Mantua, the unrivaled magnificence of painting at Venice, the transient splendor of the Parmese masters, the wit of Modena, the learning of the princes of Mirandola and Carpi, must be catalogued among the most brilliant and characteristic manifestations of Italian genius. In pure literature Venice contributed but little, though she sent forth a dictator, Pietro Bembo, to rule the republic of letters at the moment when the scepter was about to pass from Florence. Her place, as the home of Aldo's Greek press, and as the refuge for adventurers like Aretino and Folengo, when the rest of Italy was yielding to reactionary despotism, has to be commemorated. Of the northern universities, Padua preserved the tradition of physical studies, and Bologna that of legal erudition, onward from the middle ages. Both became headquarters of materialistic philosophy in the sixteenth century. The school of Vicenza had flourished in humane letters at the commencement of the epoch. But it declined early; while that of Ferrara, on the contrary, succeeded to the honors of Florence and Pisa. Genoa was almost excluded from the current of Italian culture. Her sumptuous palaces and churches, her sensual unsympathetic painting, belong to the last days of Italian energy. Her few great scholars owed their fame to correspondence and connection with the students of more favored districts.

From Romagna, the Marches of Ancona, and the Umbrian cities, more captains of adventure than men of letters or artists swelled the muster-roll of Italian worthies. We must not, however, forget the unique place which Urbino, with its refined society, pure Court, and concourse of accomplished men and women, occupies in the history of Italian civilization. The position of Perugia, again, is not a little singular. Situated upon the borders of Tuscany and Umbria, sharing something of the spirit of both districts, overshadowed by Papal Rome, yet harboring such broods of bravi as the Baglioni, conferring a tyranny on Braccio and the honor of her name on Pietro Vannucci, this city offers a succession of picturesque and perplexing contradictions. Perugia was the center of the most religious school of painting which flourished in the fifteenth century, and also the cradle of the religious drama. For the student of Italian psychology, very much of serious moment is contained in this statement.

Rome continued to be rather cosmopolitan than Italian. The power, wealth, and prestige of the Popes made their court a center; and men who settled in the Eternal City, caught something of its greatness. There is, however, no reason to recapitulate the benefits conferred by ecclesiastical patronage at various times on fine arts, scholarship, and literature. Rather must it be borne in mind that the Romans who advanced Italian culture, were singularly few. The work of Rome was done almost exclusively by aliens, drawn for the most part from Tuscany and Lombardy.

After Frederick II.'s brilliant reign, the Sicilians shared but little in the intellectual activity of the nation. That this was not due to want of capacity in the people, seems proved by their aptitude for poetry first shown at Frederick's Court, and next by the unrivaled richness of their dialectical literature, both popular and cultivated. Whether the semi-feudalism which oppressed the Southern provinces, checked the free expansion of mental faculty, admits of question. But it is certainly remarkable that, during the Renaissance, the wide districts of the Regno produced so little. Antonio Beccadelli was, indeed, a native of Palermo; but Pontano owned Cerreto for his birthplace. Valla claimed to be a Roman, and Sannazzaro traced his ancestry through Piacenza into Spain. These are the four greatest names of the period when Naples formed a literary center under the Aragonese dynasty. We have already seen that Naples, though not prolific of native genius, gave specific tone of warmth and liberty to literature. This may be ascribed partly to the free manners, bordering on license, of the South, and partly to the permanent jealousy subsisting between the Kingdom and the Papacy. The Novella produced humorous pictures of society at Florence, facetiæ in Rome, but bitter satires on the clergy at Naples. The scandals of the Church provoked the frigid animosity of Florentines like Machiavelli and Guicciardini; in Naples they led to Valla's ponderous critique and Sannazzaro's envenomed epigrams. The sensuousness of Poliziano assumed voluptuous fervor in Pontano's lyrics. Lastly, the Platonic mysticism of Florence, and the Peripatetic materialism of Bologna ended in the new philosophy of the Calabrian school. This crowning contribution of the south to Italy, this special glory of the sixteenth century, came less from Naples than from minor cities of Calabria. Telesio of Cosenza, Bruno of Nola, Campanella of Stilo, showed that something of the old Greek speculative genius—the spirit of Parmenides and Pythagoras—still lingered round the shores of Magna Græcia. Just as the Hellenic colonists at Elea and Tarentum anticipated the dawn of Attic philosophy, so did those robust and innovating thinkers shoot the arrows of their speculation forward at the mark of modern science.

It is tempting to pass from this review of the Italian provinces to meditations on a further problem. How far may the qualities of each district have endured from remote antiquity? To what extent may they have determined the specific character of Italian production in the modern age? Did the population of Calabria, we ponder, really inherit philosophical capacity from their Greek ancestors? Dare we connect the Tuscan aptitude for art with that mysterious race who built their cities on Etrurian hill-tops? Can the primitive ethnology of the Ligurian and Iapygian stocks be used to explain the silence of the Genoese Riviera and the Apulian champaign? Is a Teutonic strain discernible in the gross humor of the Mantuan Muse, or in the ballads of Montferrat? It would be easy to multiply these questions. But the whole subject of national development is still too obscure to admit of satisfactory answers.[584] All we can affirm without liability to error, amounts to this; that Rome never completely fused the divers races of the Italian peninsula, nor obliterated their characteristic differences. After the dissolution of her empire, we find the Italian provinces presenting local types in language, manners, sentiments, and intellectual proclivities. It is not unreasonable, therefore, to conjecture that certain of these differences sprang from the persistence of ethnological qualities, and others from the infusion of fresh blood from without.

The decisive fact of Italian history in all its branches at this epoch is the resurgence of the Latin, or shall we rather say, of the Italic spirit? The national consciousness survived, though dimly, through the middle ages; nor had the people suffered shipwreck in the break-up of the Roman power. This was due in no small measure to the fact that the Empire was the creation of this people, and that consequently they were in a sense superior to its fall. Roman civilization, Roman organization, Roman institutions, Roman law, were the products of the Italian genius; and when the Roman State declined, the home province suffered a less thorough-going transformation than, to take an instance, either Gaul or Spain. It would be paradoxical to maintain that the imperial despotism exercised a more controlling authority over the outlying provinces than over Italy proper. Yet something of this kind might be advanced, when we reflect upon the self-indulgent majesty of Rome herself; upon the sovereign privileges accorded to the chief Italian cities; upon the prosperity and vastness of Mediolanum, Aquileia and Ravenna. Local ties and local institutions kept a lasting hold upon the ancient no less than the medieval Italian; and long after Rome became the colluvies omnium gentium so bitterly described by Juvenal, the country towns, especially in the valley of the Po, retained a vigorous personality. In this respect the relation in which men of state and letters, like the Plinies, stood on one side to the capital and on the other to their birthplace, is both interesting and instructive. The citizens of the provincial municipia gloried in the might of Rome. Rome was for them the fulcrum of a lever which set the habitable globe in movement at their touch. Still the Empire existed for the world, while each Italian city claimed the duty and affection of its own inhabitants. When Rome failed, the cosmopolitan authority of the Empire was extended to the Church, or, rather, fell into abeyance between the Church and the resuscitated Empire. Just as the municipia flourished beneath the shadow of old Rome, so now the Communes grew beneath the Church and the new Empire. These two creations of the earlier middle ages, though formulated and legalized in Italy, weighed less heavily there than on some other parts of Europe. The Italians resisted imperial authority, and preserved their own local independence. The Northern Emperors were never really strong below the Alps except on sufferance and by the aid of faction. In like manner the Italian burghers tolerated ecclesiastical despotism only in so far as they found it convenient to do so. In spite of Gothic, Lombard, Frankish and German attempts at solidification, the cities succeeded in asserting their autonomy. The Italic stock absorbed the several foreign elements that mingled with it. Vernacular Latin, surviving the decay of literature, repelling the influence of alien dialects, prevailed and was the language of the people.

Notwithstanding this persistence of the antique type, the Italian nation, between the ages of Constantine and Frederick Barbarossa, was intellectually and actually remade. It was not a new nation like the English, French or Germans; for its life had continued without cessation on the same soil from a period antecedent to the birth of Rome. It had no fund of myth and legend, embodying its memories in popular epical poetry. Instead of Siegfried, Arthur or Roland, it looked back to the Virgilian Æneas.[585] Still it underwent, together with the rest of Europe, the transformation from Paganism to Christianity. It felt the influences of feudalism, while repelling them with obstinate and finally victorious jealousy. It owed something to chivalry, though the instincts of the race were rather practical and positive than romantic. It suffered the eclipse of antique culture, and borrowed from its conquerors a tincture of their style in art and literature. When these new Italians found a voice, they spoke in tones which lacked the ring of Roman eloquence. The massy fabric of the Roman syntax was dismembered. And yet their speech had more affinity to Roman style than that of any Northern people. The greatest jurists, ecclesiastics and statesmen of the middle ages, the interpreters of Roman law, the fabricators of solid theological edifices, the founders of the Catholic Church, the champions of the Imperial idea, were Italians, proving by their grasp of practical affairs and by the positive turn they gave to speculative inquiries, a participation in the ancient Latin Spirit.[586] Even when it is least classical, the medieval work of the Italian genius betrays this ancestry—in Lombard no less than in Tuscan architecture, in the monumental structure of the Divine Comedy, in the comprehensive digest of the Summa, in the rejection of sentimentalism from the tradition of Provençal poetry, in Petrarch's conception of scholarship, in the sensuous realism of Boccaccio.

The Revival of Learning was the acquisition of complete self-consciousness by this new race, which still retained so much of its old temperament. Ill at ease among the customs and ideals of Teutonic tribes; stubbornly refusing to merge their local independence in a kingdom; struggling against feudalism; accepting Chivalry and Gothic architecture as exotics; without national legends; without crusading enthusiasms; the Italians were scarcely themselves until they regained the right use of their energies by contact with the classics. This makes the Revival of Learning a national, a patriotic, a dramatic movement. This gives life and passion to a process which in any other country, upon any other soil, might have possessed but little more than antiquarian interest. This, and this alone, explains the extraordinary fervor with which the Italians threw themselves into the search, abandoning the new-gained laurels of their modern tongue, absorbing the intellectual faculties of at least three generations in the labor of erudition, and emerging from the libraries of the humanists with a fresh sense of national unity. At the same moment, and by the same series of discoveries, they found themselves and found for Europe the civilization of the modern world.

It is only by remembering that the Italic races, clogged by the ruins of the Roman Empire, and tardily receptive of Teutonic influences, resumed their natural activity and recognized their vocation in the Revival of Learning, that we can comprehend the radical revolution effected in all departments of thought by this event. In Architecture, the Gothic style, which had been adopted as it were with repugnance and imperfectly assimilated, was at once abandoned. Brunelleschi, Alberti, Bramante, San Gallo, Michelangelo, Palladio, strove, one and all, to effect a right adjustment of the antique style to modern requirements. Foreign elsewhere, the so-called Palladian manner is at home and national in Italy. Sculpture, even earlier than architecture, took and followed the same hint. What chiefly distinguishes the work of the Pisan school from contemporary work of French or German craftsmen is, that here the manner of Græco-Roman art has been felt and partly comprehended. Painting, though more closely connected with Christianity, more perfectly related to conditions of contemporary life, owed strength and vigor in great measure to the same conditions. During the fifteenth century classical influences continued increasingly to modify the practice of the strongest masters. In literature, the effect of the Revival was so decisive as to demand a somewhat closer investigation.

The awakened consciousness of the Italic people showed itself first in the creation of a learned literature, imitating as closely as possible in a dead language the models recovered from ancient Rome. It was not enough to appropriate the matter of the Latin authors. Their form had to be assimilated and reproduced. These pioneers in scholarship believed that the vulgar tongue, with its divergent dialects, had ever been and still remained incapable of higher culture. The refined diction of Cicero and Virgil was for them a separate and superior speech, consecrated by infallible precedent, and no less serviceable for modern than it formerly had been for antique usage. Recovering the style of the Augustan age, they thought they should possess an instrument of utterance adapted to their present needs, and correlated to the living language of the people as it had been in the age of Roman greatness. They attacked the easier branches of composition first. Epistolography and rhetoric assumed the Roman habit. Then the meters of Horace, Ovid, and Virgil were analyzed and copied. In the inevitable compromise between classical modes of expression and modern necessities of thought, concessions were always made to the advantage of the former. The Persons of the Trinity, the saints and Martyrs of the Church, pranked themselves in phrases borrowed from an obsolete mythology. Christ figured as a hero. The councils of each petty Commune arrogated the style of Senate and People. Condottieri masqueraded as Scipio, Hannibal, and Fabius Cunctator. Cecco and Tonino assumed the graceful garb of Lycidas and Thyrsis. So fervid was the sense of national resurgence that these literary conventions imposed on men who ruled the politics of Italy—on statesmen with subtle insight into practical affairs; on generals with egotistic schemes to be developed from the play and counter-play of living interests. When Poliziano ruled the republic of letters, this acclimatization of the Latin classics was complete. Innumerable poems, reproducing the epic, elegiac and lyric measures of the Romans, poured from the press. Moralists draped themselves in the Hortensian toga. Orators fulminated copious floods of Ciceronian rhetoric. Critics aped Quintilian. Historians stuffed their chapters with speeches and descriptions modeled upon Livy. Pastoral and didactic poets made centos from Virgil. The drama flourished under the auspices of Plautus, Terence, and Seneca. Preachers were more scrupulous to turn their sentences in florid style than to clinch a theological argument. Upon the lips of Popes the God of Sinai or Calvary was Jupiter Optimus Maximus. Even envoys and embassadors won causes for their States by paragraphs, citations, perorations in the manner of the ancients.

This humanistic ardor at first effected a division between the lettered and unlettered classes. The people clung to their dialects. Educated folk despised all forms of speech but Latin. It seemed as though the national literature might henceforth follow two separate and divergent courses. But with the cessation of the first enthusiasm for antique culture, the claims of vernacular Italian came to be recognized. No other modern nation had produced masterpieces equal to Dante's, Petrarch's and Boccaccio's. The self-esteem of the Italians could not suffer the exclusion of the Divine Comedy, the Canzoniere and the Decameron from the rank of classics. Men of delicate perception, like Alberti and Lorenzo de' Medici, felt that the honors of posterity would fall to the share of those who cultivated and improved their mother tongue. Thus the earlier position of the humanists was recognized as false. Could not their recent acquisitions be carried over to the account and profit of the vernacular? A common Italian language, based upon the Tuscan, but modified for general usage, was now practiced in accordance with the rules and objects of the scholars. Upon the briar of the popular literature were grafted the highly-cultivated roses of the classic gardens. It was thus that the masterpieces of cinque cento literature came into being—the Orlando and the comedies of Ariosto, Machiavelli's histories and Sannazzaro's Arcadia—Tasso's Gerusalemme, and Guarini's Pastor Fido, together with the multitudinous and multifarious work of lesser craftsmen in prose and verse.

Steeped in classical allusion and reminiscence, the form of this new literature was modern; but its spirit was in a true sense Latin. The Italic people had found their proper mode of self-expression, and proclaimed their hereditary affinities to the makers of Roman art. In the history of the Italian Renaissance Greek studies form but an episode. The Platonic school of Florence, the Venetian labors of Aldus, exercised a partial and imperfect influence over Italian culture. They proved more important for Europe at large than for the peninsula, more valuable in their remote than their immediate consequences. With the whole of classic literature to choose from, this instinctive preference of Latin illustrates the point I am engaged in demonstrating—namely, that in Italy the Revival of Learning was a resurgence of the Italic genius modified and formed by Roman influence. True to their ancestry, the Italians assimilated Roman types, and left the Greek aside.

If we pause to consider the qualities of the Roman spirit in art and literature, we shall see in how real a sense the modern people reproduced them and remained within their limits. Compared with the Hellenic and Teutonic races, the Romans were not myth-making, nor in the sincerest sense poetical. In like manner the Italians are deficient on the side of legend and romance. This defect has been insisted on in the preceding volumes, where the practical and positive quality of Italian poetry, its leaning to realism and abstinence from visionary flights of the imagination, have more than once been pointed out. Roman literature was composite and cultured, rather than simple or spontaneous. The Roman epic was literary; based on antecedent models, and confined within the sphere of polished imitation. The Roman Comedy and Tragedy were copies of the Greek. In these highest departments of art the Roman poets gave new form to foreign matter, and infused their national spirit into works that might be almost ranked with free translations. The same is true of their lyrics. Even the meters in all these species are appropriated. The Italians in like manner invented but little. They borrowed from every source—from the Arthurian and Carolingian romances, from Provençal love-poetry, and lastly in copious quantities from Roman literature. But they stamped their own genius on the materials adopted, retouched the form, and modified the sentiment, converting all they took to their own genuine uses. In this respect the Italians, though apparently so uncreative, may be called more original than the Romans. Their metrical systems, to begin with—the sonnet, the octave stanza, and terza rima—are their own. Their touch upon Teutonic legend is more characteristic than the Roman touch on Greek mythology. Dante and Petrarch deal more freely with Provençal poetry than Horace or Catullus with the lyrics of their predecessors. In the matter of dramatic composition, the Italians stand in much the same relation to the Romans as the Romans to the Greeks; and this may be repeated with reference to elegiac and pastoral poetry, and some minor species. The Italic race, in its later as in its earlier development, seems here, also, satisfied with form-giving and delicacy of execution.

If we turn to the indigenous and characteristic qualities of Roman literary genius, we find these reappearing with the force of spontaneity among the Italians. First of all may be reckoned the strong love of country-life which lends undying freshness to Catullus, Horace, and the poetical episodes of Lucretius. This is a no less marked feature of Italian literature. The very best poetry of the humanists is that which deals with villa-life among the Tuscan hills, beside the bay of Naples, or on the shores of Garda. The purest passages in the Novelle, the least intolerable descriptions in the treatises of the essayists, are those which celebrate the joys of field and wood and garden. The most original products of the Italian stage are the Aminta and the Pastor Fido, penetrated through and through with a real love of the country—not with any feeling for Nature in her sublimer and wilder aspects, but with the old Saturnian pathos and fresh clinging loveliness of nature made the friend of man and humanized by labor. The tears shed by Alberti over the rich fields of autumn, as he gazed upon them from some Tuscan summit, seem to have fallen like a dew of real emotion upon the driest places of a pastoral literature which is too often conventional.

Resuming the main thread of the argument, it may be said that the Italians also shared the Roman partiality for didactic poetry. The Latin poems of Poliziano, Vida, and Fracastoro, together with the Italian work of Alamanni, Rucellai, and other authors, sufficiently prove this. Nor does it seem to me that we need suppose these essays in a style of inevitable weariness to have been merely formal imitations of the ancients. The delight with which they were first received and even now sometimes are read in Italy, and the high reputation they have won for their authors, show that there is something in the Italian genius sympathetic to their spirit. One department of their Roman heritage was left uncultivated by the Italians. They produced no really great satire; but, on the other hand, that indigenous satiric humor, inclining to caricature and obscenity, which found vent in the fescennine songs of Roman festivals and triumphs, endured without material change through all modifications of the national life. The earliest monuments of the vernacular literature afford instances of its popularity throughout the middle ages. It gave a special quality to the Florentine Carnival; it assumed high literary form in Lorenzo's Canti and Berni's burlesque Capitoli; it flourished on the quays of Naples, and sheltered at Rome under the protection of Pasquino.

Leaving pure literature aside, we may trace the Latin ancestry of the Italians in their strong forensic bias. Just as the Forum was the center of Roman, so was the Piazza the center of Italian life. The declamatory emphasis that spoils much Latin prose and verse for Northern ears, sounds throughout Italian literature. Their writers too easily assume a rhetorical tone, and substitute sonorousness of verbiage for solid matter or sound feeling. The recitations of the Romans find an analogue in the Italian Academies. The colloquial taint of Roman philosophical discussion is repeated in the moral diatribes of the humanists. But with equal justice we might urge that the practical and legal qualities of the Latin race, and its powerful organizing faculty, survived, and found expression in the modern nation. The Italians, as we have already said, were the greatest Churchmen, Statesmen, and Jurists of medieval Europe. They created the Papacy. They formulated the conception of the Empire. They preserved, explained, and taught Roman law. But this element was already worked out and exhausted at the close of the medieval period. We find it in abeyance during the Renaissance. The political vigor, the martial energy, the cohesive force, the indomitable will of the Romans, have clearly deserted their Italian inheritors. There is a massive architecture, as of masonry, in Roman writing, which Italian almost always misses.

If it were permissible to venture here upon a somewhat bold hypothesis, we might ask whether the Italic races now displayed themselves as they might have been without the centralizing and controlling genius of Rome? In the history of the Italian peninsula can we regard the ascendancy of Rome as a gigantic episode? Rome bound the various tribes together in a common system, formed one language, and used Italy as the throne of world-wide empire. But Rome's empire passed, and the tribes remained—indelibly stamped, it is true, with her mark, and subsequently modified by a succession of intrusive incidents—yet yielding to the world in a new form a second crop of flowers and fruitage similar to that which they had borne for Rome. It will not do to press these speculations. They suggest themselves when we observe that, what the Italians lacked in the Renaissance was precisely what Rome, or the Latin confederacy, gave to Italy in the ancient days of her supremacy. It is as though the great Saturnian mother, exhausted by the production of Rome and all that Rome implied through Empire and through Papacy for Europe, had little force left but for amenities and subtleties in modern literature. To the masonry of Rome succeeds the filigree work of the cinque cento.

There is no mistaking the positive, materialistic, quality possessed by the Italians in common with their Latin ancestors. This, after all is said, constitutes the true note of their art and literature. Realism, preferring the tangible and concrete to the visionary and abstract, the defined to the indefinite, the sensuous to the ideal, determines the character of their genius in all its manifestations. We find it even in the Divine Comedy. Dante's pictures appeal to our eyes; his songs of angels and cries of damned souls reach our ears; he makes us shrink with physical loathing from the abominations of Malebolge, and feel upon our foreheads the cool morning wind of Purgatory. His imaginary world can be mapped out; his journey through it has been traced and measured, inch by inch, and hour by hour. The same realism determined the speculation of the Italians, deflecting it from metaphysics to problems of practical life. Again it leavened their religion. We find it in S. Catherine's visions, in the stigmata of S. Francis, in the miracle of Bolsena. Under its influence the dogmas of the Church assumed a kind of palpability. It was against Italian sensuousness that the finer spiritual perceptions of the Teutonic races rose in revolt; and the Italians, who had transmitted their own religious forms to Europe, could not understand the point at issue. Feeble or insufficient as we may judge this realism in the regions of pure thought or pious feeling, it was supremely powerful in art. It enabled the Italians so to apprehend the mysteries of the faith, and so to assimilate the classic myths, as to find for both a form of beauty in sculpture and in painting. Had they inclined more to the abstract or to the visionary, Christian art would have remained impossible. Had they been less simply sensuous, they might perhaps have shrunk from pagan legends, or have failed to touch them with the right sincerity. How ill these legends fared at the hands of contemporary Teutonic artists, is notorious. In the realm of literature the same quality gave to Petrarch's treatment of chivalrous love a new substantiality. It animated Boccaccio, and through his influence created a literature of fiction, indescribably rich in objective realism and spontaneous passion. Ariosto owed to it the incomparable brilliance of his pictures. And, since such sensuousness has perforce its evil side, we find it, in the last resort, no longer clothing unsubstantial thoughts with forms of beauty, lending reality to the poet's visions, or humanizing the austerities of faith, but frankly and simply subordinating its powers to a debased imagination. The Italian sensuousness too often degenerates into mere sensuality in the period of our inquiry. Nor is this the only defect of the quality. When we complain that the Italians are deficient in the highest tragic imagination, that their feeling for nature lacks romance, or that none but their rarest works of art attain sublimity, we are but insisting on the realistic bias which inclined them to things tangible, palpable, experienced, compassable by the senses. How much of tragedy is due to horror the soul alone can gauge; how much of romance depends upon a sense of mystery and unexplored capacities in natural things; how much of the sublime consists of incorporeal vagueness, need not here be insisted on. The sensuousness of the Italians, simpler and less finely tempered with spiritual substance than that of the Greeks, while it gave them so much of serene beauty and intelligible form, denied them those high and rare touches which the less evenly balanced genius of the Northern races can command at will. The poverty of imaginative suggestion in their lyrical and dramatic poetry has been already indicated. We feel this even in their music. The most adorable melodies, poured forth like nightingale songs in the great schools of the eighteenth century, owe their perfection to purity of outline; their magic depends on a direct appeal to sensibility. There is not in them "more than the ear discovers." They are not, to quote Sir Thomas Browne again, "a hieroglyphical and shadowed lesson of the whole world and creatures of God." Palestrina and Stradella, Pergolese and Salvator Rosa, move in a region less mystical and pregnant with accumulated meaning than that which belongs to Bach and Beethoven.

The intellectual medium formed in Italy upon the dissolution of the middle ages was irreligious and indifferent; highly refined and highly cultivated; instinctively æsthetic and superbly gifted, but devoid of moral earnestness or patriotic enthusiasm, of spiritual passion or political energy. Society, enslaved, disfranchised, and unwarlike, was composed of peasants and artisans, sleek citizens, effeminated nobles, courtiers and scholars of a hundred types, monks and clergy of manifold variety and almost incalculable multitude, despots more or less successful in their arts of imposition and seduction, and the countless dependents on the wants and whims and vices of this motley population. Among the last may be reckoned artists of all but the first rank, men of letters, parasites and captains of adventure, courtesans and Abbés, pamphleteers and bravi, orators and secretaries. Outside the universities, the factories and the marketplace, there were few callings that could be reckoned honorable or honest, independent or respectable. Over the rest hung the shadow of servitude and corruption, of ecclesiastical depravity and private debauchery, of political stagnation and haughty patronage. Still the qualities of intellectual sagacity, determined volition, and a certain æsthetical good taste, were all but universal. We find them in such works as Cellini's biography, Lorenzino de' Medici's apology, and the memoirs of his murderer—to mention only documents where the last-named quality might well have been absent. Even the lowest instruments of public or private profligacy maintained an independence face to face with art, and recognized a higher law than their employer's in the duties imposed upon them by the ideal after which they strove as men of letters, painters or the like. We trace this loyal service and artistic freedom even in Pietro Aretino.

A literature, corresponding to this medium, of necessity arose. It was a literature of form and style, of pleasure and diversion, without intensity of passion, earnestness of purpose, or profundity of thought. It could boast no Shakspere, no Pindar, no Dante, no Descartes. The prevailing types which it developed, were idyllic, descriptive, melodramatic, narrative, elegiac, sentimental, burlesque, and licentious. Poliziano, Sannazzaro, Lorenzo de' Medici, Pulci, the writers of Sonnets and Capitoli, the novelists and the satirists, are each and all of them related by no superficial tie to Boccaccio. He is the morning star of this multifarious and brilliant band of artist-authors, until the moment when Ariosto rises above the horizon, and the cinque cento finds adequate expression in the Orlando Furioso. In that poem the qualities by which the age is characterized, are concentrated, and the advance in artistic faculty and feeling since the period of the Decameron is manifested. Amid the many writers of the century we seek in vain a true philosopher. We have, instead, to content ourselves with the ethical dissertations of the humanists; with sketches like the Cortegiano, the Galateo, the Governo della Famiglia; with erudite fancies like the speculations of Ficino, or the scholastic triflings of Pico della Mirandola. Yet out of the very indifferentism of the age philosophy will spring. Pomponazzi formulates the current materialism. It remains for Telesio, Campanella, Bruno, Galileo to found the modern scientific method. Meanwhile, the political agitations of despotisms and republics alike, and the diplomatic relations of so many petty States, have stimulated observation and developed the powers of analysis. Therefore the most vigorous and virile product of this literature is such work as the Principe and Discorsi of Machiavelli, the Ricordi of Guicciardini, together with the histories and reflective treatises on statecraft published by the statists of their school.

The absence of seriousness in the literature of the golden age is striking to a Northern student. It seems to have been produced for and by men who had lost their ethical and political conscience, and had enthroned an æsthetical conscience in its room. Their religious indifference is deadlier than atheism. Their levity is worse than sarcasm. They fulfill the epigram of Tacitus, who wrote: corrumpere et corrumpi sæculum vocant. Yet no one has the vigor to be angry. It is difficult to detect the true note of satire in their criticism of society. Ariosto is playful, Aretino scurrilous, Alamanni peevish, Folengo atrabilious. The purely religious compositions of the period lack simplicity and sincerity. The Sacre Rappresentazioni are sentimental and romantic. The Christian epics of the Latin poets are indescribably frigid. The Laudi are either literary like Lorenzo's, or hysterical like Benivieni's praise of Christian madness. The impertinent biographies of Aretino pass muster for genuinely pious work with Vittoria Colonna. It is only in some heartfelt utterance of the aged Michelangelo, in the holy life of a S. Antonino, or the charity of Luca della Robbia's mission to young Boscoli, or the fervor of Savonarola's sermons, that here and there the chord of real religious feeling vibrates. Philosophy entrenches herself, where she is strongest, in negation—in Valla's negation of any ethical standard superior to sensuous hedonism, in Pomponazzi's negation of immortality, in Machiavelli's negation of Providence. So complete an antithesis to the medieval ground of thought was necessary; and its results for the future of science are incontestable. But at the moment it meant a withdrawal from spiritual interests, an insistance on the material side of human life, which was correlated to religious indifference and social dissolution.

The drama abounds in comedies and masks, of wonderful variety and great artistic beauty. But there is no tragedy worthy of the name. And the tragic element, as distinguished from romance and pathos, is conspicuous by its absence in the novels of the period. Lyrical poets prefer the conscious shams of Petrarchism to any genuine utterance of emotion. The gravity of La Casa's sonnets, wrenched from an uneasy and unwilling conscience, the sublimity of Michelangelo's Platonic mysticism, the patriotic indignation of Guidiccioni's laments for Italy enslaved and sunk in sensual sloth, must rank as luminous exceptions. In the romantic epic, chivalry, the ideal of an earlier age, is turned to gentle ridicule. Honor is sneered at or misunderstood. The absurd, the marvelous, the licentious are mingled in a form of incomparable artistic suavity. Tasso's graver epic belongs to another epoch. Trissino's heroic poem is unreadable. Like the tragedies of the scholars, it lacks life and stands in no relation to the spirit of the age.

Over the whole art and literature of the epoch is shed an agreeable light of quietude and acquiescence, a glow of contentment and well-being, which contrasts strangely with the tragic circumstances of a nation crumbling into an abyss of ruin. It is not precisely the bourgeois felicity of Boccaccio, but a tranquillity that finds choicest expression in the painted idyls of Giorgione and the written idyls of Sannazzaro. Its ultimate ideal is the Golden Age, when no restraints were placed on natural inclination, and no ambition ruffled the spirit rocked in halcyon ease. This prevailing mood of artists and writers was capable of sensuous depth, as in the Baiæ of Pontano. It was capable of refined irony, as in the smile of Ariosto. It was capable of broad laughter, as in the farce of Bibbiena. It was capable of tenderness, as in the Ballate of Poliziano. It was capable of cynical licentiousness, as in Aretino's Ragionamenti, and the Florentine Capitoli. But it was incapable of tragic passion, lyrical rapture, intensity, sublimity, heroism. What ears would there have been in Italy for Marston's prologue to Antonio and Mellida or for Milton's definition of the poet's calling? The men who made this literature and those with whom they lived, for whom they wrote, were well-bred, satisfied with inactivity, open at all pores to pleasure, delighting in the refinements of tact and taste, but at the same time addicted to gross sensuality of word and deed. The world was over for them. The arenas of energy were closed. About the future life they entertained a suave and genial skepticism, a delicate peut-être of blended affirmation and negation, lightly worn, which did not interrupt the observance of ceremonial piety. They loved their villa, like Flamminio, Ficino, Bembo, all the poets of Benacus. They spent their leisure between a grove of laurels and a study. They met in courtly circles for polite discourse and trifling dissertation, with no influencing passion, no speculative enthusiasm, no insight into mysteries deeper than the subtleties of poetry and art. Not one of them, amid the crash and conflict of three nations on their soil, exclaimed in darkness Imus, imus præcipites! When the woes of Italy touched them with a shade of melancholy, they sought relief in pastimes or in study. Cinthio, prefacing his novels with the horrors of the Sack of Rome, Bargagli using Siena's agony as introduction to his love-romances, are parables of what was happening in the world of fact and feeling. The portrait of Castiglione, clear-browed, sedate, intelligent, humane, expresses the best men of the best moment in that age. The Aminta is their dream-world, modeled on reality. Vida's apostrophe to pulcherrima Roma utters their sentiment of nationality.

There is a beautiful side to all this. It is the idyllic ideal of life, revealed in Titian's picture of the Three Ages of Man, the ideal which results in golden and consummate art, tranquilized to euthanasia, purged of all purpose more earnest than may be found in melodies played beside a fountain in the fields by boys to listening girls, on flute or viol. For this ideal a great future was in store, when the animating motive of idyllic melody expressed itself in the opera music of the eighteenth century, and Italy gave the last of her imperishable gifts, a new and perfect art of song, to Europe. But there is also an ugly side to all this. The ultimate corruption of the age—in its absence of energy, its avoidance of serious endeavor, its courtly adulation, its ruffianism, servility, cynicism and hypocrisy—is incarnated in Aretino. Here the vices of the Italian Renaissance show their cloven hoofs. Through the orange and laurel bowers, flooded with Tintoretto's golden sunlight, grins a bestial all-devouring satyr, a satyr far less innocent or gentle than Greek poets feigned, with a wolf's jaws as well as a goat's legs. And in Aretino is already foreshadowed Baffo, the prurient and porcine Caliban of verse, more barbarously bestial than Venetian Casanova. Meanwhile amid apparent civility of manner, the violent crimes of a corrupt and servile race were frequent. Poisoning and secret assassination, acts of personal vengeance and the employment of hired cut-throats, rendered life unsafe in that idyllic Italy.

The historian of this epoch, though he feels its splendor and would fain bless, finds himself forced to insist upon the darker details of the subject. The triumphal pæan of his opening pages ends, too often for his sympathy, in dissonance and wailing echoes. Yet it would be unjust and unscientific to close on any note of lamentation, when the achievements of the eldest-born of Europe's daughters stand arrayed before him. It has often been said that the Renaissance presents an insoluble problem. Twy-natured and indeterminate, the spirit of the age has been likened to the Sphinx, whose riddle finds no Œdipus. But this language is at best rhetorical. The anomalies and contradictions of a period to which we owe so much of our spiritual and intellectual force, are due to its transitional character. The middle ages were closed. The modern world was scarcely formed. This interval was chosen for the re-birth of the Italian spirit. On the Italians fell the complicated and perplexing task of modulating from the one phase to the other. And, as I have attempted to explain, the Italians were a peculiar people. They had resisted the Teutonic impact of the medieval past; but they had failed to prepare themselves for the drama of violence and bloodshed which the feudal races played out on the plains of Lombardy. When we say that it was their duty to have formed themselves into a nation like the French, we are criticising their conduct from a modern point of view. Experience proved that their policy of municipal independence was a kind of suicide. But the instincts of clanship, slowly transmuted through feudal institutions into a monarchical system, had from time immemorial been absent in Italy. Rome herself had never gathered the Italian cities into what we call a nation. And when Rome, the world's head, fell, the municipalities of Italy remained, and the Italian people sprang to life again by contact with their irrecoverable past.[587] Then, though the Church swayed Europe from Italian soil, she had nowhere less devoted subjects than in Italy. Proud as the Italians had been of the Empire, proud as they now were of the Church, still neither the Roman Empire nor the Roman Church imposed on the Italian character. Pondering on the unique circumstances of this new nation, unorganized like her sisters, conscious of an immense past and a persistent vitality, shrewdly apathetic to the religious enthusiasms of the younger races, yet obliged to temporize and acquiesce and cloak indifference with hypocrisy, we are brought to feel, though we may not fully explain, the inevitableness of many distracting discords in what was still an incomplete phase of national existence.

As a final consideration, after reviewing the anomalies of Italian society upon the dissolution of the Middle Ages, we are fully justified in maintaining that the race which had produced Machiavelli and Columbus, Campanella and Galileo—that is to say, the firmest pioneers and freest speculators of the dawning modern age—was capable, left but alone, of solving its own moral contradictions by some virile effort. Pioneering energy, speculative boldness, virility of effort (however masked by pedantry and purism, by the urbanities and amenities of polite culture, by the baseness of egotism and the immorality of social decadence), were the deepest notes of the bewildering age which forms our theme. But this freedom from interference, this luck of being left alone, was just what the Italians could never get. The catastrophes of several successive invasions, followed by the petrifying stagnation of political and ecclesiastical tyranny, checked their natural evolution and suspended their intellectual life, before the fruit-time had succeeded to the flower-time of the Renaissance. The magnificent audacity of their impulse fell checked in mid-career. Their achievement might be likened to an arch ascending bravely from two mighty piers, whereon the key stone of completion was not set.

When all her deities were decayed or broken, Italy still worshiped beauty in fine art and literary form. When all her energies seemed paralyzed, she still pursued her intellectual development with unremitting ardor. This is the true greatness of those fifty years of glorious achievement and pitiful humiliation, during which the Italians, like Archimedes in his Syracusan watch-tower, turned deaf ears to combatant and conqueror, intent on problems that involved the future destinies of man. The light of the classics had fallen on their pathway at the close of the middle ages. The leading of that light they still pursued, as though they had been consecrated to the service of a god before unknown in modern Europe. Their first and foremost gift to nations who had scourged and slain them, was a new and radiant conception of humanity. This conception externalized itself in the creation of a common mental atmosphere, in the expression of the modern spirit by fine art and literature, in the diffusion of all that is contained for us in culture. They wrought, thought, painted, carved and built with the antique ideal as a guiding and illuminative principle in view. This principle enabled them to elevate and harmonize, to humanize and beautify the coarser elements existing in the world around them. What they sought and clung to in the heritage of the ancients, was the divinity of form—the form that gives grace, loveliness, sublimity to common flesh and blood in art; style to poetry and prose; urbanity to social manners; richness and elegance to reflections upon history and statecraft and the problems of still infantine science. Lastly, whatsoever is implied in the double formula of the discovery of man and of the world—the resuscitation of learning by scholars; the positive study of human motives and action by historians; the new philosophy prepared by speculators of the Southern school; the revival of mathematical and astronomical researches after a sound method; the endeavor to base physical science on experiment and observation; the exploration of the western hemisphere by navigators—all this we owe to the Italians of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.

We may allow that their execution of a task so arduous and beneficial was accomplished under conditions of social corruption and political apathy, which somewhat dimmed the luster of their triumph. It may be admitted that they failed, even in their own domains of art and poetry, to realize the highest possible ideals; and we may ascribe this failure partly to their moral feebleness, which contradicts our sense of manhood. Still these are no reasons why we should not pay the homage due to their achievement. The deepest interest in the Italian Renaissance, the warmest recognition of its services to modern Europe, are compatible with a just conviction that the tone of that epoch is not to be imitated. Such imitation would, in point of fact, be not merely anachronistic but impossible. To insist on anything so obvious would be impertinent to common sense, were we not from time to time admonished from the chair of criticism that a new Gospel, founded on the principles of the Renaissance, has been or is being preached in England. Criticism, however, is fallible; and in this matter its mistake is due to the English incapacity for understanding that scientific curiosity may be engaged, without didactic objects, on moral and historical problems. We cannot extract from the Renaissance a body of ethical teaching, an ideal of conduct, or a discipline of manners, applicable to the altered conditions of the nineteenth century. But we can exercise our ingenuity upon the complex questions which it offers; we can satisfy the passion of inquiry, which prompts men to examine, analyze, reflect upon, and reappropriate the past. We can attempt to depict the period, as we recover a phase of our own youth by recollection, extenuating nothing, setting nothing down in malice, using the results of our researches for no purposes of propaganda, but aiming, in so far as our capacity sustains us, at the simple truth about it.

For a student animated with this passion of curiosity, the Italian Renaissance, independently of any sympathies he may have formed for the Italian people, or any fascination which an age and race so picturesque may exercise, must be a subject worthy of most patient contemplation. As we grow in knowledge, corroborating and confirming those views about the world and man which originated with the new direction given to inquiry in the fifteenth century, we learn with ever stronger certainty, that as there is no interruption in the order of nature, so the history of civilization is continuous and undivided. In the sequence of events, in the growth of human character, no arbitrary freaks, no flaws of chance, are recognizable. Age succeeds to age; nations rise and perish; new elements are introduced at intervals into the common stock; the drama is not played out with one set of actors. But, in spite of all change, and though we cannot as yet demonstrate the law of evolution in details, we are reasonably convinced that the development of human energy and intellectual consciousness has been carried on without cessation from the earliest times until the present moment, and is destined to unbroken progress through the centuries before us. History, under the influence of this conception, is rapidly ceasing to be the record of external incidents, of isolated moments, or of brilliant episodes in the epic of humanity. We have learned to look upon it as the biography of man. To trace the continuity of civilization through the labyrinths of chance and error and suspended energy, apparent to a superficial glance or partial knowledge, but on closer observation and a wider sweep of vision found to disappear, is the highest aim of the historian. The germ of this new notion of man's life upon our planet was contained in the cardinal intuition of the Renaissance, when the ancient and the modern worlds were recognized as one. It assumed the dignity of organized speculation in the German philosophies of history, and in the positive philosophy of Auguste Comte. It has received its most powerful corroboration from recent physical discoveries, and has acquired firmer consistency in the Darwinian speculation. Whether we approach the problem from a theological, a positive, or a purely scientific point of view, the force of the hypothesis remains unaltered. We are obliged to think of civilized humanity as one.

In this unbroken sequence of events, a place of prime importance must be assigned to the Renaissance; and the Italian race at that moment must be regarded, for a short while at least, as the protagonist of the universal drama. The first stage of civilization is by common consent assigned to the Eastern empires of remote antiquity; the second to the Hellenic system of civic liberty and intellectual energy; the third to Roman organization. During the third period a new spiritual force was evolved in Christianity, and new factors were introduced into Europe by the immigration of the Northern races. The fourth historical period is occupied by the Church and feudalism, the first inheriting Roman organization, the second helping to constitute the immigrant races into new nationalities. The fifth great epoch is the emancipation of modern Europe from medieval influences. We may be said to live in it; for though the work of liberation has in large measure been accomplished, no new social principle or comprehensive system has yet supervened. Three movements in the process can, however, be discerned; and these are respectively known by the names of Renaissance, Reformation, Revolution. It was in the first of these three stages that Italy determined the course of civilization. To neglect the work achieved by Italy, before the other nations of Europe had emerged from feudalism, is tantamount to dropping a link indispensable to the strength and cohesion of the whole chain.

Accustomed to regard the Church as a political member of their own confederation, and withdrawn from the feudal system by the action of their communes, the Italians were specially fitted to perform their task. The conditions under which they lived as the inheritors of Rome, obliged them to look backward instead of forward; and from this necessity emerged the Revival of Learning, which not only restored the interrupted consciousness of human unity, but supplied the needful starting-point for a new period of intellectual growth. The connection between the study of classical literature, scientific investigation, and Biblical criticism, has been already insisted on in this work. From the Renaissance sprang the Reformation, veiling the same spirit in another form, before the Church bethought herself of quenching the new light in Italy. Without the skeptical and critical industry of the Italians; without their bold explorations in the fields of philosophy, theology and political science; without their digging round the roots of human knowledge; without their frank disavowal of past medieval transcendentalism; neither the German Reformation nor the advance of speculative thought in France, Holland and England, would have been possible.

To pursue the subject further is not necessary. How the Revolution was linked to the Reformation by the intermediate action of Holland, England and America; and how the European peoples, educated after the type designed by Italian humanists, formed their literatures, built up philosophies, and based positive inquiry on solid foundations, are matters too well known and have too often been already noted to need illustration. It is enough for a student of the Renaissance to have suggested that the peculiar circumstances and sympathies of the Italians, at a certain moment of this modern evolution, forced and enabled them to do what was imperatively demanded for its after progress. That they led the van of liberation; that, like the Jews and Greeks, their predecessors, they sacrificed their independence in the very triumph of achievement; are claims upon our everlasting gratitude. This lends the interest of romance or drama to the doleful tale of depredation and enslavement which concludes the history of the Italian Renaissance.

APPENDICES.

APPENDIX I.

(See above, chapter xi.)

Italian Comic Prologues.

THE current of opinion represented by the prologues to Italian comedies deserves some further illustration.

Bibbiena, in the Calandra, starts with what is tantamount to an apology for the modern style of his play. "Voi sarete oggi spettatori d'una nuova commedia intitolata Calandra, in prosa non in versi, moderna non antica, volgare non latina." He then explains why he has chosen the language of his age and nation, taking great pains to combat learned prejudices in favor of pure Latin. At the close he defends himself from the charge of having robbed from Plautus, confessing at the same time that he has done so, and thus restricting his earlier boast of novelty to the bare point of diction.

In the prose Cassaria, which was contemporaneous with the Calandra, Ariosto takes the same line:

Nuova commedia v'appresento, piena

Di vari giuochi; che nè mai latine

Nè greche lingue recitarno in scena.

Parmi vedere che la più parte incline

A riprenderla, subito ch'ho detto

Nuova, senza ascoltarne mezzo o fine:

Chè tale impresa non gli par suggetto

Delli moderni ingegni, e solo stima

Quel, che gli antiqui han detto, esser perfetto.

He then proceeds to defend his own audacity, which really consists in no more than the attempt to remodel a Latin play. In the prologue to the prose Suppositi Ariosto follows a different course, apologizing for his contaminatio of Plautus and Terence by the argument that they borrowed from Menander and Apollodorus.

Machiavelli in the prologue to the Clizia says that history repeats itself. What happened at Athens, happened yesterday at Florence. He has, therefore, laid his scene at Florence: "perchè Atene è rovinata, le vie, le piazze, i luoghi non vi si riconoscono." He thus justifies the modern rifacimento of an ancient comedy conducted upon classical principles.

Gelli in the Sporta reproduces Ariosto's defense for the Suppositi. If he has borrowed from Plautus and Terence, they borrowed from Menander. Then follows an acute description of comedy as it should be: "La commedia, per non essere elleno altro ch'uno specchio di costumi della vita privata e civile sotto una imaginazione di verità, non tratto da altro che di cose, che tutto 'l giorno accaggiono al viver nostro, non ci vedrete riconoscimenti di giovani o di fanciulle che oggidì non ne occorre."

Cecchi in the Martello says he has followed the Asinaria:

Rimbustata a suo dosso, e su compostovi

(Aggiungendo e levando, come meglio

Gli è parso; e ciò, non per corregger Plauto,

Ma per accomodarsi ai tempi e agli uomini

Che ci sono oggidì) questa sua favola.

In the Moglie and the Dissimili he makes similar statements, preferring "la opinione di quelli maestri migliori" (probably Ariosto and Machiavelli), and also:

perchè il medesimo

Ved'egli che hanno fatto li più nobili

Comici che vi sieno.

Lorenzino de' Medici in his prologue to the Aridosio tells the audience they must not be angry if they see the usual lover, miser, and crafty servant, "e simil cose delle quali non può uscire chi vuol fare commedie."

These quotations may suffice. If we analyze them, it is clear that at first the comic playwrights felt bound to apologize for writing in Italian; next, that they had to defend themselves against the charge of plagiarism; and in the third place that, when the public became accustomed to Latinizing comedies in the vulgar tongue, they undertook the more difficult task of justifying the usage which introduced so many obsolete, monotonous, and anachronistic elements into dramatic literature. At first they were afraid to innovate even to the slight extent of adaptation. At last they were driven to vindicate their artificial forms of art on the score of prescribed usage. But when Cecchi and Lorenzino de' Medici advanced these pleas, which seem to indicate a desire on the part of their public for a more original and modern comedy, the form was too fixed to be altered. Aretino, boldly breaking with tradition, had effected nothing. Il Lasca, laughing at the learned unrealities of his contemporaries, was not strong enough to burst their fetters. Nothing was left for the playwrights but to go on cutting down the old clothes of Plautus and Terence to fit their own backs—as Cecchi puts it.

APPENDIX II.

(See above, chapter xiv.)

Passages translated from Folengo and Berni, which illustrate

the Lutheran opinions of the Burlesque Poets.

ORLANDINO VI. 41.

"To Thee, and not to any Saint I go;

How should their mediation here succeed?

The Canaanitish woman, well I know,

Prayed not to James or Peter in her need;

She had recourse to only Thee; and so,

Alone with Thee alone, I hope and plead.

Thou know'st my weal and woe; make plain the way

Thou, Lord, for to none other dare I pray.

"Nor will I wander with the common kind,

Who, clogged with falsehood and credulity,

Make vows to Gothard or to Roch, and mind

I know not what Saint Bovo more than Thee;

Because some friar, as cunning as they're blind,

Offering to Moloch, his dark deity,

Causes Thy Mother, up in heaven, a Queen,

To load with spoil his sacrifice obscene.

"Beneath the husk of piety these friars

Make a huge harvest for themselves to hold;

The alms on Mary's altar quench the fires

Of impious greed in priests who burn for gold:

Another of their odious laws requires

That year by year my faults should still be told

To a monk's ears:—I who am young and fair!—

He hears, and straightway flogs his shoulders bare:

"He flogs himself because he feels the sting

My words, impregnate with lasciviousness,

Send to his heart; so sharp are they, and wring

His lust so nearly, that, in sore distress,

With wiles and wheedling ways, he seeks to bring

Me in his secret will to acquiesce;

And here confessors oft are shown to be

More learned in pimping than divinity.

"Therefore, O Lord, that know'st the heart of man,

And seest Thy Church in these same friars' grasp,

To Thee with contrite soul, as sinners can,

Who hope their faults forgiven, my hands I clasp;

And if, my God, from this mad ocean

Thou'lt save me, now, as at my latest gasp,

I vow that never more will I trust any

Who grant indulgences for pound or penny."

Such prayers, chock-full of rankest heresy,

Prayed Berta; for she was a German wench:

In those days, you must know, theology

Had changed herself to Roman, Flemish, French;

But I've my doubts that in the end she'll be

Found squatting à la Moor on some Turk's bench,

Because Christ's seamless coat has so been tattered

Its rags have long since to the winds been scattered.

ORLANDINO VIII. 22.

"I do not marvel much," Rainero cried,

"If the lambs suffer scandals and the fold

Be ruined by these wolves of lust and pride,

Foemen to God beneath God's flag enrolled:

But for the present need I'll soon provide—

Ho! to my presence drag yon Prior bold!"

Sharp were the words; the sheriff in a skurry,

He and his serjeants to the convent hurry,

Drag forth that monstr'horrendum from his lair,

And lead him straight to Rayner on his throne;

Folk run together at the brute to stare,

You never saw an ox so overgrown;

And not a man but stops his nostrils there

From the foul stench of wine, sweat, filth unknown;

One calls him Bacchus, and Silenus one,

Or hog, or bag of beastliness, or tun.

"Stand forth before my face," Rainero cries,

"Thou man of God, prophet most reverend!

I know that thou in all the lore art wise,

Of things divine, and what the stars portend;

With thee the freedom of S. Peter lies,

Great freedom though but little pelf to spend!

Stand forth, I say, before me, Father blest;

There are some doubts I'd fain have put to rest.

"Truly thou know'st e'en better how much tripe

Must go to stuff the cupboard of thy prog:

'Tis there are stowed more fish, flesh, onions ripe,

Than there be leaves in forest, field, or bog:

Thy scores of partridge, pheasant, woodcock, snipe,

Outnumber the sea sands, thou gorging dog!

Therefore I honor thee no more nor less

Than a beast filled with filth, a stinking cess.

"Bundle of guts, hast thou no shame to show

Thy visage to the eyes of living wight?

Think'st thou that 'tis for nothing thou dost owe

Thy calling to Christ's sheepfold? By this light,

Judas the traitor did no worse, I know,

Than thou what time he sold his Lord at night;

Caiaphas, Annas, Herod, Pilate, all

Helped Pluto less than thou man's soul to thrall.

"Think'st thou the Benedicts, Pauls, Anthonies,

Gave rules like thine unto their neophytes?

They fed on lentils, beans, peas, cabbages,

Curbing their own rebellious appetites,

Not merely preaching how the spirit flees

From Satan's fraud and his accursèd rites;

They slept on sand and marble cold, and sang

Psalms that through night and day unceasing rang.

"Quiet within their cells they stayed, nor dealt

On street or square with idle loitering bands;

Kindly to wayfarers and meek, they knelt

To wash their feet, and not, like you, their hands;

And when they left the cloisters where they dwelt,

To traverse hills or plains in foreign lands,

A staff or crutch upon their pilgrimage

Sufficed to prop the faltering steps of age.

"That frugal diet of plain herb and root

You've changed to-day for quails and partridges;

Some miracle has turned to flesh their fruit,

Their acorns, brambles, and wild strawberries;

The straw they slept on, hath grown dissolute

With down and cushions; their lean visages

Are swathed in fat, with double, treble chins,

Red as the sun's face when the day begins.

"Their staves and crutches, O rare miracle

Wrought by these living Saints! are steeds of price;

Their reed-built cot, refectory or cell,

Soar into palaces that flout the skies;

In many an Abbey now lewd strumpets dwell,

Hounds, hawks, the instruments of pride and vice:—

Fools, madmen, idiots, maniacs are ye,

Who've left to priests or friars your wealth in fee!

"What could be worse impiety than thus

To rob your lawful kindred of their own,

And squander it on those obstreperous

Bell-ringing monks, who let one voice alone

Speak in the Church for twenty?—All that fuss

In praise of poverty is only shown

To bait beneath the shadow of their cowl

Some gudgeon, or birdlime some silly fowl!"

Such things and others full of angry spite

Said Rayner, contrary to sober reason;

For if a man should lose his temper quite,

Sense leaves him, he can't speak one word in season:

But when Church rights and wrongs their wrath excite,

I've noticed that your great men often seize on

Some crazy fad; they fancy, O how silly!

That friars should feed on acorns, willy-nilly.

Then spake the Prior: "Noble Lord and Sir!

With your forbearance I'll speak with precision.

Ecclesia Dei ne'er was known to err;

You may have read in Tully this decision:

The Stagyrite, our sole interpreter

Of Gospel text, confirms this definition—

Quod merum Laicus non det judicare

Clericam Preti et Fratris scapulare.

"There is a gloss which lays down, quod Prelatum

Non est subjectus legi Constantina,

Affirmans eo quod nullum peccatum

Accidit in persona et re divina.

Et hoc deinceps fuit roboratum

In capite, Ne agro a Clementina.

Et princeps, qui de Ecclesia se impazzabit,

Scomunicatus cito publicabit.

"Saith Thomas in a text on which I've pored,

Second distinction of his Chapter quo,

Quod unde Spirtus Sanctum hath been stored,

Possibile non est for sin to accrue:

My life hath naught to hide, illustrious Lord,

In visu verbo et opera from you;

For Christ himself our Saviour teaches that,

Speaking to all, lux vestra luceat.

"Behold and see how next my skin I wear

A shirt of wool instead of linen fine!

By hair-cloth of this texture you may swear

I circumspectly walk in duty's line.

Look now a little lower!"—Free and fair

Laughed Rayner, when the excellent divine

Shows all he's got—an illustration purer

Than e'er occurred to Saint Bonaventura.

ORLANDINO VIII. 73.

I am no heretic, as to my shame

Before the common folk you christen me!

Perchance your lofty Reverence will claim

Me for a cut-throat, come from Saxony,

To wreak my violence on Rome's dread name!

Yet you are wrong: for, look you, Burgundy

Trusts less in German Bishops, or in French,

Or Spanish, than the mighty Roman Bench.

Far more I trust in the high Trinity,

In Father, Son, and eke the Spirit blest;

In Mary's undefiled virginity,

Since God from her derived his fleshly vest;

I trust in that inscrutable potency

Granted from God to man, by which behest

He dares, if his enormities be great,

Call himself, not God, but God's delegate.

It is my creed that the good Jesus wrought

All that He came to witness here below;

I hold that the predicted sword he brought,

Came to bring peace on earth and also woe;

I hold that a thief's tear, repentance-fraught,

Shuts Hell and opens Heaven; and this I know

That the firm truth of what the Gospel saith,

Is naught but pure and uncorrupted Faith.

I hold that He was fair without one flaw,

Wore beard and locks around his shoulder sprent;

I hold the Lamb's blood abrogates the law

And every type of that old Testament;

Wherefore I hold there differs not a straw

Betwixt the tonsure and the hair unshent;

But I believe the clergy still were known

For rebels to His work and will alone.

I hold that on the motion of a lewd

Pope of that year, with certain Pharisees,

Pilate did nail Him to the cruel wood

Between two thieves with fierce indignities;

I hold that thence for men a pledge accrued,

And memory so sweet that still it frees

Us from God's righteous anger, and discloses

The veil that clung before the eyes of Moses.

I speak of His dire passion, and the boon

Most wondrous of His body and His blood,

Eating the which all persons late or soon

May quit those quails and grouse, their desert food;

I hold that Christ seeks not for eyes that swoon,

Wry necks, and faces set to solemn mood;

But for the heart alone: this is my creed;

If it be wrong, I waste vain breath indeed.

I hold that Hell exists, and Purgatory,

Beyond this world; and here I prove it too:

Wherefore, in concert with S. Paul, I glory

In having passed those many trials through,

Not by my might but that great adjutory,

Who calls aloud with ringing voice and true;

Perils mid hills and robbers, storms and fires,

Perils at sea, and perils from false friars!

My Saviour in the flesh I trust to see,

And hope for ever to enjoy His sight:—

But here the force of faith abandons me;

Help then, thou Bishop, Great Albertus hight!

Son of Nichomachus, I turn to thee,

Dubbed Doctor of the Church by Thomas wight,

Without whose Metaphysic, as I've read,

The Verbum Dei were but ill bestead.

I hold that a lay sinner can repent;

That Churchmen never are what they pretend—

I speak of bad ones:—d'you mistake my bent,

And in God's house defy me to contend?—

Pray softly, softly! It was never meant,

Good servants of our Lord, your fame to rend:

Nay, you I honor, since you please God duly;

Places I'd change with you really and truly:

Gainst scapular and cord I've naught to tell,

Gainst cowl or tassel, breviary or book;

That superstition need not choke you, well

I know; you may be pious as you look:

I swear to all that no man here should smell

Disparagement to monks, from prior to cook;

I'm aiming at those wolves and hirelings fairly,

Who give large orders and perform them sparely.

ORLANDO INNAMORATO, CANTO XX.

THE SUPPRESSED INDUCTION.

A brand-new story now compels my song,

To make the twentieth canto bright and clear,

Whence all the world shall plainly learn ere long

Some saints are not such saints as they appear;

For cowls, gray, blue or black, a motley throng,

With dangling breviaries and brows severe,

And often naming on the lips our Lord,

While the heart's cold, no sanctity afford.

A cupping-glass upon your skull, a leech,

A blister, or a tonsure, are all one;

It will not help you though you gird your breech

With several braces or with one alone;

Or wear straight vestments, long and lank, that reach

Like coachmen's great-coats to your heels, or drone

Gibberish and Paternosters:—Sainthood needs

More than fair words for foul and filthy deeds.

The hands are where true charity begins;

Not the mouth, face, or clothes: be mild, humane,

Reticent, sorry for your neighbor's sins,

Pitiful to his suffering and his pain:

Christians need wear no masks; who wears them, wins

A backway to the fold, and brings it bane,

Scaling the wall by craft—a traitor he,

A thief and knave, who deals in subtlety.

These be that tribe of rogues and rascals whom

Our good Lord hates, the race on whom alone

In wrath he uttered that tremendous doom,

Though every other fault he could condone:

Ye whited sepulchers, ye living tomb,

Fire on the surface, in the soul a stone!

Why will ye wash the outside of the platter?

First cleanse your heart—that is the graver matter!

'Tis said by some that by and by the good

Pope and his Prelates will reform their ways:

I tell you that a turnip has no blood,

Nor sick folk health, nor can you hope to raise

Syrup from vinegar to sauce your food:

The Church will be reformed when summer days

Come without gad-flies, when a butcher's store

Has neither bones nor dogs about the door.

Sanga, this lewd age is an age of lead,

Whence Truth is banished both in deed and word:

You're called a fool, poor-spirited, ill-bred,

If you but name S. Peter and our Lord:

Where'er you walk, where'er you turn your head,

Some rascal hypocrite, with scowl abhorred,

Snarls twixt his teeth "Freethinker! Lutheran!"—

And Lutheran means, you know, good Christian.

Those grasping priests have thrown a net full wide:

With bells and anthems, altar-cloth and cope,

They lift their well-decked shrines on every side,

Bent upon life eternal—sorry hope!

This wooden image is the sailor's pride,

That plastered face the soldier's; piss-pots slope

In rows to Cosmo and S. Damian;

The pox belong to stout Sebastian.

Baron S. Anthony hides fire in heart,

Thoughts of the donkey and the swine in head;

Whence comes it that all monks in every part

Stuff paunch and wallet with flesh, wine, and bread:

Yon Abbot, like Silenus, fills a cart;

Yon Cardinal's a Bacchus overfed;

The Pope through Europe sells, a second Mars,

Bulls and indulgences to feed his wars.

The Word of God, aroused from its long trance,

Runs like live fire abroad through Germany;

The work continues, as the days advance,

Unmasking that close-cloaked iniquity,

Which with a false and fraudulent countenance

So long imposed on France, Spain, Italy:

Now by the grace of God we've learned in sooth

What mean the words Church, Charity, Hope, Truth.

O the great goodness of our heavenly Sire!

Behold, his Son once more appears on high,

Treads under foot the proud rebellious ire

Of faithless Churchmen, who by threat and lie

Strove to conceal the Love that did inspire

The mighty Maker of earth, sea, and sky,

What time he served, and bore our flesh, and trod

With blood the path that leads man back to God.

None speaks in this lost land of his pure blood,

That sinless blood of Christ, both God and man,

Which quelled the serpent's stiff and venomous brood,

The powers malign that reigned where Lethe ran!

In his fair bleeding limbs he slew the lewd

Old Adam from whose sin our woes began,

Appeased his Father's wrath, and on the door

Of impious Hell set bars for evermore.

This is that seed thrice holy and thrice blest,

Promised to our first parents, which doth bring

Unto the stairs of heaven our hope oppressed!

This is that puissant and victorious king,

Whose foot treads man's misjudgment on the crest!

This is that calm clear light, whose sunbeams fling

Shade on the souls and darkness o'er the eyes

Of fools in this world's knowledge vainly wise!

O Christians, with the hearts of Hebrews! Ye

Who make a mortal man your chief and head,

Of these new Pharisees first Pharisee!

Your soaring and immortal pinions spread

For that starred shrine, where, through eternity,

The Lamb of God is Pope, whose heart once bled

That men, blind men, from yon pure font on high

Might seek indulgence full and free for aye!

Yet that cooked crayfish hath the face to pray,

Kneeling in chapel opposite that crow,

That Antichrist, upon some holy day—

"Thou art our sail, our rudder!"—when we know

The simple truth requires that he should say

"Thou art the God of ruin and of woe,

Father of infinite hypocrisies,

Of evil customs and all heresies!"—

O Sanga, for our lord Verona's sake,

Put by your Virgil, lay Lucretius down,

Ovid, and him in whom such joy you take,

Tully, of Latin eloquence the crown!

With arms out-spread, our heart's arms, let us make

To Him petition, who, without our own

Merit or diligence or works, can place

Our souls in heaven, made worthy by his grace!

And prithee see that Molza is aware,

And Navagero, and Flaminio too,

That here far other things should be our care

Than Janus, Flora, Thetis, and the crew

Of Homer's gods, who paint their page so fair!

Here we experience the false and true;

Here find that Sun, which shows, without, within,

That man by nature is compact of sin.

O good Fregoso, who hast shut thine ear

To all those siren songs of Poesy,

Abiding by the mirror keen and clear,

In joyance of divine Philosophy

Both Testaments, Old, New, to thee are dear!

Thou hast outworn that ancient fantasy

Which led thee once with Fondulo to call

Plato the link twixt Peter and S. Paul!—

But now Gradasso calls me; I am bid

Back to the follies of my Paladins—

etc., etc.

APPENDIX III.

On Palmieri's "Città di Vita." (To illustrate Part I. p. 171.)

IN the first part of this sketch of Italian literary history (Renaissance in Italy, vol. iv. p. 171, note 2) I promised, if possible, to give some further notice of Palmieri's poem entitled the Città di Vita. This promise I was unable to fulfill in the proper place. But while my book was going through the press, I obtained the necessary materials for such a study of Palmieri's work through the courtesy of a Florentine scholar, Signor A. Gherardi, who sent me extracts from a MS. existing in the Laurentian Library. This MS., which is an illuminated parchment codex, contains, besides the poem, the commentary of Lionardo Dati, with his Life of the author and two of his letters addressed to Palmieri. Whether or not the codex is an autograph, remains uncertain. But it has this singular interest, that Matteo Palmieri himself presented it to the Art of the Notaries in Florence, sealed and under the express condition that it should not be opened so long as he lived imprisoned in his body—"ut non aperiatur dum in suo religatus corpusculo vivat." After his death, the Republic decreed a public funeral to their honored magistrate and servant; and the MS. in question was placed upon his breast in the church of S. Pier Maggiore, where he was interred in the family chapel of the Palmieri. Alamanno Rinuccini pronounced the panegyrical oration on this occasion; and in his speech he alluded to "this bulky volume which lies upon his breast, a poem in terza rima, called by him the City of Life."

It would appear, from the circumstance of the volume having been presented under seal to the Art of the Notaries, that Palmieri, while wishing to secure the safety of his poem, was aware of its liability to censure. What he may have dreaded, happened after his decease; for his opinions were condemned as heretical, and the picture Botticelli painted for him in illustration of his views, was removed from its place in the Palmieri Chapel of S. Pier Maggiore. This picture is now in the possession of the Duke of Hamilton.

The MS. of the Città di Vita passed from the Art of the Notaries into the Laurentian Library. Since the biographical notices from the pen of Palmieri's friend, Lionardo Dati, which this MS. contains, form our most trustworthy source of information about the poet's life, it may be well to preface the account of his poem with an abstract of their contents. Matteo Palmieri was a member of an honorable Florentine family. Born in 1405, he received his first education in grammar from Sozomeno of Pistoja. Afterwards he studied Greek and Latin letters in the schools of Carlo Aretino and Ambrogio Traversari. In early manhood he entered public life, and passed through the various Florentine magistracies to the dignity of Gonfalonier of Justice. The Signory employed him upon embassies to Calixtus III., Frederick III., Alfonso the Magnanimous and Paul II. Matteo devoted his leisure to study and composition. The treatise Della Vita Civile, which he wrote in Italian, was a work of his adolescence. Then followed, in Latin, a Life of Niccolò Acciaiolo, a narrative of the successful war with Pisa, and a Universal History, which was subsequently continued by Mattia Palmieri—a Pisan, who, though he bore the same name, was in no wise related to our author. The Città di Vita was a work of his mature age. He died probably in 1478.

Matteo told Lionardo Dati that on the first of August, 1451, while he was living at Pescia as Governor of the Val di Nievole, he dreamed that his dead friend Cipriano Rucellai appeared to him, and invited him to the yearly festival which was celebrated on that day in a monastery, called Il Paradiso, near Florence. In his dream, Matteo accompanied the ghost of Cipriano, conversing on the way about the state of spirits after death—where they dwell, and how they are permitted to revisit their living friends. Cipriano, moreover, revealed to him weighty matters concerning the nature of the human soul. He told him how God first made angels in innumerable hosts. These angels separated into three companies. The one band followed Lucifer, when he rebelled. The second held with Michael and abode firm in their allegiance. The third decided neither for God nor for the Devil. After Lucifer's defeat, these angels of the third class were relegated to the Elysian fields, which extend at all points over the extreme periphery of the highest sphere; and God, wishing to give them a final chance of determining for good or evil, ordained that they should, one by one, be sent to dwell in human bodies. There, attended by a good and a bad spirit, they have the choice of lives, and after their death in the body, are drafted into the trains of Lucifer or Michael according to their conduct. Having communicated this doctrine, Cipriano vanished from his friend's sight with these words upon his lips:

Misero ad noi quanto mal segno

Rizoron quelli che si fer ribelli

Per porre in aquilon loco più degno.

Palmieri forgot or neglected the import of his dream until the year 1455, when he was at Alfonso's Court in Naples. There Cipriano appeared to him again, rebuked him for his carelessness, and bade him write a poem in terza rima, after Dante's method, on the subject of their former discourse. He also recommended him three books, which would assist him in the labor. When Palmieri returned to Florence, he obtained these helps and set about the composition of his poem. It must have been completed in 1464; for in this year Dati received a copy, which he styled opus pæne divinum, and began to annotate. In 1466 Dati wrote again to Palmieri, thanking him for an emended copy of the work, which the author had sent him from Florence to Rome. Palmieri's own letter accompanying the gift, refers to the poem as already published. This proves (as would, indeed, appear from the title given him by Ficino of Poeta Theologicus) that, whatever may have been his dread of a prosecution for heresy, he had at least divulged the Città di Vita to the learned.

The poem consists of three books, divided, like Dante's Commedia, into one hundred Cantos; but the extra Canto has by Palmieri been assigned to the last instead of the first Cantica. The title Città di Vita was given to it, because Palmieri designed to bring the universe into consideration under the aspect of spiritual existence. The universe, as he conceived it, is the burgh in which all souls live. His object was to show how free-will is innate in men, who have the choice of good and evil, of salvation or perdition, in this life. The origin of evil he relegates to that prehistoric moment of Lucifer's revolt, when the third class of angels refused to side with either God or Devil. In the first book, then, he describes how these angels are transmitted from the Elysian fields to earth, in order that they may become men, and in their mortal body be forced to exercise their faculty of election. In the second book he treats of the way of perdition. In the third book he deals with the way of salvation. Following Dante's precedent in the choice of Virgil, he takes the Sibyl for his guide upon the beginning of this visionary journey.

The heretical portions of the Città di Vita are Cantos v. ix. x. xi. of the first Cantica. These deal with the original creation of angelic essences, and with the transit of the indeterminate angels to our earth. Regarding the universe from the Ptolemaic point of view, Palmieri conceives that these angels, who inhabit the Elysian fields beyond the utmost verge of the stellar spheres, proceed on their earthward journey through the several planets, till they reach our globe, which is the center of the whole. On their way, they gradually submit to animal impressions and prepare themselves for incarnation, according to that conception which made the human soul itself in a certain sense corporeal. It is here that Palmieri adjusts the theory of planetary influences to his theory of free will. For he supposes that the angels assimilate the qualities of the planetary spheres as they pass through them, being attracted by curiosity to one planet rather than another. At the same time they undergo the action of the three superior elements, which fits them for their final reception into an earthly habitation. After this wise he ingeniously combined his theories of the Creation, the Fall, and Free-will, with Averroistic doctrines of intermediate intelligences and speculations collected from Platonistic writings.

The path of the descending angels is, to quote the words of Dati, "in a straight line beneath the first point of Cancer to the cave of earth, in which line there are ten gates, for each of the planets to wit, and for the three super-terrestrial elements each his gate. The whole of this vast body of the universe is by our poet called the City of Life, forasmuch as in this universe all creatures live. And this journey of the souls from Elysium to their bodies is performed in one year." It will be observed that Palmieri affected the precision of his master Dante. Having thus conducted the soul to earth, he is no less definite in his description of the two ways, which severally lead to damnation and salvation. In the second Cantica, he employs the space of a whole year compressed into one night, in passing through the eighteen mansions of the passions of the flesh, fortune and the mind. For this journey he has the guidance of an evil spirit. Afterwards, in the third Cantica, he employs the same space of one year compressed into a single day, in traversing the twelve mansions of civil virtue and purgation, through which the soul arrives at beatific life. In this voyage he is guided by a good angel. It is not necessary to enter further into the calculations whereby Palmieri adjusts the chronology and cosmography of his vision to the Ptolemaic theory of the universe.

Though the material of the poem is thus curious, and the structure thus ingenious, it does not rise in style above the level of the works of Frezzi and Uberti (see above vol. iv. chap. 3). In order to give the reader a specimen of its composition, I will extract a passage from Cantica I. Canto v., which concerns the Divine Being and the Creation of Angels:

Sopra ogn'altro potere è questo tale,

che come e' vuole in tutto può giovare,

sanza potenza di voler far male.

Tal carità volendo ad altri dare

la gloria in sè, (?) di se stesso godeva,

degnò co' cieli ancor la terra fare.

Et perchè cosa far non si poteva

che eterno bene in ciel sempre godesse,

se sempre quel goder non intendeva;

Intelligenza bisognò facesse

con lume di ragione et immortale,

ad chi l'eterno ben tutto si desse.

Creatura fè per questo rationale,

l'angelo et l'huomo acciò che 'l somme bene

godessono intendendo quel che e' vale.

Da 'ntenderlo et amar di ragion vene

volerlo possedere, et con letitia

per sempre usar sanza timor di pene.

Ad questo Idio creò la gran militia

del celestiale exercitio et felice,

che 'n parte cadde per la sua malitia.

INDEX.

In the following Index the volume on the 'Age of the Despots' is referred to as Vol. I., that on the 'Revival of Learning' as Vol. II., that on the 'Fine Arts' as Vol. III., and the two Volumes on 'Italian Literature' as Vols. IV. and V.

Transcriber's Note: Links in this Index are to the Project Gutenberg editions of Vol. I (The Age of Despots), Vol. IV (Italian Literature, Part I), and Vol. V (this volume). Links to pages in Vol. II (The Revival of Learning) and Vol. III (The Fine Arts) are not included, as Vol. II is not yet available at Project Gutenberg, and Vol. III, while available, is from a different edition with different pagination.

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Z

ABBAS SICULUS, received 800 scudi yearly as Jurist at Bologna, ii. 122

Abbreviators, college of, founded by Pius II., ii. 358

Abelard, teaching of, i. 9, v. 467

Academies, the Italian, ii. 161, 311;

lose their classical character, 365;

their degeneracy, 367, 542, v. 272;

Milton's commendation of them, ii. 367;

their effect on Italian poetry, v. 272

Academy, the Aldine, at Venice, ii. 385, v. 272

Accaiuolo, Ruberto, i. 197 note 1, 203 note 2

Accaiuolo, Zenobio, made librarian of the Vatican, ii. 425

Accarigi, his Dictionary to Boccaccio, v. 254 note 1

Accolti, Francesco di Michele, his terza rima version of the Principe di Salerno, iv. 250 note 2

Accoramboni, Vittoria, Bandello's Novella upon her trial, v. 54;

use made of it by Webster, 69, 117, 288;

her poetry, v. 288

Achates, Leonard, his edition of Lascari's grammar, ii. 376

Achillini, Professor of Philosophy at Padua, v. 458, 459

Adami, Tobia, the disciple of Campanella, v. 481

Admonition, the Law of, at Florence, i. 226

Adolph of Nassau, pillages Maintz, ii. 368

Adorni, the, at Genoa, i. 201

Adrian VI., the tutor of Charles V., iv. 398;

elected by political intrigues, i. 441;

his simplicity of life and efforts at reform, 441-443 (cp. ii. 434, 442);

Berni's Satire on him, i. 443, v. 368

Agnolo, Baccio d', architect of the Campanile of S. Spirito at Florence, iii. 86

Agolanti of Padua, i. 114

Agostino, Pre, his Lamenti, iv. 172 note 2

Agrippa, his De Vanitate Scientiarum quoted for the corruptions of Rome, i. 459 note 1

Alamanni, Antonio, writer of the 'Triumph of Death,' iv. 320, 393-395;

translated, 395

Alamanni, Jacopino, story of, i. 211

Alamanni, Luigi, his translation of the Antigone, v. 134, 240;

his didactic poem, La Coltivazione, 237;

translation (in prose) of a passage on the woes of Italy, 238;

story of his life, 239;

number and variety of his works, 240;

his dramatic poem, the Flora, 240;

translation (in prose) of a passage on Rome, 240 note 1;

said to have been a great improvisatore, 240;

his satires, 381;

composed in the metre of the Divine Comedy, iv. 172

Alamanni, Luigi di Tommaso, executed for his share in the conspiracy against Cardinal Giulio de' Medici, v. 239

Albano, Francesco, v. 229

Albergati, Niccolò degli, his patronage of Tommaso Parentucelli (Nicholas V.), ii. 223

Alberti, the, at Florence, exiled by the Albizzi, iv. 184, 188;

their family history, 190 note 1

Alberti, Leo Battista, his originality, ii. 5;

his many-sided genius, 10, 341-344, iv. 183, 214-219;

one of the circle gathered around Lorenzo de' Medici, ii. 322, iii. 263;

his cosmopolitan spirit, iv. 184;

recommends the study of Italian, iv. 185, v. 508;

his feelings for the greatness of ancient Rome, iv. 186;

character of his religious sentiment, 206, 216, 217;

tenderness of his character, 218, v. 196, 511;

arranges a poetical competition in Italian at Florence, iv. 238;

architect of S. Francesco at Rimini, i. 172, 326, ii. 34, 210, 342, iii. 70 note 1, 74;

of S. Andrea at Mantua, ii. 342, iii. 70 note 1, 75, 278;

of the Rucellai Palace at Florence, ii. 342, iii. 75;

other architectural works of Alberti, ii. 342, 440, iii. 74-76;

his admiration of Brunelleschi's dome at Florence, iii. 67 note 1, iv. 209 (cp. ib. 204), 216;

influence of Boccaccio on his writings, iv. 136;

character of his style, 187;

his narrative of Porcari's attempt on Nicholas V., i. 265 note 1, 386;

his description of Nicholas' administration, i. 377;

his Latin play Philodoxius, ii. 341, 452, iv. 183, v. 110;

his Trattato della Famiglia, ii. 37, iv. 188, v. 190, 518;

its value, iv. 188, 190, v. 455;

analyzed, iv. 191;

question whether Alberti was the original author of the treatise Del Governo della Famiglia, i. 239 note 1, 272, iv. 192-203;

the Dialogues, v. 451, 455;

the Deiciarchia, iv. 203;

the Tranquillità dell'Animo, 204;

the Teogenio, 205;

the Essays on the Arts, 207-209;

the Dedication to Brunelleschi, 208;

the 'Treatise on Building' cited for the influence of Vitruvius on Italian architects, iii. 94 note 1;

the 'Treatise on Painting,' 127 note 1;

the various discourses upon Love and Matrimony, iv. 209-211;

Alberti the reputed author of 'Ippolito and Leonora,' 212, 250;

his Poems, 213

Alberti, Leo Battista, the anonymous Memoir of Alberti, ii. 37, 184 note 1, 195 note 1, 216 note 1, 218

Albertini, Francesco, aids Mazochi in collecting the Roman Inscriptions, ii. 429

Albertinelli, Mariotto, his friendship with Fra Bartolommeo, iii. 304, 310

Alberto da Sarteano, Fra, denounces Beccadelli's 'Hermaphroditus,' ii. 256 note 1

Albertus Magnus, v. 467

Albicante, Giovanni Alberto, probability that he was Aretino's agent in mutilating Berni's rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato, v. 375-380, 419;

his relations to Aretino, 419

Albigenses, the, i. 9

Albizzi, the, rule of, at Florence, i. 221, iv. 2;

their contest with the Medici, i. 227 note 3, ii. 167, 170, iv. 176, 184, 252;

their exile of the Alberti, iv. 184, 189

Albizzi, Rinaldo degli, his patronage of learning, ii. 165, 223

Alciato, ii. 84

Aldus Manutius. [See Manuzio, Aldo.]

Aleander, his lectures in Hebrew at Paris, i. 27, ii. 424;

a member of the Aldine Academy, ii. 387;

made Cardinal, 402, 424;

sent to Germany as Nuncio, 424

Aleotti, Galeotti, architect of the Teatro Farnese at Parma, v. 144

Alessi, Galeazzo, his work at Genoa, iii. 96;

his church of S. Maria di Carignano there, 96

Alexander of Aphrodisias, his view of Aristotle's doctrine of the soul, v. 472;

adopted by Pomponazzi, 459, 472

Alexander, a Cretan, joint editor of a Greek Psalter, ii. 376

Alexander III., i. 64

Alexander IV., preaches a crusade against Ezzelino, i. 107 note 1, iv. 280

Alexander VI., Guiccardini's character of him, i. 308;

invites the French into Italy, 349, 427, 515;

Machiavelli makes him his example of successful hypocrisy, 357;

his additions to the Vatican, 389 note 1;

personal descriptions of him at his accession, 407;

the popular legend of him, 408;

his policy, 410, 427;

his avarice, 413;

his relations with the Sultan and murder of Prince Djem, 415, 566 note 1;

his attitude towards orthodoxy, 416;

his establishment of the censorship, 416, ii. 359, 371;

his sensuality, 417-419;

his exaggerated love of his children, 417;

his grief at the murder of the Duke of Gandia, 425;

his death—was it by poison? 429-431;

the legend that he had sold his soul to the devil, 431;

his attempt to gain over or silence Savonarola, 529;

comes to terms with Charles and saves himself from a General Council, 427, 532 note 1, 565;

joins the League of Venice against Charles VIII., 577;

the Menæchmi represented by his orders at the Vatican at the espousal of Lucrezia Borgia, v. 139

Alexius, Marcus Attilius, his character of Paul II., i. 385 note 1

Alfonso (the Magnanimous), conquers Naples, i. 88, 568;

Vespasiano's Life of him, 480 note 1, 569 note 1, ii. 352;

wins over the Duke of Milan, 568 note 1;

his nobility of character and love of learning, 569, ii. 38, 252, 265;

his family life, 569;

story of his patient listening to a speech of Manetti, ii. 191 note 1, 254;

his patronage of Manetti, 192

Alfonso II., King of Naples, i. 543, 550;

his avarice, 105;

his league against Charles VIII., 550;

character of him by Comines, 572;

his terrors of conscience and abdication, 119, 572

Alfonso, Prince of Biseglia, husband of Lucrezia Borgia, murder of, i. 420

Alidosi, the, of Imola, i. 375

Alidosi, Cardinal, his patronage of scholars, ii. 404

Alighieri, Jacopo, his commentary upon the Divine Comedy, iv. 163;

his Dottrinale, 240

Alione, Giovan Giorgio, his Maccaronic Satire on the Lombards, v. 333

Allegre, Monseigneur d', captures the mistresses of Alexander III., i. 418

Allegretti, Allegretto, cited, i. 165 note 1;

on the reconciliation of factions at Siena, 616, iii. 213

Alopa, Lorenzo, printer of the first edition of Homer, ii. 369, 376

Alticlinio of Padua, i. 114

Amadeo, Antonio, iii. 78 note 1;

dispute about his name, 164;

his work at the Certosa of Pavia, 164;

his monument to Media Colleoni, 165

Amalteo, ii. 506;

his Latin Eclogues, 453, 497

Ambra, his Comedies, v. 123, 181

Ambrogio da Milano, his reliefs in the ducal palace, Urbino, iii. 162 note 1

America, discovery of, i. 3, 15, 29, ii. 112;

given by Alexander VI. to Spain, i. 413

Amerigo di Peguilhan, his Lament on the death of Manfred, iv. 27

Amidei, the, at Florence, i. 74, 210, note 2

Ammanati, Bartolommeo, his work as sculptor and architect in Florence, iii. 96;

feebleness of his statues, 173;

his regret that he had made so many statues of heathen gods, 174;

his quarrels with Cellini, 477

Ammirato, Scipione, quoted for the friendly rivalry of Giangiorgio Trissino and Giovanni Rucellai, v. 236

Amurath II., Filelfo's mission to him, ii. 268

Andrea dell'Anguillara, Giovanni, his tragedy of Edippo, v. 134;

acted in the Palazzo della Ragione, 134;

his satiric poems, 381

Andrea dell'Aquila, probable sculptor of a monument in S. Bernardino, Aquila, iii. 141 note 1

Andrea da Barbarino, probably the author of the Reali di Francia, iv. 246;

other romances of his, 246

Andrea of Florence, said to be the painter of frescoes in S. Maria Novella, iii. 205 note 1

Andrea de Pontadero (called Pisano), his work in bronze and marble, iii. 119

Andrea di Sicilia, elected Professor at Parma, iv. 315

Angelico, Fra, spirituality of his paintings, iii. 239;

his intense religious feeling, 303, 311;

critical difficulty of deciding his place in the succession of Florentine painters, 240;

his frescoes at Orvieto, 283 note 1

Angioleri, Cecco, his Sonnets, iv. 56 note 1

Anguillara, i. 114, 404, 545

Annales Bononienses, quoted for the Revival of 1457, i. 617

Annius of Viterbo, his forged Histories, ii. 156 note 2

Antiquari, Jacopo, his Latin correspondence, ii. 288 note 1, 532;

quotation from a letter of his upon Poliziano's Miscellanies, 352;

his verses on Aldo Manuzio, 390 note 2;

his nobility of character, 523

Antonino, Sant', the good archbishop of Florence, i. 470 note 1, iv. 313, v. 519

Antonio da Tempo, his Treatise on Italian Poetry cited for the early estimation of Tuscan, iv. 31 note 1

Antonio di San Marco (the Roman goldsmith), his answer to Agostino Chigi's couplet on Leo X., i. 435

Anziani or Ancients, name of magistrates in some Italian cities, i. 35, 68, 224

Apollo Belvedere, discovery of the, ii. 431;

description of it by a Venetian envoy, 434

Apostolios Aristoboulos, a compositor employed by Aldo Manuzio, ii. 378;

a member of the Aldine Academy, 387;

Appiano, Gherardo, sells Pisa to Gian Galeazzo, i. 114, 148

Appiano, Jacopo, murders Pietro Gambacorta, i. 148, 148 note 1

Aquila, S. Bernardo, monument of the Countess Montorio, iii. 141 note 1

Arabs, the, their preservation of Greek literature, ii. 66, 68, 251, iii. 209, v. 468

Arcadia, creation of the Arcadian ideal at the Renaissance, v. 197;

length of time during which it prevailed, 197, 223;

received form at the hands of Sannazzaro, 197;

lent itself to the dramatical presentation of real passion, in spite of its artificial form, 241. (See Guarini, Sannazzaro, and Tasso.)

Archio, Latin verse writer, ii. 507

Architecture, Italian architecture rather local than national, ii. 5;

architecture does not require so much individuality in the artist as painting, 7;

effect on Italian architecture of the ancient Roman buildings, 439, iii. 48 note 1;

reasons why the middle ages excelled in architecture, iii. 10;

architecture precedes the other arts, 40;

the various building materials used in Italian architecture, 44

Arcimboldi, Gian Angelo, discovered the MS. of Tacitus' Annals at Corvey, ii. 140, 425

Ardenti, the, an Academy at Naples, ii. 366

Aretino, Carlo. (See Marsuppini.)

Aretino, Pietro, parallel between Aretino, Machiavelli, and Cellini, iii. 479 (cp. v. 384);

said to have died from excessive laughter, iv. 452;

the story probably without foundation, v. 423;

his quarrel with Doni, 90, 419, 422;

his writings placed on the Index after his death, 422, 423;

the Comedies, 40, 123;

their originality and freedom from imitation of the antique, 172, 173 (cp. 269 note 1), 517;

defective in structure, 173;

point of view from which Aretino regards contemporary manners in them, 174;

celerity of their composition, 414;

the Cortigiana, its plot and characters, 176;

intended to expose the Courts, 176, 177, 178 (cp. 386 note 1);

sarcasms of the Prologue on the Italian authors, 180, note 1;

its testimony to the profligacy of Rome, and to the belief that the sack of the city was a Divine chastisement, i. 446 note 1, v. 176, 190, 226;

to the general corruption of morals in Italy, v. 191;

the Marescalco, its plot, 178;

may have supplied hints to Shakspere and Ben Jonson, 178;

the Talanta, Ipocrita, and Filosofo, 179;

comparison of the comedies of Aretino, Bibbiena, and Machiavelli, 180;

passage in the Prologue to the Ipocrita, referring to Berni's rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato, 376 note 2;

Prologue of the Talanta translated (in prose), 417-419;

his Madrigals and Sonnets, 311;

their badness, 415;

his Capitoli, 364, 381, 419;

inferior to Berni's, 415;

the Dialoghi, 386, 394, note 1, 415;

their description of life in Roman palaces, 386 note 1;

belief of contemporary society in the good intentions of Aretino in writing the work, 427;

probability that Aretino was the author of the mutilation of Berni's rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato, 375-380, 406;

he sides with Bembo in his dispute with Broccardo, 377;

his place in Italian literature, 383-385;

his boyhood, 385;

enters Agostino Chigi's service, 386;

nature of his position, 386;

stories of his early life, 387;

begins to find his way into Courts, 388;

comes to Rome at the election of Clement VII., 389;

writes a series of sonnets on obscene designs by Giulio Romano, and is obliged to quit Rome, 389;

makes the friendship of Giovanni de' Medici delle Bande Nere, 390, 391, 424;

narrowly escapes assassination at Rome, 391;

his animosity against Clement VII., 391, 392, 402 note 1;

retires to Venice in order to support himself by literary labour, 392-395;

dread inspired by his talents, ii. 34, 512, iii. 171, v. 392;

trades upon the new power given by the press, v. 393;

secures his reputation by writing religious romances, 394, 519;

their worthlessness, 416, 427;

may have been aided in them by Niccolò Franco, 420;

his life at Venice, 396-399;

amount of money extorted by him, 399;

presents made him by various princes, 400, 405;

question as to the real nature of the influence exercised by him, 392, 401, 404, 406;

partly owing to his force of character, 425-427;

his attractiveness as a writer due to his naturalness and independence, 416;

his employment of lying, abuse, and flattery, 401-404;

his reputation for orthodoxy, 380, 405;

idea of making him Cardinal, ii. 22, 282 note 1, 403, v. 405;

his cowardice, 391, 405, 406;

his relations to Michelangelo, iii. 426, v. 408;

the friend of Sansovino and Titian, iii. 167, 168, v. 398, 405 note 4, 409, 425;

his relations to men of letters, v. 409;

his boasts of ignorance and attacks on the purists, 410-414;

his celerity of composition, 414;

his faults of taste, 417;

effect of his writings on the euphuistic literature of the seventeenth century, and on the literature of abuse in Europe, 417, 422;

his literary associates, 419-423;

the epitaph composed upon him, 423;

his portrait (1) engraved by Guiseppe Patrini, (2) by Sansovino, on the door of the sacristy in St. Mark's, iii. 168, v. 424;

his contradictions of character, v. 425, 517;

Aretino embodies the vices of his age, 425, 523;

his Correspondence, 384, note 1, 393 note 1;

its illustrations of the profligacy of Rome, 386 note 1, 387 note 1;

a letter to Titian quoted for a description of a Venetian sunset, iii. 351, v. 417;

Aretino relates in a letter his life at Mantua, v. 388;

letters of his cited for the death of Giovanni de' Medici delle Bande Nere, 391 note 2;

the Letter to the Doge of Venice, 395;

letters describing his life at Venice, 396-399;

probability that Aretino tampered with his correspondence before publication, 398 note 1, 399 note 1;

letter describing his method of flattery, 403 note 1;

another quoted as a specimen of his begging style, 404 note 1;

another written to Vittoria Colonna, who entreated him to devote himself to pious literature, 407;

another to Bernardo Tasso on epistolary style, 411

Arezzo, the high school at, ii. 116;

receives a diploma from Charles IV., 118

—— Cathedral shrine of S. Donato (by Giovanni Pisano), iii. 110

—— S. Francesco, Piero della Francesca, Dream of Constantine, iii. 235

Argyropoulos, John, the guest of Palla degli Strozzi at Padua, ii. 168;

teaches Greek at Florence and Rome, 210

Ariosto, Gabriele, brother of the poet, finishes La Scolastica, iv. 502, v. 150

Ariosto, Giovanni Battista, illegitimate son of the poet, iv. 502

Ariosto, Lodovico, his panegyrics of Lucrezia Borgia, i. 420, 422, v. 12 note 1;

of the d'Este family, v. 5, 7, 9, 11, 12 note 1, 30;

Ariosto inferior as a poet to Dante, ii. 9;

analogy of his character to that of Boccaccio, iv. 506;

quoted for the word umanista, ii. 71 note 1;

had no knowledge of Greek, iv. 493, 517;

facts of his life, 493-503 (cp. 517);

enters the service of Cardinal Ippolito d'Este, 494, (cp. 517);

refuses to enter the Church, 495;

his rupture with the Cardinal, 496;

enters the service of Alfonso I. of Ferrara, 498;

his superintendence of the Ducal Theatre, 498, v. 140, 141, 144;

his marriage, iv. 502, v. 38;

receives a pension from the Marquis of Vasto, iv. 503;

his personal habits, 504;

his device of the pen, 521;

his genius representative of his age, v. 49, 518;

the Satires cited for the nepotism of the Popes, i. 413, note 2, iv. 509, 518;

on the relations of the Papacy to the nation, ii. 22;

on the bad character of the Humanists, 519, iv. 517;

written in the metre of the Divine Comedy, iv. 172, 519;

revelation of his own character contained in the Satires, 504, 505-508, 517-519, v. 1, 5;

their interest in illustrating the Renaissance, iv. 518;

subjects of the Satires, 508;

the first Satire: ecclesiastical vices, 509 (cp. ii. 406);

the second: dependents upon Courts, character of Ippolito d'Este, 509;

the third: the choice of a wife, 510, v. 38;

fourth and sixth: Court life and place-hunting, iv. 511-513;

the fifth: the poet at Garfagnana, 514;

sketches of contemporaries, 515;

the seventh: a tutor wanted for his son, vices of the Humanists, 516 (for the latter cp. v. 155 note 2);

the Canzoni, iv. 520;

the origin of his love for Alessandra Benucci, 520;

Giuliano de' Medici to his widow, 520;

the Capitoli, 509 note 1, 519, v. 5;

the Cinque Canti, iv. 501, 502;

passage on the Italian tyrants quoted, i. 130, iv. 506 note 2;

the Madrigals and Sonnets, iv. 522;

the Elegies, 519, 521;

his Latin poems, ii. 497, iv. 494, 497 note 1, 506 note 1, 522, v. 38;

his translations from Latin comedies, v. 140;

the Comedies, 40 note 5, 111, 122, 123, 146 note 1;

the Negromante cited in illustration of the character of Italian witches, 346 note 1;

plots of the comedies, 148, 153 note 1;

their satire, 150;

the Prologues, 147 note 1, 150;

the Scolastica, left unfinished by Ariosto, iv. 502, v. 150;

its plot, v. 150;

excellence of the characters, 151-153;

its satire, 153-155;

artistic merit of the comedies, 156;

criticisms of them by Machiavelli (?) and Cecchi, 156;

their value as sketches of contemporary life, 159;

the Orlando Furioso: its relation to the old romances, iv. 248, 249;

his debt to Boiardo, 458 (cp. i. 171), 470, 489, 492;

his silence respecting his indebtedness, 490;

contrast of Ariosto and Boiardo, 463;

continuous labour of Ariosto upon the Orlando, 497, 503, v. 42;

the Orlando the final expression of the Cinque Cento, v. 2;

Ariosto's choice of a romantic subject, 4-6;

why he set himself to finish Boiardo's poem, 6;

artistic beauty of the Orlando, 6, 8, 14, 515;

its subject as illustrating the age, 7;

Ariosto's treatment of romance, 9, 15;

material of the Orlando, 9-12;

the connection of its various parts, 15;

its pictorial character, 17-20;

Ariosto's style contrasted with the brevity of Dante, 19;

his power of narrative, 20;

his knowledge of character, 21;

the preludes to the Cantos, 22;

Tasso's censure of them, 23;

the tales interspersed in the narrative, 23-25;

Ariosto's original treatment of the material borrowed by him, 25;

his irony, 26;

illustrated by Astolfo's journey to the moon, 27-30;

illustrated by the episode of S. Michael in the monastery, 31-33;

peculiar character of his imagination, 29;

his humour, 33;

his sublimity and pathos, 34-36;

the story of Olimpia, 36;

Euripidean quality of Ariosto, 35-37;

the female characters in the Orlando, 37-40;

Lessing's criticism of the description of Alcina, iv. 116, v. 19;

Ariosto's perfection of style, v. 41;

his advance in versification on Poliziano and Boiardo, 43;

comparison of Ariosto and Tasso, 44;

illustrations of his art from contemporary painters, 45;

his similes 46-49;

the lines on the contemporary poets quoted

—— upon Bembo, 258 note 1;

—— upon Aretino, 385 note 1

Ariosto, Virginio, illegitimate son of the poet, iv. 502;

his Recollections of his father, 502, 504

Aristotle, influence of the Politics at the Renaissance, i. 197 note 1, 250 note 1;

cited, 234 note 1, 235 note 1;

the Lines on Virtue translated, iv. 62;

supposed coffin of Aristotle at Palermo, i. 461;

Aristotle known to the Middle Ages chiefly through the Arabs, ii. 66, 68, iii. 209, v. 468;

regarded in the Middle Ages as a pillar of orthodoxy, ii. 208, v. 462;

his system turned against orthodox doctrines at the Renaissance, v. 472;

quarrel of the Aristotelians and the Platonists, ii. 208, 244, 247, 394, v. 454;

study of the Poetics by the Italian playwrights, v. 127, 132 note 1, 135;

outlines of the Aristotelian system, 462-466;

problems for speculation successively suggested by Aristotelian studies, 466-470

Arnold of Brescia, i. 64, iv. 12

Arnolfo del Cambio, ii. 5;

the architect of the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence, iii. 61-63;

impress of his genius on Florence, 63;

his work as a sculptor, 62 note 1;

begins the Duomo, 64;

his intentions, 66

Arpino, traditional reverence for Cicero there, ii. 30, iv. 12

Arrabbiati, name of the extreme Medicean party at Florence, i. 529

Arthur Legends, the, preferred by the Italian nobles to the stories of Roland, iv. 13, 17, 244, 437, v. 52;

represent a refined and decadent feudalism, v. 52

Arti, the, in Italian cities, i. 35, 72;

at Florence, 224

Arts, degeneracy of the plastic arts in the early Middle Ages, i. 17;

change brought about in them by the Renaissance, 18-20;

predominance of art in the Italian genius, iii. 1-5;

art and religion—how far inseparable, 6 note 1;

the arts of the Renaissance had to combine Pagan and Christian traditions, 6, 170;

share of the arts in the emancipation of the intellect, 8, 23, 32, iv. 346 note 1;

the arts invade religion by their tendency to materialize its ideals, iii. 11, 19, 22, 31;

antagonism of art and religion, 24-26, 28, 31;

the separate spheres and meeting-points of art and religion, 30;

important part played by Tuscany in the development of Italian art, 185 note 1;

fluctuations in the estimation of artists, illustrated by Botticelli, 249 note 1;

works of art may be judged either by æsthetic quality or as expressing ideas, 343 note 1;

commercial spirit in which art was pursued in Italy, 442 note 1

Ascanio de' Mori, his Novelle, v. 60

Ascham, Roger, quoted for the English opinion on Italy, i. 472

Asolanus, father-in-law and partner of Aldo Manuzio, ii. 388

Assisi, Church of S. Francis, designed by a German architect, iii. 50;

importance of its decorations by Giotto in the history of Italian art, 195;

Simone Martini's Legend of S. Martin, 217

Assorditi, the, an Academy at Urbino, ii. 366

Asti, transferred to the house of Orleans by Gian Galeazzo Visconti, i. 143 note 2, v. 333;

its half French character, v. 333

Astrology, influence of, in Italy, i. 428 note 1, iii. 77 note 1

Athens, comparison of Athens and Florence, i. 234, 236, ii. 163, 165

Athens, Duke of, i. 75 note 1, 221, iii. 309

Attendolo, Sforza (father of Francesco Sforza), i. 86;

said to have been a peasant, 159;

his murder of Terzi, 121 note 1;

his desertion of Queen Joan of Naples, 361

Aurispa, Giovanni, protected by Nicholas, i. 111, 173;

brings Greek MSS. to Italy, ii. 141, 267, 301;

obliged to leave Florence by Niccoli's opposition, 182;

made Apostolic Secretary by Eugenius IV., 220;

his life at Ferrara, 301

Avanzi, Girolamo, a member of the Aldine Academy, ii. 387

Averrhoes, the arch-heresiarch of medieval imagination, iii. 206-209 (cp. iv. 447), v. 449;

his teaching on immortality, v. 469

Averrhoists, Petrarch's dislike of them, ii. 101, iii. 209;

Pomponazzi and the Averrhoists, v. 462

Avignon, transference of the Papal Court there, i. 77, 80, 101, 374, iv. 2, 87

Avvelenato, L', name of an Italian ballad, iv. 275;

its correspondence with Northern ballads, 275-278, v. 119 note 1

BACCIO DELLA PORTA. (See Bartolommeo, Fra.)

Bacon, Roger, his anticipation of modern science, i. 9;

imprisoned by the Franciscans, 10;

knew the use of the telescope, 29

Baden (Switzerland), Poggio's visit to, ii. 231

Baglioni, the, supported by the people at Perugia, i. 87 (cp. v. 498);

their rise to power, 114, 115, 122, 123;

their misgovernment, 130, 225, iii. 328;

overthrown by Gian Galeazzo, i. 148;

members of this family become Condottieri, 161;

take part in the Diet of La Magione, 351;

attempted massacre of them, 397 note 2

—— Astorre, his comeliness of person, ii. 31;

Gian Paolo, i. 421 note 1;

Machiavelli condemns him for not murdering Julius II., 324, 463;

beheaded by Leo X., 439;

Grifonetto, 168 note 1, iii. 221, v. 118;

Malatesta, betrays Florence, i. 223, 245, 285;

Pandolfo, murder of, 148 note 2

Bajazet, Sultan, his relations with Alexander VI., i. 415

Baldi, Bernardino, his pastoral poems, v. 224

Balduccio, Giovanni, invited to Milan by Azzo Visconti, iii. 123;

carves the shrine of S. Peter Martyr in S. Eutorgio, 123

Baldus, dies of hunger in the sack of Rome, ii. 444

Balia, the, at Florence, i. 230, 526

Ballad poetry, general absence of ballads in Italian, iv. 37 (cp. 251), 274, v. 119;

the ballad of L'Avvelenato, iv. 275-278;

connection of ballad poetry and the Drama, v. 120

Ballata, or Canzone a Ballo, meaning of the term in Italian, iv. 261 note 2;

popularity of the ballate in Italy, 261-263

Bambagiuoli, poems of, iv. 164

Bandello, Matteo, belonged to the Dominican order, i. 459 v. 64;

facts of his life, v. 63;

his Novelle cited for the profligacy of Rome and the scandals of the Church, i. 446 note 1, 458, v. 66;

use of them made by the Reformers against the Church, v. 65, 66;

state of society revealed by them, 65;

their allusions to witchcraft, 346 note 1;

their dedications, 62;

want of tragic and dramatic power in the Novelle, 67-69;

their pictures of manners, 68;

Bandello's ability best shown in the romantic tales, 69;

the description of Pomponazzi in one of the novels, 461;

Bandello, a sort of prose-Ariosto, 70;

the tale of Gerardo and Elena, 70;

the tale of Romeo and Juliet: comparison with Shakspere's drama, 71;

the tale of Nicuola: its relation to the Twelfth Night, 72;

tale of Edward III. and Alice of Salisbury, 73-75;

comparison of Bandello with Beaumont and Fletcher, 74, 75 note 1;

Bandello's apology for the licentiousness of the Novelle, 76;

for their literary style, 77

Bandinelli, Baccio, feebleness of his statues, iii. 173;

legend that he destroyed Michelangelo's cartoon for the Battle of Pisa, 396 note 1;

his quarrel with Cellini, 477 (cp. 173)

Bandini assassinates Giuliano de' Medici, i. 398

Barbaro, Daniello, a letter of his to Aretino quoted for contemporary opinion of the Dialogo de le Corti, v. 427 note 2

Barbaro, Francesco, i. 173;

a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, ii. 100;

learns Greek from Chrysoloras, 110;

his account of Poggio's enthusiasm in the quest of MSS., 138;

his patronage of learning at Venice, 212

Barbavara, Francesco, i. 150

Barbiano, Alberico da, leader of Condottieri, i. 150, 159

Barbieri, Gian Maria, sides with Castelvetro in his quarrel with Caro, v. 286

Bardi, the, at Florence, i. 238;

their loan to Edward III., 257;

their bankruptcy, 258

Bargagli, Scipione, his Novelle, v. 60;

the description of the Siege of Siena in the Introduction, 98 (cp. 522)

Barlam, teaches Leontius Pilatus Greek, ii. 90

Baroccio, Federigo, his relation to Correggio, iii. 495

Baroncelli, the Roman conspirator, i. 376

Bartolommeo, Fra, his portraits of Savonarola, i. 508, iii. 309 note 2;

story of his Sebastian in the cloister of San Marco, iii. 28;

his position in the history of Italian art, 304;

his friendship with Albertinelli, 305;

furthered the progress of composition and colouring in painting, 331, 498;

his attempt to imitate Michelangelo, 307;

the painter of adoration, 307;

his unfinished Madonna with the Patron Saints of Florence, 308;

influence of Savonarola upon him, 309

Bartolommeo da Montepulciano, discovers the MSS. of Vegetius and Pompeius Festus, ii. 140

Basaiti, Marco, iii. 362

Basle, Council, question of precedence at, ii. 216

Bassani, the, Venetian painters, iii. 371

Basso, Girolamo, nephew of Sixtus IV., i. 389

Bati, Luca, composes the music for Cecchi's Elevation of the Cross, iv. 326

Battuti, the Italian name for the Flagellants, iv. 281, 282, 283

Bazzi. (See Sodoma.)

Beatrice di Tenda, i. 152

Beaufort, Cardinal, invites Poggio to England, ii. 231 note 3

Beaumont and Fletcher, comparison of, with Bandello, v. 74, 75 note 1

Beauty, Greek appreciation of bodily beauty contrasted with Christian asceticism, iii. 13-18, 19;

the study of human beauty revived by the painters of the Renaissance, 23;

the delight in the beauty of nature restored by the Renaissance, 33, 107, v. 250;

the later artists wholly absorbed by the pursuit of sensual beauty, iii. 453-455;

the beauty of wild and uncultivated scenery unappreciated in the Renaissance, 464, v. 46

Beccadelli, Antonio, tutor of Ferdinand I., i. 174, ii. 257;

in attendance on Alphonso I., 252;

the author of the Hermaphroditus, 254 (cp. i. 174 note 1), 452;

favourable reception of his work, 255;

crowned poet by the Emperor Sigismund, 255;

his Hermaphroditus denounced by the Church, 256;

honours paid to him, 256 (cp. 524);

introduces Pontanus at the Court of Naples, 363

Beccafumi, Domenico, the scholar of Sodoma, iii. 501

Beccaria Family, the, of Pavia, i. 145

Begarelli, Antonio, Modanese artist in terra-cotta, iii. 164 note 1

Belcari, Feo, his Alphabet, iv. 240;

his Vita del Beato Colombino, 240;

his Sacre Rappresentazioni, 320, 340;

Benivieni's Elegy on his death, 321

Belgioioso, Count of, Lodovico Sforza's ambassador to Charles VIII., i. 541

Bellincini, Aurelio, communicates Castelvetro's criticisms to Caro, and so causes the quarrel between them, v. 285

Bellini, Gentile, iii. 362;

his pictures for the Scuola of S. Croce, 363;

Giovanni, 362;

how far influenced by his brother-in-law Mantegna, 277, 362;

his perfection as a colourist, 365;

adhered to the earlier manner of painting, 365;

Jacopo, 362

Bello, Francesco (called Il Cieco), language of his Mambriano respecting the Chronicle of Turpin, iv. 439 note 1;

character of Astolfo in it, 470 note 1;

use of episodical novelle in it, 490 note 2;

classed by Folengo with Boiardo, Pulci, and Ariosto, v. 316

Beltraffio, Giovanni Antonio, the scholar of Lionardo da Vinci, iii. 484

Bembo, Bernardo, builds the tomb of Dante at Ravenna, ii. 410

Bembo, Pietro, introduced in Castiglione's 'Cortegiano,' i. 184, ii. 411, v. 260, 265;

his moral quality, i. 459 note 2, v. 261;

his account of De Comines' behaviour before the Venetian Signory, i. 578 note 1;

a member of the Aldine Academy, ii. 387;

made a Cardinal, 402;

his rise into greatness, 403;

his friendship with Lucrezia Borgia, i. 422, ii. 403, 411, v. 263;

with Veronica Gambara, v. 289;

said to have saved Pomponazzo from ecclesiastical procedure, ii. 410, v. 461;

his life at Urbino, ii. 411, v. 260;

his retirement at Padua, ii. 413;

becomes the dictator of Italian letters, ii. 414, v. 258, 497;

greatness of his personal influence, v. 264;

his quarrel with Broccardo, 377;

his panegyric of Sadoleto's Laocoon, ii. 497;

his Venetian origin, illustrating the loss of intellectual supremacy by Florence, 507, v. 258;

Cellini visits him at Padua and makes a medallion of him, iii. 463;

his advice to Sadoleto not to read St. Paul for fear of spoiling his taste, ii. 398, 413;

his ridiculous purisms, 400;

his pedantic and mannered style, 413 (cp. 535), v. 259;

his Latin verses, ii. 453, 481-485, v. 249;

Gyraldus' criticism of them, ii. 484;

the De Galeso translated, 483;

the Elegy on Poliziano, 357, 484, v. 258;

translated (in prose), ii. 484;

his cultivation of Italian, 414, v. 258;

the Gli Asolani, ii. 411, v. 259, 265;

the Defence of the Vulgar Tongue, v. 259 note 1, 260;

the Regole Grammaticali, 261;

the Italian poems, 261;

translation of a sonnet, illustrating the conceits affected by him, 261;

his Letters, 262-264, 360;

mention in one of them of the representations of Latin comedies at Ferrara, 140.

Benedetti, the, of Todi, the family to which Jacopone da Todi belonged, iv. 285, 287

Benedict XI., surmise of his death by poison, i. 374, iii. 115;

his monument by Giovanni Pisano, iii. 115

Benedictines, their treatment of the classical literature, i. 10, ii. 133;

their hatred of the Franciscans, v. 325

Benevento, a Lombard duchy, i. 48;

its fate, note 1, 50;

battle of, iv. 21, 27, 48

Benignius, Cornelius, his edition of Pindar, the first Greek book printed in Rome, i. 405 note 1

Benivieni, i. Girolamo, his elegies in the metre of the Divine Comedy, iv. 172;

his poetical version of the novel Tancredi, 250;

his hymns, v. 519;

two translated, iv. 303;

his Elegy on Feo Belcari, 321 (see Appendix vi. for translation);

his Pastoral Poems, v. 224

Bentivogli, the, supported by the people of Bologna, i. 87, 102;

their rise to power, 114, 123, 124;

claimed descent from King Enzo, 115, iv. 49;

take part in the 'Diet of La Magione,' 351

Bentivogli, Annibale de', v. 140;

Cardinal de', his portrait by Vandyck, ii. 27;

Francesca, murders her husband, Galeotto Manfredi, i. 428 note 1

Bentivoglio, Ercole, his Satiric Poems, v. 381

Benucci, Alessandra, the wife of Ariosto, iv. 502, 520, 521, 522, v. 38

Benvenuto da Imola, his account of Boccaccio's visit to Monte Cassino, ii. 133

Benzoni Family, the, at Crema, i. 150

Berardo, Girolamo, his versions of the Casina and the Mostellaria, v. 140

Berengar, the last Italian king, i. 51-53

Bergamo, story of Calabrians murdered there, i. 74

—— S. Maria Maggiore, the Capella Colleoni, iii. 165

Bernard, S., the type of medieval contempt for natural beauty, i. 13;

his Hymn to Christ on the Cross, iii. 17;

two stanzas translated, note 1

Bernard de Ventadour, iv. 60

Bernardino S. (of Siena), his preaching, i. 611-613, iv. 175;

his attacks on Beccadelli's Hermaphroditus, ii. 256 note 1 (cp. 516);

his canonisation, i. 461, iv. 315

Berni, Francesco, related to Cardinal Bibbiena, v. 357;

taken by him to Rome, 357;

enters the Church and becomes Canon of Florence, i. 459, v. 357, 358;

acts as secretary to Giberti, Bishop of Verona, v. 357;

becomes a member of the Vignajuoli Academy at Rome, ii. 366, v. 357;

loses his property in the sack of Rome, v. 357;

retires to Florence, 358;

aids Broccardo against Aretino in his quarrel with Bembo, 377;

mysterious circumstances of his death, 358, 374, 377, 381 (cp. i. 170 note 1);

his easy, genial temper, 357, 359, 368;

his correspondence, 360;

his scantiness of production and avoidance of publication, 361-363;

his refinement of style, 315;

the Capitoli, (1) poetical epistles, 363;

(2) occasional poems, 364;

(3) poems on burlesque subjects, 364;

degree in which Berni is responsible for the profligacy of the Capitoli, 366;

manner in which he treated his themes, 366;

the Capitoli written in terza rima, 366 (cp. iv. 172);

the Capitolo on Adrian VI.'s election to the Papacy, v. 368, 369 (cp. i. 443);

the sonnet on Pope Clement, v. 368 (cp. i. 443);

translated, v. 368;

the sonnet on Alessandro de' Medici, the force of their satire weakened by Berni's servility to the Medici, 369;

excellence of Berni's personal caricatures, 370;

the sonnet on Aretino, 371, 389, 390 note 1, 406;

the rustic plays, Catrina and Mogliazzo, 224, 311;

the rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato, iv. 491, v. 373;

object of the undertaking, v. 373;

published in a mutilated form, 374;

the question who was guilty of the fraud, 375;

probability that Aretino, with the aid of Albicante, contrived the mutilation of the MS. or proof-sheets, 375-378, 419;

Vergerio's statement that Berni had embraced Protestantism and wrote the rifacimento with the view of spreading Lutheran opinions, 378-380;

the suppressed stanzas, intended by Berni as the Induction to the twentieth Canto of the Innamorato, 379 (for a translation see Appendix ii. 543);

likelihood that the ecclesiastical authorities may have employed Aretino, 380

Bernini, adds the Colonnades to S. Peter's, iii. 93

Beroaldo, Filippo, edits Tacitus' Annals for the first edition, ii. 425;

made Librarian of the Vatican, 425;

professor in the Sapienza at Rome, 427;

his version of the Principe di Salerno in Latin elegiacs, iv. 250 note 2

Bertini, Romolo, v. 311

Bertoldo, his work as a bronze founder in Italian churches, iii. 78 note 1

Bertrand du Poiet, i. 81

Bescapé, Pietro, his Bible History written for popular use in a North Italian dialect, iv. 34

Bessarion, Cardinal, a disciple of Gemistos Plethos, ii. 204, 247;

joins the Latin Church, 204, 246;

gives his library to Venice, 247;

his controversy with Trapezuntios, 247

Beyle, Henri, his critique on the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, iii. 427

Bianchi and Neri Factions, the, at Pistoja, i. 210 note 2;

at Florence, 221, 225

Bianchino, Il Cieco, his Incatenatura, iv. 268

Bibbiena, Cardinal, i. 459;

introduced in Castiglione's 'Cortegiano,' 184, 190;

his kinship with Berni, v. 357;

his rise to greatness, ii. 403, v. 145;

his comedy, Calandra, v. 111, 123;

largely indebted to the Menæchmi, 145;

its popularity, 146;

its literary style, 146 note 1;

representations of it at Urbino and Rome, 146;

comparison of his comedy with those of Aretino and Machiavelli, 180

Bibboni, Francesco, the murderer of Lorenzino de' Medici, i. 480 note 3 (cp. v. 517)

Bigi, name of the Medicean faction at Florence, i. 529

Bini, Francesco, a member of the Vignajuoli Academy at Rome, v. 357;

the friend and correspondent of Berni, 360;

his Capitolo on the Mal Franzese, 365

Biondo, Flavio, ii. 430;

patronized by Eugenius IV., ii. 220;

his prodigious learning, 220, iii. 272;

not duly appreciated by his contemporaries, ii. 221

Bishoprics, the Italian bishoprics in Roman municipia, i. 61

Bishops, the, on the side of the people in their first struggles for independence, i. 53, 55-61;

the cities claim the privilege of electing their own bishops, 59

Bissolo, Venetian painter, iii. 362

Blastos, Nicolaos, a Greek printer at Venice, ii. 386

Bloodmadness, i. 109, Appendix No. i.

Boccaccino da Cremona, the Madonna with S. Catherine, iii. 225

Boccaccio, Giannandrea, cited for the popular detestation of the Spanish cardinals, i. 410;

for the temperance in eating of Alexander VI., 417

Boccaccio, Giovanni, his services to the Renaissance, i. 11, iv. 142;

learnt Greek late in life, 20, ii. 91, iv. 120 note 2;

cited for the attachment of the Italians to their past history, ii. 30;

influenced by Petrarch, 87, 89, iv. 102;

story of his visit to the tomb of Virgil at Naples, ii. 88, iv. 101;

his enthusiasm for Dante, ii. 89;

the first Greek scholar in Europe, 91;

translates Homer, 93;

his industry as a scholar, 94, iv. 101;

sensuousness of his ideal, ii. 97, iv. 100 note, 106, 114, 118, v. 504, 515;

his visit to Monte Cassino, ii. 133;

his relation to Robert of Anjou, 252, iv. 120 note 1;

his influence on Italian literature, iv. 3, 123, v. 518;

not of pure Italian blood, iv. 98;

the typical Italian of the middle class, 99, 104, 113, 114, 164;

his realism, 99, v. 515;

his nickname of Giovanni della Tranquillità, iv. 100 note 1;

contemporary denunciations of the Decameron, 100;

shallowness of Boccaccio's philosophy, 101, 103;

his frank recognition of genius, 102;

comparison of his character with that of Ariosto, 506;

his devotion to art, 103;

his genius representative of the Renaissance, 110, v. 2;

his descriptions have the nature of painting, iv. 116;

shared the contempt of the learned for the lower classes, 125, 239;

comparison of his prose with that of the other trecentisti, 132-135;

influence of his style not paramount till the age of the Academies, 135;

considered by some Italian critics to have established a false standard of taste, 136;

the life of Dante, ii. 36;

its want of real appreciation for Dante, iv. 101;

the Commentary upon Dante, ii. 89, 96, iv. 163;

the Genealogia Deorum, ii. 94;

quoted for Boccaccio's teaching on poetry, 94;

the Decameron: contrasted with the Divina Commedia, iv. 104, 127 (cp. 114, 122);

description of the plague, forming the background of the Decameron, 111;

the satire of the Decameron, 112;

its irony, 113;

its beauty, 114;

its superiority to his other works, 127;

its testimony to the corruption of Rome, i. 457;

said by Sacchetti to have been translated into English, iv. 148 note 4;

comparison between Boccaccio, Masuccio, and Sacchetti, 179;

his Minor Poems, 118;

show the feeling of despair common to the last trecentisti, 165;

the two sonnets on Dante, 162;

the Ballata, Il fior che 'l valor perde, 262;

the Amorosa Visione, 114, 119, 123;

the Ameto, 123;

the Fiammetta, 123;

the first attempt in modern literature to portray subjective emotion outside the writer, 123;

the Corbaccio, 124;

occasion of its being written, 124 (cp. 98);

the Filicopo, quoted, 115;

its euphuism, 120;

the song of the angel, 118;

the meeting with Fiammetta quoted as a specimen of Boccaccio's style, 133;

the Filostrato, Boccaccio's finest narrative in verse, 121;

the Teseide, 117, 429;

numerous imitations and adaptations of it by other poets, 117;

its value in fixing the form of the ottava rima, 118;

the Ninfale Fiesolano, 125, 410;

its place in Italian literature, 126

Boccati, Giovanni, picture of his at Perugia, representing Disciplinati in presence of the Virgin, iv. 203 note 1

Boethius, cult of him at Pavia, i. 20, ii. 30

Boiardo, Matteo Maria, the facts of his life, iv. 457;

contrast between him and Pulci, 456, v. 8;

contrast of Boiardo and Ariosto, iv. 463, v. 8;

neglect of Boiardo, iv. 459, 464, 491;

the Sonetti e Canzoni, 458;

the Orlando Innamorato: gave Ariosto his theme (cp. i. 171);

its originality in introducing the element of love into the Roland Legends, iv. 461;

earnestness of the poem, 462;

its relation to the period of its composition, 462;

broken off by the invasion of Charles VIII. 463, v. 282 note 3;

structure of the Innamorato, 464-466;

the presentation of personages, 466-470, 478;

the women of the Innamorato, 470-472;

translation of the episode of Fiordelisa and the sleeping Rinaldo, 471;

Boiardo's conception of love, 472;

of friendship and comradeship, 472-474 (translation of Orlando's lament for Rinaldo, 473);

of courage and courtesy as forming the ideal of chivalry, 474-477;

the panegyric of friendship translated, 474;

translation of the conversation of Orlando and Agricane, 475;

freshness of Boiardo's art, 478, 484;

passage on chivalrous indifference to wealth translated, 477;

rapidity of the narration, 479;

roughness of the versification and style, 480;

advance of Ariosto upon Boiardo in this respect, v. 43;

his treatment of the antique, iv. 480-488;

translation of the episode of Rinaldo at Merlin's Fount, 482-484;

of that of Narcissus, 485-487;

Boiardo's use of magic, 488;

of allegory, 489;

his freedom from superstition, 489;

the Timone, v. 108

Bologna, annexed to the Milanese, i. 136, 148;

the riot of 1321, 210 note 2;

revival in 1457, 617;

joins the Lombard League, ii. 116;

character of Bologna, as partly determined by local position, iv. 46

—— S. Dominic: the shrine, designed by Niccola Pisano, 109;

Michelangelo's work on it, 131, 389;

S. Petronio, iii. 68 note 1

—— University, the, its rise, i. 62, ii. 115;

its attempted suppression by Frederick II., 116;

number of its students, 116, 119;

attendance of foreigners there, 119;

liberality of the town government to the University, 120;

its reputation in the Middle Ages, iv. 7;

pay of professors there, ii. 122, v. 460;

long continuance of scholasticism at Bologna, v. 457, 481;

different character of Bologna and Padua, 460, 497;

part played by Bologna in the history of Italian thought, 481

—— Bolognese school of Painters, the, their partiality to brutal motives, iii. 25, 187

—— Bolognese school of poetry, iv. 46-49

Bologna, Gian, his eminence as neo-pagan sculptor, iii. 176

Bombasi Paolo, murdered during the sack of Rome, ii. 444

Bona of Savoy, married to Galeazzo Maria Sforza, i. 164, 543

Bonaccorso da Montemagno, poems of, iv. 165

Bonaventura, S., cited for early representations of the Nativity at Christmas, iv. 308

Bondini, Alessandro, a member of the Aldine Academy, ii. 386

Bonfadio, Latin verse writer, ii. 507

Boniface VIII., calls in Charles of Valoise, i. 76;

his death, 77, 374;

his witticism on the Florentines, 247, iv. 31;

establishes the high school at Rome, ii. 117;

saying of Jacopone da Todi's about him, iv. 289

Boniface IX., appoints Poggio Apostolic Secretary, ii. 218

Bonifacia, Carmosina, her relations to Sannazzaro, v. 199;

description of her in the Arcadia, 207-209

Bonifazio Veneziano, iii. 242 note 2, 368, 371

Bonvesin da Riva, his works written for popular use in a North Italian dialect, iv. 34

Book, the Golden, at Venice, i. 91, 195

Books, scarcity of, an impediment to medieval culture, ii. 127;

their enormous value, 128;

price of the books issued by Aldo Manuzio, 381

Bordone, Paris, iii. 371

Borghese, Nicolà, assassination of, i. 121

Borgia, Alfonso (see Calixtus III.);

Cesare, i. 98;

his visit to the French Court, 117;

his murder of Giulio Varani, 121, 122;

besieges Bologna, 124;

Guicciardini's character of him, 308;

Machiavelli's admiration of him, 324-326, 345-354;

the story of his life, 345-354;

his contest with the Orsini, 349-352;

his massacre of the Orsini faction at Sinigaglia, 324, 347, 352, iv. 443;

his systematic murders of the heirs of ruling families, i. 353, 427;

made Cardinal, 419;

helps in the murder of Prince Alfonso, 420;

his murder of his brother, the Duke of Gandia, 424;

his murder of Perotto, 426;

his cruelty, 426;

his sickness—was it occasioned by poison? 429-431;

breakdown of his plans, 431;

taken as a hostage by Charles VIII., 566;

escapes, 577;

prided himself on his strength, ii. 29;

John, son of Alexander VI., i. 419;

Lucrezia, her marriage, 419;

the festivities on the occasion, v. 141;

her life at Ferrara, i. 420-424, ii. 42;

her real character, i. 420;

her friendship with Bembo, i. 422, ii. 403, 411, v. 263;

relics of her in the Ambrosian Library, ii. 411;

much of the common legend about her due to Sannazzaro's Epigrams, 469;

Roderigo Lenzuoli (see Alexander VI.)

Borgo San Sepolcro, Piero della Francesca's Resurrection, iii. 234;

Signorelli's Crucifixion, 280 note 1

Boscoli, Paolo, his conspiracy against the Medici, i. 314;

his confession, 466 (cp. v. 519)

Boson da Gubbio, his commentary upon the Divine Comedy, iv. 163

Botticelli, Sandro, modern hero-worship of him, iii. 249;

his attractiveness, arising from the intermixture of ancient and modern sentiment in his work, 250, 291;

the qualities of various paintings of his, 251-254;

represents the same stage of culture in painting as Poliziano and Boiardo in literature, 255;

abandons his art from religious motives, 264, 310;

influenced by Dante, 283 note 2;

incurs a charge of heterodoxy by a Madonna in Glory painted for Palmieri, iv. 171, v. 549

Bourbon, the Constable, killed at the capture of Rome, i. 444, iii. 455

Bracceschi, the (Condottieri bands formed by Braccio da Montone), i. 160, 362

Braccio da Montone, i. 86, 362;

his aspirations to the throne of Italy, 113 note 1;

aids Corrado Trinci against Pietro Rasiglia, 122;

his government of Perugia, 123, v. 498;

the comrade and opponent of Sforza, 159, 160

Bramante, ii. 5;

his work as an architect, ii. 440, iii. 81, v. 505;

his share in S. Peter's, iii. 90, 398;

Michelangelo's panegyric of his plan, 92, 428;

said to have suggested the employment of Michelangelo on the Sistine Chapel, 403

Brancaleone, Roman senator (1258), ii. 151

Brantôme, describes Cesare Borgia's visit to the French Court, i. 117 note 1

Bregni, the, at Venice, iii. 162

Brescia, Savonarola at, i. 508;

Sack of, 508, ii. 380, iii. 328

Brevio, Monsignor Giovanni, his Novelle, v. 60;

the story of the Devil and his wife, compared with Machiavelli's and Straparola's versions, 103

Briçonnet, Bishop of St. Malo, made Cardinal by Alexander VI., i. 532 note 1, 566;

his influence with Charles VIII., 541

Britti (called Il Cieco), his Incatenatura, iv. 268 note 3

Broccardo, Antonio, introduced in Sperone's Dialogues, v. 256 note 1;

his quarrel with Bembo, 256 note 1, 377;

his death said to have been hastened by the calumnies of Aretino, 377 note 2, 381 note 1

Broncone, Il, name of a club at Florence formed by Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, iv. 397

Bronzino, Angelo, his portraits, iii. 498 (cp. v. 82);

coldness of his frescoes and allegories, iii. 498;

character of his talent, iv. 380;

mentioned by Doni as scene-painter at a representation of comedy in Florence, v. 144 note 4;

his Serenata, iv. 268;

his Capitoli, v. 364 (cp. iii. 499)

Brugiantino, V., turned the Decameron into octave stanzas, iv. 249 note 1

Brunelleschi, Filippo, individuality of his character, ii. 5;

his many-sided genius, 10;

a friend of Niccolò de' Niccoli's, 180;

his work as an architect, 440, v. 505;

builds the dome of the Cathedral of Florence, iii. 67, 73 (cp. i. 562);

his visit to Rome, 68;

his churches of S. Lorenzo and S. Spirito at Florence, 73 (cp. 263);

designs the Pitti Palace, 73;

his plans for the Casa Medici rejected, 76;

his designs in competition for the Baptistery Gates at Florence, 127;

resigns in favour of Ghiberti, 128;

faults of his model, 128;

his study of perspective, 225;

his criticism of Donatello's Christ, 233;

jest played by him on the cabinet-maker as related in the novel of Il Grasso, iv. 150 (cp. 253);

his ingegni for the Florentine festivals, 319

Bruni, Lionardo, his History of Florence, i. 274, ii. 182;

its style and value, i. 274;

account of him by Vespasiano, 275;

cited to show the unreasoning admiration of antiquity by the Italian scholars, ii. 31;

a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, 100;

patronised by Salutato, 106, 183;

learns Greek from Chrysoloras, 110-112, 183;

his letter to Poggio upon receiving a copy of Quintilian, 137;

discovers a MS. of Cicero's Letters, 140;

his testimony to Niccolò de' Niccoli's judgment of style, 179;

story of his rise to fame, 182;

his translations from the Classics and other works, 184;

his Italian Lives of Petrarch and Dante, 185, iv. 235;

receives the honour of a public funeral, ii. 185;

made Apostolic Secretary, 218;

his quarrel with Niccoli, 243;

his Latin play, Polissena, v. 110

Bruno, Giordano, ii. 394, v. 449;

his execution, v. 478;

his place in the history of thought, 484, 500, 518

Brusati Family, the, at Brescia, i. 145

Budæus, ii. 391

Buonacolsi, Passerino, murdered by Luigi Gonzaga, i. 145 note 1

Buonarroti, Lodovico (father of Michelangelo), iii. 385, 387

Buonarroti, Michelangelo, his boyhood, iii. 385;

studies under Ghirlandajo, 386, 404;

Michelangelo and Torrigiano, 386 note 2, 445;

effect produced by Savonarola upon him, 491, 509, iii. 311, 344, 382, 388, 435;

one of the circle gathered round Lorenzo de' Medici, ii. 322, 323, iii. 263, 387, 388, 435;

his political attitude to the Medici, iii. 392-394;

fortifies Samminiato in the Siege of Florence, 393 (cp. i. 318), 414;

invited to Rome by Julius II., 397;

suggests carving the headland of Sarzana into a statue, 401;

leaves Rome in disgust at Julius's treatment of him, 401;

reconciled to him at Bologna, 402 (cp. 397);

his relations to Aretino, 426, v. 408;

the last years of his life, 421, 429, 432 (cp. v. 519);

his purity, iii. 432;

his friendship with Vittoria Colonna, 429, 433, v. 294, 296;

his friendship with Tommaso Cavalieri, 429, 434;

his death, 435;

his greatness in maintaining the dignity of art amidst the general decline of Italy, 171, 343, 384 (cp. v. 5);

the sublimity of his genius, v. 116;

his genius never immature, iii. 387;

its many-sidedness, ii. 10;

the controversy between his admirers and detractors, iii. 343 note 1, 419, 424 note 1, 435, 494;

mistake of his successors in imitating his mannerisms and extravagances, iii. 493;

number of his unfinished works, 420;

their want of finish not intentional, 420;

comparison between Michelangelo, Dante, and Machiavelli, i. 318, iii. 395;

between Michelangelo and Beethoven, iii. 386, 410, 413, 418, 432;

between Michelangelo and Milton, 388;

his peculiarity as an architect, 86, 87;

the Sagrestia Nuova, S. Lorenzo, 86;

the Laurentian Library, 87, 393;

the dome of S. Peter's, 88, 398, 428;

his judgment of Bramante's design for S. Peter's, 92, 428;

his own plans, 92;

his four years' work on the façade of S. Lorenzo, 413;

his aim in architecture, v. 505;

his tombs of the Medici, i. 314, 319, iii. 354, 377 note 2, 393, 415-419, 420;

his statues at Florence, ii. 440, iii. 391, 395 note 2;

his work on the shrine of S. Dominic, Bologna, 131, 389;

his Pietà in S. Peter's, 389;

his scheme for the Mausoleum of Julius II., 398-400;

Michelangelo not responsible for the decadence of Italian sculpture, 173;

the (destroyed) statue of Julius II. at Bologna, 402 (cp. 397);

the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel, 344, 399, 407-410;

their bad condition, 426 note 2;

the true story of Michelangelo's work on them, 404-407;

difference between his creations and those of a Greek, 410-412;

his treatment of the story of the creation of Eve, 118 note 2, 130, 131;

the Last Judgment, 346, 422;

its merits and defects, 423-425;

contemporary disapproval on account of the nudity of the figures, 425;

Michelangelo's criticisms of Perugino and Francia, 268 note 1, 386 note 2;

his indebtedness to Signorelli, 279;

influenced by Dante, 283 note 2;

his Leda and the Swan, illustrating his treatment of the antique, 291;

his account of Signorelli's bad treatment of him, 293 note 1;

one of the four great painters by whom the Renaissance was fully expressed, 312, 346;

his reproach of Lionardo da Vinci's dislike of finishing, 323, 386 note 2;

contrast of his genius and life with those of the other great painters, 342;

the cartoon for The Battle of Pisa, 395;

contrast between Michelangelo and Raphael, 412;

his genius not that of a painter, 412 note 1;

his sonnet to Giovanni da Pistoja, quoted, 404 note 1;

one of his sonnets to Vittoria Colonna, quoted, 409;

the madrigal on Florence, translated, 392;

lines placed by Michelangelo in the mouth of his Night, translated, iii. 394;

the Elegy on his father's death, iv. 321 note 1, v. 295;

the sonnet on the death of Mancina Faustina, iv. 226. (For the Poems see also Appendix ii. of vol. iii., and Appendix vi. of vol. iv., and cp. v. 296.)

Buonarroti, Michelangelo (the younger), his Tancia and Fiera, v. 226

Buondelmonte dei Buondelmonti, i. 74, 210 note 2

Buondelmonti, Vaggia de', the wife of Poggio, ii. 245

Buonuomini, name of magistrates in some Italian cities, i. 135;

at Florence, 226

Burchard, value of his testimony, i. 388 note 1;

his evidence that Alexander VI. died of fever, 428, 429;

on the confessions said to have been made by Savonarola during his torture, 534 note 1

Burchiello, Il, facts of his life, iv. 259;

character of his poems, 260;

Doni's edition of them, v. 92

Bureaucracy, invention of a system of bureaucracy by Gian Galeazzo, i. 142

Burigozzo, his Chronicles of Milan, quoted, i. 253

Burlamacchi, his account of Lorenzo de' Medici's dying interview with Savonarola, i. 523 note 1

Byzantium, the Byzantine supremacy in Italy, i. 33, 43, 48, 50

CABBALA, THE, ii. 334

Cacciaguida, his speech in the Paradiso quoted, i. 73 note 1

Cademosto, his Novelle, v. 60

Caffagiolo, the villa of Lorenzo de' Medici, ii. 322

Cajano, Lorenzo de' Medici's villa, ii. 322, 463

Calcagnini, Celio, teaches in the High School of Ferrara, ii. 427, 506;

his epigram on Raphael's death, 438;

his Latin poems, 497

Calendario, Filippo, influenced by Niccola Pisano, iii. 123;

his work at Venice, 123

Caliari, the, Venetian painters, iii. 371

Calixtus II., his sanction of the Chronicle of Turpin, iv. 432, 438

Calixtus III., i. 380;

his contempt for classical learning, ii. 357

Calliergi, Zacharias, a Greek printer at Venice, ii. 386;

works for Agostino Chigi at Rome, 405 note 1

Callistus, Andronicus, the teacher of Poliziano, ii. 248, 346;

one of the first Greeks who visited France, 248

Calvi, Marco Fabio, translates Vitruvius for Raphael, ii. 436, iii. 94 note 1;

his death, ii. 444;

his nobility of character, 523;

aids Raphael with notes on Greek Philosophy for the School of Athens, iii. 335

Calvo, Francesco, the Milanese publisher of the fraudulent version of Berni's rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato, v. 374;

Aretino's correspondence with him on the subject, 375, 378, 380

Camaldolese, Il. (See Traversari.)

Cambray, League of, i. 214, 220, 289, 434, ii. 16, 379, 441

Camers, Julianus, his suicide during the Sack of Rome, ii. 444

Cammelli of Pistoja, v. 282 note 3

Camonica, Val, the witches of, i. 402 note 1, v. 316, 346 notes 1 and 2, 347;

Teutonic character assumed by witchcraft in this district, 347

Campaldino, battle of, iv. 51;

Dante present, 71

Campanella, Tommaso, ii. 394, v. 448, 449;

his imprisonment, v. 478;

his relations to Telesio, 483;

his importance in the history of thought, 483, 500, 518;

three sonnets of his translated, 481, 482, 483

Campano, Gian Antonio, his description of Demetrius Chalcondylas' teaching, ii. 249

Campi, the, painters at Cremona, iii. 503.

Campione, Bonino and Matteo da, sculptors of the shrine of S. Augustine in the Duomo, Pavia, iii. 123

Campo, Antonio, his Historia di Cremona cited for a story of Gabrino Tondulo, i. 463 note 1

Can Grande. (See Scala, Can Grande, della.)

Canale, Carlo, husband of Vanozza Catanei, i. 417;

Poliziano's Orfeo dedicated to him, iv. 411

Cane, Facino, leader of Condottieri, i. 150, 151

Canetoli, story of the, i. 124

Canisio, Egidio, General of the Augustines, ii. 409;

made Cardinal and Legate at the Court of Spain, 416;

his knowledge of languages, 417

Canossa, Castle of, iv. 494;

the House of, i. 57;

claim of the Buonarroti family to descent from them, iii. 385

Cantatori in Banca, professional minstrels in medieval Italy, iv. 257

Canti Carnascialeschi, the, i. 476, 505;

collection of them by Il Lasca, iv. 388, v. 79;

utilized by Lorenzo de' Medici, iv. 388, v. 355;

the 'Triumph of Death' described by Vasari, iv. 393-395, v. 114;

the Trionfo del Vaglio, iv. 392 note 1;

translated, 392 note 1;

connection of the Capitoli with the Carnival Songs, v. 355, 366

Cantori di Piazza, professional minstrels in medieval Italy, iv. 257

Canzune, a name of the Rispetti in Sicily, iv. 264, 265

Capanna, Puccio, the scholar of Giotto, iii. 197

Capello, Paolo (Venetian ambassador), cited for the murders in Rome under Alexander VI., i. 414;

for the murder of Perotto by Cesare Borgia, 426 note 1

Capilupi, Lelio, a member of the Academy of the Vignajuoli at Rome, v. 357;

a writer of Latin verse, ii. 506

Capitoli, the, of Tuscan origin, v. 355;

their relation to the Canti Carnascialeschi, 355;

their antiquity, plebeian character, and obscenity, 477 note 1, ii. 521, v. 355, 365, 366;

Berni's new use of them, v. 356

Caporali, Cesare, his Satiric Poems, v. 381

Capponi, Agostino, conspiracy of, i. 314;

Gino, the chronicler of the Ciompo Rebellion, 265 note 1, iv. 176;

Nicolò, Gonfaloniere at Florence, i. 222 note 1, 232, 284, 289, 292, 536;

Piero, his resistance to the demands of Charles VIII., 563

Captain of the People, name of the supreme magistrate in some Italian cities, i. 35, 71;

often became tyrant, 75, 77, 84, 112, 156;

at Florence, 224

Caracci, the, iii. 496

Caracciolo, his De Varietate Fortunæ cited, i. 520 notes 2 and 3

Caravaggio, defeat of the Venetians at, i. 155

Cardan, Jerome, v. 82;

autobiography of, ii. 36

Cardona, captain of the Florentine forces, i. 157 note 1

Carducci, Francesco, Gonfaloniere of Florence, his part in the Siege of Florence, i. 284, 288, 289, 536

Careggi, the villa of Lorenzo de' Medici, ii. 322, 460, iv. 383, 415

Cariani, said to have painted pictures commonly assigned to Giorgione, iii. 368 note 1

Cariteo, of Naples, v. 282 note 3

Carmagnuola, Francesco Bussoni, called Il, story of, i. 161, 362, v. 118

Carmina Burana, the, i. 9;

many of them of French origin, iv. 9;

their nature, 108;

some of them pastorals, 156;

undeveloped Maccaronic poems contained among them, 327

Carnesecchi, Pietro, his friendship with Vittoria Colonna, v. 292;

burned for heresy, 292, 478

Caro, Annibale, story of his life, v. 283;

his Letters, 283;

his translation of Daphnis and Chloe, 283;

his Academical exercises: the Diceria de' Nasi, ii. 367, 526, v. 284;

the Ficheide, v. 284, 365 note 1;

his translation of the Æneid, 284;

his literary style, 284;

his Italian Poems, 284;

the quarrel with Castelvetro, 285;

the sonnets produced by the occasion, 381;

he or one of his friends said to have denounced Castelvetro to the Inquisition, 286;

his correspondence with Aretino, 410 note 1

Carpaccio, Vittore, iii. 362;

his pictures for the Scuola of S. Ursula at Venice, 363, v. 54

Carpi, connection of Aldo Manuzio with, ii. 302, 375

Carrara Family, the, at Padua, how they became tyrants, i. 112;

number of violent deaths among them in one century, 120;

driven from Padua by Gian Galeazzo Visconti, 145, 146;

return, 149

Carrara, Francesco da, i. 146, 149

Carroccio, the, i. 58

Casal Maggiore, destruction of the Venetian fleet at, i. 155

Casanova, dies of the plague during the Sack of Rome, ii. 444

Castagno, Andrea del, harsh realism of his work, iii. 232

Castellani, Castellano, writer of Sacre Rappresentazioni, iv. 320, 324, 338

Castelvetro, Lodovico, his quarrel with Annibale Caro, v. 285;

denounced by his enemies to the Inquisition, 286;

escapes, is condemned in contumaciam, and dies in exile, 286;

his chief work, a translation of the Poetics, 287

Castiglione, Baldassare, i. 181;

the Il Cortigiano, 183-189, 192, 457, ii. 37, 393, 411, 420, v. 14, 265, 518;

quoted for Castiglione's theory of Italian style, v. 257 note 1, 266-270;

on the physical exercises befitting a gentleman, ii. 29, 419;

its subject treated from an æsthetical rather than a moral point of view, v. 430;

Raphael's portrait of him, ii. 28, 421, v. 522;

ambassador of Mantua and Ferrara at Rome, ii. 405, 420;

assists Raphael in his letter on the exploration of Rome, 419;

employed by Julius II. at Urbino, 419;

his mission to England, 420;

his life at Rome, 420;

sent by Clement VII. as Nuncio to Madrid, 421;

his poem on the statue of Ariadne, 431 note 1, 432, 496;

his epigram on Raphael's death, 438;

his Latin verses—their interest, 490-493;

his flatteries of Julius II. and Leo X., 493;

his eclogue, the Tirsi, v. 222;

his Mantuan origin illustrating the loss of intellectual supremacy by Florence, ii. 506;

his letter describing the representation of the Calandra at Urbino, v. 144 note 1, 146

Castiglione, Francesco, i. 177

Castracane, Castruccio, tyrant of Lucca, i. 75 note 1, 133;

his life by Machiavelli, 76 note 1, 112, ii. 37;

introduced in the frescoes in the Campo Santo, Pisa, iii. 203

Castro, Duke of (son of Paul III.). (See Farnese, Pier Luigi.)

Catanei, Vanozza, the mistress of Alexander VI., i. 417, iv. 411;

takes to religion in her old age, 424;

her interview with Alexander after the murder of the Duke of Gandia, 425

Catapans, i. 35

Catasto, the, or schedule of properties, introduced by Frederick II., i. 105

Catena, Vincenzo, Venetian painter, iii. 362

Catenati, the, an Academy at Macerata, ii. 366

Cathari, the, an heretical sect, i. 9, iv. 109

Catherine de' Medici. (See Medici, Catherine de'.)

Catherine, S. (of Siena), beauty of style in her letters, iv. 173

Catini, Monte, battle of, i. 112

Cavalca, Domenico, his Leggende dei Santi Padri, iv. 131;

his Poems, 164

Cavalcabò Family, the slaughter of them by Tondulo, i. 120;

overthrown by the Visconti, 145;

reappear after the death of Gian Galeazzo, 150

Cavalcanti, Giovanni, his Florentine Histories, iv. 176

Cavalcanti, Guido, his metaphysical Odes, iv. 64;

his Ballate, 65

Cavalieri, Tommaso, his friendship with Michelangelo, iii. 429, 434

Cecchi, Gianmaria, his Sacra Rappresentazione, The Elevation of the Cross, iv. 322 note 1, 324, 357;

other plays of his written with a didactic purpose, v. 187 note 2;

writes a commentary on a Sonnet of Berni's, 363;

his Comedies, 123, 141, 181, 186;

his veneration for Ariosto, 156 note 1, 187;

his Farse, 188

Cellant, Countess of, Bandello's Novella upon her tragedy, v. 54

Cellini, Benvenuto, i. 170 note 1, 325;

quoted to illustrate the Italian idea of the sanctity of the Popes, 462, iii. 471;

his life typical of the age, 492, iii. 385, 439, 479, iv. 385 (cp. v. 517);

his fits of religious enthusiasm—their sincerity, 492, ii. 18, iii. 450, 468-471;

his autobiography, ii. 36;

may be compared to a novel, v. 120;

his criticisms on Bandinelli, iii. 173, 477;

his admiration of Michelangelo, 396, 445, 494;

invited by Torrigiano to accompany him to England, 444;

his account of Torrigiano, 445;

sets off to Rome, 446;

returns to Florence, but goes back to Rome in consequence of a quarrel, 447;

his homicides and brutal behaviour, 447-449, 458;

returns to Rome, 451;

his description of life there, 452;

his exploits at the Siege of Rome, 455;

miracles and wonders related by him, 456;

domestic affection and lightheartedness, 456-458;

incantation witnessed by him in the Colosseum, 460-462, v. 82, 346 notes 1 and 2;

his journey to France, iii. 463, v. 239;

visits of Francis I. to him, iii. 443 note 1, 474 note 1;

returns to Rome and is thrown into prison, 465;

endeavors to escape, 466;

given up by Cardinal Cornaro, 466;

attempt to murder him, 467;

released from prison and summoned to the Court of Francis I., 472;

his stay in France, 473-475;

parallelism of Cellini, Machiavelli, and Aretino, 479;

his Capitolo del Carcere cited in illustration of the general use of the terza rima during the sixteenth century, iv. 172, v. 367 note 2;

his statue of Perseus, iii. 176, 438, 455, 470, 478;

purely physical beauty of his statues, 455;

scarcity of his works in gold and jewels, 437, 479;

character of his work in metals, v. 229

Cenci, the, a novella made of their trial, v. 54

Cendrata, Taddea, wife of Guarino da Verona, ii. 301

Cene dalla Chitarra, his satirical Poems on the Months in parody of Folgore da Gemignano, iv. 54 note 2, 56 note 1

Cennini, Bernardo, the first Italian printer who cast his own type, ii. 369

Censorship of the Press, established by Alexander VI., i. 411, 416, ii. 359, 371

Cento Novelle, the, character given in them of the Court of Frederick II., iv. 21;

illustrate the origin of Italian prose, 36

Cerchi, the, at Florence, i. 210 note 2

Cesena, massacre of, i. 82

Cesi, Angelo, his sufferings in the Sack of Rome, ii. 444

Cette, the Bishop of, poisoned by Cesare Borgia, i. 428

Chalcondylas, Demetrius, teaches Greek at Perugia, ii. 249;

his edition of Isocrates, 376;

aids in the publication of the first edition of Homer, 376

Chancellors of Florence, list of illustrious, ii. 106 note 3

Charles I., of Sicily (Charles of Anjou), summoned by the Popes into Italy, i. 75 (cp. 539 note 1);

visits Cimabue's studio, ii. 187;

his legislation for the University of Naples, 117

Charles IV., the Emperor, i. 100;

grants diplomas to the Universities of Florence, Siena, Arezzo, Lucca, Pavia, ii. 118

Charles V., the Emperor, i. 50;

governed Italy in his dynastic interests, 98, 100;

his project of suppressing the Papal State, 445;

the final conqueror of Italy, 584;

Charles V. at Rome, iii. 438;

story that he hastened the Marquis of Pescara's death by poison, v. 291;

his patronage of Aretino, 400, 404

Charles VIII., of France, invades Italy, i. 90, 113 note 1, 164, 237, 434, 525, 539;

popular outbreak at his entry into Pisa, 343, 561;

his accession, 539;

his claims on Naples, 539, 542;

his character by Guicciardini and Comines, 540;

prepares for his expedition, 542;

amount of his forces, 554;

captures Sarzana, 559;

enters Florence, 561;

enters Rome, 564;

marches to Naples, 566, ii. 363;

forced by the League of Venice to retreat, i. 576, 579;

wins the battle of Fornovo, 580;

signs peace at Vercelli, 581;

effects of his conquest, 582-586

Charles, the Great, crowned emperor, i. 50, iv. 438;

his pact with Rome, 94;

his character in the romances of Roland, iv. 435, 445, 469

Charles of Durazzo, v. 198

Chiaravalle, the Certosa of, iii. 42, 66

Chiavelli, the, of Fabriano, i. 111;

massacre of them, 121, 168 note 1, 397 note 2

Chigi, Agostino, the Roman banker, couplet put up by him at the entrance of Leo X., i. 435;

his banquets, 437;

his Greek Press, ii. 405;

his entertainments of the Roman Academy, 409;

builds the Villa Farnesina, iii. 84;

his patronage of Aretino, v. 386

Chivalry, alien to the Italian temper, i. 359, 482, iv. 6, 27, 44, 60, 73, v. 13;

the ideal of chivalrous love, iv. 59

Christ, said to have been proclaimed King of Florence by Savonarola, i. 222, 526, iii. 214 note 2, 308;

difficulty of representing Christ by sculpture, iii. 16-18

Christianity, influence of, in producing the modern temper of mind, ii. 19;

contrast between Greek and Christian religious notions, iii. 12-21, 410-412;

ascetic nature of Christianity, 24 note 1

Chronicon Venetum, cited for the cruelty of Ferdinand of Aragon, i. 572 note 1;

for the good will of the common people to the French, 583 note 2

Chrysoloras, John, teaches Filelfo Greek, ii. 268;

marries his daughter Theodora to Filelfo, 268

Chrysoloras, Manuel, summoned to Florence as Greek Professor, ii. 108-110;

obliged to leave by Niccolò's opposition, 182;

author of the Erotemata, 376

Church, assassination of Italian tyrants frequently undertaken in churches, i. 168 note 1, 397 note 2

Church, the, compromises made by the Church with the world, iii. 26;

opposition of the medieval Church to poetry, ii. 60, iv. 81

Cibo, Franceschetto (son of Innocent VIII.), i. 114, 404;

marries the daughter of Lorenzo de' Medici, 545

Cibo, Giambattista. (See Innocent VIII.)

Cicala, Milliardo (treasurer of Sixtus IV.), his quarrel with Filelfo, ii. 286

Cicero, Petrarch's love of Cicero, ii. 73;

Loss of the 'De Gloria,' 73;

influence of Cicero in the Renaissance, 527

Ciceronianism, the, of the Humanists, ii. 108, 414, 528

Cima da Conegliano, iii. 362

Cimabue, Giovanni, story of his Madonna which was carried in triumph to S. Maria Novella, iii. 11, 187 note 1;

character of the picture, 188;

story of his finding Giotto, as a child, drawing, 190, 191;

his frescoes at Assisi, 196

Cino da Pistoja, character of his poems, iv. 65;

his influence on Petrarch, 94

Cinthio (Giovanbattista Giraldi), his Ecatommithi, v. 60, 78;

cited for the story of the poisoning of Alexander VI., i. 429, note 1, v. 106;

their style, 103;

use made of them by the Elizabethan dramatists, 104;

their ethical tendency, 105;

plan of the work, 105;

description of the Sack of Rome forming the Introduction, 522;

his Tragedies, 131 note 2;

the Dedication of the Orbecche cited for Italian conceptions of tragedy, 127 note 1, 132 note 1;

analysis of the Orbecche, 131

Ciompi Rebellion, the, at Florence, i. 221, 227, iv. 111, 150;

Gino Capponi's Chronicle of, i. 265 note 1, iv. 176

Cione, Benci di, architect of the Loggia dei Lanzi at Florence, iii. 125

Cione, Bernardo di (brother of Andrea Orcagna), iii. 124

Ciriaco of Ancona, his zeal in collecting antiquities, ii. 155, 429, iii. 236, 272;

suspected of forgery, ii. 156

Citizens, decline in the number of persons possessing the rights of citizenship at the Renaissance, i. 546

Citizenship, Italian theories of, i. 195

Ciuffagni, Bernardo, his bas-reliefs in S. Francesco, Rimini, iii. 162

Ciullo d'Alcamo, his Tenzone—the character of its metre, iv. 24 note 1, 25;

shows a genuinely popular feeling, 26, 42

Cividale, Ludus Christi acted there in 1298 and 1303, iv. 15, 307

Civitale, Matteo, his work as a sculptor in Italian churches, iii. 78 note 1;

purity and delicacy of his work, 152;

his monuments, &c., at Lucca, ii. 229, iii. 157

Clarence, Duke of, his marriage with Violante Visconti, i. 137

Classical writers, the, influence of, on the Italians, i. 197 note 1, 250 note 1, 464;

on Columbus and Copernicus, ii. 19;

present tendency to restrict the use of the classics in education, 537-540

Clement II., i. 59

Clement V., founds the High School at Perugia, ii. 117

Clement VI., i. 135;

gives charters to the Universities of Pisa and Florence, ii. 118

Clement VII., commissions Machiavelli to write the History of Florence, i. 327;

the conspiracy against him, 314, ii. 366, v. 239;

his patronage of scholars, ii. 404;

advances Giovio, Vida, and Giberti in the Church, 402-417;

sends Castiglione to Madrid, 421;

his election to the papacy, i. 443;

his conduct during the Sack of Rome, 444;

employs the troops which had sacked Rome against Florence, 283, 446;

puts Guicciardini in command of Florence after the siege, 298;

makes Guicciardini Lieutenant-General of the Papal army, 297;

his management of Florence in the Medicean interest, 222, 277, 285;

said by Pitti to have wished to give Florence a liberal government, 288 note 1;

Macaulay's account of him erroneous, 320;

correctness of the character of him given by Berni's Sonnet, 443 note 1, v. 368;

Aretino's attacks on him, v. 391, 392, 402 note 1;

absolves Cellini for stealing gold given him to melt down, iii. 465

Cléomadés (an old French romance), quoted to illustrate the gaiety of medieval Florence, iv. 50

Cocaius, Merlinus. (See Folengo.)

Coccio, Marco Antonio (Sabellicus), a member of the Roman Academy, ii. 361;

of the Aldine Academy, 387;

his account of the representations of Plautus and Terence by the Roman Academy, v. 138 note 3

Coliseum Passion, the, question of the date of its first representation, iv. 310;

suppressed by Paul III., 310 note 1

Colle, paper factory of, ii. 371

Collenuccio, Pandolfo, his version of the Amphitryon, v. 140

Colleoni Family, the, at Bergamo, i. 150

Colleoni, Bartolommeo, i. 170 note 1;

his statue at Venice, ii. 39, iii. 143;

description of him by Spino, iii. 144;

monument erected by him to his daughter Medea, 165;

his daughter Cassandra married to Nicolò da Correggio, v. 139 note 3

Colocci, Angelo, secretary of Leo X., ii. 409;

his losses in the Sack of Rome, 444

Colonna, the house of:

contest of the Colonnesi with Cesare Borgia, i. 349;

their rise to power, 375;

destroyed by Alexander VI., 413;

friendly to the French, 551

—— Giovanni, the friend of Petrarch, ii. 149;

Fabrizio, the father of Vittoria Colonna, v. 289;

Sciarra, i. 77;

Stefano, disloyal to Florence, 284;

Vittoria, her married life, v. 289;

her virtues and genius, 292, 293;

the society gathered round her, 292;

her leaning to the Reformation, 292 note 1;

Flaminio's Elegy on her death, ii. 503;

her friendship with Michelangelo, iii. 429, 433, v. 294, 296;

her correspondence with Aretino, v. 407, 408, 416;

the Rime, 294;

(1) the sonnets on the death of her husband;

genuineness of their feeling, 294;

(2) the sonnets on religious subjects, 295

Colonna, Egidio, his De Regimine Principum translated into Italian, iv. 35, 130

Colonna, Francesco, author of the Hypnerotomachia, iv. 219;

Maccaronic dialect (lingua pedantesca) of the work, 219, 238, v. 328;

its illustrations erroneously ascribed to Raphael, iv. 221 note 1;

its historical value, 221, 225, 227, 229-232;

analysed, 222-225;

its basis of reality, 227-229;

its imaginativeness, 232

Columbus discovers America, i. 15, 29, 411;

question of his indebtedness for the discovery to classical writers, ii. 19

Comet, a comet supposed by Gian Galeazzo to foreshow his death, i. 149

Comines, Philip de, his descriptions of Siena and Venice, i. 207 note 2, 214 note 1;

praises Venice for piety, 475 note 1;

on the humanity of the Italian peasants, 478 note 2;

his character of Charles VIII., 541;

quoted for the popular belief that Charles' invasion was guided by Providence, 553 note 1;

for the expense of the invasion, 553 note 2;

for Charles' want of money, 563 note 1;

on the avarice of Ferdinand of Aragon, 571 note 2;

his character of Ferdinand and Alfonso II., 572;

his account of the communication of the news of the Venetian League, 578;

his witness to the brutality and avarice of the French in the invasion, 583 note 2

Commedia dell'Anima (old Italian religious drama), iv. 75

Commissaries, i. 35

Communes, the Italian, their rise, i. 33, 53-82;

the differences between them, 35, 36, iii. 43;

their quarrels, i. 36-38, 62, 66;

why the historian cannot confine his attention to the communes, 51;

their willingness to submit to the authority of the Emperor, 64, 97;

why they did not advance to federal unity, 95-98;

their public spirit, iii. 42;

the real life of the Italian nation, iv. 27, 459, v. 493

Como, traditional reverence for the Plinies there, ii. 30, iv. 12

—— the Cathedral, Luini's paintings, iii. 487 note 3

Compagnacci, the young aristocratic opponents of Savonarola, so called, i. 531, 533, iii. 307

Comparini, Paoli, representation of the Manæchmi by his pupils, v. 138

Conceptualists, the, v. 466, 467

Condivi, his Biography of Michelangelo, ii. 36, iii. 399, 402 note 1, 406

Condottieri, the, i. 86, 87, 113, 131, 143;

their origin, 156-158;

members of noble Italian houses become Condottieri, 158, 160, iv. 459;

their mode of campaigning, 159, 160 note 1;

the Condottieri system took its rise from the mercantile character of the Italian states, 244;

Machiavelli traces the ruin of Italy to the Condottieri, 160 note 2, 312, 361, v. 436

Confusi, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Conrad II., i. 58

Conservatori, name of magistrates in some Italian cities, i. 35

Consiglio del Comune, in Italian cities, i. 35, 71;

di Dieci, 35;

della Parte, 71;

del Popolo, 35, 71;

de' Savi, 35;

di Tre, 35

Constance, Council of, ii. 134;

Jerome of Prague before the Council, 231, 535;

Peace of, 64, iv. 6;

not signed by Venice, 214

Constantinople, Fall of, i. 89, ii. 285, iv. 2

Constitution, the, of Genoa, i. 201;

of Florence, 201, 222 (see also Appendix ii.);

of Siena, 207;

of Venice, 214

Constitution-making, in the Italian Republics, i. 201

Consuls, magistrates of Italian Communes, i. 35, 56, 83;

their part in Italian history, 61, 62, 68

Contado, the, i. 66, 67;

original meaning of the word, 55 note 1

Contarini, Cardinal,

his friendship with Flaminio, ii. 498, 502;

—— with Vittoria Colonna, v. 292;

his work upon the Commonwealth of Venice, ii. 502;

his Venetian origin, illustrating the loss of intellectual supremacy of Florence, 506;

his Formulary of Faith, v. 286;

Marcantonio Flavio, takes part in the controversy raised by the publication of Pomponazzi's De Immortalitate Animæ, 460

Conte Lando, the, leader of Condottieri, i. 86

Conversation, the art of, invented by the Italians, ii. 34

Copernicus, discoveries of, i. 15, 29;

their importance, 15, 16;

question of his indebtedness to the classical writers, ii. 19

Coppola, Francesco, execution of, by Ferdinand of Aragon, i. 571 note 3

Copyists, their inaccuracy, ii. 129;

their pay, 130;

their opposition to the new art of printing, 370

Cordegliaghi, Venetian painter, iii. 362

Corio, quoted, i. 135, 137 note 1, 137 note 2, 138 note 1, 141 note 2, 150 note 1, 152 note 1, 160 note 1, 167 note 1;

his witness to the corruption of the Milanese Court, 326, 548 note 1, 554, v. 191;

his character of Paul II., 385 note 1;

his description of the reception of Leonora of Aragon by Cardinal Pietro Riario, 390;

cited for the death of the Cardinal, 392 notes 1 and 2, 393;

for the history of Alfonso the Magnanimous, 568 note 1;

his account of the Flagellants, 619;

his value as an historian, iv. 177

Cornaro, Cardinal, abandons Cellini to the Pope in exchange for a bishopric, iii. 466;

Caterina, Queen of Cyprus, i. 233;

Lodovico, Autobiography of, ii. 36

Cornazano, Antonio, his Proverbi, v. 60, 101

Corneto, Cardinal, his connection with the death of Alexander VI., i. 429-431

Corniole, Giovanni della, his portrait of Savonarola, i. 509

Corrado, Gregorio, his Latin Play, Progne, v. 110

Correggi, the, at Parma, v. 139 note 3;

how they rose to power, i. 112;

overthrown by the Visconti, 145;

reappear after the death of Gian Galleazzo, 150

—— Ghiberto da, (1) the pupil of Vittoria da Feltre, i. 177;

(2) the husband of Veronica Gambara, v. 289

Correggio, Antonio Allegri, sensuousness of his work, iii. 25, 495;

his introduction of Pagan motives into Christian art, 137;

founded no school of local artists, 184;

his Danaë and Io, illustrating his treatment of mythology, 291;

one of the four great painters by whom the Renaissance was fully expressed, 312, 339;

manner in which his genius differed from that of Michelangelo, Raphael, or Lionardo da Vinci, 339;

beauty and joyousness of his works, 340;

the imitations of his style in the period of barocco architecture, 495

Corrotto, meaning of the term, iv. 294 note 1, 309, 538

Corso, Rinaldo, his account of the society around Veronica Gambara, v. 289

Cortese, Ersilia, v. 288

Cortesi, Paolo, his Hyppolyti et Deyaniræ Historia, iv. 213

Cortesia, meaning of the word in Italian, v. 13

Cortona, Signorelli's Last Supper, iii. 289

Coryat, cited for the profligacy of Venice, i. 475

Corycius. (See Goritz.)

Cosimo I. (See Medici, Cosimo de', first Grand Duke.)

Council, the Grand, of Venice, i. 215-217

—— of Ten, the, at Venice, 215 note 1;

its powers, 218;

comparison of, with the Spartan Ephorate, 234

Counts, the, opposed to the Communes, i. 55, 66, 67

Crasso, Leonardo, defrayed the cost of printing the Hypnerotomachia, iv. 221

Credenza, name for the Privy Council in Italian cities, i. 35, 57, 71

Credi, Lorenzo di, the pupil of Verrocchio, iii. 142;

influence of Savonarola upon him, 310

Crema, the Duomo, i. 74, iii. 53

Cremona, Gabbriello da, a pupil of Vittorino da Feltre's, i. 177

Cremonini, Cesare, epitaph on himself said to have been composed by him, v. 480;

said to be the author of the saying, Foris ut moris, intus ut libet, 480

Cretans, number of Cretans who aided Aldo Manuzio, ii. 378, 386

Cristina of Lorraine, her marriage to Ferrando de' Medici, iv. 325

Criticism: criticism in the modern sense unknown to the ancients, i. 24, ii. 59 note 1;

created by the Renaissance, ii. 67;

uncritical character of the first scholars, 296, 327, 337, 382

Crivelli, Crivello, iii. 362

Cronaca, Il, architect, iii. 76

Crusades, the, i. 7;

joined in by the Italians mainly from commercial motives, iv. 426 (cp. v. 505)

Culture, the culture of modern Europe due to the Italians of the Renaissance, ii. 9, 408, 506, 524, v. 491, 505;

intricacy of the history of culture in Italy, ii. 158-140;

growth of, at the Roman Court, 406

D'ALBORNOZ, Egidio, i. 81

Dalla Viuola, his musical compositions for the theatre, v. 143

Damasus II., i. 59

Damiano, Fra, da Bergamo, his tarsia work at Perugia, iii. 78 note 2

Daniel da Volterra, employed to paint clothes on the nude figures in Michelangelo's Last Judgment, iii. 426;

influenced by Michelangelo, 493

Dante, the facts of his life, iv. 70-73;

refused the poet's crown unless he could receive it in Florence, 86, 88;

his devotion to the Imperial idea, i. 76, 77 note 1, iv. 161;

veneration of the Ghibelline poets for Dante, iv. 162;

his firmness in exile contrasted with Machiavelli's servility, i. 318, iii. 395 (cp. iv. 86);

his denunciations of the Papacy, i. 457;

his idea of nobility, 186 note 1;

Dante and Petrarch compared, ii. 70, iv. 85-89, 90;

Dante depreciated by Petrarch, ii. 82;

points of contrast between Dante and Ariosto, v. 15, 19, 21, 28;

Dante's genius never immature, iii. 387;

the poet of medieval Christianity, v. 2, 194, 449;

between the ancient and the modern world, i. 10, ii. 13, 39, 69, iv. 84;

the first exponent of Italian genius, iv. 84;

his superiority in lyric to his predecessors, 66;

not wholly free from scholasticism, 67;

his relation to the Summa, i. 60, v. 449;

the Convito, iv. 71;

Dante's censure in it of the writers who preferred French to Italian, 16;

the De Monarchiâ, i. 60, 260, ii. 57, iii. 261, iv. 88;

the Vita Nuova, ii. 31, 35, iv. 68-70, 86, 123;

the meeting with Beatrice quoted as a specimen of Dante's style, 133;

Dante's treatment of love in the Vita Nuova, 90;

the De Vulgari Eloquio, i. 261, 272, iv. 28, 66 note 2;

its citations of vernacular poetry, iv. 20, 32;

ideal of language proposed in the work, 33, 42, v. 246;

Dante's account in it of the Sicilian poets, iv. 21;

the mention of Guittone of Arezzo, 46;

Dante's remark in it on the subjects of poetry, 117 note 1;

translated by Trissino, v. 306;

the Divina Commedia: Dante himself the hero, iv. 78;

its scientific structure, 79;

the allegories of the Commedia, 81;

its characteristic Italian realism, 82, v. 514;

Dante finds no place for those who stood aloof from faction, i. 73;

contrast of the Commedia and the Decameron, iv. 104;

the Commedia as an epic of Italian tyranny, i. 77 note 1;

influence exercised by it on the painters, iii. 283 note 2 (cp. 406);

Dante's own explanation of the Divina Commedia, iv. 75-77;

its comprehensive spirit, 77;

quotations:—the Inferno: the speech of Ulysses, ii. 330 note 2;

the ancient poets, ii. 32, iii. 283 note 2;

mention of the story of Roland, iv. 433;

the Paradiso: Cacciaguida's speech, i. 73 note 1;

the miseries of patronage, 318;

the planet Mercury, ii. 39;

character of S. Dominic, iii. 205;

lines quoted to show the clinging of the Italians to their past history, iv. 12 (cp. 151);

the Purgatory: the apostrophe to Italy, i. 77 note 1;

the speech of Manfred, 133 note 1;

the fickleness of Florence, 237;

the fleetingness of fame, ii. 39;

the Sacred City, Rome, 144;

the sculpture seen by Dante in Purgatory, iii. 149;

the Trevisan Court, iv. 15;

the praise of Guido Guinicelli, 47;

the mention of Guittone of Arezzo, 48;

the Canzone—Donne ch'avete intelletto d'amore, 62;

philosophical treatment of love in the poem, 62;

the song of the Ghirlandetta: its popularity, 261

Dati, Goro di Stagio, iv. 176;

his description of May festivals at Florence, 52

Dati, Leonardo, his Cosmographical History, iv. 240

Dati, Leonardo, theologian and friend of Palmieri, v. 549;

comments on the Città di Vita, 548, 549

Dattiri, Altobello, assassination of, i. 121

D'Avalos, Alfonso, Marquis of Vasto, gives Ariosto a pension, iv. 503

—— Ferrante Francesco, Marquis of Pescara, marries Vittoria Colonna, v. 289;

his reputed treason, 290 (cp. i. 245)

Dazzi, Andrea, devises the cars for the Pageant of the Golden Age, iv. 397

Death, the Black, its effects at Florence, i. 259, ii. 120, iv. 111, v. 191;

description of, in the Decameron, iv. 111

Decembrio, Candido, his account of Filippo Maria Visconti, i. 153 note 1, ii. 266;

followed the model of Suetonius, ii. 533;

patronised by Eugenius IV., 220;

translates Appian and Homer, and aids Trapezuntius in translating the Republic, for Nicholas V., 228, 266;

appointed Secretary of the Abbreviators by Nicholas, 229;

his position at Milan, 266;

cited for Filelfo's conceit, 271 note 1

Decorative Art, wealth of, in Italian palaces and Churches, iii. 54, 56, 78

Decretals, the false, i. 3

Della Casa, Giovanni, Bishop of Benevento, facts of his life, v. 274;

his morality, i. 459 note 2 (cp. v. 274);

a member of the Vignajuoli Academy at Rome, ii. 366, v. 357;

said to have been refused the Cardinalate on account of the Capitolo del Forno, v. 275;

his relations with Pier Paolo Vergerio, 275 note 1, 381 note 1;

the Galateo, i. 183 note 1, ii. 37, v. 275;

a code of social etiquette æsthetically treated, v. 430;

the Capitolo del Forno, 40, 275, 278, 364;

the Latin Lyrics, ii. 497, v. 276;

his Correspondence, v. 276, 360;

the Italian Poems: sternness and sadness of their tone, 277;

translations of six sonnets, 279

Della Casa, Quirino (son of Giovanni della Casa), v. 274

Della Crusca Academy, the, at Florence, ii. 366;

Il Lasca and the Della Crusca, v. 79 note 2

Della Rovere Family, the, Sixtus IV. claims kindred with them, i. 388;

their armorial bearings, 388, ii. 495

—— Francesco (see Sixtus IV.):

Francesco Maria, Duke of Urbino, ii. 419;

his violence of temper, i. 393;

neglects to defend Rome in 1527, 245, 297, 444;

Giovanni della, Duke of Urbino, 182 note 2, 389, 393, ii. 419;

Cardinal Girolamo, his monument by Sansovino, iii. 156;

Giuliano (see Julius II.);

Lionardo, i. 389;

Nicolò, marries Laura, daughter of Alexander VI., 407 note 1

Demetrius of Crete, aids in the first printing of Greek books in Italy, ii. 375;

furnishes the model for the Greek type of the first edition of Homer, 376

Democracy, the Renaissance and democracy, i. 27, 28, v. 489;

gradual approach of the Italian cities to democracy, 72

Democratic principles of modern society, i. 28

Desiderio da Settignano, his monument to Carlo Marsuppini, ii. 186, iii. 158 note 2, 159;

his bust of Marietta Strozzi, iii. 159;

Giovanni Santi's description of him, 160

Desiosi, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Despots, the Italian, i. 42;

their rise, 75-77, 81;

their services to art and literature, 78-80, iii. 42;

popular with the middle classes and the people, i. 83, 116;

disarm their subjects, 85;

their downfall, 89, 90;

their title rested solely on ability, 102, 117, 118;

character and effect of their government, 103;

luxury and culture of their Courts, 105;

the atrocities of the tyrants—how far due to mania, 109, 110, 151 (see also Appendix i.);

divided into six classes, 110-114;

led a life of terror, 118;

their superstition, 119, 149;

their crimes, 120-125, 139, v. 441;

errors in Macaulay's account of them, i. 127;

description of them by Villani, 128;

by Ariosto, 130, iv. 506 note 2;

their practice of division among joint heirs a source of weakness to them, i. 136;

developed refinement of manners, 192

D'Estampes, Madame, iii. 474, 476

Desti, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Diacceto, Jacopo del, executed for his share in the conspiracy against Cardinal Giulio de' Medici, v. 239

Diamond, the, name of a club at Florence formed by the Duke of Nemours, iv. 396

Dino Compagni, Chronicle of, cited, i. 210 note 2, 225 note 1;

question of its authenticity, 262, 263 note 1, 266, 272;

Dino's reason for undertaking the work, 264;

its character and value, 265

Diplomacy: diplomatic ability fostered by the number of the Italian Commonwealths, ii. 3, iv. 366 (cp. v. 518)

Disciplinati di Gesù Cristo, Italian religious societies, iv. 282, 307

Disuniti, the, an Academy at Fabriano, ii. 366

Divizio, Agnolo, nephew of Cardinal Bibbiena, v. 367;

Bernardo (see Bibbiena, Cardinal)

Divozioni, the Umbrian form of the sacred drama, iv. 307;

various metres in which they were written, 308;

their themes, 309;

question of the date when they were first represented in public, 310;

their relation to the Northern Miracle Plays, 311

Djem, Prince, brother of Sultan Bajazet, his captivity in Italy, i. 415, 461;

said to have been poisoned by Alexander VI., 415, 566 note 1

Doctrinaire spirit, the, of Italian political theorists, i. 202, 244 note 2, 283

Doge, gradual limitation of the power of the Doges at Venice, i. 216;

unpopularity of the office, 216 note 1

Dolce, Lodovico, v. 181;

his tragedy of Marianna, 133;

more truly dramatic than the majority of Italian tragedies, 133;

the Giocasta, 134;

the comedy of Ragazzo, 162 note 1;

its Prologue cited in testimony of the prevalent corruption of manners, 190;

his Capitoli, 365;

his relations to Aretino, 419

Domenichi, Lodovico, his revision of Ser Giovanni's Novelle, iv. 152 note 2;

his rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato, 491, v. 376;

his friendship and quarrel with Doni, v. 88;

his collection of works of Italian poetesses, 287

Domenico, Fra (Savonarola's friend), offers to undergo the ordeal of fire, i. 533;

executed with Savonarola, 534

Domenico di Giovanni. (See Burchiello, Il.)

Domenico, S., Perugian Confraternity of: inventory of their dramatic properties in 1339, iv. 310

Dominic, S., contrast of S. Dominic and S. Francis, iii. 205

Dominico di Viterbo, story of his crimes and execution by Innocent VIII., i. 404 note 1

Donatello, ii. 8, 433;

a friend of Niccolò de' Niccoli's, 180;

his statue of Poggio, 246;

his statues at Florence, 440, iii. 138;

his work as a sculptor and bronze founder in Italian churches, iii. 78 note 1;

said to have been consulted in the competition for the Baptistery Gates at Florence, 127;

his fidelity to nature, 136;

his smaller works, 139-141;

the Judith and Holofornes: its fortunes, 139 (cp. i. 233);

the equestrian statue of Gattamelata at Padua, 140;

contrast of his genius with that of Ghiberti, 141;

Brunelleschi's criticism of his Christ, 233;

employed by Cosimo de' Medici, 138, 139, 263

Donati, the, at Florence, i. 210 note 2, iv. 71

Donati, Alesso, his Madrigals, iv. 157;

their realistic energy, 157 (see Appendix iii. vol. iv. for translations);

Gemma, wife of Dante, iv. 71

Doni, Antonfrancesco, enters the Servite Order, v. 88;

obliged to quit Florence, 88;

his friendship and quarrel with Domenichi, 88;

his correspondence with Aretino: suspicion that part may have been written by Aretino himself, 398 note 1, 410 note 1;

settles at Venice, 89;

his praises of Aldo Manuzio, ii. 391;

his quarrel with Aretino, v. 90, 96, 419, 422;

becomes a member of the Pellegrini Academy, 90;

his life at Monselice, 91;

his account of two comedies performed in the Palazzo Vecchio, Florence, 144 note 4;

his Novelle, 92;

his miscellaneous works, 92;

his Marmi, 93-95;

his Comedies, 181

Doria, Andrea, i. 201

Dossi, Dosso, his Circe, illustrating his treatment of mythology, iii. 291, 502, iv. 422, 482

Doucas, Demetrius, a member of the Aldine Academy, ii. 387

Drama, the Italian, a national drama never fully developed in Italy, ii. 8, iv. 357, v. 110, 112-114, 125, 181, 241, 310;

imperfect connection of the Italian theatre with the Sacre Rappresentazioni, iv. 306, v. 109;

want of profoundly tragical element in Italian art, v. 114-116;

reasons for this, 116-120;

the first attempts in Italian: Boiardo's Timone and Poliziano's Orfeo, 108;

early Latin plays, 110;

contrast between the Italian and the Elizabethan drama, 111;

the growth of a national Italian drama hindered by the adherence of playwrights to classical models, 121-125;

poverty of the early Italian tragedies, 126, 132, 135;

Seneca's influence over Italian tragedies, 129, 131, 132 note 1;

Italian tragedies adapted from the Greek tragedians, 133-135;

imperfect evolution of Italian comedy, 136-138, 140;

influence of the Ferrarese stage on Italian comedy, 142;

the want of permanent theatres in Italian towns, 144;

character of the Italian Commedia erudita, 181;

tendency of the Italians to adopt stereotyped forms for dramatic representation, 182 note 2;

fixed elements in Italian comedy, 183-185;

employment of the burla or beffa, 185;

vicious philosophy of life taught by the Italian playwrights, 192;

the pastoral drama the culmination of Italian dramatic effort, 114, 223, 241;

contained the germs of the Italian opera, 114, 241

Duccio, Agostino di, his façade in marble and terra-cotta of S. Bernardino at Perugia, iii. 79 note 1, 150

Duccio di Buoninsegna, his Majesty of the Virgin in the Duomo of Siena, iii. 215

Duranti, Durante, attempts the murder of Benvenuto Cellini, iii. 467

EDUCATION, modern education founded upon the system of Vittorino and Guarino, ii. 537, v. 492;

present tendency to diminish Greek and Latin elements in education: how far justifiable, ii. 537-540;

identity of male and female education in Italy at the Renaissance, v. 287 note 1

Egidius of Viterbo, quoted for the acknowledgment of his children by Innocent VIII., i. 403 note 1

Egnazio, Giambattista, a member of the Aldine Academy, ii. 387

Emilia Pia, wife of Antonio da Montefeltro, introduced in Castiglione's Cortegiano, i. 184

England, Poggio's journey to, ii. 231

Enzo, King, reputed ancestor of the Bentivogli, i. 115, iv. 49;

his Greeting to the Provinces of Italy, 49

Ephors, the Spartan, compared with the Venetian Council of Ten, i. 234

Epic, the Italian Romantic: its anomalies explained by a large plebeian element, iv. 426-428, 439;

manner in which the Roland Legend passed into its Italian form, 428

Epicureans, in Italy during the middle ages, iv. 10, 109

Epistolography, Latin, importance of, in the Renaissance, ii. 107, 531, v. 507

Erasmus, i. 24, 27;

quoted on the worldly tendency of classical learning, 456 note, ii. 44;

his ridicule of 'Ciceronianism,' ii. 108, 414 (cp. 528);

his visit to Aldo Manuzio at Venice, 384;

popularity of his Adagia, 384 note 1;

hatred of the clergy against him, 385;

quoted for Musurus' knowledge of Latin, 386 note 2;

a member of the Aldine Academy, 387;

his praises of Aldo Manuzio, 391;

his visit to Rome, 408;

cited for Inghirami's eloquence, 425 note 2;

initiated a second age of scholarship, 541;

quoted for the Italian origin of Northern culture, 544

Erizzo, Sebastiano, his Sei Giornate, v. 60

Este, House of, i. 52, 57, 145;

confirmed in their succession by the Papacy, 111;

their crimes and tragic history, 125, 168, 423;

their patronage of learning, ii. 298;

important part played by the D'Esti in the resuscitation of Latin comedy in Italy, v. 139

—— Alberto d', i. 146;

Alfonso d', aids Frundberg's army on the march to Rome, 245, 444;

married (1) to Anna Sforza, v. 140, (2) Lucrezia Borgia, 420, 422, 423, v. 141;

his skill as a gunsmith, i. 423, iii. 403;

takes Ariosto into his service, iv. 498;

builds the first permanent theatre in Italy, iv. 499, v. 144;

makes Ariosto governor of the Garfagnana, iv. 500;

his warfare with the Papacy, 500;

Azzo d', i. 168;

Beatrice d' (1), mentioned by Dante, 133;

Beatrice d' (2), wife of Lodovico Sforza, 555;

Borso d', 173;

his reception of Filelfo, ii. 285;

the friend of Boiardo, iv. 457;

Ercole d', his assassination attempted by Nicolò d'Este, i. 168;

urges Ludovico Sforza to invite the French, 546;

meets Charles at Pavia, 554;

the friend of Boiardo, iv. 457;

his interest in the representation of Latin comedies, v. 139;

his translation of the Menæchmi, 140;

his visit to Milan, iv. 498, v. 140;

festivities prepared by him at the marriage of Lucrezia Borgia to Alfonso d'Este, v. 141;

his marriage to Renée, daughter to Louis XII., 297;

Ferdinand d', shares Giulio's plot against Alfonso, i. 423;

Giulio d', his attempt on Alfonso, 423;

his eyes put out by order of Ippolito d'Este, 423, iv. 495;

Cardinal Ippolito d', invites Cellini to the Court of Francis I., iii. 472, 476;

takes Ariosto into his service, iv. 494;

wishes him to enter the Church, 495;

quarrel between them, 496 (cp. 509);

puts out the eyes of Giulio d'Este, i. 423, iv. 495;

Lionello d', the pupil of Guarino, i. 173, ii. 240, 299;

his correspondence with eminent scholars, 173, ii. 300;

his portrait in the National Gallery, ii. 300;

Alberti's Teogenio dedicated to him, iv. 205;

Nicolò d' (Nicolas III.), his journey to Rome, ii. 152 note 1;

reopens the High School of Ferrara, 298;

his patronage of men of letters, i. 173;

Obizzo d', sells Parma to Lucchino Visconti, i. 134;

murdered by his uncle, 146;

Ugo d', his journey to Rome, ii. 152 note 1

Eterei, Gli, an Academy at Padua, v. 272

Eugenius IV., consulted by Cosimo de' Medici as to how he should make restitution, ii. 172;

Lionardo Bruni's translation of Aristotle's Politics dedicated to him, 184;

retires to Florence after his expulsion from Rome, 185, 186, 196, 219;

makes Traversari General of the Camaldolese Order, 194;

his proclivities rather monastic than humanistic, 219;

makes Marsuppini and Aurispa Papal Secretaries, and patronises other scholars, 220;

proscribes the reading of Beccadelli's Hermaphroditus, 256;

attacked by Valla in the treatise on Constantine's Donation, 260;

his saying on the malice of the Humanists, 511;

pageants in his honour at Perugia, iv. 315

Euripides, compared with Ariosto, v. 35, 37

Eusebi, Ambrogio degli, a secretary of Aretino's, v. 421

Exarchate and Pentapolis, the, i. 48, 51;

Exarchs, the, 35, 43

Excommunication, terrors of, i. 132, 133 note 1, 471, 531, ii. 332

Ezzelino da Romana, i. 69, 75, 110;

his cruelty, 106-110, iv. 279;

influence of his example on Italy, i. 107, 108, iv. 280;

his love of astrology, 119

FABLIAUX, the, of the middle ages, iv. 107

Fabriano, paper factory of, ii. 371, 37

Fabrizio, early Bolognese poet, iv. 48

Faenza, massacre of, i. 82;

sold by Astorre Manfredi, 114;

Church of S. Costanzo: Benedetto da Majano's bas-reliefs, iii. 160

Falconetto, Giovanni Maria, his work as an architect at Padua, iii. 86

Farnesi, the, origin of their greatness, i. 417 note 2

—— Cardinal Alessandro, v. 283;

Alexander (see Paul III.);

Giulia, surnamed La Bella, mistress of Alexander VI., i. 407 note 1;

her portrait statue on Paul III.'s tomb, 417 note 2, iii. 108;

captured by the French, i. 417;

Pier Luigi (son of Paul III.), 428 note 1, iii. 422 note 1, 460, 462, 465, v. 283;

Aretino's lines on him, v. 402 note 1;

Cardinal Ranuccio, 283;

Ranuzio, orders the building of the Teatro Farnese at Parma, 144

Farse, the, at Naples, v. 136, 137;

cultivated by Cecchi at Florence, 188;

his description of the Farsa, 188;

how related to the English type of drama, 188, 189

Faust, Legend of, ii. 53;

in Italy and England, iv. 347

Fazio, Bartolommeo, the historiographer of Alfonso the Magnanimous, i. 569, ii. 38;

his criticisms on Valla, ii. 263

Federigo d'Arezzo, poems of, iv. 164

Felix, the Anti-Pope, ii. 236

Feltre, Vittorino da, i. 171;

a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, ii. 100, 290;

acquainted with Filelfo at Venice, 267;

his poverty and early education, 289;

begins teaching, 290;

summoned to Mantua, i. 176, ii. 291;

Traversari's account of his system of education, 177 (cp. ii. 291-297);

his single-mindedness contrasted with the self-seeking of other scholars, ii. 290, 523;

his nobility of character, 297;

effect of his labours, 273, 537

Ferdinand the Catholic, his hypocrisy, i. 296, 358;

his persecution of the Jews, 399-401;

his alliance with Louis XII., 428;

obtains Roussillon from Charles VIII. as the price of neutrality, 542;

joins the League of Venice against Charles, 577

Ferdinand I., King of Naples, i. 113 note 1;

his cruelty and avarice, 139 note 1, 395, 570;

supports Virginio Orsini against Alexander VI., 545;

character of him by Comines, 572;

his judgment of Pope Alexander VI., 409;

his opinion of the Papacy, 451

Ferdinand II., King of Naples, retires before the approach of the French, i. 574;

his marriage and death, 575

Fernus, Michael, his panegyric of Alexander VI., i. 408

Ferrara, share of, in Italian literature, iv. 364, 365;

retained more feudal feeling than other towns, iv. 460

—— the Castle of, i. 423, iii. 60, iv. 456;

the Palazzo della Ragione, v. 141

—— the High School, ii. 117;

reopened by Niccolò III., 298;

most flourishing at the beginning of the sixteenth century, 427, v. 497;

difference of character between the Universities of Ferrara and Padua, v. 460

Ferrari, Gaudenzio, belongs to the Lombard school, iii. 484;

his masters and mixed style, 488-490

Ferrucci, his part in the siege of Florence, i. 238, 285, 521

Feudalism, uncongenial to the Italian character, i. 42, 58, 61, 62, 100, 359, 484, ii. 3, iii. 51, iv. 6, 7, 27, 44, 140, 405, 426, 459, v. 492, 503, 505, 524, 530;

had a stronger hold on the valley of the Po than elsewhere in Italy, iv. 6, 460;

and on Naples, 460

Fiamma, Galvano, his Milanese Annals, i. 81

Fiammetta, the natural daughter of King Robert, iv. 120 note 1;

her relations with Boccaccio, 120

Fiandino, Ambrogio, takes part in the controversy raised by the publication of Pomponazzi's De Immortalitate Animæ, v. 460

Ficino, his attempt to combine ancient philosophy and Christianity, i. 171, 456, ii. 209, 325, 470, iii. 35, v. 452;

educated by Cosimo de' Medici in order to teach Greek philosophy, ii. 177, 207, 324;

his influence over Italian thought, 207, 327;

his translations the most valuable part of his work, v. 453;

one of the circle gathered round Lorenzo de' Medici, ii. 322, 323;

his earnestness of character, 325, 523;

in common with his age, did not comprehend Plato's system, 327, v. 452;

his letter to Jacopo Bracciolini describing a celebration of Plato's birthday, ii. 329;

his praise of Palmieri's Città di Vita, iv. 171;

part of the Morgante erroneously ascribed to him by Tasso, 455 note 3;

his description of the village feasts at Montevecchio, v. 196

Fieschi, Isabella, poisons her husband, Lucchino Visconti, i. 134

Fiesole, the Cathedral, Mino's altar, iii. 158 note 1;

Mino's bust of Bishop Salutati, 158

Filarete, Antonio, builds the Ospedale Maggiore at Milan, iii. 59, 77;

his treatise on the building of the ideal city, 77 note 2;

his work as a bronze founder, 78 note 1;

executes the bronze gates of S. Peter's, 108, v. 424

Filelfo, Francesco, corresponds with Lionello d'Este, i. 173;

his epigrams on Pius II., 381;

patronised by Francesco Sforza, ii. 38, 282 (cp. 511);

his boasts of his learning, 84, 271, 347;

his wanderings, 100, 268, 277;

a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, 100;

his various emoluments and offers of stipends, 122, 274, 277;

obliged to leave Florence by Niccoli's opposition, 182, 275;

offended by Marsuppini's success at Florence, 187, 275, 278 note 1;

patronised by Eugenius IV., 220;

receives a present from Nicholas V. for his satires, 236, 284 (cp. 514);

his quarrel with Poggio, 238-240;

teaches at Venice, 267;

his journey to Constantinople, 267;

his diplomatic employments, 268 (cp. 532);

his marriage with Theodora Chrysoloras, 268;

returns to Venice, 270;

list of Greek books brought by him, 270;

leaves Venice, first for Bologna, finally for Florence, 273;

his success and literary labours at Florence, 273;

his Lectures on Dante, 274, iv. 235;

his feud with the Medicean party, 275;

they attempt his assassination, 170 note 1, ii. 243, 275;

references in his Satires to his Florentine quarrels, ii. 276 note 1;

his stay in Siena and in Bologna, 276;

settles in Milan, 277;

his labours in Milan, 278;

his position there, i. 171, ii. 265, 266, 277;

his second and third marriages, 279, 282;

his loose morals, 280;

solicits ecclesiastical preferment from Nicholas V., 281, 517;

his rapacity, 282;

the Sforziad, 283 note 1, 284;

his journey to Naples, 284;

obtains the release of his mother-in-law at the fall of Constantinople, 285;

invited to Rome by Sixtus IV., 285;

returns to Florence and dies, 288;

his importance as a typical scholar of the Renaissance, 288;

his answer when urged to open a school, 291;

quotation from a letter of his containing an early mention of printed books, 306 note 2;

poorness of his Latin verse, 452;

his contempt for Italian, 532 note 1, iv. 235;

his Commentary on Petrarch, and terza rima poem on S. John, iv. 235

Fiorentino, Bernardo, iii. 75

Fioretti di S. Francesco, beauty of the work, iv. 131;

has the childlike character of Italian trecento prose, 131;

S. Anthony preaching to the fishes, quoted as a specimen of its style, 134

Firenzuola, Agnolo, the friend of Aretino, v. 83;

their correspondence, 410 note 1;

a member of the Vignajuoli Academy at Rome, ii. 366 (cp. v. 83), v. 357;

said to have been abbot in the Vallambrosan Order, v. 83;

his Novelle, 60;

their beauty of style, 84;

their subjects chiefly the weaknesses and the vices of the clergy, 84;

the Introduction, 84;

his Discourse on the Beauty of Women, ii. 37, v. 83, 85-87;

his miscellaneous works and poems, v. 87, 187, 249;

his Comedies, 181, 186;

adhered closely to Latin models, 186;

his Capitoli, 249, 364;

his orthographical disputes with Trissino, 271, 306

Fisiraghi Family, the, of Lodi, i. 145

Fisiraga, Antonio, his murder of the Vistarini and death by poison, i. 120

Fivizzano, massacre of, 557

Flagellants, the, i. 618, iv. 40, 73;

description of them from the Chronicle of Padua, iv. 280;

from a private letter from Rome (1399), 282 note 1;

social danger caused by them, 282;

merged in the Disciplinati and Laudesi, 282

Flaminio, Marcantonio, his verses upon the death of Navagero, ii. 488;

his Latin poems: their beauty and interest, 498-504 (cp. v. 196);

his friendship with Cardinal Pole and Vittoria Colonna, ii. 498, 502, v. 292

Flanders, artists brought from, by Frederick of Urbino, i. 179;

comparison between Flemish and Venetian art, iii. 362 note 1

Flattery of great personages by the Humanists, ii. 492-496, 512, 514

Florence: struggle between Florence and the Visconti, i. 81, 149;

constitutional history of, 221 foll.;

parties at Florence in 1494, 528;

in 1527, 281;

the Ciompi Rebellion, 221, 227, iv. 111, 150;

the exclusion of the nobles, 224. iv. 27, 51;

Florence laid under interdict by Martin V., iv. 258;

war of the Florentines with Sixtus IV., 447;

harsh treatment of Pisa and other cities by Florence, i. 212, 237, 342, 560, ii. 165;

Florence under Savonarola, i. 526-529;

the Siege of Florence, 222, 284 foll., 319, 536 note 2, iii. 393, 414, 438 (see Savonarola);

Christ declared King of Florence, 222, 526, iii. 214, 308, 358;

goodwill of Florence to France, i. 518, 550 note 1, 583 note 2;

expulsion of the Medici, 222, 561, iii. 389;

political contrast of Florence and Venice, i. 221, 222 note 1, 231;

comparison of Florence and Athens, 234, 236, 306 note 2;

beauty of Florence, 504, 561, 562, ii. 322, iii. 63 (cp. iv. 520);

festivals of medieval Florence, iv. 50-58, 316-319, 520;

of Renaissance Florence, 387-398;

Florence the centre of the true Italic element in Italy, iv. 141;

population of Florence, i. 197 note 2, 209, 256;

effects of the 'Black Death' at Florence, 259, ii. 120, iv. 111, v. 191;

the revenues of Florence, i. 255;

wealth of the Florentines, 257;

the Guelf laws against scioperati, iv. 27, 204;

commercial spirit of the Florentines, i. 224, 238, 245, 600;

Florentine intelligence, 232, 250, 504, 505, ii. 26, iv. 45;

compared with the Athenian, i. 246;

fickleness of the Florentines, 236;

their immorality, 230, 476, 504, iv. 337, v. 81, 358;

illustrated by Machiavelli's Comedies and Letters, v. 163, 165, 433;

by the Capitoli, 355;

their malicious temper, iv. 150, 253, 255, v. 79, 82;

Florentine manners as depicted in Sacchetti's Novelle, iv. 149;

in Alessandra Strozzi's Letters, 176, 190 note 1;

Florentine conceptions of nobility, 125;

Florence the centre of intellectual activity in Italy, ii. 108, 162, 250, 311, iv. 349, 364, 365;

leads the way in Italian literature, ii. 394, 426, iv. 27, 185, 243;

part played by Florence in the history of Italian thought, v. 452-454, 457, 481;

favourable conditions presented by Florence for the growth of culture, ii. 163;

services of the Florentines to historical literature, i. 248 foll.;

the share taken by Florence in the Renaissance, v. 496;

the main elements of Florentine society represented severally by Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, iv. 98;

eagerness of the Florentines in learning Greek, ii. 197 note 1, 206, 250;

early Florentine printers, 369, 376;

loss of the Florentine supremacy in literature, 506;

architecture of the Florentine palaces and churches, iii. 59, 72;

Florentine pre-eminence in architecture at the Renaissance, 76;

influence of the Florentine painters on sculpture, 161;

comparison between Florentine and Venetian art, 182, 354;

the ovation of Cimabue's Madonna, 11, 187;

Florentine influence on Italian painting, 261;

positive and scientific character of the Florentine intellect as shown in their artistic productions, 182, 215, 221, 364, iv. 128, 402

Florence: S. Ambrogio, Mino's altar, iii. 158 note 1;

the Annunziata, Del Sarto's, Franciabigio's, and Rossi's frescoes, 498 note 1;

the Badia, monuments by Mino da Fiesole, 158;

Filippino Lippi's 'Madonna dictating her Life to S. Bernard,' 248 note 2;

the Baptistery, the bronze gates—the first by Andrea Pisano, 119;

the second and third by Ghiberti, 128;

the Carmine, Masaccio's frescoes, 229, 231;

Filippino Lippi's frescoes, 248;

the Duomo, built by public decree, 64;

its proportions criticised, 65;

Arnolfo's intentions, 66;

Brunelleschi's Dome, 67, 73, 74;

Giotto's Campanile, 63, 190, iv. 251;

S. Lorenzo (by Brunelleschi), 73, 393, 399, 413;

Bronzino's Christ in Limbo, 499 note 1;

the Medicean Chapel, its marble panelling, 79 note 3;

the Sagrestia Nuova, character of its architecture, 87, 414, 415;

tombs of the Medici, i. 314, 319, iii. 354, 377 note 2, 393, 415-419, 420;

S. Maria Maddalena dei Pazzi, Perugino's fresco of the Crucifixion, 295;

S. Maria Novella, Cimabue's Madonna, iii. 188;

Ghirlandajo's Birth of the Virgin, 259;

(Spagnuoli Chapel), its frescoes, 205;

(Strozzi Chapels) Filippino Lippi's frescoes, 248;

Orcagna's frescoes, 199;

S. Maria Nuova, Fra Bartolomeo's Last Judgment, 306, 309, 331;

S. Miniato, 49;

Rossellino's monument of Cardinal di Portogallo, 153;

Spinello's frescoes in the sacristy, 220;

Orsammichele (by Taddeo Gaddi and Orcagna), 63, 124;

Orcagna's tabernacle, 125;

Donatello's statue of S. George, 138;

Santa Croce, 63;

Benedetto da Maiano's pulpit, 160;

Giotto's frescoes, 190;

S. Trinità, Desiderio's statue of the Magdalen, 159 note 1;

Ghirlandajo's Death of S. Francis, 259;

S. Spirito (by Brunelleschi), 73;

Agnolo's Campanile, 86

Florence: Loggia del Bigallo (by Orcagna), 125;

Loggia de' Lanzi (wrongly ascribed to him), 125, 478

—— Palazzo Vecchio, 61-63;

—— del Bargello, Chapel of the Podestà, 191;

—— Pitti (by Brunelleschi), 73;

—— Riccardi (by Michelozzo), 59, 76;

—— Gozzoli's frescoes, 242;

—— Rucellai (by Alberti), ii. 342, iii. 75 (see also Rucellai Gardens, the);

—— Strozzi (by Benedetto da Maiano), iii. 77

—— Academy, the, founded by Cosimo de' Medici, ii. 177, 207;

influence exerted by, over Italian thought, 207;

celebrations of Plato by, 328;

later fortunes of, 366

Florence, University, the, its foundation, i. 259, ii. 118;

establishment of a Greek chair, ii. 106;

liberality of the Signory to the University, 120;

partial transfer of the High School to Pisa by Lorenzo de' Medici, 122, v. 497;

important services of Palla degli Strozzi to the University, ii. 166

Florence, Council of, impression left by, on the Florentines, ii. 196, 206

Fogliani, Giovanni, murder of, by his nephew, Oliverotto da Fermo, i. 354

Fojano, Fra, starved to death in the dungeons of S. Angelo, iii. 468

Folengo, Teofilo (Girolamo), story of his life, v. 312;

enters the Benedictine Order (cp. i. 459);

leaves the cloister, v. 313;

resumes the cowl, 313;

his pseudonym, Merlinus Cocaius, 313;

said to have once contemplated writing a serious Latin Epic, 334;

his aim at originality, 334;

his use of the Maccaronic style, 335;

the Orlandino—freedom of its satire, 314;

its roughness of style, 315;

the introduction, 316;

subject of the poem, 317;

Berta's prayer, 318 (see for translation, Appendix ii.);

the story of how peasants were made, 319 (cp. 343 note 2);

the Resurrection, 320;

translated, 320;

passage on the woes of Italy, i. 101, v. 320 note 1;

the boyhood of Orlandino, 321;

the episode of Griffarosto, 322 (see for translation, Appendix ii.);

Rainero's confession of faith, 323 (see for translation, Appendix ii.);

Lutheran opinions expressed in the Orlandino, 324, 486;

reasons why Folengo's religious opinions escaped censure, 325;

relation of the Orlandino to the Furioso, 326;

the Maccaronea, 337;

its loss of popularity, 337;

plot of the poem, 337-345;

satire of the monks and clergy, 340;

the Court of Smirna Gulfora and the extirpation of the witches, 344, 348-350;

the Entry into Hell, 350-352;

probability that the poem was written with a serious aim, 352;

the bitterness of the satire increased by Folengo's consciousness of his failure in life, 353 note 1 (cp. 314);

value of the Maccaronea to the student of literature, 353;

the Moscheis, 334 note 2, 354;

the Zanitonella, 354;

written in mockery of the fashionable Arcadian poetry, 224, 354

Folgore da San Gemignano, the question of his date, iv. 54 note 1, 163 note 5;

his Sonnets on the Months and Days, 54-57;

the five Sonnets on the Arming of a Knight, 55 note 1;

passage on the triumph of Uguccione, 163.

(See Appendix ii. vol. iv. for translation of ten Sonnets.)

Fondulo, Gabrino, his massacre of the Cavalcabò family, i. 120;

leader of Condottieri under Gian Galeazzo Visconti, 150;

story of his taking the Pope and the Emperor up the Tower of Cremona, 463 note 1

Fontana, Domenico, his work at S. Peter's, iii. 93

Forgeries, literary, frequency of, at the Renaissance, ii. 156 note 2

Form preferred to matter by the Humanists, ii. 471, 513, 514

Fornovo, battle of, i. 580, iii. 275 note 1

Fortiguerra, Scipione, prefixes a Greek letter to Aldo Manuzio's edition of Aristotle, ii. 382;

a member of the Aldine Academy, 385

Fortini, Pietro, his Novelle, v. 60, 97

Fortunio, Francesco, his suicide during the Sack of Rome, ii. 445

Foscari, Francesco, i. 155;

his policy and execution by the Council of Ten, 215 note 1;

Jacopo, 215;

Marco, his Reports cited, 211 note 2, 221 note 1, 230 note 1, 238 note 1, 597 note 2

Fossa, Evangelista, writer of Maccaronic poems, v. 331 note 2, 332

Fracastorius, his Syphilis, i. 567 note 1, ii. 477-481;

his adulatory verses, ii. 481, 496;

his Veronese birth, illustrating the movement of culture from Tuscany to Lombardy, 506;

his friendship with Berni, v. 363

Fra Moriale, leader of Condottieri, i. 86

Francesco da Bologna (i. e. probably Francia, the painter), cuts the Italian type for Aldo Manuzio, ii. 381

Francesco da Montepulciano, Frate, his preaching at Florence, i. 621

Francia, Francesco, probably identical with Francesco da Bologna, ii. 381 note 1;

religious feeling and beauty of his works, iii. 303;

adhered to the earlier manner of painting, 303, 365

Franciabigio, his frescoes in the Annunziata, Florence, iii. 498 note 1

Francis I. of France, i. 518, 584;

number of Italian artists invited by him to France, iii. 444;

summons Cellini to his Court, 473;

his visit to Cellini, 443 note 1;

his character as described by Cellini, 473;

his patronage of Aretino and presents to him, v. 400, 404

Francis of Holland, his record of the conversations of Michelangelo and Vittoria Colonna, iii. 434, v. 293

Francis, S., his revival of religion, iii. 182 (cp. iv. 296);

contrast of S. Francis and S. Dominic, iii. 205;

his first poetry composed in French, iv. 16;

his Cantico del Sole, 40, 73

Franciscans, the, imprison Roger Bacon, i. 10;

reasons for the popular hatred of them, 459;

their religious poetry, iv. 295;

their quarrel with the Benedictines, v. 325

Franco, Matteo, his quarrel with Luigi Pulci, iv. 431, 455 note 3

—— Niccolò, his relations to Aretino, v. 419, 420;

quarrels with Aretino, 421;

writes satirical Sonnets against him, 381, 421;

composes a Latin Commentary on the Priapea, 421;

taken and hanged, 421

—— Veronica, v. 288

Franco-Italian, the language produced by the mixture of French and Italian, iv. 15, 19

Franzesi, Mattio, his Capitoli, v. 364

Frate di S. Marco, the, his preaching at Milan, i. 620

Frateschi, name of the followers of Savonarola at Florence, i. 529

Fraticelli, the, an heretical sect of the Franciscan Order, i. 9

Frederick Barbarossa, his war with the Lombard cities, i. 63, 64, 67;

his defeat at Legnano, 42, 64, 95

Frederick of Naples, i. 552, 574, 575 note 1

Frederick II., the Emperor, his warfare with the Church, i. 10, 41, 68, ii. 251, iv. 6, 279;

establishes a Saracen colony at Nocera, i. 105, 156 (cp. iv. 280);

began the system of government afterwards pursued by the despots, 105-107;

his terror under excommunication, 133 note 1;

founds the University of Naples and attempts to suppress that of Bologna, ii. 116;

his cultivation of vernacular literature, 251 (cp. i. 10), iv. 6, 21;

Italian testimonies to his character, iv. 21;

probably influenced by political motives in his cultivation of Italian literature, 22;

his temper not in unison with that of his age, 61

Frederick III., the Emperor, i. 100, 163;

story of the Florentine embassy which went to congratulate him, ii. 190;

representation of the Passion in his honour at Naples, iv. 315

Fregosi, the, at Genoa, i. 201;

two Fregosi introduced in Castiglione's Cortegiano, i. 184, v. 257 note 1

Fregoso, Cesare, v. 64

French, widely-spread use of, by medieval Italian writers, iv. 16

Frescobaldi, Matteo, his political poems, iv. 163

Frezzi, Frederigo, his Quadriregio, iv. 168-171;

its confusion of Christian and antique motives, 169

Friola, capture of, i. 108

Froben, John, i. 23;

prints the Greek Testament, ii. 391

Fulvio, Andrea, his Antiquities of Rome, ii. 428

Fusina, Andrea, works in concert with Amadeo at the Certosa, Pavia, iii. 164

GADDI, Cardinal, attacked by Aretino, v. 402 note 1;

makes terms with him, 402

Gaddi, the, scholars of Giotto, iii. 197, 226

—— Gaddo, supposed to have worked on the frescoes of Assisi, 196;

Taddeo, his work as architect at Orsammichele, Florence, iii. 124;

the painter of the Triumph of S. Thomas Aquinas, in S. Maria Novella, 205 note 1

Galileo, his services to modern science, i. 29, v. 518;

his trial before the Inquisition, v. 462 note 1, 478

Gallo, Antonio di San, iii. 76, v. 505;

his skill in military engineering, iii. 86;

his work at S. Peter's, 91, 398;

Giuliano di San, ii. 431, iii. 76;

his work at S. Peter's, iii. 91;

Francesco di San, his letter on the discovery of the Laocoon, ii. 431

Gambacorti, the, of Pisa, their rise to power, i. 114;

their downfall, 147

Gambara, Veronica, her virtues, v. 289;

her poems, 289;

society gathered round her, 289;

her correspondence with Aretino, 408 note 1

Gandia, Duke of, son of Alexander VI. by Vanozza Catanei, i. 419;

story of his murder, 424

Garfagnana, Ariosto's governorship of, iv. 500-502, 514

Garofalo, Benvenuto, character of his paintings, iii. 502

Garter, the, conferred on Frederick of Urbino by Henry VII., i. 181;

on Guidobaldo, his son, ii. 420

Gasparino da Barzizza, the initiator of Latin epistolography, ii. 107, 531;

his position at Milan, 266

Gasparino of Verona, his panegyric of Alexander VI., i. 408

Gaza, Theodorus, translates Aristotle's History of Animals, for Nicholas V., ii. 229;

joins in the controversy of Bessarion and Trapezuntius, 248

Gelati, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Gelli, his Comedies, v. 124, 146 note 1, 181, 186, 187;

took Machiavelli as his model, 187

Generosity, admiration of the Italians for this virtue, iv. 356

Genezzano, Fra Mariano da, preaching of, i. 506, 522

Gennadius, Patriarch of Constantinople, his controversy with Gemistos Plethon, ii. 209

Genoa, annexed to the Milanese, i. 136, 568;

Constitution of 1528, 201;

intellectual and artistic backwardness of Genoa, ii. 212, iii. 181 note 1, v. 497;

building of the Mole and Aqueduct at Genoa, iii. 42;

architecture of the Genoese palaces, 59, v. 498;

the Genoese painters, v. 498

—— S. Maria di Carignano, iii. 96

Gentile da Fabriano, his studies in natural history, iii. 226;

peculiarities of his genius, 238;

his power of colouring, 349

Gentile, Girolamo, his attempt against Galeazzo Sforza, i. 168

Gentleman, notion of the gentleman formed by Italians, i. 184-189, 192, ii. 408

Ghibellines and Guelfs, quarrel of, i. 38, 61, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 80, 95, 101, 206, 221, 584, ii. 57, iv. 159-164, 367

Ghiberti, Lorenzo di Cino, cited for the enthusiasm of sculptors over the remains of ancient art, ii. 432, iii. 134;

his work as a bronze founder in Italian churches, iii. 78 note 1;

his treatment of the story of the creation of Adam and Eve, 118 note 2, 130;

his designs in competition for the Baptistery Gates at Florence, 127;

criticism of his model, 129;

his introduction of picturesque treatment into sculpture, ii. 8, iii. 132, 141;

reckons in his commentaries by Olympiads, iii. 135;

not really affected by the Paganism of the Renaissance, 135

Ghirlandajo, Domenico, his influence over Benedetto da Maiano, iii. 160;

his great qualities and prosaic plainness, 161, 258-261, 262

Ghislieri, a poet of Bologna, iv. 48

Giacomini, Antonio, aids Machiavelli in his plan for a national militia, i. 313 note 1

Giacomino, Fra, his works written in a North Italian dialect for popular use, iv. 34

Giacomo of Florence, his wood-panelling at Urbino, iii. 78 note 2

Giamboni, Bono, reputed author of many early popular Italian works, iv. 129;

translates Latini's Tesoro into Italian, 130

Gianni, Lapo, comparison of his Amor eo chero with Folgore's Poems on the Months, iv. 56 note 1

Giannotti, Donato, on tyrannicide, i. 169;

on citizenship, 196 (cp. iii. 55);

influenced by Aristotle, i. 197 note 1, 250 note 1;

his translation of the word ηθος, 200 note 1;

assigns to Savonarola the authorship of the Florentine constitution, 202 note 2;

his estimation of the population of Venice, 210;

cited for the factions of Siena, 207 note 2;

cited, 216 note 1, 217 note 1;

his description of the corruption of the State of Florence, 231;

his admiration of the Venetian polity, 234;

cited for the trading spirit of Florence, 238;

his Florentine History, 278;

his democratic spirit, 280;

his advocacy of the Governo Misto, 283;

cited for Italian notions of honour, 485 note 1

Giano della Bella, i. 225 note 1

Giasone de Nores, his panegyric of Trifone (in the Commentary on the Ars Poetica), v. 253 note 1

Giberti, Giammatteo, made Bishop of Verona by Clement VII., ii. 403;

his patronage of Berni, v. 357, 390 note 1;

his animosity against Aretino, 390;

becomes reconciled to him, 402 note 1

Gieremei, Bonifazio, i. 74

Giocondo, Fra, his collection of Roman inscriptions, ii. 429;

his work at S. Peter's, iii. 91

Gioja, said to have discovered the compass, i. 29

Giorgi, Marino, Venetian ambassador, cited for Leo's 'Let us enjoy the Papacy,' i. 437;

for the refusal of Giuliano, Duke of Nemours, to take the Duchy of Urbino, 438 note 1

Giorgio, Francesco di, architect of palaces at Pienza, iii. 75

Giorgio, Francesco di, cited for the character of Frederick, Duke of Urbino, i. 176 note 1

Giorgione, greatness of his genius, iii. 366;

fate of his works, 366;

his power in depicting tranquillised emotion, 367

Giottino, the scholar of Giotto, iii. 197

Giotto, the Campanile at Florence, iii. 63, 190, iv. 251;

his work in S. Francis', Assisi, iii. 117, 190, 195;

his genius pictorial, 120, 177;

story of Cimabue's finding him, as a child, drawing, 190, 191;

amount of his work, 190;

his fidelity to nature, 191;

advances made by him in painting, 192;

his power of representation, 193;

excellence of his allegories, 194;

mention of him by Petrarch, 217 note 1;

influenced by Dante, 283 note 2;

his ode on Poverty, iv. 39 note 1, 243 (cp. iii. 124, 194)

Giovanni da Capistrano, Fra, i. 490;

his preaching at Brescia, 615

Giovanni da Imola, his salary from the University of Padua, ii. 122

Giovanni da Ravenna, Petrarch's secretary, ii. 98;

the first of the vagabond Humanists, 99;

his influence, 100

Giovanni, Ser (of Florence), his Novelle, iv. 150;

called his work Il Pecorone, 150;

poverty of the framework of the Novelle, 151;

their antiquarian interest, 151;

one novel the source of the Merchant of Venice, 152 note 1;

revision of the Novelle by Domenichi, 152 note 2;

Giovanni as a poet, 152

Giovanni da Udine, the scholar of Raphael, iii. 490

Giovanni, Fra, da Verona, his work as a wood-carver at Monte Oliveto and Naples, iii. 78 note 2

Giovio, Paolo, his description of Azzo Visconti, i. 134;

of Gian Galeazzo, 141, 142 note 1;

of the marriage of Violante Visconti, 138;

his conception of history, 249 note 2;

his untrustworthiness, 292 note 2, ii. 354 note 1, 417, 512;

his account of Machiavelli's education, 310;

praises the massacre of Sinigaglia, 324;

his criticism of Machiavelli's Art of War, 330;

believed that Alexander VI. died of poison, 429, 430;

on Lodovico Sforza, 547 note 2;

on Poliziano's personal appearance, ii. 350 note 1;

his account of Poliziano's death, ii. 354 note 1;

his description of Poliziano's poetry, iv. 407;

made Bishop of Nocera, ii. 402, 417;

his versatility of talent, 417;

his criticism of Navagero, 485 note 3;

relates that Navagero suffered from atra bilis, 487;

his confession that culture had left Italy, 544;

his correspondence with Aretino, v. 410 note 1;

relates that Pomponazzi was ignorant of Greek, 459

Giraldi, Giovanbattista. (See Cinthio.)

Giunta of Pisa, said to have worked on the frescoes of Assisi, iii. 196

Giunta, the Roman printer, his piracies on Aldo Manuzio, ii. 379 note 2;

publishes the Lysistrata and Thesmaphoriazusæ of Aristophanes, 382

Giunti, the, printers at Venice, v. 374;

Giunta prints the mutilated version of Boiardo's rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato, 374;

acknowledges the fact of the mutilation in a second edition, 374, 377

Giulio Romano, his decoration of the Palazzo del Te, ii. 440, iii. 83, 492, iv. 403, v. 389;

his architectural work at Rome, iii. 83;

his superintendence of S. Peter's, 91;

the only great master produced by Rome, 184;

his occasional coarseness and vulgarity, 454, 492;

driven from Rome for designing a series of obscene figures, v. 389

Giustiniani, the, their patronage of learning at Venice, ii. 212

—— Venetian ambassador, his testimony to the death of Alexander VI. by apoplexy, i. 430;

mentions the legend that Alexander had sold his soul to the devil, 431;

Lionardo, procures Filelfo a Secretaryship at Constantinople, ii. 267

Giusto de' Conti, his Canzoniere, iv. 165

Gli Otto, name of Council in some Italian cities, i. 35

Goldsmith's work, all the earlier Florentine artists served an apprenticeship to this art, iii. 124, 442

Gonfaloniere di Giustizia, a name of office in some Italian cities, i. 35;

at Florence, 224

Gonzaga, the, at Mantua, i. 145;

how they became tyrants, 112, 148 note 1;

members of this family become Condottieri, 161;

distinguish themselves at Fornovo, 580 note 1

—— Alessandro, educated by Vittorino da Feltre, 177, ii. 297;

Camilla, Molza's attachment to her, v. 226;

Cario, the pupil of Vittorino da Feltre, ii. 293;

betrays Milan to Sforza, 281;

Cecilia, educated by Vittorino da Feltre, i. 177, ii. 297;

Cesare, v. 122;

Elisabetta, i. 182, 184;

Francesco, (1) 147;

commands at Fornovo, 580, iii. 275 note 1;

letter of, to his wife, quoted for the account of Alexander VI.'s death, i. 431 note 1, 432;

(2) Cardinal, his patronage of scholars, ii. 404 (cp. iii. 277 note 1);

causes Poliziano to write the Orfeo, iii. 277 note 1, iv. 411;

(3) a wild libertine student at Bologna, v. 312, 314;

Gian Francesco,

(1) his murder of his wife, i. 119 note 2;

(2) summons Vittorino da Feltre to Mantua, 176, ii. 291, 295;

Gianlucido, educated by Vittorino da Feltre, i. 177, ii. 297;

Isabella, her reception at Rome by Leo X., v. 146;

Lodovico, the pupil of Vittorino da Feltre, ii. 291, iii. 276;

his reception of Filelfo, ii. 285;

invites Mantegna to Mantua, iii. 276;

Lucrezia, Bandello her tutor, v. 64, 65;

Ugolino, i. 134;

his murder, 119 note 2

Gorboduc, tragedy of, praised by Sir Philip Sidney, v. 132 note 1;

illustrates the character of the Italian tragedies, 136

Gorello, Ser, quoted for the character of Bishop Guido Tarlati of Arezzo, i. 83

Goritz, John, why called Corycius, ii. 397;

his entertainments of the Roman Academy, 409;

his sufferings in the Sack of Rome, 444

Gothic architecture, its rarity in Rome, iii. 46;

never understood by the Italians, 50, 66, 69, iv. 345, v. 505

Gothic, Italian, its mixed, exotic character, iii. 50;

its relations to Northern styles, iv. 312

Goths, policy of the Goths in Italy, i. 94

Governo Misto, the ideal government of Italian statesmen, i. 283, 306, ii. 319

Gozzoli, Benozzo, his repetition of Traini's Triumph of S. Thomas, iii. 208;

character of his genius, 241 (cp. iv. 261 note 2, 372, 463);

various works of his, 242;

his excellence in portraying idyllic subjects, 243;

employed by Cosimo de' Medici to paint his private chapel, 263

Gran Consiglio, in Italian cities, i. 35, 57, 71

Granacci, Francesco, Michelangelo's friend in boyhood, iii. 386

Gravina, praised the Italia Liberata of Trissino, v. 307

Graziani, quoted for the preaching of San Bernardino, i. 613;

for Fra Jacopo and Fra Roberto da Lecce, 614

Grazzini, Antonfrancesco. (See Lasca, Il.)

Greece and Italy, contrasts and resemblances of, i. 195, 205, 237, ii. 4, 10, 16, 43, 513, iii. 1, 121, 355, 410-412, iv. 45, 117, v. 112;

contrast between Greek and Christian religious notions, iii. 12, 136

Greek, utter ignorance of, in the Middle Ages, ii. 66, 94;

importance of the study of Greek, 112;

probability that the lost Greek classics perished before the fall of Constantinople, 141;

impression produced by the Greek visitors to the Council of Florence, 197;

Greek studies owed less to the Byzantine than to the Italian scholars, 197, 250;

the first Greek books printed in Italy, 368, 375, 377, 382, 405 note 1;

the first in Northern Europe, 391 note 2;

Greek hardly studied in Italy by the end of the sixteenth century, 543

Greene, Robert, the dramatist, quoted for Italian immorality, i. 473

Gregoropoulos, John, the reader in Aldo Manuzio's Greek Press, ii. 378;

a member of the Aldine Academy, 387

Gregory the Great, i. 50;

his contempt for grammatical correctness, ii. 61

Gregory VI., i. 59

Gregory VII. (See Hildebrand.)

Gregory IX., war of, with Frederick II., iv. 279

Gregory XI., 113 note 1

Gregory XII., makes Antonio Losco Apostolic Secretary, ii. 218

Gregory of Tours, cited for medieval contempt of antiquity, ii. 60

Gritti, Andrea, Doge of Venice, his patronage of Aretino, v. 395;

Luigi (son of the Doge), gives Aretino a pension, 395

Grocin, his endeavours to introduce the study of Greek into England, ii. 388, 391

Guardi, his sketch of a Masked Ball in the Council Chamber, Ducal Palace, Venice, iii. 358

Guarini, Battista, shows the completion of the Italian reaction against the middle ages, v. 244;

the Pastor Fido with Tasso's Aminta the perfection of the Italian pastoral drama, 114, 223, 241, 511;

essentially lyrical nature of the Pastor Fido, 242;

its central motive the opposition of an ideal world of pleasure to the world of facts and laws, 242

Guarino da Verona, the tutor of Lionello d'Este, i. 171, 173, ii. 299;

a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, ii. 100;

brings Greek MSS. to Italy, 141, 267;

obliged to leave Florence by Niccolò's opposition, 182;

his translation of Strabo, 228;

his quarrels with Poggio and other scholars, 240, 301;

his praise of Beccadelli's Hermaphroditus, 255, 301, 514;

his friendship with Filelfo, 267;

his success as a teacher at Ferrara, 300 (cp. 473, 537);

his nobility of character, 301, 523

Gubbio, the Pottery of, i. 80

Gucci, Agostino di. (See Duccio, Agostino di.)

Guelfs and Ghibellines, quarrel of, i. 38, 61, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 80, 95, 101, 206, 221, 584, ii. 57, iv. 159-164, 367

Guicciardini, Francesco, his life and character, i. 295-301;

pleads the cause of Alessandro de' Medici before Charles V., 232, 280, 298;

his services to the Medici, 280, 285, 297;

his cynicism, 278, 291, 302, v. 446;

portrait of him in Ariosto's Satires, iv. 515;

comparison of Guicciardini and Machiavelli, v. 446;

differences of opinion between Guicciardini and Machiavelli, i. 44, 45 note 1, 91;

the Comment on the Discorsi of Machiavelli, 306 note 2;

the Governo Misto (cp. passage cited from the Reggimento di F., 306);

the decay of Italy due to the Papacy, 451 (cp. passage cited from the Ricordi, 382, 452);

the Istoria d'Italia, 300-303;

the murder of Manfredi, 428 note 1;

the death of Alexander VI, ascribed to poison, 429;

the joy in Rome at Alexander's death, 431;

character of Julius II., 434 note 1, 552 note 3;

the effect of the murder of Gian Galeazzo Sforza, 480 note 2, 556;

character of Charles VIII., 540, 547;

of Lodovico Sforza, 548 note 2;

the French invasion, 549, 582;

believes that it was guided by Providence, 553 note 1;

the reception of Charles at Naples by Pontanus, ii. 363;

the Reggimento di Firenze, 304-308;

the ideal government of Florence, 223 note 1;

the motives of tyrannicide, 169;

the corruption of Florence, 229;

the Venetian polity, 306;

his admiration for Venice, 234, 299;

the Governo Misto, 306 (cp. passage cited from the Reggimento di F., note 2);

the account of Savonarola, 304 (cp. passage cited from the Storia Fiorentina, 308, 512 note 1);

the Ricordi, 308, v. 446, 519;

the disunion of Italy, 92 note 1;

'the blood of the citizens the mortar of tyranny,' 131, 298 note 2;

the faults of democracy, 306 note 1;

use of the word popolo, 306;

Guicciardini's conception of history, i. 249 note 2;

the faith of the Florentine patriots in Savonarola during the siege, 284 note 1, 536 note 2;

the character of the Medici, 298 note 2, 299 note 2;

the decay of Italy due to the Papacy, 382, 452 (cp. passage cited from the Comment on the Discorsi of Machiavelli, 451);

the balance of power created in Italy by Lorenzo de' Medici, 404 note 2;

the Storia Fiorentina, 278, 279, 308;

the suspicious temper of Lorenzo de' Medici, 119 note 1;

his sensuality, iv. 385 note 1;

his policy, 386;

policy of Cosimo de' Medici, i. 229 notes 1 and 2, ii. 170 (for the Medici cp. also i. 298 note 2, 299 note 2);

the account of Savonarola, i. 308, 512 note 1 (cp. passage cited from the Reggimento di Firenze, i. 301);

character of Alexander VI., i. 412, 417 note 1 (see also Appendix iii. vol. i.)

Guicciardini, Luigi, his account of Clement's behaviour at the sack of Rome, 444

Guicciardini, Francesco and Luigi, mentioned together, i. 197 note 1, 203 note 1, 230

Guidalotto, Francesco, murders Biordo Michelotti, i. 148 note 2

Guidicci, Mario, his Dissertations on Michelangelo's Sonnets, v. 297

Guidiccioni, Giovanni, Bishop of Fossombrone, his letters, quoted for the profligacy of Rome, i. 446 note 1, 459 note 2, v. 190, 387 note 1;

his Poems, their patriotic feeling, v. 282, 520;

Gyraldus' criticism of them, 282;

translation of a sonnet, 282;

his correspondence with Aretino, 410 note 1

Guido delle Colonne, iv. 5 note 1, 25

Guido da Siena, the earliest of the Sienese painters, iii. 214

Guidotto, of Bologna, iv. 48;

reputed author of many early popular Italian works, 129

Guilds, their importance in Italy, i. 72, 72 note 1

Guinicelli, Guido, his services to Italian poetry, iv. 46;

Dante's praise of him, 47;

his treatment of love, 61

Guiniforte (son of Gasparino da Bartizza), tutor of Francesco Sforza's children, ii. 266

Guinizzi, family of the, at Lucca, i. 148

Guittone of Arezzo, importance of his Epistles in the history of Italian prose, iv. 36, 45, 130;

his Poems mentioned with contempt by Dante, 46;

his religious poems, 73

Gyraldus, Lilius, on the Academy of Naples, ii. 365;

cited for the purism of Italian scholars, 398;

teacher at the High School of Ferrara, 427, 506;

his criticism of Poliziano's Sylvæ, 459;

of Sannazzaro's De Partu Virginis, 469 note 1;

of Bembo's Latin verses, 484;

of Guidiccioni's Poems, v. 282;

his attack on the Humanists, ii. 518, 530;

his denunciations of the immorality of the Italian stage, v. 192

HADRIAN, Cardinal, concerned in Pitrucci's conspiracy, i. 437

Hæmatomania, i. 109 (see Appendix i. vol. i.)

Hawkwood, John, Sir, i. 113 note 1, 362

Hegel, his criticism of Machiavelli's Prince, i. 367;

his saying that architecture preceded the other arts, iii. 40

Henry II. of France, appoints Bandello bishop of Agen, v. 64

Henry VII. the Emperor, marches into Italy, i. 76;

his death, 77, 80

Henry VII. of England, confers the Garter on Frederick of Urbino, i. 181;

on Guidobaldo, his son, ii. 420

Henry VIII. invites Torrigiano to England, iii. 444;

makes a present to Aretino, v. 405

Henry the German, an early printer, ii. 376

Heribert, Archbishop of Milan, i. 58

Heywood, the Challenge for Beauty quoted for the character of Italian plays, v. 111 (cp. 189)

Hildebrand, made Pope, i. 59;

declares war on the Empire, 60;

his arrogation of spiritual autocracy, 411

Historians, the Florentine, i. 246 foll. (see also under the names of the various writers);

contrast of the Historians of the Renaissance period with the earlier writers, 278

Hobbes, his saying about the Papacy quoted, i. 6

Hohenstauffen, war between the House of Hohenstauffen and the Papacy, i. 59, 60, 68, 74, 100, 374, ii. 251, iv. 6 (see also Frederick II.)

Honor, Italian notions of, i. 481, 485, v. 242, 520

Honorius, his retirement to Ravenna, i. 46

Howell, quoted for the English opinion on Italy, i. 472 note 2

Human Life, medieval conception of, i. 10, 13, 14, iv. 289, v. 454, 455, 456

Humanism, definition of the word, ii. 71;

four periods of Italian Humanism, ii. 160-162, 310, 393, 440, 517;

Humanism a revival of Latin culture, and little affected by Greek models, v. 132 note 1, 509;

Italian tyrannicide and the Reformation had their origin in Humanistic liberty, i. 465-468, v. 414

Humanists, the, persecution of the Roman Humanists by Paul the Second, i. 384 note 1, 386, 387, ii. 36, 511;

their quarrels, ii. 237-245, 264, 511, iv. 431 note 1, 451, v. 89, 285;

formed a class by themselves, ii. 216, 510, 543, iv. 366;

their flatteries of the great, ii. 492, 496, 512, 514, iv. 367, 405;

their pretensions and vanity, ii. 511, 521, iv. 405;

their employment of invective, ii. 512 (cp. i. 387), v. 393;

their resemblance to the Greek sophists and rhetoricians, ii. 513;

emptiness of their works from their preference of form to matter, 514, 530, v. 247, 264;

came to be considered the corrupters of youth, ii. 515;

universal bad opinion of them, 518 (cp. the passages from Maccaronic writers, v. 331-333);

injury occasioned to their character by their vagrant habits, ii. 520;

their irreligion and licentiousness, 520;

the better characters among them, 523;

the real value of their works, 524;

their study of style, 525;

their letter-writing, 532;

services rendered by their erudition, 533;

aided in diffusing a liberal spirit, 535;

their influence on modern education, 536;

the services rendered by them to Italy, iv. 367;

effect of their labours in preparing for the growth of Italian literature, v. 496

Hussites, the, i. 9

Hutton, Von, Ulrich, i. 27, 437

Hypnerotomachia Poliphili. (See Colonna, Francesco.)

I NOVE, name of governing body at Siena, i. 35, 208

Ibrahim ibn Ahmed. (See Appendix i. vol. i.)

Ibycus, lines on Peace translated, iv. 52

Il Grasso, Legnaiuolo, the metrical version of the novel so called, iv. 253

Ilaria del Carretto, her monument in the Cathedral, Lucca, iii. 132, 165

Illicini, Bernardo Lapini, his Commentary on Petrarch's Trionfi, v. 99;

his Novella of Anselmo Salimbeni and Carlo Montanini, 99-101

Imperia, la Bella, v. 288;

epitaph upon her, ii. 406 note 1

Incogniti, the, an Academy at Naples, ii. 366

Infessura, Stefano, quoted, i. 22;

cited for the stories about Sixtus and Alexander, 388 note 1;

quoted about the sale of offices by Sixtus, 394 note 1;

upon his avarice, 395 note 1;

upon his cruelty and sensuality, 395 note 2;

about the Papacy of Innocent VIII., 404 note 1, 405 note 1, 405;

for the immorality of Rome, 474 note 2

Informi, the, an Academy at Ravenna, ii. 366

Ingannati, Gli, Comedy of, v. 72 note 1, 123

Inghirami, Tommaso, his rise into greatness, ii. 403 (cp. v. 139);

made Librarian of the Vatican, ii. 424;

Professor in the Sapienza at Rome, 427

Innocent III., war of, with Frederick II., iv. 279

Innocent IV., establishes the University of Piacenza, ii. 117

Innocent VIII., i. 113, ii. 359;

his additions to the Vatican, i. 384 note 1;

employs Mantegna to paint his chapel there, iii. 277;

his Bull against witchcraft, i. 402 note 1, v. 347;

his pontificate, i. 403-406;

his monument by Antonio del Pollajuolo, 415, iii. 147;

his detention of Prince Djem, i. 415, 461;

appoints Bruni Apostolic Secretary, ii. 218;

his destruction of ancient monuments at Rome, 430

Inquisition, the, foundation of, i. 399

Insensati, the, an Academy at Perugia, ii. 366

Instabili, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Intronati, the, an Academy at Siena, their performance of the Masque El Sacrificio, v. 143 note 2;

volume published by them on the quarrel and reconcilement of Aretino and Albicante, v. 420

Invention, effect of the progress of inventions on the Renaissance, i. 3, 29

Investitures, War of, i. 59, 60, 97, iv. 7, 13

Isabella of Aragon, i. 555

Istoria Bresciana, cited, i. 615 note 2

Italy, Italians:

divergent character of the Italian cities, 34, 35, iii. 43, 181, iv. 361, v. 137;

reasons why the Italians failed to attain political unity, i. 90, 98, iii. 261, iv. 5;

their dislike to monarchy, i. 92, 369, v. 503, 504;

feudalism alien to their temper, i. 42, 58, 61, 62, 100, 359, 484, ii. 3, iii. 51, iv. 6, 7, 27, 44, 73, 140, 405, 426, 459, v. 492, 503, 505, 524, 530;

their estimation of tyrannicide, i. 169, 464;

their notions of nobility, 186 note 1;

their tendency towards despotism, 190;

had no conception of representative government or confederation, 196, 211, ii. 3 (cp. v. 438), v. 495;

did not aim at national independence, i. 457, ii. 509;

their civilisation in advance of that of Northern Europe, i. 100, 260, 586, iii. 42, v. 50;

Italian ideas about the Pope, i. 418, 462-464, iii. 471;

reasons why the Italians held to the Papacy, i. 470, iv. 438;

their attachment to the Imperial idea, iv. 438;

independent attitude of the Italians to the Empire and Church, v. 502, 524;

ready means of intercourse between the Italian provinces in the middle ages, iv. 270;

the local divisions of Italy a source of intellectual strength as well as political weakness, ii. 8, iv. 493, 518;

the modern development of the Italians precocious and never matured, i. 495, iv. 146;

their ignorance of the power of the Northern nations, i. 538;

the Italian lower classes welcomed the French invasion, 549 note 1, 583 note 2;

Italy 'revealed to the North' by the invasion, 583;

fascination exercised by Italy over the Northern fancy, 119 note 2, v. 117;

complete change in Italy between 1375-1470, iv. 366;

confidence of the Italians at the Renaissance in the fortune of the age, ii. 208, iv. 396, v. 281, 522;

physical and ethnographical character of the Italians, i. 12, ii. 24, v. 500;

persistence of the Italic type through all historical mutations, v. 501-504, 509;

hold retained by their past history upon the Italians, ii. 30, 56, 505, iv. 5, 7, 11, 141, 187 note 1, 242, 273, v. 492;

essential unity of the Italian nation, i. 32, 42, 47 note 1, 54, 65;

formation of the national character, 100, ii. 1-4. iv. 146, v. 505;

preoccupation of the Italians in the middle ages with the idea of death, iii. 198, iv. 74;

Italian morality at the Renaissance, i. 323, v. 365;

morality and religion disunited in Italy, i. 174 note 1, 433, 447, 462, ii. 234, 257, iii. 451;

material and irreligious temperament of the Italians, i. 454, 490, 493, ii. 17, 205. iv. 10, 39, 128, 140, 146, 426, v. 114, 486, 504, 509, 514;

difference of their religious feelings from those of Northern nations, iv. 306, 323, v. 486, 514;

decay of religious feeling in Italy between the time of Dante and Poliziano, iv. 207, v. 194, 493, 516;

unwillingness of Italian thinkers to break with Catholicism, i. 454, v. 293;

Italian passion for reliques, i. 461;

defects of their imagination, iv. 249, 253, 273, 343, v. 18, 504, 509, 514;

reasons for these defects, iv. 344;

character of the Italian imagination illustrated from the Sacre Rappresentazioni, 347;

lack of sterner passion in the Italian æsthetic temperament, v. 114 (cp. 515);

organising faculty of the Italians, 504, 513;

foreign judgments of Italian morality, i. 472, ii. 408;

anomaly of the corruption of Italy while the arts and literature were at their height, v. 494;

profligacy of the Italians, i. 474 (cp. Bandello's Apology for his Novelle, v. 76, and the Analysis of Machiavelli's Mandragola, v. 165-170);

their addiction to unnatural vices, i. 476;

their cruelty and debauchery, 476-479;

their love of poisoning and assassination, 480, v. 523;

their notions of honour and female fidelity, i. 481-486 (cp v. 163 note 1);

their admiration of generosity, iv. 356;

the Italians had not adopted chivalry, i. 359, 482, iv. 6. 27, 44, 60, 73, v. 13, 505;

character of the bourgeoisie as drawn in Italian comedies, v. 183;

refinement and toleration of the Italians, i. 486-488, ii. 14, 408;

cosmopolitan nature of their ideals, ii. 15, 55, iv. 184;

the art of conversation invented by the Italians, ii. 34;

free play given to personality in Italy, i. 488, ii. 3, 4, 6;

superior morals of the lower classes illustrated from Italian art, i. 488-490;

the same fact proved by contemporary biographies and memoirs, v. 190;

revivalism in Italy, i. 490 (see Appendix iv. vol. i.; also Flagellants and Laudesi);

Italian architecture local rather than national, ii. 5, iii. 45;

Gothic architecture never fully understood in Italy, iii. 51, 66, 69, iv. 345, v. 505;

Italian feeling for spatial proportion in architecture, iii. 67;

reasons why the Italians succeeded better in sculpture and painting than architecture, ii. 7;

Italian genius best shown in painting, iii. 5, 31, v. 495;

universal feeling for art in the Italians, iii. 1, 4;

their æsthetic enthusiasm, 3;

their innate susceptibility to beauty, iv. 242, v. 526;

the Italian artists were contented to work out old motives, iii. 118, v. 6;

Italian love of cultivated landscape beauty, v. 196, 511;

the cosmopolitan culture of the Italians implied some sacrifice of national personality, ii. 9, 394, v. 137;

the Italians contented to accept the primacy in culture instead of national independence, ii. 39, 475;

respect of the Italians for culture, iv. 447;

Italian unity only attained in literature and art, iii. 261, iv. 147, 367, v. 137, 248, 495;

the recovery of the classics equivalent to the recovery of national consciousness in Italy, iv. 142, v. 505;

the Roman element in Italian genius, v. 501-516;

persistency of the Italians in carrying out the Revival, ii. 509, v. 505, 525;

injurious effects of the Revival upon them, ii. 516, v. 193;

decay of learning in Italy, ii. 540, v. 480;

the Italians cease to study Greek, ii. 543;

work achieved by the Italians in educating the Northern nations, 544, v. 530;

attention paid by the Italians to biography, ii. 35;

their susceptibility to rhetoric, 149, 190, 216, 513, 525, iii. 3, v. 512;

questioning spirit of the Italian intellect, iv. 448, v. 500;

contempt of the early Italian scholars for Italian, ii. 448, 532 note 1, iv. 4, 7, 143, 176, 234-238, 365, v. 137, 247, 506, 508;

growth of Italian out of Latin, iv. 28-32;

the development of Italian slower than that of other modern languages, 3-8;

Italian superseded French as the literary language in the middle of the thirteenth century, 20;

character of the various Italian dialects, 30;

early popular works in the dialects, 34, 129;

artificial character of the Italian literary language, ii. 448, iv. 8, v. 246;

revival of Italian in the fourth period of culture, ii. 393, iv. 3, 365, v. 246;

manner in which Tuscan was made into the standard Italian, iv. 33, v. 246, 508;

problem presented by language to the writers of Italian, v. 247;

Petrarch and Boccaccio taken as models, iv. 164, v. 248;

manner in which their influence was injurious,

(1) the imitation of Petrarch's affectation and melancholy, v. 249-251;

(2) of Boccaccio's ornate and complicated style, 251 (cp. iv. 136);

effect of purism on Italian literature, v. 256-258;

false position of the Petrarchisti, 249, 520;

they show no sympathy for the calamities of Italy, 281, 522;

erroneous conception of poetry implied in Petrarchism, 273;

want of a natural means of expression in the Petrarchisti, 250;

the unity of Italy is now producing a common Italian, ii. 450, v. 270;

Italian literature brought to perfection between 1300 and 1530, iv. 1;

subdivisions of that period, 1;

positive spirit in which the Italians treated ancient legends and sagas, 5, 11;

effect produced by their free political life on early Italian writers, 8;

degree of superiority in the use of Latin obtained by medieval Italian writers, 9;

effect of Provençal and French literature on the Italians, 13 foll.;

the Italian hendecasyllabic, 24 (see also Appendix i. vol iv.);

history of the ottava rima, 25, 308;

effect on Italian literature produced by the want of a central Court, 33, 365, v. 112, 257;

origin of Italian prose, iv. 35, 128;

inferiority of the first attempts, 130;

beginnings of Italian poetry, 37;

the modern Italians never had a national Epic, ii. 4, iv. 5, 7, 244, v. 503;

general absence of Ballad poetry in Italian, iv. 37 (cp. 251), 274, v. 11;

exceptions to this, iv. 274;

early poems treating of obscene subjects, iv. 38, v. 356 note 1;

Italian literature in the middle ages created no feminine ideal like those of the old romances, iv. 63;

Italian prose-writers of the Trecento, 131;

exaggerated admiration of modern Italians for the Trecentisti, 132, v. 270;

importance of the Quattro Cento in Italian literature, iv. 147;

sentiment of disappointment and despair common to the later Trecentisti, 165;

employment of the terza rima by the poets after Dante, 166, 172;

materials afforded for studying the growth of Italian prose by familiar letters, 175, v. 262;

improvements effected in Italian prose by the popular writers of the Quattro Cento, iv. 240;

appreciation of the great Italian poets by the mass of the people, 241;

popular poems upon contemporary events during the Quattro Cento, 255;

erotic spirit of Italian hymns, 305;

rarity of Miracle Plays in Italy, 306;

their place supplied by Divozioni and Sacre Rappresentazioni, 307;

the best manner of dealing with Italian literature between 1470-1530, 359 foll.;

typical men of genius during this period, 362;

share of the different cities in literature, 364-366;

degeneracy of Italian poetry during the Renaissance, 404, 463;

the classification of the Italian narrative poems, v. 3;

the literature of the Cinque Cento influenced by the manners of the bourgeoisie, 52;

injury occasioned to Italian literature by the absence of a general public, 52, 190 note 2;

number of popular works issued by the Venetian press, 96;

burlesque considered as a counterpoise to serious poetry in Italy, 310, 382;

survival of ancient satiric humour in Italy, 512 (cp. 366);

no great satire produced by the Italians, 512;

burlesque poetry in Italy a medium for free thought, 311, 315;

association at the Reformation of Lutheran opinions and immorality in Italy, 325;

number of Italian poetesses, 287;

identity of male and female education in Renaissance Italy, 287 note 1;

comparison of Italian and Latin art and literature, 509-514;

Italian love of didactic poetry, 512;

general characteristics of Italian literature, 518;

results achieved by the Italians during the Renaissance, 526

JACOPO DEL BUSSOLARO, Fra, preaching of, i. 490, 610, 611

Jacopo da Lentino, iv. 25, 43, 60

Jacopo della Marca, Fra, preaches at Perugia, i. 491, 613

Jacopone da Todi, the legend of his life, iv. 285-289;

his Italian hymns, 40, 283;

their ecstatic spirit, 284;

their simplicity, 284;

specimens of them, 289-292;

the Dialogue between Mary and Christ on the Cross, 292-295, 309;

many of the hymns ascribed to him belong to his followers, 295;

specimens of these, 297-302;

his saying about Boniface VIII., 289. (See Appendix iv. vol. iv. for translations.)

Jenson, Nicholas, joins John of Spires as printer at Venice, ii. 369

Jerome of Prague, Poggio's description of him at the Council of Constance, ii. 231, 535

Jeronimo, his preaching at Milan, i. 620

Jews, expulsion of the, from Spain, i. 400

Joachim (of Flora) saying of his, i. 9, iii. 36

Joanna of Naples, i. 361, 574;

married to her nephew Ferdinand, 575 note 1

John of Maintz, early printer at Florence, ii. 369

John of Spires, establishes himself as printer at Venice, ii. 369

John of Vicenza, preaching of, i. 490, 607-610

Jonson, Ben, his Epicœne compared with Dolce's Ragazzo, v. 162 note 1;

may have been partially indebted to Aretino's Marescalco for its humour, 178;

more successful in the fusion of ancient and modern elements than the Italian comedies, 182

Jovius. (See Giovio.)

Jubilee, the (of 1300), iv. 2;

visited by Dante and Villani, i. 253, ii. 144;

(of 1450), i. 377, 378, iv. 173

Julia, corpse of, said to have been discovered on the Appian Way, i. 22, ii. 31, 433

Julius II., i. 157;

character of him by Volaterranus, 389 note 2;

his hostility to the Borgias, 406, 432;

his services to art, 433;

commences St. Peter's, 433, iii. 90, 398;

his policy, i. 434;

contrast of Julius and Leo, 438;

saying ascribed to him, ii. 17;

story of his wishing to be represented with a sword in his statue, iii. 397;

his project for a mausoleum, 398;

his reconciliation with Michelangelo, 401;

his impatience with Michelangelo during the painting of the Sistine Chapel, 407

Julius III., makes Aretino a Knight of S. Peter, v. 404

Justinian, his conquest of Italy, i. 47;

the Code of Justinian enthusiastically studied in medieval Italy, 62

KYDONIOS, Demetrios, ii. 109

LADISLAUS, KING, Filelfo's mission to him on his marriage, ii. 268

Lætus, Pomponius, i. 386;

his relation to the Sanseverini, ii. 33, 359;

his letter to his kindred, 359;

assimilated his life to that of the ancients, 360;

founds the Roman Academy, 361, 409, v. 272;

his apology for his life, ii. 362;

his funeral, 362;

his nobility of character, 523;

causes plays of Terence and Plautus to be represented in the original by the Roman Academy, v. 138

La Magione, the Diet of (the conspiracy against Cesare Borgia), i. 351

Lambertazzi, Imelda, i. 74, 210 note 2

Lampugnani, Giannandrea, one of the assassins of Galeazzo Maria Sforza i. 166

Landi Family, the, at Bobbio, i. 150

Landini, Taddeo di Leonardo, architect at the representation of Cecchi's Elevation of the Cross, iv. 325

Landino, Cristoforo, one of the circle gathered round Lorenzo de' Medici, ii. 322;

his labours as Professor at Florence, 338;

his edition of Dante, 338, iv. 235;

the Camaldolese Discussions, 338-341, iv. 206, v. 451, 455;

his preference of Latin to Italian, iv. 236, 237

Landriani, Gherardo, discovers a MS. of Cicero at Lodi, ii. 140

Langue d'Oc, iv. 13, 14, 16

Langue d'Oïl, iv. 13, 14, 16

Languschi Family, the, of Pavia, i. 145

Laocoon, discovery of the, ii. 415, 431;

description of it, by a Venetian ambassador, 435;

transcends the limits of ancient sculpture, iii. 18

Laonicenus, a Cretan, joint editor of a Greek Psalter, ii. 376

Lapaccini, Fra Giuliano, copies MSS. for Cosimo de' Medici, ii. 174

Lasca, Il, origin, of his nom de plume, v. 79;

depreciates Burchiello in comparison with Berni, iv. 261, v. 362 note 1;

edits the poems of Berni, v. 361;

his collection of Canti Carnascialeschi, iv. 388, v. 79, 356 note 1;

quoted in proof of their invention by Lorenzo de' Medici, iv. 388;

his Cene, v. 79, 80;

introduction to the work, 81;

its obscenity and cruelty, 80-82;

the better stories contained in it, 82;

the Novella of Zoroastro, cited in illustration of Italian witchcraft, 346 note 1;

his criticism of contemporary comedy, 122, 124, 143 note 1, 187;

his comedies, 181

Lascaris, John, his Greek Grammar the first Greek book printed in Italy, ii. 375;

the edition of Vicenza, 376;

his edition of four plays of Euripides, 383 note 1;

a member of the Aldine Academy, 386;

his visits to France, 386, 427;

invited by Leo to Rome, 427;

his epitaph on himself, 428

Lateran, Council of the (1513),

reasserts the Thomistic doctrine on the soul, v. 470

Latin,

the transformation of,

into the modern Romance languages, iv. 28-32;

reasons why the Italian scholars preferred Latin to Italian, ii. 447;

imperfection of their first attempts at Latin versification, 451, 482, 486;

Latinisation of names and phrases by scholars at the Renaissance, 397 (cp. 480 note 2, iv. 120, v. 507)

Latini, Brunetto,

his Tesoro, originally written in French, iv. 16;

translated into Italian, 35, 130;

Dante studies under him, 70;

reputed author of many early popular Italian works, 129

Laudesi, the (Umbrian religious societies),

origin of the name iv. 283;

gave rise by their religious practices to the Divozioni and the Sacre Rappresentazioni, 307

Laudi, the,

popular hymns in Italian, originally produced by the Umbrian religious societies, iv. 40, 283, 302, v. 519;

set to the tunes of popular songs, iv. 263, 305

Laura (daughter of Alexander VI.),

marries Nicolò della Rovere, i. 407 note 1

Laurentian library,

its formation by Cosimo de' Medici, ii. 175;

its architectural features, iii. 87

Lazzari, Bramante. (See Bramante.)

Legates, i. 35

Legnano, battle of, i. 42, 64, 95, iv. 6

Leo III.,

crowns Charles the Great as Emperor, i. 50

Leo IX., 59

Leo X.,

Machiavelli's Discorso sul Reggimento di Firenze dedicated to him, 197 note 1, 203;

his management of Florence in the Medicean interest, 222, 277, 438;

said by Pitti to have wished to give a liberal government to Florence, 288 note 1;

makes Guicciardini governor of Reggio and Modena, 296;

confers the Dukedom of Urbino on his nephew, 322, 438, ii. 420;

his remark on the election of Alexander VI., 409;

on Lionardo da Vinci's love of experiment, iii. 323;

his saying, 'Let us enjoy the Papacy since God has given it us,' i. 437, ii. 17, 412;

his policy, i. 98, 322;

his character, 435, ii. 401, 412;

his extravagance, 436-438;

contrast of Leo and Julius, 438;

his imprimatur to the editors of Tacitus, ii. 40, 425;

Aldo Manuzio's edition of Plato dedicated to him, 379;

his patronage of scholars, 404, 415, 470;

reforms the Sapienza at Rome, 426;

his visit to Florence after his election, iv. 396;

representation of Rucellai's Rosmunda before him at Florence, v. 129;

his sympathy for popular literature, 138 note 1;

theatre built by him at Rome, 144, 147;

his love of plays, 146;

causes the Calandra to be represented before Isabella of Mantua, 146;

Paolucci's account of Leo's behaviour at a representation of the Suppositi, 147;

representations of the Mandragola before Leo, 170, 325 note 1;

his dislike of the monks, 170;

presides over the Lateran Council of 1513, 470;

his doubts upon the Thomistic doctrine of immortality, 471

Leo the Isaurian, i. 50

Leoniceno, Nicolao,

his 'De Morbo Gallico,' i. 567 note 1;

his praise of Aldo Manuzio, ii. 391;

teacher in the High School of Ferrara, 427

Leonora of Aragon,

her reception by Pietro Riario at Rome, i. 390, iv. 315

Leopardi, Alessandro,

his statue of Colleoni at Venice, iii. 78 note 1, 143

Lessing,

his criticism of Ariosto's Alcina, iv. 116, v. 19

Lezia, Virginia Maria,

her trial for witchcraft, v. 346 note 1

Libraries,

formation of the great libraries, i. 21;

smallness of ancient, ii. 127;

first ideas of the formation of a public library, 166;

libraries founded by Cosmo de' Medici, 173-176. (See also Bessarion, Petrarch, &c.)

Ligorio, Piero,

his labours at S. Peter's, iii. 93

Linacre, a pupil of Poliziano and Chalcondylas, ii. 350, 387;

a member of the Aldine Academy, 387;

founds the Greek Chair at Oxford, 387, 391

Lingua Aulica, name given by Dante to the dialect adopted by the Sicilian poets, iv. 6, 22

Lippi, Filippino, his Triumph of S. Thomas in S. Maria sopra Minerva, Rome, iii. 207;

story that he was the son of Filippo Lippi, 247;

powerfully influenced by revived classicism, 248

Lippi, Fra Filippo, his genius cramped by his enforced attention to religious subjects, iii. 244;

his frescoes at Prato, 245, iv. 422, v. 54;

his frescoes at Spoleto, iii. 246;

his friendship with Lorenzo de' Medici, 247, 263

Livy, tomb of, at Padua, i. 462, ii. 30

Lodovico da Vezzano, his Tragedy of Jacopo Piccinino, v. 117 note 1

Lomazzo, his History of Painting, iii. 322 note 3;

emblems assigned by him to the great painters, 337, 488

Lombards, the, come into Italy, i. 48;

the laws of the Lombards, 49, 62;

effect of their rule, 48, 49;

the Lombard kings join the Catholic communion, 49;

their error in this, 49, 94;

the Pope brings in the Franks against the Lombards, 50, 51;

war of the Lombard cities with Frederic Barbarossa, 63, 64, 67, 68, 95, iv. 6;

little trace left by this war on Italian art, iii. 220

Lombardy, part played by, in the history of Italian art and literature, ii. 506, iii. 482-490, v. 497

—— Lombard architecture, use of the term, iii. 43;

character of the style, 47 (cp. v. 504)

—— Lombard School of Painting, the, owed its origin to Lodovico Sforza, i. 79;

Lombard masters after Lionardo da Vinci, iii. 183, 482-484;

piety of their art, 489;

richness of the Italian lake district in works of this school, 490 note 1 (cp. iv. 338)

Longo, Alberigo, Lodovico Castelvetro accused of his murder, v. 286

Lorenzetti, Ambrogio, his frescoes in the Palazzo Pubblico, Siena, 210

Lorenzetti, Ambrogio and Pietro, scholars of Giotto, iii. 197, 226;

probably the painters of the frescoes in the Campo Santo, Pisa, 200;

free from the common pietism of the Sienese painters, 216, 218

Lori, his Capitolo on Apples, v. 365

Lo Scalza, his statuary at Orvieto and elsewhere, iii. 56, 78 note 1;

his statue of S. Sebastian at Orvieto, illustrating the pagan motives introduced by the Renaissance into Christian art, 170 note 1

Losco, Antonio, made Apostolic Secretary by Gregory XII., ii. 218;

his praises of Beccadelli's Hermaphroditus, 255

Lotto, Lorenzo, iii. 503

Louis d'Orléans, his marriage to Valentina Visconti, i. 143 note 1, 154

Louis XI., of France, confers the fleurs de lys on the Medici, iv. 405

Louis XII., of France:

Machiavelli's criticism of his policy in Italy, i. 339;

invited into Italy by Alexander VI., 349, 427, 584;

his alliance with Ferdinand the Catholic, 427;

marriage of his daughter Renée to Ercole d'Este, v. 297

Louis of Bavaria, i. 81, 133

Love, the ideal of, in chivalrous poetry, iv. 59;

reality of the feeling in the medieval poets, 64;

brought back by Petrarch to experience, 94;

its character in popular Italian poetry, 272, 419

Lucca, its political history, i. 194

—— the Duomo:

monument of Ilaria del Carretto, iii. 132, 165;

monuments, &c., by Civitale, 157

Lucca:

S. Frediano, Francia's Assumption, 303 note 1

—— S. Martino, Pisano's bas-relief, 105

—— University, the:

receives a diploma from Charles IV., ii. 118

Lugano:

Church of the Angeli, Luini's frescoes, iii. 485-487 (cp. iv. 340)

Luigi da Porto, his Novelle, v. 60;

his version of the story of Romeo and Juliet, 71 note 1

Luigini, Federigo, his Libro della Bella Donna, ii. 37, v. 85 note 3

Luini, Bernardino, the scholar of Lionardo da Vinci, iii. 484;

idyllic religious beauty of his frescoes, 485-487;

their defects of composition, 487

Luna, his Vocabolario di cinque mila vocaboli toschi, v. 254 note 1

Luther:

effect of his Reformation, i. 2, 26;

his visit to Rome, ii. 408;

the Lutheran leanings of Vittoria Colonna and her circle, v. 292;

Lutheran opinions expressed by the burlesque poets, 312, 315, 325;

association in Italy, at the Reformation, of Lutheran opinions and immorality, 325

Luziano, architect of the Ducal palace at Urbino, iii. 162 note 1

MACALO, battle of, i. 161

Macaulay, his essay on Machiavelli criticised, i. 320 note 1;

quoted, 329

Maccaronic Poetry, its origin, v. 327

Machiavelli, the facts of his life, i. 232, 308, foll.;

his description of his country life, 314-317;

accused of complicity in the plot against Giulio de' Medici, 314, ii. 366, v. 239;

his servility to the Medici, i. 317, v. 170, 370;

his Epigram on Piero, Soderini, i. 324, iii. 391 (translated i. 325);

his plan for a national militia, i. 311;

his cynicism, 278, 292, v. 160 note 1, 168, 312, 385;

his analysis of character contrasted with that of Ariosto, v. 22 (cp. 432);

comparison of Machiavelli, Michelangelo, and Dante, i. 318, iii. 395;

of Machiavelli, Aretino, and Cellini, iii. 479;

of Machiavelli and Pomponazzi, v. 485;

Machiavelli and Savonarola contrasted, i. 368;

Varchi's character of him, 333;

his knowledge of the Greek classics scanty, 310, iv. 493;

indirectly indebted to Aristotle, i. 197 note 1;

directly to Polybius, v. 434 note 1;

chiefly used Livy, i. 250 note 1;

plainness and directness of his style in contrast to the prevailing love of rhetoric and form, v. 431;

division of his works into four classes, 433;

light thrown by his letters on the complications of his character, 433;

his aim partly practical, partly speculative, 435;

his opinion upon the place of religion in the State, i. 453, 454, v. 437;

his contempt for Christianity, i. 453 note 1 (cp. v. 520);

his analysis of the causes of the decay of Italy,

(1) the corruptions and ambition of the Papacy, 96, 382, 448-451, v. 436, 438, 442;

(2) the Condottiere system, i. 160 note 2, 311, v. 436;

(3) the want of a central power, i. 214, 321, 449, 450, v. 436;

difference between Machiavelli's views on the last point and those of Guicciardini, i. 44 note 1, 45 note 1;

calls Italy 'the corruption of the world,' v. 493;

his conception of patria, v. 435, 436, 442, 446;

his analysis of democracy, i. 236;

has no idea of representative government, v. 438;

urges the training of the citizens to arms, 438, 439;

indifferent as to means if his political aims could be carried out, 439-441;

his use of the word virtù, i. 171, 337 note 1, 345, 482, 484, 493, ii. 35, iii. 439, 479, v. 410, 416, 425, 440;

the ideal Prince or Saviour of Society, i. 98, 214, 321, v. 435, 439, 441;

weakness of the conception, v. 441;

Machiavelli's belief in the power of legislation, i. 202, v. 439, 442, 444;

his experience of the small Italian States prevented him from forming an adequate conception of national action, v. 443;

shared with the Humanists the belief in the possibility of a revival of the past, 444;

his severance of ethics and politics, 440, 441, 445;

his greatness based upon the scientific spirit in which he treated his subjects, 445, 447, 519;

genuineness of his patriotism, 445;

the Prince, v. 519;

composed in his retirement, i. 317;

analysis of the work, 336-367;

criticised, 367-370;

theories on the object of the Prince, 326;

its real character, 334-336, v. 443;

Machiavelli's admiration of Cesare Borgia, i. 324, 326, 345-356, v. 385;

Alexander VI. made an example of successful hypocrisy, i. 357;

observation that the temporal power of the Papacy was created by Alexander, 413;

passage quoted on the courtesy shown by the Condottieri among themselves, 162 note 1;

Hegel's criticism of the Prince, 367;

the ethics of the Prince, 321-326, 482, 484, 494. ii. 37, 312, iii. 479, v. 441;

the Istorie Fiorentine, i. 331, 332, v. 432;

written by desire of the Cardinal Giulio de' Medici, i. 331;

critique of Bruni and Poggio in the Proemium;

—— Machiavelli's own conception of history, 249;

remark on the divisions of Florence, 227;

passage on the growth of the Condottiere system, 245;

passage on Venetian policy, 215 note 1;

the censure of the Ordinanze della Giustizia, 225, 244;

the policy of Cosimo and Lorenzo de' Medici, 229 note 1, 231, iv. 386;

the contention between Church and Empire, i. 82 note 1;

the execution of Beatrice di Tenda, 152 note 2;

visit of the Duke of Milan to Florence—its effect on Florentine manners, 165;

negative testimony of Machiavelli to the natural death of Alexander VI., 430;

the Discorsi, 328, v. 432, 519;

Machiavelli's debt to Polybius, v. 434 note 1;

not really in discord with the Principe, 435;

passage quoted for Machiavelli's opinion that a city which had once been under a tyrant will never become free, i. 84, 115;

on the policy of enfeebling a hostile prince by making him odious to his subjects, 146;

treatment of tyrannicide in the Discorsi, 169;

censure of aristocracy, 186 note 1;

cynical account of Gianpaolo Baglioni's omission to assassinate Julius II., 324, 463;

the Arte della Guerra, 329, v. 432, 438, 439, 444;

the Descrizione della Peste, iii. 188, v. 433;

Discorso sopra la Riforma dello stato di Firenze, i. 328 note 1, v. 432, 439;

its Aristotelian air, i. 197 note 1;

the Vita di Castruccio Castracane, 76 note 1, 112, ii. 37, v. 432;

the Belphegor, v. 60, 433;

compared with Straparola's version of the story, 102;

criticism of Ariosto's comedies ascribed to Machiavelli, v. 156;

translation of the Andria, 157;

the comedies—doubtful authenticity of the Commedia in Prosa and the Commedia in Versi, 157, 159 note 1;

their plots, 157;

character of Fra Alberigo, 158 (cp. i. 460);

of Margherita, 159;

of Caterina and Amerigo, 160;

the Clizia, its plot, 161;

the characters, 162-164;

coarseness of the moral sentiment, 163;

sarcasm and irony of the comedy, 164;

the Mandragola, 111, 123, 165;

the plot, 165-168;

character of Fra Timoteo, 166 (cp. i. 460, v. 394);

state of society revealed by the play, 168-170;

mistake to suppose that the Mandragola was written with a moral purpose, 434;

its Prologue, as illustrating the character of Machiavelli, 170-172;

Machiavelli's comedies compared with those of Aretino and Bibbiena, 180

Maderno, Carlo, finishes S. Peter's in disregard of Michelangelo's scheme, iii. 93

Maestro Ferrara, the, his poems in the langue d'oc, iv. 16

Maggi, the, a survival, in regard to form, of the old Sacred Drama, iv. 311

Magiolini, Laura, Filelfo's third wife, ii. 280, 287

Maglioli, Sperando, traditionally said to have made the bust of Mantegna in S. Andrea, Mantua, iii. 278

Mainus, Jason, his panegyric of Alexander VI., i. 408

Maitani, Lorenzo, the architect of the Duomo of Orvieto, iii. 117

Maius, Junianus, the tutor of Sannazzaro, v. 198

Majano, Benedetto da, builds the Strozzi Palace at Florence, iii. 76, 77, 161;

his work as a sculptor in Italian churches, 78 note 1;

purity and delicacy of his work, 152;

pictorial character of his bas-reliefs, 161;

story of his journey to King Matthias Corvinus, 161 note 1

Malaspina, the Marchese Alberto, his poems in the langue d'oc, iv. 16

Malatesti, the, how they rose to power, i. 111;

sell Cervia to Venice, 114;

members of this family become Condottieri, 161

Malatesta, Carlo, throws a statue of Virgil into the Mincio, ii. 433;

Galeazzo, sells Pesaro and Fossombrone, i. 114;

Novello, his library at Cesena, ii. 303;

Pandolfo, murders Vidovero, i. 113 note 1;

Raimondo and Pandolfo, assassination of, 121;

Sigismondo Pandolfo, contradictions of his character, 173, ii. 303;

his crimes, i. 421 note 1, 428 note 1;

his removal of Pletho's remains to Rimini, 173, 461, ii. 34, 209;

his portrait by Piero della Francesca, iii. 235

Malespini Family, the, Chronicle of, i. 251;

its disputed authorship, 252 note 1, iv. 36

Malespini, Celio, his Ducento Novelle, v. 60

Mallory, Sir Thomas, comparison of his Mort d'Arthur with the Reali di Francia, iv. 246

Malpaga, Castle of, the frescoes there attributed to Cariani, iii. 368 note 1

Mancina, Faustina, the Roman courtesan, ii. 488, v. 225, 226

Manetti, Giannozzo, one of the circle in Santo Spirito, ii. 102, 188;

learns Greek from Chrysoloras and Traversari, 110, 189;

ruined by Cosimo de' Medici, 170, 191;

pronounces the funeral oration over Bruni, 185;

his industry in acquiring knowledge, 188;

his reputation for oratory, 190;

maintained by Nicholas V. after his exile, 192, 228;

greatness of his character, 192;

attempted to harmonise Christian and classical traditions, 332

Manfred, King of Sicily, his death at the battle of Benevento, iv. 21, 27, 48;

story of his wandering with music of evenings through Barletta, 415 note 1

Manfredi di Boccaccio, sentiment of despair expressed in his poems, iv. 165

Manfredi, the, of Faenza, i. 111, 353, 375, 428

—— Astorre (1), sells Faenza and Imola, i. 114;

Astorre (2), 292;

murdered by Cæsar Borgia, 428 note 1;

Galeotto, murdered by his wife, Francesca Bentivogli, 119 note 2, 428 note 1;

Taddeo, one of Vittorino da Feltre's scholars, 177

Mangini della Motta, Giovanni, his poem on the downfall of Antonio della Scala, v. 117 note 1

Mansueti, Venetian painter, iii. 362

Mantegna, Andrea, founded no school of local artists, iii. 184;

owed his training to Squarcione, 270 note 1;

his frescoes in the Eremitani, Padua, 270;

his inspiration derived from the antique, 272, 362, 382;

the Triumph of Julius Cæsar, 273, 277;

tragic power of his compositions, 274;

the Madonna of the Victory, 275;

enters the service of the Gonzaga family at Mantua, 276;

his visit to Rome, 277;

his domestic circumstances, 277;

his monument in S. Andrea, Mantua, 278;

his treatment of the antique compared with that of Signorelli and Botticelli, 291;

his art illustrated by the Arcadia of Sannazzaro, v. 203

Mantegna, Francesco (son of Andrea), iii. 277

Mantovano, Battista, cited for the irreligiousness and pride of the Humanists, ii. 518, 521

Mantovano, Francesco, his drama upon the history of General Lautrec, iv. 358

Mantua: San Andrea (by Alberti), ii. 342, iii. 70 note 1, 75;

Mantegna's monument, 278;

Palazzo del Te, decorations of, by Giulio Romano, ii. 440, iii. 83, 492, iv. 403, v. 229, 389

Manuscripts: the quest of manuscripts at the commencement of the Renaissance, ii. 131-140

Manuzio, Aldo, i. 24, ii. 368, 373;

his panegyrics of Lucrezia Borgia, i. 422;

story of the appearance of his edition of Plato, ii. 16 (cp. 379);

his dedication of Aristotle quoted, 330 note 2;

his birth and education, 373;

his Greek Press at Venice, 377, v. 497;

his assistants, ii. 378;

his industry, 378;

his generous spirit and love of his art, 380, 390;

original prices of his editions, 381;

list of first editions of Greek classics printed by him, 382;

his Latin and Italian publications, 383;

his Academy at Venice, 385, v. 272;

his marriage and death, ii. 388;

his successors, 389;

meaning of his motto, 389;

his modesty and nobility of character, 368, 390, 523;

greatness of his work, 391;

his prefaces, &c., cited for the sufferings of scholars, 542;

Aldo, the grandson, ii. 389;

Antonio, son of Aldo, 388;

Manutio, son of Aldo, 388;

Paolo, son of Aldo, 385, 388

Marcello, Cristoforo, tortured by the Spaniards during the Sack of Rome, ii. 444

Marchesa, Cassandra, her relations to Sannazzaro, v. 199

Marco Polo, translation of his Travels into Italian, iv. 35

Marcolini, Francesco, his account of Aretino's life at Venice, v. 398 note 2, 400 note 3

Marescotti, the, at Bologna, their history, i. 124, 427

Margaret of Castile (wife of Alfonso the Magnanimous);

her murder of Margaret de Hijar, i. 570

Margaret de Hijar, murder of her by Queen Margaret, i. 570

Mariconda, Antonio, his Novelle, v. 60

Marino, Giovanni Battista, the Adone, v. 244, 257;

his conceits referred to Aretino's mannerism, 417

Marliano, Bartolommeo, his Topography of Rome, ii. 428

Marlowe, his Edward II. quoted for the character of Italian plays, v. 111

Marone, his losses in the Sack of Rome, ii. 444

Marrani, popular name of contempt for the Spaniards in Italy, i. 410, 553

Marsigli, Luigi, influence of, through the society founded by him in S. Spirito, ii. 101-103, 189

Marston (the dramatist), his testimony to the profligacy of Venice, i. 473;

his Prologue to Antonio and Mellida quoted, v. 115, 521

Marsuppini, Carlo, a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, ii. 100;

learns Greek from Chrysoloras, 110;

his lectures at Florence, and public funeral there, 186 (cp. 530);

story of his being surpassed by Manetti in speaking before Frederick III., 190;

made Papal Secretary by Eugenius IV., 220

Martelli, Lodovico, his Tragedy of Tullia, v. 135;

disputes the genuineness of Dante's De Vulgari Eloquio against Trissone, 306;

Niccolò, his correspondence with Aretino, 410 note 1

Martin V., story of his irritation at the verses sung by the Florentines beneath his window, iv. 258

Martini, Simone, reputed painter of frescoes in S. Maria Novella, iii. 205 note 1, 217;

not wholly free from the faults of the Sienese painters, 216, 218;

his fame during his lifetime, 216;

various works by him, 217;

mention of him by Petrarch, 217 note 1

Masaccio, i. 170 note 1;

the pupil of Masolino, iii. 229 note 1;

the greatest of the early painters of the Renaissance, 229;

comparison of Masaccio and Giotto, 230;

his early death, 231;

comparison of Masaccio and Fra Angelico, 240

Masolino, the master of Masaccio, iii. 229 note 1

Massimi, the, at Rome, their protection of Sweynheim and Pannartz, ii. 368

Masuccio, quoted for the corruptions of the Roman Church, i. 458 note 2, iv. 180, 181 (cp. v. 499);

for the Italian ideas of honour, 486 note 2;

his style modelled on the Decameron, iv. 136, 178;

character of his language, 179;

comparison between Masuccio, Boccaccio, and Sacchetti, 179;

his aristocratic feeling, 179;

his earnestness, 180;

his art, 181;

superior in moral feeling to Boccaccio, 183;

alluded to by Pulci, 255 note 1

Matarazzo, cited, i. 22, 158 note 1,

225;

his account of Grifonetto Baglioni's massacre of his kinsmen, 123;

of the misgovernment of the Baglioni, 130;

cited for the spread of syphilis from Charles's army, 567 note 1;

his testimony to the welcome of the French by the common people in Italy, 583 note 2;

on the comeliness of person of Astorre Baglioni, ii. 31;

great value of his work, iv. 177;

said to be identical with Francesco Maturanzio, 183 note 3

Mattasalà di Spinello dei Lambertini, his accounts of expenditure, an early memorial of the Sienese dialect, iv. 35

Matteo, and Bonino, da Campione. (See Campione, Matteo and Bonino.)

Matteo da Civitale. (See Civitale, Matteo da.)

Matthaeus, Johannes, his verses upon the death of Navagero, ii. 488

Maturanzio, Francesco, said to be identical with Matarazzo, iv. 183 note 3

Mauro, a member of the Vignajuoli Academy at Rome, ii. 366, v. 357;

his Capitoli, v. 365

Maximilian I., the Emperor, i. 100, v. 301;

his relations with Charles VIII., i. 542;

betrothed to Bianca, niece of Lodovico Sforza, 544 note 1;

joins the League of Venice against Charles, 576

Maximus, Pacificus, his Poems, ii. 519

Mazochi, Jacopo, his collection of Roman Inscriptions, ii. 429

Mazzocchi del Bondeno, Giovanni, the first publisher of the Orlando Furioso, iv. 497

Mazzola, Francesco. (See Parmigianino.)

Mazzoni, Guido (Il Modanino), his Pietà in terra cotta in Monte Oliveto, Naples, ii. 365, iii. 163

Medicean Library, its foundation, i. 21, ii. 174

Medici, the, i. 88;

their patronage of art, 80;

disputed question of its nature, iii. 263, iv. 39;

their tyranny partly produced by political exhaustion, i. 82;

supported by the people, 87, ii. 171, 316, 317, iv. 385;

their rise to power, i. 114, 228-231;

their expulsion, 222;

are restored, 223, 314;

their contest with the Albizzi, 227 note 1, ii. 167, 170, iv. 176;

their policy, i. 228, 282, ii. 165, 167, 312, 317, iii. 264, iv. 385;

foundation of the Medicean interests in Rome, i. 404, ii. 315;

raised above common tyrants by their love of culture, ii. 33;

have the fleurs de lys of France conferred on them by Louis XI., iv. 405

Medici, Alessandro de', Duke of Cività di Penna, i. 231;

murdered by his cousin Lorenzino, 170, 223, 277, 287, 468, ii. 317, iii. 438, v. 118, 381 note 1;

poisons his cousin Ippolito, i. 277, v. 358, 381 note 1;

leaves Florence, i. 286, iii. 414;

accused by the Florentines before Charles V., 232, 280, 298;

protects Cellini from the consequences of a homicide, iii. 458;

the story that he had Berni poisoned, v. 358;

Averardo de', i. 212 note 1;

Catherine de', her marriage to the Duke of Orleans, 287;

Clarice de', wife of Filippo Strozzi, 286;

Cosimo de' (the elder), his return to Florence, iv. 259;

his policy at Florence, i. 87, 102, 155, 212, 228, ii. 312, iii. 438;

Guicciardini's critique of his taxation, i. 305;

the impersonation of his age, 492, ii. 168, 170, iii. 228, 262, 325;

his regret that he had not built more, ii. 38, 172;

his patronage of letters, 165, 168, 173, 177, 225;

subtlety of his character, 169;

his cruelty, 170;

sums spent by him in building, 171, 172;

consults Pope Eugenius as to how he should make restitution for his ill-gotten gains, 172;

builds the Library of S. Giorgio at Venice during his exile, 173;

his Libraries at Florence, i. 21, ii. 174-176, iii. 263;

his versatility of talent, ii. 176;

his political cynicism expressed by his sayings, 19, 177;

founds the Academy of Florence, 177, 207, v. 272;

his conversations with Gemistos, ii. 207;

rejects Brunelleschi's plans for the Casa Medici, iii. 76;

said to have instigated the poisoning of Il Burchiello, iv. 260;

Cosimo de' (first Grand Duke), i. 223, 229;

his elevation due to Guicciardini, 280, 300;

diverts the Florentines from commerce, 186 note 1;

his petty, meddling character, iii. 476;

Ferrando de', his marriage to Cristina of Lorraine, iv. 325;

Giovanni de' (see Leo X.);

Giovanni de' (delle Bande Nere), his friendship with Aretino, v. 390;

his death, 391;

Giuliano de' (the elder), assassination of, i. 168 note 1, 396-398, iv. 401 note 1, 406;

his love for Simonetta la Bella, iv. 374, 403, 420;

his Tournament, 403;

Giuliano de', Duke of Nemours, i. 184, ii. 314;

refuses the Duchy of Urbino, i. 438;

his Pageant of the Golden Age. iv. 396-398;

his tomb at San Lorenzo, i. 314, 319, iii. 415;

Cardinal Giulio de' (see Clement VII.);

Cardinal Ippolito de', leaves Florence, i. 286, iii. 414;

founds a club for the study of Vitruvius at Rome, ii. 366;

said to have maintained three hundred poets, 405;

poisoned by his cousin Alessandro, i. 277, v. 358, 381 note 1;

portraits of him by Titian and Pontormo, ii. 27;

the story that he had Berni poisoned, v. 358;

Lorenzino de', assassinates his cousin Alessandro, i. 170, 223, 277, 287, 468, iii. 438, v. 118, 381 note 1;

his Apology, i. 468, v. 517;

murdered by Bibboni, i. 480 note 3;

Cellini's character of him, iii. 463;

his comedy, the Aridosio, v. 182;

Lorenzo de' (brother of Cosimo the elder), patronises Marsuppini, ii. 187;

Lorenzo de', the Magnificent, his suspicious temper, i. 119;

his appropriation of public moneys, 305;

Guicciardini's character of him, 308;

describes Rome to his son Giovanni as 'the sink of all vices,' 421 (cp. v. 190), v. 274;

attempt on his life, i. 397 note 2;

balance of power created by him in Italy, 404 note 2, 538, 544, ii. 315, iv. 368;

his character the type of the Renaissance, i. 504, 505, 523, ii. 321, iv. 384;

recalls Savonarola to Florence, i. 521;

his dying interview with Savonarola, 523, iv. 384;

universality of his genius, ii. 10, 320;

transfers the High School of Florence to Pisa, 122;

his policy, ii. 315, iii. 264, iv. 369, 386;

without commercial talent, ii. 317;

the true view of his character, 318, iv. 39, 387;

literary society gathered round him, ii. 322;

his love of the vernacular literature, 393, iv. 3, 236, 370, v. 508;

has a monument erected to Filippo Lippi, iii. 247;

his character typically Florentine, iv. 371;

wins the prize of valour at a tournament in 1468, 405;

his taste for buffoonery, 430 note 2;

Ariosto's character of him in the satires, 516;

character of his poems, 371, 372;

his Lauds, 302, 384;

his sacred drama, S. Giovanni e Paolo, 320, 324, 384;

his treatment of love, 373-375;

the Sonnet to Venus and that to the Evening Star translated, 373;

analytical character of his genius, 377;

the Selve d'Amore, 376-380;

passages translated, 376-380;

use of the ottava rima in the Selve, 379;

the Corinto, 379;

passage translated, 380;

the Ambra, 380;

the Nencia da Barberino and other rustic poems, 381, v. 223;

the Beoni, iv. 172, 382;

his Canzoni a Ballo, 385-388;

his Canti Carnascialeschi, 388-392 (cp. i. 461);

the Song of Bacchus and Ariadne translated, 390;

said to have originated this form of composition, 388, v. 355;

Lorenzo de' (nephew of Leo X.), made Duke of Urbino by Leo, i. 322, 438, ii. 420, iv. 396;

advised by Filippo Strozzi to make himself Duke of Florence, 286;

Machiavelli's Prince dedicated to him, 319;

Maddalena de', married to Franceschetto, son of Innocent VIII., 404;

Piero de' (Il Gottosa), ii. 313;

Piero de' (the younger), i. 305;

his cowardly surrender of the Tuscan fortresses, 525, 559;

his relation to the Orsini, 543;

inclines to friendship with Naples, 543;

his weak and foolish character, i. 544;

driven out by the Florentines, 559, iii. 389

Melanchthon, the pupil of Reuchlin, ii. 208, 210

Melozzo da Forli, his picture of Sixtus IV. among his Cardinals, i. 384 note 1, iii. 236 note 1;

his picture of Frederick, Duke of Urbino, and his Court, ii. 304, iii. 236 note 1;

the pupil of Piero della Francesca, iii. 235

Melzi, Francesco, the scholar of Lionardo da Vinci, iii. 484

Memling, comparison of his works with those of the Venetian masters, iii. 361

Memmi, Simone. (See Martini, Simone.)

Merula, quoted for the justice of Azzo Visconti, i. 83 note 1

Messina Cathedral, the, marble panellings in, iii. 79 note 3;

Montorsoli's fountain, 177

Metres, the question why different nations have adopted different metres, iv. 24;

the Italian hendecasyllabic, 24 note 1 (see Appendix i.);

the ottava rima popularised by Boccaccio's Teseide, 118;

use of the ottava rima by Lorenzo de' Medici and Poliziano, 379, 382, 403;

of the terza rima in Capitoli and Satires, 519;

vicissitudes of the terza rima after Dante, 172;

employment of the terza rima in the sixteenth century, v. 367;

originality of the Italian metrical systems, 510

Michelet, quoted, i. 10;

his formula of the Discovery of World and Man, 15 note 1 (cp. v. 526);

his remark that the French alone understood Italy, criticised, 585;

his description of the building of Brunelleschi's Dome at Florence, iii. 67

Michelotti, Biordo, murder of, i. 123, 148 note 2

Michelozzo, his work as an architect, ii. 440;

builds the Riccardi Palace at Florence, iii. 76;

employed by Cosimo de' Medici, 263

Middle Ages, their ignorance, i. 6, 13, 20, 24;

the beauty of nature unappreciated in the middle ages, 13;

progress effected by the middle ages, 6, 7;

conception of life in, 10, 13, 14, iv. 289, v. 454, 455, 456;

memories of antiquity in the middle ages, ii. 52;

character of the middle ages illustrated from the Faust Legend, 53;

low state of scholarship in the middle ages, 58 foll.;

materialism and mysticism of the middle ages, iii. 9;

architecture the pre-eminent art of the middle ages, 10;

uncompromising Christianity of the middle ages, 26;

medieval prepossession with death, hell, and judgment, i. 13, iii. 198, 201, iv. 74, v. 454, 471;

medieval ideas of the claims of the Church illustrated by paintings of the Triumph of Thomas, iii. 205-210;

medieval theories of government illustrated by Lorenzetti's frescoes at Siena, 210-214;

allegory in the middle ages, iv. 74, 81;

the fabliaux of the middle ages, 107;

satire in the middle ages, 108;

treatment of women by medieval authors, 212;

types of womanhood created by medieval authors, 352;

abandonment of scholasticism for the humanities, v. 450, 457;

medieval speculation never divorced from theology, 457

Milan, greatness of, under the rule of the Bishops, i. 53, 58, 59;

heads the league against Frederick, 64, 81;

becomes the centre of the Ghibelline party, 81;

hostility of Milan and Piacenza, 151, 162 note 1, 212;

luxury of Milan, v. 68 note 3;

corruption of the Milanese Court, i. 326, 548 note 1, 554, v. 191;

early printers of Greek at Milan, ii. 375;

the wealth of Milan due to the Naviglio Grande, iii. 41;

share of Milan in the development of Italian literature, iv. 364

—— Duomo, the, built by the Visconti, i. 141, iii. 42;

German influence in its design, iii. 50;

its merits and defects, illustrating the character of Italian Gothic, 57;

S. Eustorgio, chapel of S. Peter Martyr, terra-cotta work in, iii. 79, 151;

shrine, 123;

S. Gottardo, the tower, i. 133 note 2, iii. 42;

S. Maurizio Maggiore, Luini's frescoes, iii. 485-487 (cp. v. 62)

Milan: Hospital, the, iii. 59, 77

Milton, his eulogy of the Italian Academies, ii. 367;

his indebtedness in Lycidas to Renaissance Latin verse, 490 (cp. 497 note 2);

compared with Michelangelo, iii. 388;

comparison of his epics with the Italia Liberata of Trissino, v. 308;

his description (in the Areopagitica) of the decay of Italian learning, 480;

his conception of the poet's vocation in opposition to Italian ideas, 521

Minerbi, his Vocabulary of Boccaccio's Diction, v. 254 note 1

Mino da Fiesole, his work as a sculptor in Italian churches, iii. 78 note 1;

delicacy and purity of his work, 152 (cp. iv. 66);

his skill in character portraits, iii. 158

Minorite Friars, the, their denunciation of Beccadelli's Hermaphroditus, ii. 256;

their attacks on Valla, 261, 263

Miracle plays, exhibition of, in the Trevisan Marches, iv. 15, 306;

rarity of, in medieval Italy, 306;

their place supplied by the Divozioni and the Sacre Rappresentazioni, 307

Mirandola, Alberto Pico della, murder of, ii. 423;

Galeazzo Pico della, (1) died under excommunication, i. 133 note 1;

(2) murders his uncle, Giovanni Francesco, 119 note 2, ii. 423;

Galeotto Pico della, ii. 422;

Giovanni Francesco Pico della, the biographer of Savonarola, i. 520, ii. 36, 423;

his description of the effect of Savonarola's preaching, i. 511;

his belief in Savonarola's gift of prophecy, 512 note 1;

his account of the dying interview of Lorenzo de' Medici with Savonarola, 523 note 1;

influence of Savonarola upon him, ii. 423;

his address on the Reformation of the Church, 423;

his friendship with Northern scholars, 423;

murdered by his nephew, i. 119 note 2, ii. 423;

Lodovico Pico della, ii. 422;

Pico della, on the expulsion of the Jews by Ferdinand, i. 401;

his attempt to fuse Christianity and ancient philosophy, 171, 456, ii. 470, iii. 35, v. 452, 453;

the friend of Savonarola, i. 520;

his apology for the schoolmen, ii. 333, v. 450;

universality of his genius, ii. 10;

in common with the rest of his age did not comprehend Plato's system, v. 452;

his 'Oration on the Dignity of Man' quoted, ii. 48;

his influence on Italian thought, 207;

value of his labours, v. 453;

one of the circle gathered round Lorenzo de' Medici, ii. 322, 329;

description of him by Poliziano, 329;

his portrait in the Uffizi Gallery, 330;

his devotion to learning, 330, 523;

his great memory, 331;

condemned for heresy on account of his 900 theses, 332;

his ideal of knowledge, 332;

studies the Cabbala, 334;

his attack on astrology, 335;

his contempt for mere style, 526;

his Latin correspondence, 532;

preferred Lorenzo de' Medici to Petrarch as a poet, iv. 236

Miscomini, Antonio, an early printer at Florence, ii. 369

Modena, verses sung by the soldiers on guard against the Huns there, iv. 12 (cp. Appendix i.)

Molza, Francesco Maria, facts of his life, v. 225-228;

a member of the Roman Academy, ii. 361;

of the Vignajuoli, 366, v. 357;

patronized by Ippolito de' Medici, ii. 405;

sides with Caro in his quarrel with Castelvetro, v. 286;

his correspondence with Aretino, 410 note 1;

his Latin poems, ii. 488-490, v. 228;

passage translated (in prose), 489;

his Decamerone, v. 60;

Molza as an Italian poet, 228-234;

the Ninfa Tiberina, 225, 229;

illustrated by contemporary art, 229;

Molza's use of the octave stanza, 230;

analysis of the poem, 230-234;

translations, 231, 232, 233;

the Capitoli, 284, 364

Molza, Tarquinia, granddaughter of the poet, v. 288

Monaldeschi, the Chronicler, quoted, i. 252

Monarchy: why Italy did not become a monarchy, i. 92-95

Montaigne, entertained by Veronica Franco at Venice in 1580, v. 288

Montalcino, his execution, v. 478

Montanini, the, at Siena, v. 99

Montano, the Bolognese scholar, i. 165

Montaperti, battle of, iii. 214

Monte Labbate, Conte di, his letter to Pompeo Pace, describing the influence exercised by Aretino, v. 402 note 2

Montefalco, Gozzoli's frescoes, iii. 242

Montefeltro, the House of, i. 110, 375;

members of this family become Condottieri, 161

—— Agnesina da, mother of Vittoria Colonna, v. 289;

Frederick da, Duke of Urbino, the suspicion of his legitimacy, i. 102;

his life and character, 174-181;

receives the Garter from Henry VII., 181;

his library, ii. 304;

the picture of him and his Court by Melozzo da Forli, 304, iii. 236 note 1;

his portrait by Piero della Francesca, iii. 235;

Giovanna da, daughter of Frederick, Duke of Urbino, married to Giovanni della Rovere, i. 182 note 2, 393. ii. 419;

Guidobaldo da, Duke of Urbino, his character and accomplishments, i. 181-182;

receives the Garter from Henry VII., ii. 420;

Bembo's Dialogue in praise of him, 412;

Oddo Antonio da, murder of, i. 121

Montemurlo, battle of, i. 287

Montesecco, Giambattista, his share in the Pazzi Conspiracy, i. 397, 398

Montferrat, the House of, i. 52, 57, 110, 146 note 1

Monti, the, names for successive governments at Siena, i. 35, 207, 616, ii. 164, iii. 212 note 1

Montorsoli, Gian Angelo, follower of Michelangelo, iii. 172;

his fountain at Messina, 177

Monza, battle of, i. 161

Morando, Benedetto, his quarrel with Valla, ii. 242

Morello, Il, iii. 503

Morena, Ottone, his Chronicle of Milan, i. 251

Morone, Giovanni, his friendship with Vittoria Colonna, v. 292

Morone, Girolamo, his intrigue with the Marquis of Pescara, v. 290

Moroni, Giovanni Battista, his genius in portrait-painting, iii. 503 (cp. v. 278)

Morosini, Paolo, his consolatory letter to Filelfo on the death of his wife, ii. 287

Mosca, his statuary at Orvieto, iii. 56

Mucchio da Lucca, his Sonnet on Dante, iv. 162

Museum, Capitol, foundation of the, ii. 431;

Vatican, foundation of the, 431;

description of the sculptures there by a Venetian envoy, 434-436

Music: the development of music, iii. 36;

music the essentially modern art, 37;

difference between Italian and German music, v. 516

Mussato, Albertino, his Eccerinis, v. 117 note 1;

cited for the traditional reverence of Livy at Padua, iv. 12

Mussi, his Milanese annals, i. 81

Musurus, Marcus, the assistant of Aldo Manuzio, ii. 378;

a member of the Aldine Academy, 386;

his knowledge of Latin, 386 note 2;

made Bishop of Malvasia, 402;

lectures in Leo's Gymnasium at Rome, 427

Muzio, his Life of Duke Frederick of Urbino, quoted, i. 174

Muzio, Girolamo, his Battaglie, v. 271 note 1

NANTIPORTO, quoted, i. 22

Naples, entry of the French into Naples, i. 566, 575, ii. 363;

history of the Neapolitan Kingdom under the Aragonese Dynasty, 567-574;

hostility of Naples to the Church, ii. 260, 265;

feudalism lasted longer in Naples than in other parts of Italy, 251, iv. 460, v. 499;

insecurity of life in Naples, i. 569;

Neapolitan manners described in the Poems of Pontano, v. 217;

beauty of Naples, 201;

traces of French influence on Neapolitan architecture, iii. 44;

character of Neapolitan culture, ii. 250, 265;

Neapolitan influence on literature, v. 213 foll.;

sensuousness of Neapolitan writers, ii. 251, 364, 468, iv. 26, 364, v. 213, 499, 521

—— Monte Oliveto, Fra Giovanni's tarsia-work. iii. 78 note 2;

Rosellino's altarpiece, 153;

Benedetto's Annunciation, 160;

Mazzoni's Pietà, ii. 365, iii. 163, v. 198

—— Academy, the, ii. 362, 364

—— University, the, founded by Frederick II., ii. 116;

its subsequent vicissitudes, 117

Neapolitan School of Painters, the, their brutality, iii. 25, 187

Nardi, Jacopo, cited, i. 226, 229 note 2;

pleads for the Florentine exiles before Charles V., 232, 280;

his History of Florence, 278, 279;

on the democratic side, 290;

character and value of his work, 291, 292;

his account of Savonarola, 290, 292, 511 note 1, 512 note 1, 534 note 1;

his account of Guicciardini, 299 note 2;

cited for the murder of the Manfredi, 292, 428 note 1;

acts as peacemaker in Cellini's quarrel with the Florentine exiles, iii. 463;

aids in the composition of the Pageant of the Golden Age, iv. 397.

(See Appendix ii., vol. i. for translation of a passage on the government of Florence.)

Narses, brings the Lombards into Italy, i. 47

Navagero, Andrea, a member of the Aldine Academy, ii. 387;

his flattery of Julius II., 494;

his Venetian origin, illustrating the loss of intellectual supremacy by Florence, 506;

his Latin poems, their beauty and grace, 453, 485-488;

translations (prose) 485-488

Naviglio Grande, construction of the, iii. 41

Nelli, Giustiniano, his Novelle, v. 60

Nepotism of the Popes, i. 113, 303, 372, 375, 388, 392, 413, 434

Neri and Bianchi factions, the, at Florence, i. 221, 225;

at Pistoja, 210 note 2

Nerli, Filippo, his History of Florence, i. 278, 279;

took part in the political events of his time, 280;

belonged to the Medicean party, 290;

value of his work, 293;

his account of Machiavelli's Discourses in the Rucellai Gardens, 328, ii. 366;

cited for the downfall of Cesare Borgia's plans after the death of his father, i. 431

Neroni, Diotisalvi, his conspiracy against Piero de' Medici, ii. 314

Niccolò da Correggio, his drama of Cefalo, iv. 357, v. 221;

acted before Duke Ercole at Ferrara, v. 139

Niccoli, Niccolò de', turns Piero de' Pazzi from a life of pleasure to study, ii. 41;

one of the circle in Santo Spirito, 102;

helps to bring Chrysoloras to Florence, 109, 110;

cited for the practice of scholars making their own copies of MSS., 131, 179;

generosity of Cosimo de' Medici to him, 173;

his bequest of MSS., 174, 178;

his zeal in collecting MSS., 178;

his judgment of style, 179;

his literary dictatorship at Florence, 180;

Vespasiano's account of him, 181;

his exacting temperament, 182, 275;

did not know Greek, 194 note 1;

his kindness to Poggio, 230 note 1;

his quarrel with Bruni, 243;

his contempt for Dante, iv. 436

Niccolò da Padova, quotes Turpin as his authority for his History of Charlemagne, iv. 439 note 1

Nicholas of Breslau, an early printer at Florence, ii. 369

Nicholas II., i. 60

Nicholas V., his catalogue of Niccolò Niccoli's MSS., ii. 174, 175, 225;

his humble birth, 222;

comes to Florence, 223;

acts as tutor in the households of Rinaldo degli Albizzi and Palla degli Strozzi, 165, 223;

generosity of Cosimo de' Medici to him while Bishop of Bologna, 173;

his character, 244 (cp. 523);

his election to the Papacy, i. 371, ii. 173, 225;

his speech to Vespasiano after his election, ii. 226;

restores the Papal Court to Rome, i. 88;

his treaty with the great Italian States, 89;

description of his administration by Leo Alberti, 377;

receives Manetti after his exile, ii. 192, 228;

founds the Vatican Library, i. 21, ii. 227;

his policy, i. 377-380, ii. 227;

his project for rebuilding St. Peter's, i. 379, iii. 90;

why he did nothing for the Roman University, ii. 227;

translations executed by his command, 228, 402;

rewards Filelfo for his Satires, 236 (cp. 514);

employs Poggio against the Anti-Pope Felix, 237;

his toleration, as shown by his protection of Valla, 262;

his destruction of ancient monuments at Rome, 430;

his Will, i. 379

Nicholas of Treves, sends a MS. of Plautus to Rome, ii. 140

Nifo, Agostino, takes part in the controversy raised by the publication of Pomponazzi's De Immortalitate Animæ, v. 460

Niger, Hieronymus, cited for the wickedness of Rome, ii. 446

Nino (son of Andrea da Pontedera), sculptor of the Madonna della Rosa in the Spina Chapel, iii. 123

Nobility, Italian ideas of, i. 186 note 1, iv. 125

Nobles, the, excluded from the government of Florence, i. 224, iv. 27, 51

Nocera, establishment of a Saracen colony there by Frederick II., i. 105

Nominalists, the, v. 466, 467

Norcia, one of the two chief centres of Italian witchcraft, v. 346

Normans, the Norman conquest of Southern Italy, i. 58, ii. 251

Novelists, the Italian, their testimony to the corruption of the Roman Church, i. 458, 476, 486 note 1, ii. 406, iv. 180, 181;

to Florentine immorality, iv. 337 note 2;

importance of the novella in the history of the Renaissance, 158;

the novella especially suited to the Italian genius, 426, v. 52, 53, 106, 114-116;

manner in which women are treated by the novelists, iv. 212, v. 185;

versified novels of the Quattro Cento, iv. 249-255;

testimony of the novelists to the great intercourse between the Italian provinces from 1200-1550, 271;

the Novelle written for the amusement of the bourgeoisie, v. 52;

definition of the word novella, 54;

the Novelle originally recitations, 55;

subjects and material of the Novelle, 55-57, 59;

their object was amusement, 56, 57;

their indelicacy, as illustrating contemporary manners, 58;

inequality of merit among them, 58;

reasons why the Elizabethan dramatists were attracted to them, 59, 117;

the Introductions of the Novelle, 61;

degree in which they are to be accepted as fiction, 81;

characteristics of the novelists of Siena, 96;

the scope and limitations of the Novelle, 107;

influence of the Novelle upon the theatre, 161, 181, 187

Novellino, Il, or Le Novelle Antiche, the first collection of Italian stories, iv. 107, 129

Novels, defect of the Italians in true novels of the modern type, v. 120

OCHINO, Fra Bernardino, his friendship with Vittoria Colonna, v. 292

Odasio, the tutor of Guidobaldo, Duke of Urbino, i. 181

Odassi, Tifi, said to have been the inventor of Maccaronic verse, v. 329 note 3;

quoted in illustration of its character, 328 note 1;

the description of a bad painter, 330;

possibly the author of the anonymous poem on Vigonça, 331;

his use of the Maccaronic style, 336

Oddi, the, at Perugia, i. 225;

worsted by the Baglioni, 115, 123

Odo delle Colonne, shows in his Lament traces of genuine Italian feeling, iv. 26

Odoacer, i. 46

Oggiono, Marco d', the Scholar of Lionardo da Vinci, iii. 484

Ognibene da Lonigo, effect of his teaching at Vicenza, ii. 249

Olgiati, Girolamo, one of the assassins of Galeazzo Maria Sforza, i. 166, 466, v. 119

Oliverotto da Fermo, his murder of his uncle, i. 119 note 2, 168 note 1, 354;

takes part in the Diet of La Magione, 351;

murdered at Sinigaglia by Cesare Borgia, 351

Onestà, Italian ideas of, i. 485

Onesto, Bolognese poet, iv. 48

Onore, use of the word in Italian, i. 481, 485, iv. 180 note 1 (see Tasso);

illustrated by the life of Benvenuto Cellini, iii. 449

Orange, the Prince of, in command at the Siege of Florence, iii. 414;

wounded at the capture of Rome, 455;

his troops destroy Sannazzaro's villa at Naples, v. 199

Orcagna (Andrea Arcagnuolo di Cione), completes the Church of Orsammichele, Florence, iii. 63, 124;

comprehensiveness of his genius, 124;

the tabernacle there, 125;

architect of the Loggia del Bigallo, 125;

influence of his master, Giotto, upon him, 125, 197;

his frescoes in the Strozzi Chapel, S. Maria Novella, 199;

beauty of his faces, 200 note 1;

probably not the painter of the frescoes in the Campo Santo, Pisa, 200;

his sincerity, v. 195;

influenced by Dante, iii. 283 note 2;

his Sonnet on Love, iv. 39 note 1

Ordelaffi, the, of Forli, i. 111, 375;

their patronage of learning, ii. 302

Ordinanze della Giustizia, the, at Florence, i. 224, 238, 244

Orlandi, the Pisan orator, i. 343

Orlandini, Zuccagni, his estimation of the population of Florence, i. 209

Orleans, claim of the house of Orleans to Milan, i. 154 note 1, 339

Orleans, Duke of, i. 577, 579, 581

Orpheus, fitness of his legend to express the Renaissance, iv. 410, v. 450;

the Orfeo (see Poliziano)

Orsini, the, members of this family become Condottieri, i. 161;

their rise to power, 375;

contest between the Orsini and Cesare Borgia, 349-352;

destroyed by Alexander VI., 413;

devoted to Naples, 543;

related by marriage to the Medici, 543, ii. 314, 354;

—— Clarice, wife of Lorenzo de' Medici, i. 314, ii. 354;

Francesco, murdered at Sinigaglia by Cesare Borgia, 351, 353;

Paolo, murdered at Sinigaglia by Cesare Borgia, 351;

Cardinal, takes part in the Diet of La Magione, 351;

Virginio, 552;

buys Anguillara from Franceschetto Cibo, 545;

makes terms with Charles VIII., 564

Ortolana, the, an Academy at Piacenza: Domenichi and Doni members, v. 88

Orvieto, Duomo, the, illustrates the defects of Italian Gothic, iii. 53;

contrasted with Northern cathedrals, 56;

Signorelli's frescoes, ii. 440, iii. 56, 280, 281, 282;

its façade, iii. 116;

importance of its sculptures in the history of Italian art, 117;

Fra Angelico's frescoes, 283 note 1;

Perugino invited to work there, 296 note 1, 299

Osnaga, Orsina, Filelfo's second wife, ii. 280

Otho I., i. 52;

assumes the title of King of Italy, 52, 53

Ottimati, name given to the party of the oligarchy at Florence, ii. 441

Oziosi, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

PACCHIA, GIROLAMO DEL, the scholar of Sodoma, iii. 501

Padua, traditional reverence for Livy there, iv. 12

Padua, S. Antonio: Andrea Riccio's candelabrum, iii. 78 note 1;

Donatello's bas-reliefs, 140, 270 note 1;

Chapel of the Arena, iii. 190, iv. 298;

the Eremitani, Mantegna's frescoes, iii. 270;

Hall of the Ragione, 60, iv. 130

—— University, the, ii. 116;

pay of professors there, 122;

its state at the end of the fifteenth century, 506;

long continuance of scholasticism at Padua, v. 457;

different character of Padua from other Lombard universities, 460;

closing of the schools in 1509, 460

Padua, Chronicle of, cited for a description of the Flagellants, iv. 280

Paganism, mixture of Paganism and Christianity in the Renaissance, i. 456 note 1, 464, iii. 1, 33-35, 107.

(See Renaissance.)

Pagello, Bartolommeo, his panegyric of Ognibeno da Lonigo, ii. 249

Painting, demands more independence in the artist than architecture, ii. 7;

character of Greek painting, 8;

effect on Italian painting of the discoveries of ancient works of art, 439;

painting the best gauge of Italian genius, iii. 5, iv. 116, 338, v. 18, 20, 49, 515;

how painting instead of sculpture became the exponent of modern feeling, iii. 8, 12-21, 31, 120;

the problem for Italian painting, 10-20, v. 515;

difficulties presented to the first painters, iii. 21;

first attempts in painting to make beauty an end in itself, 22, 32;

Italian painting in the first period devoted to setting forth the Catholic mythology, 27, 185;

why painting has lost its earlier importance, 37;

the personality of the different Italian cities visible in painting, 181;

contrast between the Florentine and Venetian painters, 182;

character of the Umbrian school, 182;

the so-called 'schools': how far the term is justified, 183;

general course taken by Italian painting, i. 17-20, iii. 185-187, v. 506;

changes introduced by Giotto into painting, iii. 192;

character of the Sienese masters, 214;

characteristics of Italian painting from 1400-1470, 224 (cp. v. 204);

the Quattro Cento a period of effort, iii. 227;

exaggerated study of perspective and anatomy by these painters, 232;

the painters of the Renaissance—how to be classified, 266-269;

influence of Dante on Italian painters, 283 note 2;

the perfection of painting in Michelangelo, Lionardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Correggio, 312;

over attention paid to the nude after Michelangelo, 397, 453;

the decline of painting, 481, 504

Palæologus, Andrea, sells the title of Emperor of Constantinople to Charles VIII., i. 576 note 1;

John, attends the Council of Florence, ii. 196, 205;

takes Filelfo into his service, 268

Paleario, Aonio, ii. 394;

his Latin poem on the Immortality of the Soul, 497;

his execution, v. 478

Palermo: Norman, Arabic and Byzantine influence on Palermitan architecture, iii. 44, 45

Palimpsests, ii. 129

Palladio, his judgment of Sansovino's Library of S. Mark, iii. 85;

character of his architectural work, 94, v. 505;

the Palazzo della Ragione at Vicenza, iii. 95;

Palladio's treatise on Architecture, 96 note 1

Palladius, Blosius, ii. 409

Pallavicini, Battista, i. 177

Palma, iii. 371;

his Venus, illustrating his treatment of the antique, 291

Palmieri, Matteo, facts of his life, v. 549 (Appendix iii.);

pronounces the funeral oration over Marsuppini, ii. 187;

his Chronicle quoted for a description of the Florentine festivals, iv. 316;

author of the Città di Vita, 188, v. 548;

history of the MS. of the work, v. 548;

origin of the poem, 549;

its doctrine on the Soul and Fallen Angels, iv. 171, v. 551;

the work brings him into suspicion of heresy, iv. 171;

the Della Vita Civile, v. 549;

influence of Xenophon on the work, 196 note 1;

Mattia, continues Matteo Palmieri's Chronicle, 549

Panciatichi, Lorenzo, alludes to the ballad L'Avvelenato, iv. 276

Panciroli, his testimony to the kindness of Boiardo, iv. 458

Pandects, the MS. of the, taken by Florence from Pisa, i. 62, ii. 351

Pandolfini, Agnolo, his treatise Del Governo della Famiglia, i. 239-243, 481;

said to have been really written by Leo Battista Alberti, 239 note 1, 273, ii. 37, iv. 192-203

Panicale, Perugino's fresco of S. Sebastian, iii. 295

Pannartz, the printer at Rome, ii. 368

Panvinius, cited for the murders committed by Alexander VI., i. 414

Paolo da Castro, his salary from the University of Padua, ii. 122

Paolucci, his account of the behaviour of Leo X. at a representation of the Suppositi, v. 147

Papacy, the, 'the ghost of the Roman Empire,' i. 5;

rise of the Papal power, 7, 32;

its history cosmopolitan, 41, 60;

invites the Franks against the Lombards, 50;

compact of the Papacy with Charlemagne, 50, 94;

war between the Papacy and the Empire, 59, 60, 68, 97, 100, 374, iv. 6;

election of the Popes transferred from the Emperor to the Cardinals, i. 60;

summons Charles of Anjou into Italy, 75;

calls in Charles of Valois, 76;

transference of the Papal Court to Avignon, 77, 80, 374, iv. 7;

restored to Rome, i. 88;

the Papacy prevented the unification of Italy, 93-95, ii. 2;

Machiavelli's criticism of the Papacy, i. 96, 382, 448-451, v. 436, 438, 442;

the only Italian power which survived all changes, i. 98;

connivance of the Popes at crime, 170;

paradoxical character of the Papacy during the Renaissance, 371-374, 401;

Guicciardini's observations on the Papacy, 451, 452;

universal testimony to its corruption, 446, 457, 460;

Italian ideas about the Pope, 418, 462-464, iii. 471;

worldliness of the Papacy at the Renaissance, ii. 263;

more tolerant of obscenity than of heterodoxy, 22;

corruption of the Papal Court under Leo X., 402, 406, 408, 516;

flattery of the Popes by the Latin poets of the Renaissance, 493-496;

the organisation of the Papacy due to Italian genius, iv. 7, v. 513

Papal Secretaries, their rise into importance owing to the influence of rhetoric at the Renaissance, ii. 216

Paper, where first made in Italy, ii. 371

Paquara, reconciliation of the Lombard cities at, i. 108, 608

Parabosco, Girolamo, his Diporti, v. 60;

its Introduction, 62

Paravisini, Dionysius, the first printer of Greek in Italy, ii. 375

Parentucelli, Tommaso. (See Nicholas V.)

Parhasius, Janus, a member of the Roman Academy, ii. 361;

professor in the Sapienza at Rome, 426

Parisio, Gianpaolo. (See Parhasius, Janus.)

Parlamenti, name of the popular assemblies in Italian cities, i. 35, 57

—— the Parlamento at Florence under the Medici, 229, 526

Parma, sold by Obizzo d'Este, i. 134;

pageant got up by the students at the election of Andrea di Sicilia to a professorship, iv. 315

—— the Teatro Farnese (by Aleotti), v. 144

Parmigianino (Mazzola, Francesco), story of him at the Sack of Rome, ii. 16;

the follower of Correggio, iii. 495

Parte Guelfa, in Italian cities, i. 35;

at Florence, 70 note 1

Party strife, effects of, in Italy, i. 199, 206, 207, 584

Paruta, the Venetian historian, i. 233

Passavanti, Jacopo, his Specchio della vera Penitenza, iv. 131, v. 270

Paterini, the, an heretical sect, i. 9, iv. 109, 279

Patria, Machiavelli's use of the term, v. 435, 436

Patrician, title of dignity in Italian cities, i. 35

Patrini, Giuseppe, engraver of a portrait of Aretino, v. 423

Paul II., becomes Pope, i. 383;

his love of show, 383;

his services to art, 384, 384 note 1;

his persecution of the Roman Platonists, 385, ii. 359, 362, 511;

claimed descent from the Ahenobarbi, ii. 31;

his destruction of ancient monuments at Rome, 430;

his death, i. 387

Paul III., i. 297, iii. 438;

his monument in St. Peter's, i. 417 note 2, iii. 108;

a member of the Roman Academy, ii. 361;

advances Sadoleto, Bembo, and Aleander to the Cardinalate, ii. 402, 416, 424;

his patronage of scholars while Cardinal, 404, 498, 500, 504;

employs Michelangelo to paint the Last Judgment, iii. 422;

his character, 422, 438, 472, 473, note 1

Pavia, becomes the capital of the Lombards, i. 48, 49

—— the Cathedral (by Rocchi), iii. 82;

shrine of S. Augustine, 123;

the Certosa, 42, 165;

the façade characteristic of the first period of Renaissance architecture, 72

—— University, the, eclipsed by the School of Bologna, i. 62;

raised to eminence by Gian Galeazzo, 142, ii. 118;

staff of the University in 1400, ii. 120;

pay of professors there, 122

Pazzi, Alessandro de', his Discourse on the Florentine Constitution, i. 197 note 1, 203 note 1;

Piero de', called to study by Niccolò de Niccoli, ii. 41

Pazzi Conspiracy, the, i. 168, 396, 398, 466, 505, ii. 287, iv. 443, 447, v. 118

Pedantesco, name given to a kind of pseudo-Maccaronic verse, v. 328;

specimen from Scrofa, 329

Pelacane, Biagio, master of Vittorino da Feltre in mathematics, ii. 289

Pelavicini, the, become feudatories of the See of Parma, i. 57 note 1;

overthrown by the Visconti, 145

Pellegrini, the, an Academy at Venice, v. 90, 272

Penni, Francesco, the scholar of Raphael, iii. 490

Pepoli, Romeo, his rise to power at Bologna, i. 114, 116

Peregrinus, Bononiensis, an early printer at Venice, ii. 376

Perino, a Milanese, carved the tomb of Mastino II. della Scala, iii. 124 note 1

Perino del Vaga, the scholar of Raphael, iii. 490

Perotti, Niccolò, a pupil of Vittorino da Feltre, i. 177;

author of the Cornucopia, 179;

translates Polybius, ii. 228;

takes part in the quarrel of Poggio and Valla, 240, 241;

Pirro, his preface to his uncle's Cornucopia, i. 179

Perotto, murder of, by Cesare Borgia, i. 426

Perrucci, Antonelli, execution of, by Ferdinand of Aragon, i. 571 note 3

Perugia, seized by Gian Galeazzo, i. 148;

generally Guelf, 194;

excitable and emotional character of the people of Perugia, iii. 221;

peculiar position of Perugia in Italian art and literature, v. 498;

standards of the religious confraternities preserved at Perugia, iv. 283 note 1

—— S. Bernardino, its façade, iii. 79 note 1, 150;

S. Domencio, monument of Benedict XI., 115;

S. Pietro de' Cassinensi, tarsia work, 78 note 2;

Mino da Fiesole's altar in the Baglioni Chapel, 158 note 1

—— the Sala del Cambio, tarsia work designed by Perugino, iii. 78 note 2;

Perugino's frescoes, 210, 295, 296

—— High School, the, founded by Clement V., ii. 117

Perugino (Pietro Vannucci), i. 325, v. 498;

his arabesques at Perugia, ii. 440;

his designs for tarsia work there, in the Sala del Cambio, iii. 78 note 2;

his frescoes in the Sala, 210, 295;

Michelangelo's criticism of him, 296, 298 note 1, 300, 386 note 2;

character of his genius, 294;

his artistic development impaired by his commercial character, 296, 298, 299;

the problem of his personal character, 297, 298 (cp. i. 170 note 1);

competes for the decoration of the Stanze of the Vatican, 300;

his influence upon Italian art, 300, 303;

his adherence to the older manner of painting, 303, 365

Peruzzi, the, at Florence, i. 238;

their loan to Edward III., 257;

their bankruptcy, 258

Peruzzi, Baldassare, church built by him at Carpi, ii. 374;

architect of the Villa Farnesina at Rome, iii. 83, 84;

his work at S. Peter's, 91;

how far influenced by Sodoma in painting, 501;

employed as scene-painter at the representation of the Calandra in the Vatican, v. 143, 146

Pescara, Marquis of. (See D'Avalos, Ferrante Francesco.)

Peselli, the, Florentine painters, introduced new methods of colouring, iii. 225

Petrarch, his love of antique culture, i. 11, ii. 13;

ignorant of Greek, i. 20, ii. 74, 75, 90;

his autobiographical tracts, ii. 36, iv. 91, 123;

present at the marriage of the Duke of Clarence, i. 138;

his remark on Florentine intelligence, 250;

his denunciations of Papal profligacy, 457;

his conception of self-culture, ii. 4;

belongs less than Dante to the middle ages, 13, iv. 91, 140, v. 2;

Dante and Petrarch compared, ii. 70, iv. 85-89, 90;

greatness of his services to culture, ii. 71, 86;

his love of Cicero and Virgil, 73, 76;

his liberal spirit, 75, 78, iv. 87 (cp. v. 504);

his judgments of poetry and oratory, ii. 76, 77, 450;

his vanity and inconsistency of conduct, 79-84;

depreciated Dante, 82;

his relations to Rienzi, 83, 147-149;

his philosophical creed, 84-86, v. 450;

despaired of getting Greek learning from Constantinople, ii. 92 note 1, 142 note 1;

his invective against the copyists, 129;

began the search for MSS. of the classics, 132 (cp. 530);

his study of the ruins of Rome, 149;

his description of Rome in desolation, 154;

conceives the idea of forming a public library, 166;

his friendship with Robert of Anjou, 252, iv. 120 note 1;

his denunciation of the astrologers, ii. 75, 336;

Aldo Manusio's Italic types imitated from his handwriting, 381;

began the fashion of Ciceronian letter-writing, 530;

his description of death illustrated by frescoes in the Campo Santo, Pisa, iii. 202;

his mention of Simone Martini and Giotto, 217 note 1;

his account of the Sicilian poets, iv. 21;

attained the conception of Italy as a whole, 87;

crowned in the Capitol, 88;

his language free from dialect, 89;

his treatment of love, 89;

conflict in his mind between his love of Laura and his religious feelings, 90;

the nature of his passion for Laura, 92-94;

brings the feeling of love back from mysticism to experience, 94, v. 515;

his artistic treatment of his subject-matter, iv. 95;

had no strong objective faculty, 96;

his power of self-portraiture, 97;

the dialogue on the Destruction of Cesena, falsely attributed to him, v. 117 note 1

Petrarchistic School in Italian literature, Petrarchists of the trecento, iv. 159;

the revival under Bembo and the purists, 165;

injurious effects of the imitation of Petrarch, v. 249-251, 273;

inattention shown by the Petrarchists to the calamities of Italy, 281

Petrucci, the, at Siena, supported by the people, i. 87

—— Antonio, invites Filelfo to Siena, ii. 276;

Cardinal, conspiracy of, i. 436;

his patronage of scholars at Rome, ii. 404;

Pandolfo, his rise to power at Siena, i. 114, 209;

his murder of Borghese, 121 note 1

Philosophy, at the commencement of the Renaissance did not form a separate branch of study, v. 458;

materialism in the Lombard Universities due to physical studies, 458

Philosophy, Italian:

Italian philosophy unduly neglected in the history of modern thought, v. 448;

three stages of thought in the passage through Renaissance to modern science, 448, 457;

disengagement of the reason from authority due to Italian thinkers, 448, 449, 485-487, 520;

Cicero and Seneca used as models by the humanistic ethicists, 451;

value of the labours of the Florentine Platonists, 452-454;

problems of life posed by ethical rhetoricians, 454-457;

Valla's De Voluptate, 455;

rapid growth of heterodox opinions on immortality during the Renaissance, 470;

influence of Pomponazzi on Italian thought, 479, 520

Piacenza, destruction of, by the Milanese, i. 152, 162 note 1, 212

—— University, the, established by Innocent IV., ii. 117

Piagnoni, name of the followers of Savonarola at Florence, i. 290, 529, ii. 355, iii. 252

Piccinino, Jacopo, murdered by Ferdinand of Aragon, i. 113 note 1, 571

Piccinino, Nicolò, i. 161, ii. 264

Piccolomini, his La Raffaella quoted for Italian ideas of honour in women, i. 485 (cp. ii. 37)

Piccolomini, Æneas Sylvius. (See Pius II.)

Pico. (See Mirandola.)

Piero di Cosimo, his studies in natural history, iii. 226;

his eccentricity, 256;

his romantic treatment of classical mythology, 256;

his art as illustrating the poetry of Boiardo, iv. 463;

the Triumph of Death designed by him, 393-395, v. 114

Piero della Francesca, his fresco of the Resurrection at Borgo San Sepolcro, iii. 234;

his Dream of Constantine at Arezzo, 235;

his portraits of Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta and Frederick of Urbino, 235, 275 note 1

Piero da Noceto, private secretary of Nicholas V., ii. 229

Piero delle Vigne, his Perocchè Amore an early instance of a sonnet, iv. 25

Pilatus, Leontius, Boccaccio's Greek master, ii. 91

Pinturicchio, Bernardo, i. 325, 384 note 1;

competes for the decoration of the Stanze of the Vatican, iii. 300;

his frescoes in the Cathedral Library at Siena, 302;

his affectation, 302, 364 note 1

Pio [Pia], Alberto, the patron of Aldo Manuzio, ii. 374;

a member of the Aldine Academy, 387;

ambassador from France at Rome, 405;

Alda, mother of Veronica Gambara, v. 288;

Lionello, ii. 374

Pippin, named Patrician of Rome, i. 50

Pirkheimer, Willibad, the friend of Gian Francesco Pico, ii. 423

Pisa, not eminent for literary talent, i. 79;

sale of, to Gian Galeazzo, 148;

its cruel treatment by Florence, 212, 237, 342, 560, ii. 165;

popular outbreak at the entry of Charles VIII., 343, 561

—— Campo Santo, the, story of the sarcophagus there, which influenced the genius of Niccola Pisano, iii. 106;

built by Giovanni Pisano, 110;

the frescoes, 200-204, 209, 219, 242 (cp. iv. 261 note 2);

S. Caterina, Traini's Triumph of S. Thomas, iii. 207;

Simone Martini's altarpiece, 217 note 2;

the Cathedral, iii. 49;

S. Francesco, Taddeo di Bartolo's Visit of the Apostles to the Virgin, 218;

S. Maria della Spina (Spina Chapel), rebuilt by Giovanni Pisano, 110

—— University, the, ii. 117, v. 497;

transfer of the High School from Florence thither, ii. 122

Pisanello, medal struck by him in honour of Vittorino da Feltre, i. 178

Pisani, the (Giovanni and Niccola), their bas-reliefs at Orvieto, iii. 56;

Vasari's statement that they aided in the façade of Orvieto discussed, 116

—— Giovanni, contrast of his work with that of his father, Niccola, iii. 110, 177;

his architectural labours, 110;

his pulpit in S. Andrea, Pistoja, 111-114;

his allegorical figure of Pisa, 114;

his tomb of Benedict XI. in S. Domenico, Perugia, 115;

Niccola, individuality of his genius, ii. 5;

his influence on sculpture, iii. 101, 177;

the legend of his life, how far trustworthy, 102;

his first work as a sculptor, the Deposition from the Cross, 104;

story of his genius having been aroused by the study of a sarcophagus in the Campo Santo, 106;

the sculptures of the Pisan pulpit, 107, 109 (see also Appendix i.);

degree in which he was indebted to ancient art, 108, 110, v. 506;

contrast of his work with that of his son, Giovanni, iii. 110, 177

—— Ugolino, his Latin play, Philogenia v. 110

Pistoja, contrast of its history with that of Lucca, i. 194

—— S. Andrea, Giovanni Pisano's pulpit, iii. 111-114;

the Duomo, Cino da Pistoja's monument, iv. 66 note 1;

Church of the Umiltà (by Vitoni), iii. 83

—— Ospedale del Ceppo, the, its frieze, by the Robbian School, iii. 150 note 1

Pitigliano, Count, general of Alfonso II. of Naples, i. 552

Pitti, Jacopo, his history of Florence, i. 278, 279;

his democratic spirit, 280, 288, 299 note 2;

his panegyric of Piero Soderini, 289, iii. 391;

ascribes the downfall of Florence to the Ottimati, i. 288;

his style, 291;

his account of Guicciardini, 299, 299 note 1 (cp. iv. 515);

on the preaching of Frate Francesco, i. 621;

the Life of Giacomini cited for Giacomini's share in Machiavelli's plan for a militia, 313 note 1

—— Luca, his conspiracy against Piero de' Medici, ii. 314

Pius II., in the service of the Emperor before his election, ii. 190;

his reputation as an orator, 191;

his Latin correspondence, 532;

his letter to his nephew, 42 note 1;

contrast between his life before and after his election to the Papacy, i. 380, ii. 358;

his saying on the celibacy of the clergy, i. 459;

his canonisations and love of reliques, 461;

pardons the people of Arpino as fellow-citizens of Cicero, ii. 30;

his epigram on the ruins of Rome, 151;

endeavours to protect the Roman monuments, 429;

founds the College of Abbreviators, 358;

his saying upon Tommaso Parentucelli (Nicholas V.), 224;

his Commentaries cited for his conversations with Frederick Duke of Urbino, i. 178 note 2;

for Gian Galeazzo's saying on Salutato, ii. 105 note 1;

his testimony in another work to Beccadelli's reputation as a stylist, 257 note 1

Pius III., i. 433

Pius VI., his destruction of the Chapel in the Vatican painted by Mantegna, iii. 277

Plagiarism, commonness of, in the fifteenth century, iv. 194 note 1

Platina, his account of Paul II.'s persecution of the Humanists, i. 384 note 1, 386, 387, ii. 36, 511;

a member of the Roman Academy, ii. 361

Plato, Aldine edition of, ii. 16, 379;

impulse given by Gemistos to Platonic studies, 207;

quarrel of the Platonists and the Aristotelians, 208, 244, 247, 394, v. 454;

the study of Plato prepared the way for rationalism, ii. 209, 325, iv. 447;

influence of Plato at the Renaissance, ii. 323;

Plato not fully comprehended by the thinkers of the Renaissance, 327, v. 452;

celebrations of his birthday by the Florentine Academy, ii. 328;

the Florentine Platonists, iv. 452.

(See also Ficino and Pico Mirandola.)

Plautus, influence of, on the Italian playwrights, v. 122, 136, 148, 161, 181;

representations of Plautus in the original at Rome, 138, 145;

at Ferrara, iv. 499, v. 139-142, 145;

early translations of Plautus, forming the beginnings of Italian comedy, v. 140

Plethon, Gemistos, settles at Mistra, ii. 199;

his dream of a neo-pagan religion, 200;

his system of philosophy, 201-204;

attends the Council of Florence, 205;

his reception by the Florentines, 206;

impulse given by him to Platonic studies in Italy, 207, 328, v. 452;

his treatises on Fate, and on the differences between Plato and Aristotle, ii. 208;

his controversy with Gennadios, 209;

his remains brought from Greece by Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta, i. 173, 461, ii. 34, 209

Plutarch, effect of the study of Plutarch in Italy, i. 165 note 2, 464;

Life of Cleomenes quoted, 235 note 2

Podestà, the place and function of this magistrate, i. 35, 71, 84;

meaning of the word, 67;

sometimes became tyrants, 112

Poetry, opposition of the medieval Church to, iv. 81

Poggio, corresponds with Lionello d'Este, i. 173;

his relations to Frederick of Urbino, 179;

account of him by Vespasiano, 275;

attached to the Papal Court, 459, ii. 218, 230;

a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, ii. 100, 230;

his funeral oration on Niccolò de' Niccoli quoted for the society founded by Marsigli, 102;

patronised by Salutato, 106;

learns Greek of Chrysoloras, 110, 230;

his copying and sale of MSS., 131;

his discoveries of MSS., i. 21, ii. 134-139;

his zeal and unscrupulousness in the quest, ii. 138;

his translations of Diodorus Siculus and Xenophon, 228, 237, 243;

his debt to Niccolò de' Niccoli, 230 note 1;

description contained in one of his letters of Jerome of Prague before the Council of Constance, 231, 535;

his pictures of foreign manners, 231;

varied character of his talents, 232;

his attacks on the clergy, 233-237;

terror caused by his invectives, 237 (cp. 513);

his quarrel with Filelfo, 238-240;

with Guarino and with Valla, 240-242, 263, 301;

his fight with Trapezuntius, 243;

his criticism of Beccadelli's Hermaphroditus, 255;

his scandalous account of Filelfo's marriage, 269 note 1;

his marriage and life as a citizen of Florence, 245;

the De Nobilitate, i. 186 note 1;

the History of Florence, 81, 274;

its style and value, 275;

the description of the ruins of Rome (the first part of the De Varietate Fortunæ), ii. 152-154, 231, 429, 530

Pole, Cardinal, his friendship with Flaminio and Vittoria Colonna, ii. 498, 502, v. 292

Polentani, the, of Ravenna, i. 111, 375

Polenta, Obizzo da, his murder of his brother, i. 119 note 2;

Ostasio da, his murder of his brother, 119 note 2

Polidoro da Caravaggio, the scholar of Raphael, iii. 490

Polissena, Countess of Montalto, her murder, i. 119 note 2

Politici, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Poliziano, Angelo, assassination of his father, i. 170 note 1;

present at the murder of Giuliano de' Medici, 265 note 1;

his letter to Antiquari, containing an account of Lorenzo's last interview with Savonarola, 523 note 1, ii. 355 (cp. 533);

wide scope of his genius, ii. 10, iv. 399;

his lectures on the Pandects, ii. 124;

learnt Greek from Callistus, 248, 346;

one of the circle gathered round Lorenzo de' Medici, 322, 323;

his description of Pico della Mirandola, 329;

his wooing of Alessandra Scala, 344;

brought into fame by his Latin version of part of Homer, ii. 346, iv. 401, 411;

his lectures at Florence, i. 171;

their enormous success, ii. 350, 464;

popularity of Poliziano, 353;

his relations to the Medicean family, 354;

his want of self-respect, 354;

Giovio's story of his death, 348 note 2, 354 note 1;

epitaph placed upon his tomb, 357;

his indebtedness to Sacchetti, iv. 155;

his eulogy of Alberti, 214;

one of his letters cited for the Maccaronic Italian used by scholars, 237;

represents the servility of his age in literature, 404;

ideal of life expressed in his works, 423;

erroneous ascription of the Morgante to him, 455 note 3, v. 316 note 1;

his position as an Italian poet, ii. 347, iv. 399-401;

insincerity of emotion in his Italian poems, iv. 423;

popularity of his Italian poems, 409 note 2;

injury caused to his poems by the defects of his temperament, 399;

his mastery of metre, 401-403, v. 212, 230;

surpassed by Ariosto, v. 43;

the Stanze, iv. 401, 403, 406-409, 421;

their importance in Italian literature, 403;

illustrations of the Stanze by contemporary works of art, 408;

translation of passages, 408, 420;

the Orfeo, iv. 357, 409, v. 108, 221;

excellent choice of its subject, iv. 410;

occasion of its being written, 411;

its greatness lyrical, not dramatical, 412-414;

translation of the Chorus of the Mænads, 414;

popular redaction of the Orfeo, 409 note 2;

the Orfeo cited for the tendency of the Italians to unnatural passions, 477 note 1;

his Canzonet, La pastorella si leva per tempo, iv. 268 note 3;

a letter of his to Lorenzo cited for the antiquity of the Rispetti and the cultivation of popular poetry in the Medicean circle, 269, 416 note 1;

translation of a Ballata, 378;

his Rispetti, &c., 416;

more artificial in character than the popular poetry, 417;

the Rispetti continuati, 419;

illustrations of them from contemporary works of art, 419;

the La brunettina mia, La Bella Simonetta, and Monti, valli, antri e colli, 420-422;

part of La Bella Simonetta translated, 420;

the Essay on the Pazzi Conspiracy, i. 265 note 1;

the Miscellanies, ii. 352;

the Greek and Latin poetry, 348;

original character of the Latin poetry, 348, 356, 453-458, 463;

the Lament for Lorenzo, 355, 356;

analysis of the Nutricia, 453-458;

the Eulogy on Lorenzo, 457, iv. 369;

Gyraldus' criticism of the Sylvæ, ii. 459;

the Rusticus, 459, iv. 423, v. 234;

the Manto, ii. 460-462;

the Ambra, 463 (prose translations of passages from the Latin poems will be found 454-463);

the minor poems, 464;

Greek epigram sent to Guidobaldo, Duke of Urbino, i. 182 note 1;

translation of Greek hexameters, ii. 24;

the epigram on Pico when he attacked the astrologers, 337 note 1;

the epigram on the first Greek printers, 375 note 2;

the Sapphics to Innocent VIII., 495;

the verses on Filippo Lippi, iii. 247;

his Latin correspondence, ii. 532

Pollajuolo, Antonio del, his choice of subjects of a passionate character, iii. 146;

his monument of Sixtus IV., 147;

his experiments in colour, 225;

over prominence of anatomy in his works, 232;

his Hercules, illustrating his treatment of the antique, 291;

architect of the Belvedere of the Vatican, i. 384 note 1;

his statue of Innocent VIII., 415, iii. 147;

his portrait of Poggio, ii. 246;

his work as a bronze founder, iii. 78 note 1;

Piero del, aids his brother, Antonio, iii. 147, 225

Polybius, studied by Machiavelli, v. 434 note 1

Pomponazzi, Pietro, studies at Padua, v. 458, 459;

moves from Padua to Ferrara, and finally to Bologna, 460;

his Treatise on the Immortality of the Soul burnt in public at Venice, 460;

controversy raised by that work, 461, 479;

Pomponazzi aimed at stating the doctrines of Aristotle as against the Thomists and Averrhoists, 462;

adopted the views of Alexander of Aphrodisias, 459, 472;

his profession of faith, 476, 477, 480;

powerful personality shown by his writings, 461;

his positivism, 478;

akin in this respect to Machiavelli, 485-487;

his influence on Italian thought, 479;

his materialistic philosophy, i. 456, ii. 124, 394 (cp. 477), iv. 447, v. 312, 314, 518;

the De Immortalitate Animæ, ii. 410, v. 460;

Pomponazzi's doctrine of the soul's materiality there stated, v. 472-476, 520;

the De Incantationibus, 461;

rejects demons and miracles in this work, 476;

acknowledges astral influence, 477;

expresses the opinion that Christianity is doomed to decline, iv. 448 note 1, v. 477;

the Apologia and Defensorium, v. 461;

the De Fato, 461, 477;

description of the philosopher contained there, 478

Pontano (Jovianus Pontanus), assassination of his father, i. 170 note 1;

his relation to Frederick of Urbino, 179;

tutor to Piero de' Pazzi, ii. 41;

a member of the Roman Academy, 361;

founder of the Neapolitan Academy, 363, v. 198, 272;

his employment by the Kings of Naples, ii. 363;

his oration to Charles VIII., 363;

portrait of him in the Church of Monte Oliveto at Naples, 365, iii. 164, v. 198;

value of his works, ii. 364, v. 220;

the De Immanitate, cited, i. 139 note 1, 481 note 2, 569, 569 note 1, 571 note 1;

the De Liberalitate, cited, 569 note 1;

his merits as a writer of Latin verse, ii. 364, 465, v. 235;

the De Stellis, ii. 466-468, v. 220, 235;

the De Hortis Hesperidum, v. 220, 235;

his Odes to the Saints, iv. 302;

Neapolitan colouring of his poems, ii. 364, v. 213, 235;

their pictures of Neapolitan life, v. 217;

their sensual but unaffected character, 214-217;

Pontano's love of personification, 218;

translation (in prose) of the lines personifying Elegy, 219

Pontelli, Baccio, architect of the Hospital of Santo Spirito at Rome, i. 384 note 1;

employed as architect upon the Ducal Palace, Urbino, iii. 162 note 1

Pontius, Paulus, his monument of Alberto Pio, ii. 375

Pontormo, Jacopo, his portraits of Cosimo and Lorenzo de' Medici, iii. 498;

his portrait of Ippolito de' Medici, ii. 27;

decorates the cars for the Pageant of the Golden Age, iv. 397

Ponzoni family, the, of Cremona, i. 145

Popolo, meaning of the word, 55, 56, 71, iv. 7, 8;

increase in the power of the Popolo, i. 61;

Guicciardini's use of the word, 306 note 1

Porcari, Stefano, his attempt on Nicholas V., i. 376, 377, 386;

influenced by the history of Rienzi, 376, ii. 147

Porcello, Giannantonio, patronised by Alfonso the Magnanimous, ii. 264, 303

Pordenone, iii. 371

Porta, Giacomo della, his work at S. Peter's, iii. 93;

Guglielmo della, his monument of Paul IV., i. 371, iii. 108

Portogallo, Cardinal di, his monument in S. Miniato, iii. 153;

Vespasiano's testimony to his virtues, 154

Portuguese, the, round the Cape, i. 15

Porzio, Simone, the disciple of Pomponazzi, v. 479;

story of his lecturing at Pisa, 479;

his belief as to the soul, 479

Pratiche, name of an extraordinary Council in some Italian Communes, i. 35

Prato, Sack of, iii. 308 note 2, 393;

the Duomo, Mino's pulpit, 158 note 1;

Filippo Lippi's frescoes, 245, v. 54 (cp. iv. 422);

chapel of the Sacra Cintola, iii. 79

Prendilacqua, his biography of Vittorino da Feltre, cited, i. 178 note 1, ii. 37

Primaticcio, his residence at the Court of France, iii. 445

Princes, effect of, upon Italian literature, iv. 404

Principi, the Lettere de', quoted, i. 442

Printers, the early, i. 23;

the first printers in Italy, ii. 306 note 2, 368-391;

labour employed in printing the first editions of the classics, 372

Priors, name of the chief magistrates in some Italian Communes, i. 35, 68, 71;

Priors of the Arts at Florence, i. 224

Professors, pay of, in the Italian Universities, ii. 121, v. 460;

subordinate position of the humanist professors, ii. 123;

their system of teaching, 124-127, 274;

illustrations of the Italian professorial system at the Renaissance from the Maccaronic writers, v. 332

Provençal literature, its effect on medieval Italy, iv. 13

Provence, extinction of heresy there, i. 9

Ptolemaic System, superseded by the Copernican, i. 15, 16

Pucci, Antonio, his political poems, iv. 163;

his terza rima version of Villani's Chronicle, 240;

his celebrity as a cantatore, 257

Pulci, Bernardo, writer of the sacred drama, Barlaam e Josafat, iv. 320, 349;

other works of his, 430;

Luca, his poem on Lorenzo de' Medici's Giostra, iv. 405;

his share in the Ciriffo Calvaneo, 430;

Luigi, one of the circle gathered round Lorenzo de' Medici, ii. 322, iv. 440;

his story of Messer Goro and Pius II., iv. 255;

his Beca da Dicomano, 382, v. 224;

his quarrel with Matteo Franco, and Sonnets, iv. 431, 455 note 3;

the Morgante purely Tuscan, 430, 431;

the burlesque element ready to hand, 440;

the Morgante written to be read in the Medicean circle, 440;

three elements in the poem, 441;

the Morgante a rifacimento of earlier poems, 442;

its plot, 443;

excellence of the delineations of character, 445, 470 note 1;

character of Margutte, 451;

of Astarotte, 452-456;

not a mere burlesque, 446;

its profanity, how explained, 446-448;

instances of Pulci's humour, 448-450;

false ascription of part of the Morgante to Ficino, 455 note 3;

erroneous idea that Poliziano wrote the Morgante, 455 note 3;

bourgeois spirit of the Morgante contrasted with Boiardo's Orlando Innamorato, 456, v. 8

(see Appendix v. vol. iv., for translations from the Morgante);

Monna Antonia (wife of Bernardo), authoress of a Sacra Rappresentazione, iv. 320

Puritanism, a reaction against the Renaissance, i. 25;

its political services, 27;

antipathy of, to art, iii. 24

QUARREL of the Aristotelians and the Platonists, ii. 208, 244, 247, 394, v. 454;

literary quarrels at the Renaissance, ii. 237-245, 264, 511, iv. 431 note 1, 451, v. 89, 285

Quercia, Jacopo della, his work as a sculptor in Italian churches, iii. 78 note 1;

his treatment of the story of the creation of Eve, 118 note 2, 130;

his designs in competition for the gates of the Florentine Baptistery, 127;

other works of his—the Fonte Gaja, and the monument of Ilaria del Carretto, 132, 165

Quintilian, discovery of a MSS. of, by Poggio, ii. 134-137.

Quirino, Lauro, his stipend at Padua, ii. 122

RABELAIS, quoted for the feudal idea of honour, i. 483

Raffaelle da Montelupo, a feeble follower of Michelangelo, iii. 172

Raimond of Tours, quoted to illustrate the gaiety of medieval Florence, iv. 50

Raimondi, Marc Antonio, imprisoned for engraving a series of obscene designs by Giulio Romano, v. 389

Raimondo da Capua, the confessor of S. Catherine of Siena, iv. 174

Ramiro d'Orco, appointed governor of the Romagna by Cesare Borgia, i. 354;

his end, 355

Rangoni, Count Guido, the patron of Bernardo Tasso, v. 297

Rapallo, massacre of, i. 557

Raphael, the question entertained of making him a Cardinal, ii. 403;

his project for the exploration of Rome, ii. 419, 436, iii. 337;

his friendship with Castiglione, ii. 421;

his work in the Loggie and Stanze of the Vatican, ii. 436, 440, iii. 108, 333, v. 229;

Raphael the harmonist of classical and Christian traditions, iii. 35, 333 (cp. v. 26);

woodwork executed from his designs at Perugia, iii. 78 note 2;

his mosaics in S. Maria del Popolo, 79 note 2, 334;

his work as an architect, 83, 330;

as a sculptor, 329;

his frescoes in the Villa Farnesina, 84, 331, 334, iv. 403;

the Galatea, illustrating his treatment of the antique, 291, 337;

his work on S. Peter's, iii. 91;

borrowed the figure of S. Paul in the Cartoon of Mars' Hill from Filippino Lippi, 248;

the pupil of Perugino, 300;

his power of assimilation, 301, 330-332;

one of the four great painters by whom the Renaissance was fully expressed, 312;

equality, facility, and fertility of his genius, 328;

comparison of his genius with that of Mozart, 328;

his gentleness, 329;

his indebtedness to Fra Bartolommeo, 330;

influence of Michelangelo on his later works, 331, 412;

his school of workmen, 332;

enormous mass of his work, 334;

mental power displayed by him, 335, 338, v. 116;

variety of his genius, iii. 336;

the Madonna di San Sisto, 337, 380;

his humane spirit and avoidance of painful subjects, 338;

the woodcuts of the Hypnerotomachia erroneously ascribed to him, iv. 221 note 1;

the scenery for a representation of the Calandra at Rome painted by him, v. 147

Rasiglia, Pietro, his murder of Nicolà and Bartolommeo Trinci, i. 122

Raspanti, the, a faction at Perugia, i. 122

Raul, Sire, his Chronicle of Milan, i. 251

Ravenna, i. 46, 118;

battle of, ii. 380, iii. 329;

tomb of Dante, ii. 410

Razzi, his account of the interview of Savonarola with Lorenzo de' Medici on his deathbed, i. 523 note 1

Reali di Francia, illustrates the little influence of Boccaccio's style on his immediate successors, iv. 136;

its stylistic merits, 240;

the most popular of all Italian books, 245, 247;

attributed to Andrea da Barberino, 246

Realists, the, v. 466

Recanati, the Bishop of, murder of, v. 297

Rectors, or Rettori, the magistrates in some Italian cities, i. 35, 68

Reformation, connected with political liberty, i. 26;

how related to the Renaissance, 25, ii. 536;

inimical to the Fine Arts, iii. 28

Regno, the, early medieval effort to form a monarchy in Italy, i. 50-52

Religion, opposition between religion and science, i. 15;

a cause of disorder in Italy, 205;

morality and religion disunited in Italy, 174 note 1, 433, 447, 462, ii. 234, 257, iii. 451;

Machiavelli's opinions on religion, i. 453, 454;

vitality of religion, 469;

religion and art:

how far inseparable, iii. 6 note 1;

injury done to religion by the sensuousness of art, iii. 11, 19, 22, 31;

contrast between Greek and Christian religious notions, 12;

the opposition of religion and art, 24-26, 28;

separate spheres and points of contact between religion and art, 30

Reliques, Italian passion for, i. 460

Renaissance, the, meaning of the term, i. 1-4, 5, 28, v. 489 foll.;

the Renaissance the emancipation of the reason, i. 9, 14, ii. 13, 43, 535, iii. 8, 179, 333, iv. 447, v. 14, 26, 447, 491;

the revelation of nature in the world and man, i. 15 note 1, iii. 325, v. 483, 527, 528;

problem of the Renaissance, v. 523, 527;

the imitation of the Renaissance impossible, 526;

place of the Renaissance in the history of humanity, 527-529;

rise and growth of the Renaissance, i. 26, v. 448;

precursors of the Renaissance, i. 8, 26, 27;

its relation to the Reformation, 26, ii. 536, v. 529, 530;

the Renaissance and modern science, i. 16, 17, v. 483, 491;

aided by the progress of inventions, i. 3, 29;

began in Italy, 30, v. 492, 529;

mingled polish and barbarism of the Italian Renaissance, i. 172, 183, 373, 570, v. 523;

changes in culture effected by the humanism of the Renaissance, i. 185, ii. 393, 543, v. 508;

irreligious character of the Renaissance, i. 174 note 1, 455, ii. 16, 44, 205, 217, 257, 518, iii. 228, v. 486;

the Paganism of the Renaissance, i. 454 note 1, 464, ii. 17, 18, 39, 72, 395 foll., 470, 489, 516, 520, 540, iii. 7, 33-35, 107, 135, 167, 175, 257, iv. 39, 404, v. 216, 486, 492;

indigenous in Italy, iv. 39;

its real character and extent, ii. 395, iv. 106 note 2;

religious sentiment, how influenced by the Renaissance, iv. 207, v. 455;

fitness of the Italian character to work out the Renaissance, ii. 1-4, iv. 10;

fertility of the Renaissance in men of universal genius, ii. 10 (cp. 125), 341;

the Renaissance not so productive in religion and philosophy as in art, 21, 337, iv. 10, v. 447, 492;

introduced a democracy of intellect, ii. 32, 33;

the thirst for fame characteristic of the Renaissance, 38, 80;

criticism a creation of the Renaissance, iv. 447;

the passion for collecting, ii. 139;

effect of the study of Roman antiquities upon the Renaissance, 142 foll., 429 foll. (cp. iii. 48 note 1);

undue influence of rhetoric in the Renaissance, ii. 149, 190, 216, 513, 525, v. 247, 430, 451;

uncritical character of the first scholars of the Renaissance, ii. 296, 327, 337, 382, v. 451, 483;

ideal of life produced by the Renaissance, ii. 330, iv. 219, v. 517;

the Renaissance checked the spontaneity of the Italian intellect, ii. 394, iv. 403;

modern culture a gift of the Renaissance, ii. 9, 408, 506, 524, v. 491, 505, 524;

the Renaissance appreciative of form independently of matter, ii. 471, 513, 514, iv. 403;

the weaknesses of the literary and artistic ideal of the Renaissance, ii. 504, iii. 170, 179;

predominance of art in the Renaissance period, iii. 1-5, v. 6;

difficulty of rendering justice to the poetry of the Renaissance, iii. 2 (cp. iv. 403);

the Renaissance restored the appreciation of natural beauty, iii. 32;

error of the artists of the Renaissance in imitating the worst side of Paganism, 175, 454, 489;

expression of the Renaissance by the four great painters, Lionardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael, and Correggio, 312, 319, 323, 325, 346;

different parts borne by Venice and Florence in the Renaissance, iii. 354, iv. 364;

the genius of the Renaissance typified in Boccaccio, iv. 104;

satire on the Church not combined with unorthodoxy in the Renaissance, 109 note 1, 447;

mixture of religious feelings with vices in men of the Renaissance, 384, v. 228;

manner in which the myth of Orpheus expressed the Renaissance, iv. 410, v. 221, 450;

the culture of the Renaissance derived from Latin, not Greek, models, v. 132 note 1;

the completion of the Renaissance announced by the pastoral dramas of Tasso and Guarini, 245;

belief in the efficacy of a classical revival common at the Renaissance, 444;

the dream of a Golden Age, 195, 521;

the volluttà idillica of the Renaissance, 196, 230

Renaissance architecture:

Brunelleschi's visit to Rome, iii. 68;

task of the first architects of the Renaissance, 69;

criticism of Renaissance architecture, 70;

divided into three periods, 70;

character of the first period, 71, 80;

of the second, 80

of the third, 93;

influence of this third or Palladian period on Northern Europe, 97;

comparison of the various stages of this style with the progress of scholarship towards pedantry, 98;

reasons why this style can never be wholly superseded, 99;

this style the most truly national in Italy, v. 505

René of Anjou, expelled from Naples by Alfonso, i. 568

Republics, the Italian: varied character of the Italian republics, i. 193;

their resemblance to the Greek States, 195;

theories of citizenship in them, 195;

their instability, 198;

causes of this, 205;

their smallness, 209;

their disunion, 211;

their mercantile character, 238

Reuchlin, i. 27, ii. 391;

influenced by Florentine Platonism, ii. 208;

heard Argyropoulos lecture at Rome, 210;

a pupil of Poliziano's, 350;

the friend of Gian Francesco Pico, 423

Revivalism, religious, in Italy, i. 490, ii. 17 (see Appendix iv. vol. i.);

unknown at Venice, iii. 358

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, his criticism of Ghiberti, iii. 132

Rhetoric, influence of, at the Renaissance, ii. 149, 190, 216, 513, 525, v. 247, 430, 451;

want of original thought in the oratory of the Renaissance, ii. 191, 278 note 2, 513

Rhosos, Joannes, a member of the Aldine Academy, ii. 387

Riario, Girolamo, i. 389;

murder of, 120, 390;

Pietro, Cardinal di San Sisto, 389;

his extravagant profligacy, 390-392 (cp. iv. 315);

his convention with Galeazzo Maria Sforza, 392;

Cardinal Raphael, 407;

concerned in Petruccio's conspiracy, 437;

his patronage of scholars at Rome, ii. 404;

buys Michelangelo's Cupid as an antique, iii. 389;

representation of the Fall of Granada before him, v. 117 note 1 (cp. 138)

Ribellamentu Lu, di Sicilia, its doubtful authenticity, iv. 36

Riccio, Andrea, his work as a bronze founder, iii. 78 note 1

Rienzi, takes the title of Tribune, ii. 30;

his relations to Petrarch, 83, 147-149;

his plan to restore the Republic in Rome, 145 (cp. i. 376);

his confusion of medieval and classical titles, 146;

his downfall, 147

Rifacimento, question whether Dino's Chronicle is a work of this class, i. 263, 273;

similar question about the Malespini Chronicle, 252 note 1, iv. 36;

about Pandolfini's Governo della Famiglia, iv. 194;

Rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato (see Berni)

Rimini, S. Francesco, adapted by Leo Battista Alberti, i. 172, 326, ii. 34, 210, 342;

the bas-reliefs in the side chapels, iii. 161;

Piero della Francesca's portrait of Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta, 235

Rinaldo d'Aquino, his Farewell, iv. 37

Ripamonti, quoted, i. 163, 167 note 1

Rispetti, meaning of the term, iv. 264;

common character of, throughout Italy, 266;

question of their first origin, 267;

their antiquity, 268;

their themes, 272;

purer in the country than in the towns, 272

Ristoro da Arezzo, his Composizione del Mondo, iv. 36

Robbia, Luca della, his work as a sculptor in Italian churches, iii. 78 note 1;

his bas-reliefs in glazed ware, 79;

unaffected by the Pagan spirit of the Renaissance, 135;

his genius contrasted with that of Ghiberti or Donatello, 148;

beauty of his work, 148-150;

Luca della, nephew of the sculptor, his account of his interview with Paolo Boscolo, i. 466, v. 519

Robbias, the Della, successors of Luca in his manufacture of earthenware, iii. 150

Robert of Anjou, King of Naples, his patronage of Petrarch and Boccaccio, ii. 252, iv. 120 note 1

Robert of Geneva, i. 81

Robert, illegitimate son of Pandolfo Sigismondo Malatesta, said to have poisoned the Florentine poet, Il Burchiello, iv. 260

Roberto di Battifolle, poems of, iv. 165

Roberto da Lecce, his preaching at Perugia and Rome, i. 614;

his attacks on Beccadelli's Hermaphroditus, ii. 256 note 1

Robusti, the (Tintoretto and his son), iii. 371

Rocchi, Cristoforo, his model for the Cathedral of Pavia, iii. 68;

the pupil of Bramante, 82

Rodolph of Hapsburg, his grant to the Papacy, i. 374

Roland Legend, the: spread of the Roland Romances in Italy, iv. 13, 427;

in the upper classes gave place to the Arthur Legend, 17, 18;

preference of the popular writers for the episode of Rinaldo, 244;

reasons of this, 437;

the Chanson de Roland, 433;

historical basis of the myth, 434-437;

legend that Roland was son of a Roman prefect, 439 (cp. ii. 30)

Rolandino, the Chronicle of, i. 251

Roman Empire, the old, its dissolution, i. 5;

its place taken by the Papacy, 6

Roman Empire, the Holy, i. 41;

conflict of the Empire and the Papacy, 59, 60, 68, 97, 100, 374, iv. 6;

power of the Imperial idea, i. 97

Romances of the Quattro Cento, iv. 244-249;

their positive tone, 248

Romanesque (Tuscan) Style, the, iii. 47, 49, 111, v. 504

Romanino, Girolamo, iii. 503

Rome, not included in Theodoric's kingdom, i. 46;

effect of this, 47, 49, 93;

address of the Roman Senate to the Emperor Frederick, 65, iv. 13;

prestige of the name of Rome, i. 92, ii. 57;

Sack of Rome, i. 222, 444, ii. 443, iii. 414, 438, 455, iv. 2;

—— universally recognized as a judgment on its sins, i. 446, ii. 445;

sufferings of the learned in the Sack of Rome, 443, v. 357;

government of Rome in the middle ages, i. 375;

the Romans welcome the accession of Alexander VI. to the Papacy, 407;

state of Rome under Leo X., 437;

pageants at the reception of the head of S. Andrew at Rome, 461, iv. 316;

profligacy of Rome, i. 474, ii. 217, 405-407, v. 190, 386;

effect of the study of the ruins of Rome on the Renaissance, ii. 142 foll., 429 foll. (cp. iii. 48 note 1);

culture flourished less at Rome than Florence, ii. 215, iv. 364, 366, v. 499;

place of Rome in literature and art, i. 79, iii. 181 note 1, 184;

early Roman printers, ii. 368, 405;

reasons for the pre-eminence of Rome in the fourth age of culture, 440;

occupation of the old Roman buildings by the various great families, iii. 46;

Gothic architecture never much practised at Rome, 46;

Cellini's description of Rome under Clement VII., 452;

protection of assassins in Papal Rome, 459;

representations of Plautus and Terence in the original at Rome, v. 138

—— S. Clemente, Masaccio's fresco of St. Catherine, iii. 229;

S. Maria sopra Minerva, Filippino Lippi's Triumph of S. Thomas, 207, 248;

the Christ of Michelangelo, 414;

S. Maria delle Pace, Raphael's frescoes, 334;

S. Maria del Popolo, Raphael's mosaics, 79 note 3, 334;

S. Maria in Trastevere, Mino's tabernacle, 158 note 1;

S. Peter's, plan of Nicholas V., i. 379, iii. 90;

commenced by Julius II., i. 433, iii. 90;

built with money raised from indulgences, i. 439;

Michelangelo's dome, iii. 88;

the various architects employed, 90-93;

Bernini's colonnade, 93;

the Bronze Gates (by Filarete), 108, v. 424;

Giotto's mosaic, iii. 190;

Michelangelo's Pietà, 389, 420;

S. Pietro in Vincoli, Michelangelo's Moses, 399, 340, 420, 422

—— Sistine Chapel, the, building of, i. 384 note 1;

Michelangelo's frescoes, iii. 403-423. (See Buonarroti, Michelangelo.)

—— Cancelleria, the, by Bramante, iii. 82;

Villa Farnesina, by Baldassare Peruzzi, 83, 84, 334;

Villa Madama, by Raphael and Giulio Romano, 83;

Pandolfini, by Raphael, 83;

Vidoni, by Raphael, 83

—— Academy, the, founded by Pomponius Lætus, ii. 361, 365, 409, v. 272;

representations of Plautus and Terence in the original by the Academy, v. 138

—— High School, the (the Sapienza), established by Boniface VIII., ii. 117;

reformed by Leo X., 426;

reasons why it did not rival other Italian universities, 426

Roman School of Painting, the, iii. 183;

reason of its early decadence, 490-492

Romeo and Juliet, story of, i. 74;

treatment of the story by Bandello and Shakspere compared, v. 71

Romualdo, S., legend of, ii. 339

Rondinelli, Giuliano (or Andrea), the Franciscan chosen to undergo the ordeal of fire with Fra Domenico, i. 533 note 1

Rossellino, Antonio, delicacy and purity of his work, iii. 154;

his monument to the Cardinal di Portogallo, 153;

Bernardo, his monument to Lionardo Bruni, ii. 186, iii. 158 note 2

Rossi, the, at Parma, how they acquired despotic power, i. 112, 114;

overthrown by the Visconti, 145;

reappear after the death of Gian Galeazzo, 150

Rossi, Porzia de', the mother of Tasso, v. 298;

Roberto de', a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, ii. 100;

one of the society in S. Spirito, 102;

visits Chrysoloras at Venice, 109;

learns Greek of him, 110

Rosso de' Rossi, his visit to the Court of France, iii. 445, 498;

his frescoes at the Annunziata, Florence, 498 note 1

Rubens, his transcript of the Battle of the Standard, iii. 145, 321;

his transcript of Mantegna's Triumph of Cæsar, 274, 321 note 1;

compared with Paul Veronese, 372

Rucellai, Bernardo, opens the Rucellai Gardens to the Florentine Academy, v. 236;

Cipriano, his friendship with Palmieri, 549;

Giovanni, his Api, ii. 471, v. 236;

his tragedy of Rosmunda, v. 129, 236;

the Oreste, 133;

compared with the Rosmunda, 134;

his friendship with Giangiorgio Trissino, 236;

Palla, 236

Rucellai Gardens, the, Machiavelli's discourses there, i. 293, 328, ii. 366, v. 236, 239;

Rucellai's Rosmunda acted before Leo X. there, v. 129

Ruggieri, Fra, leader of mercenaries in Southern Italy, i. 156

Ruggieri Pugliese, shows in his Lament traces of genuine Italian feeling, iv. 26

Ruscelli, Girolamo, his Capitolo on the Spindle, v. 365

Rusconi family, the, at Como, i. 150

Rustici, Giovanni Francesco, festivals organised by him, v. 115

Rusticiano of Pisa, his French version of Marco Polo, iv. 35

SABADINO, his Porretane, v. 60

Sabbatini, Andrea, the scholar of Raphael, iii. 490

Sabellicus. (See Coccio.)

Sacchetti, Franco, his Novelle, iv. 148;

composed in the vernacular Tuscan, 148;

their value as a picture of manners, 149;

comparison between Sacchetti, Masuccio, and Boccaccio, 179;

Sacchetti as a poet, 154-156;

his funeral Ode for Petrarch, 137 note 1;

for Boccaccio, 137;

his political poems, 161, 163;

his Ballata, O vaghe montanine pasturelle, 155, 262, 305;

his admiration for Boccaccio, 148

Sacre Rappresentazioni, the, i. 477 note 1, 480, iv. 172;

contained the germs of a national theatre, iv. 306, v. 109, 136;

took their origin from the religious practices of the Laudesi, iv. 307;

their relation to the Northern Miracle Plays, 312;

mode in which they were represented, 313;

theory that they arose from a blending of the midsummer festivals at Florence and the Divozioni, 314-320;

their form, 321, v. 182 note 2;

their religious character, iv. 323, v. 112, 519;

their scenic apparatus, iv. 324-327;

how far illustrated from contemporary works of art, 327 note 1, 338, 340, 343;

analysis of the play of S. Uliva, 327-330, 351;

translation of the Dirge of Narcissus and the May Song, 328;

universality of the legend upon which it is founded, 351, 353;

subjects of other plays which have been preserved, 331;

analysis of the play of Mary Magdalen, 331-337;

translation of Christ's Sermon, 333-336;

the Figliuol Prodigo, 337;

elements of comedy in the sacred dramas, 337 note 3;

their treatment of Mary and the Magdalen, 339;

dramas dealing with monastic legends, 341-343;

lack of the romantic element, 343;

show less maturity than the contemporary works of art, 346;

their interest as illustrating Italian imagination, 347, v. 54;

analysis of Teofilo, the Italian Faust, iv. 347-349;

analysis of the Rè Superbo and Barlam e Josafat, 349;

the Stella, Rosana, and Agnolo Ebrao, 353-355;

the three Pilgrimage Plays, 355-357;

failure of the sacred dramas to create a national theatre, 357, v. 112

Sacrificio, El, a masque played at Siena, v. 143 note 2

Sadoleto, Jacopo, cited for the prevalent belief that the Sack of Rome was a judgment of God on the city, i. 446, ii. 416;

made a Cardinal, ii. 402, 416;

his rise into greatness, 403;

his entertainments of the Roman Academy, 409;

his poem on the Laocoon, 415, 432, 496;

his gravity and sincerity of character, 416;

his friendship with Vittoria Colonna, v. 292;

his 'Commentary on the Romans' placed on the Index, ii. 416

Salaino, Andrea, the favourite pupil of Lionardo da Vinci, iii. 317, 484

Salerno, University of, ii. 117

Salimbene, Fra, his Chronicle of Parma, i. 251;

his account of Frederick II., iv. 21

Salimbeni, the, at Siena, v. 99

Salutato, Coluccio, his 'Letters' quoted for the influence of Petrarch on Boccaccio, ii. 90 note 1;

their value, 104 note 1;

their contemporary influence, 104, 531, iv. 175;

his importance as a stylist, ii. 103-105;

one of the circle in S. Spirito, 102;

his patronage of learning, 106, 230;

translates Dante into Latin verse, 103, 106, 449;

causes Petrarch's Africa to be published, 104 note 1, 106;

his invective against the copyists, 130;

saw the desirability of forming public libraries, 166;

his poems, iv. 165

Salviati, Archbishop of Pisa, his share in the Pazzi Conspiracy, i. 397, 398

Salviati, Caterina, wife of Nerli, i. 290

Salviati, Francesco, mentioned by Doni as scene-painter at a representation of comedy in Florence, v. 144 note 4

San Gemignano, Savonarola at, i. 507;

the towers of, 507, iii. 58;

Gozzolo's frescoes, i. 507, iii. 242, v. 54;

Ghirlandajo's frescoes, i. 507, iii. 259;

Da Majano's bas-reliefs, iii. 160

Sancia, Donna, wife of the youngest son of Alexander VI. by Vanozza Catanei, i. 418

Sanga, Battista, the secretary of Clement VII., v. 380;

addressed by Berni in the suppressed stanzas of the rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato, 379, 380

Sanmicheli, Michele, his work as an architect at Verona, iii. 86

Sannazzaro, Jacopo, facts of his life, v. 198;

a member of the Roman Academy, ii. 361;

of the Neapolitan, 363, v. 198;

his friendship with Pontanus, ii. 363, v. 198;

representation of him in the Church of Monte Oliveto at Naples, ii. 365, iii. 164, v. 198;

frigid purism of his De Partu Virginis, ii. 398, 468, 470 (cp. v. 249);

criticism of Lilius Gyraldus upon it, ii. 469 note 1;

his Latin poems, 468, v. 198-201;

his epigrams on the Borgia and Rovere families, ii. 469, v. 199;

preferred Fracastoro's Syphilis to his own epic, ii. 477;

translation of one of his sonnets, v. 200;

his Arcadia, 202;

first gave form to the Arcadian ideal, 197;

its mixture of autobiography and fable, 202;

idyllic beauty of the episodes, 202;

its art illustrated by the paintings of Mantegna, 203;

by the Quattro Cento painters in general, 204, 207;

its literary style, 203;

representative of the spirit of the Renaissance, 202;

translation of the description of the 'Shrine of Pales,' 205-207;

of the portrait of Amaranta (Carmosina Bonifacia), 207-209;

of the description of the nymphs and shepherds, 209;

of pictures of inanimate nature, 209;

of Carino's Lament, 210;

the Arcadia the model of Sir Philip Sidney's work, 211;

the poetical portions, 211;

translation of a Sestine, 212

Sanseverini, the, of Rome, Pomponius Lætus said to have been related to them, ii. 33, 359;

their ruin, v. 298

—— Ferrante, Prince of Salerno, takes Bernardo Tasso into his service, v. 298

Sansovini, the, their work as sculptors and bronze founders in Italian churches, iii. 78 note 1

—— (1) Andrea Contucci di Monte Sansavino:

his tombs of Ascanio Sforza and Girolamo della Rovere, iii. 156;

straining after effect in his work, 156, 166;

—— (2) Jacopo Tatti, called Il Sansovino: his work as an architect at Venice, iii. 85, 167, 355;

the Library of St. Mark's, 85, 167;

the friend of Titian and Aretino, 167, 168, v. 398, 409;

bravura character of his works in sculpture, iii. 167;

his bronze door of the sacristy of St. Mark, 168, v. 424;

his Bacchus, illustrating the supremacy of pagan motives in the art of the Renaissance, iii. 169;

story of the model who sat for the Bacchus, 233

Santi, Giovanni (father of Raphael), his Chronicle cited, i. 166 note 3;

written in the metre of the Divine Comedy, iv. 172;

his character of Desiderio, iii. 160;

his Madonna, with portraits of his wife and the infant Raphael, 330

Sanudo, a member of the Aldine Academy, ii. 387;

his diary cited for the wealth of the Venetian nobles, i. 235 note 1;

for the disorders caused by the sensuality of Alexander VI., 417 note 1;

for the belief that Alexander died of poison, 429, 430;

for the story that Alexander had sold his soul to the devil, 431;

for the gluttony of the prelates, 479 note 1;

for the pay of jurists in Italian universities, ii. 121;

for the shows at Ferrara on the marriage of Lucrezia Borgia, v. 141 note 2

Sappho, lines on Fame, translated, ii. 40

Saronno, church of, Luini's frescoes, iii. 485-487;

Ferrari's frescoes, 488

Sarto, Andrea del, his visit to the Court of France, iii. 445;

qualities of his colouring, 497;

his pictures wanting in depth of thought and feeling, 497;

creates an epoch in Florentine art, 496, 498

Sarzana, surrender of, by Pietro de' Medici, i. 559

Satire in the Middle Ages, iv. 108;

in Italy at the Renaissance, v. 310, 381

Sauli, Stefano, the friend of Flaminio, ii. 501;

his Genoese origin, illustrating the loss of literary supremacy by Florence, 506

Savelli, the, at Rome, i. 375

Saviozzo da Siena, his political poems, iv. 161;

his commentary upon the Divine Comedy, 163

Savonarola, his treatise on the Government of Florence, i. 128 note 1, 277, iii. 265, 392 note 1, iv. 386;

the author of the Florentine Constitution of 1494, i. 202, 222, 526;

proclaims Christ the Head of the State, 222, 526, iii. 214, 308;

his hostility to the Parlamento, i. 230 note 1, 526;

his Constitution came too late to save the city, 231;

his admiration of the Venetian polity, 234;

influence of his prophecies at the siege of Florence, 284, 290, 518, 536;

Guicciardini's account of him, 304, 308;

criticism of him by Machiavelli, 345;

Savonarola and Machiavelli contrasted, 368;

confined himself to the reformation of morals, and shrank from the imputation of heresy, 454, 499;

objected to classical learning on the ground of its worldliness, 456 note 1, 499, 505, 506, ii. 326, 396, 516;

his opposition to the arts, iii. 24, 29 note 1, 265, 310;

his denunciations of the Papacy, i. 530;

his testimony to Florentine profligacy, 475, 477 note 1, 480;

story of his life—his boyhood, 499;

takes the cowl, 501;

his account of his vocation, 501;

goes to Florence, 503;

sent to San Gemignano, 506;

his first success at Brescia, 508;

his appearance and style of preaching, 508-514 (cp. iii. 309 note 2);

believed in his own gift of prophecy, 512 note 1;

his visions, 515;

how far he was guided by them, 518;

his error in teaching the Florentines to look for foreign aid, 518;

recalled by Lorenzo de' Medici, 521;

his opposition to Lorenzo, 521;

called to Lorenzo de' Medici's deathbed, 523;

his activity takes a political turn, 524, iv. 384;

the Bonfire of Vanities, i. 527, iv. 392;

his influence begins to decay, i. 529, 531;

his contest with Alexander VI., 529;

weakness of his position in not breaking with Rome, 530, 622;

writes letters summoning a European council, 532;

his letter to Alexander, 532;

the ordeal by fire, 533;

his imprisonment, torture, and death, 533-535;

his canonisation proposed, 535

Savonarola, Michael, his 'Panegyric of Padua,' quoted for the teaching of perspective in Padua, iii. 236

Savoy, the House of, i. 52, 57, 110, 146 note 1

Scala family, the, how they acquired their power, i. 111;

violent deaths among them, 120, 145;

their tombs at Verona, iii. 124, 163

Scala, Alessandra, Poliziano's wooing of her, ii. 344;

—— Bartolommeo, raised by the Medici from a low station, 344;

his quarrel with Poliziano, 344

Scala, Can Grande della, i. 145;

Mastino della, 145

Scaliger, Julius Cæsar, his character of Aldo Manuzio (the grandson), ii. 389;

his criticism of Fracastoro's Syphilis, 477

Scamozzi, Vincenzo, character of his architectural work, iii. 96;

his 'Universal Architecture,' 96 note 1

Scandiano, the fief of Boiardo, iv. 456, 457

Scardeone, Bernardino, describes Odassi as the inventor of Maccaronic verse, v. 329 note 3

Scarparia, Giacomo, journeys to Byzantium with Chrysoloras, ii. 109

Schiavo da Bari, the, his Aphorisms iv. 240

Scholarship, state of, in the middle ages, ii. 58 foll.

Science, opposition between science and religion, i. 16;

modern science dates from the Renaissance, 16, 17. v. 483, 491

Scotti, the, at Piacenza, how they acquired power, i. 112;

overthrown by the Visconti, 145;

reappear after the death of Gian Galeazzo, 150

Scoronconcolo, the murderer employed by Lorenzino de' Medici against his cousin Alessandro, v. 118

Scotus, Duns, v. 467, 468

Scrofa, Camillo, author of the I Cantici di Fidentio Glottogrysio Ludimagistro, v. 328

Sculpture, why Sculpture yielded to painting in the modern era, iii. 8, 12-21, 31, 120;

the handmaid of architecture, 101;

took a pictorial form with the Italians, 121, 132, 161, 177, 195;

necessarily assumes a subordinate position in Christian architecture, 122;

influence of goldsmith's work over the Florentine sculptors, 126;

the three periods of Italian sculpture, 177;

more precocious in its evolution than painting, 225

Sebastian del Piombo, influence of Michelangelo on his work, iii. 493;

his friendship with Berni, v. 363

Sebastian of Pontremolo, an early printer, ii. 376

Segni, Bernardo, belonged to the neutral Medicean party, i. 289;

his Florentine History, 278, 279;

its character and value, 292;

his knowledge drawn from practical life, 231, 280;

his account of Savonarola's legislation at Florence, 197 note 1, 526 note 1;

cited for the story of Jacopino Alamanni, 211;

for the factions of Siena, 207 note 2;

for the dedication of Florence to Christ, 222 note 1;

his description of the Parlamento at Florence, 230 note 1;

cited for the corruption of Florence, 231;

for the conduct of the Florentine exiles, 236;

his account of Guicciardini, 299 note 2;

of Giovanni Bandini, 477 note 1

Senarega, cited for the expulsion of the Jews by Ferdinand, i. 400 note 2, 401

Senato, name of a council in some Italian cities, i. 35

Senator, supreme official in the Roman republic, i. 35

Seneca, influence of his tragedies on Italian playwrights, v. 127 note 1, 130, 132 note 1, 135

Sercambi, Giovanni, his Novelle, iv. 150 note 1

Sereni, the, an Academy at Naples, ii. 366

Serfs, gradual emancipation of the, i. 66

Sermini, Gentile, his Novelle, v. 60, 97;

story of Anselmo Salimbeni and Carlo Montanini, v. 99

Sermintese, a form of Italian poetry adapted from the Provençal, iv. 160, 257 note 1

Sesto, Cesare da, the scholar of Lionardo da Vinci, iii. 484

Sforza, Anna, the wife of Alfonso d'Este, v. 140;

Ascanio, Cardinal, i. 163, 405, 565;

his monument by Sansovino, iii. 156;

Caterina Riario (wife of Girolamo Riario), 160 note 1, 390;

Francesco, 86, 88;

enters Milan as conqueror, 87, 154, 163, ii. 281;

supported by Cosimo de' Medici, i. 91, 155;

acquired his despotism as leader of Condottieri, 113 note 1, 153, 160, 163, 361, 364;

the son of a peasant, 116, 153, 160 note 1;

treatment of his history by Machiavelli, 345;

his patronage of Filelfo, ii. 38, 282 (cp. 511);

his hospital at Milan, iii. 59;

Galeazzo, his assassination attempted by Girolamo Gentile, i. 168;

Galeazzo Maria, 165;

his assassination, 163, 166, 397 note 2, 543;

his intrigue with Pietro Riario, 392;

Giovanni Galeazzo, 543;

murdered by his uncle Lodovico, 163, 480 note 2, 555, v. 118;

doubts about his murder, i. 556 note 1;

Lodovico, debt of the Milanese School of Painting to him, 79;

invites the French, 89, 90, 164, 538, 542, 546;

poisons his nephew, 163, 480 note 2, 555, v. 118;

imprisoned in Loches, i. 547;

attempt to assassinate him, 397 note 2;

his usurpation of power, 543, 548;

origin of his surname Il Moro, 547;

his character, 548;

joins the League of Venice against Charles, 576;

representations of Latin plays before him by the Ferrarese actors, iv. 498, v. 140

Sforza (of Pesaro), Alessandro, his patronage of learning, ii. 302;

Costanzo, his patronage of learning, 302;

Giovanni, the husband of Lucrezia Borgia, i. 420

Sforzeschi, the, mercenary troops, i. 160, 362

Shakspere: his treatment of the story of Romeo and Juliet compared with Bandello's, v. 71;

was probably acquainted with Bandello's Novella of Nicuola and the comedy Gli Ingannati before writing the Twelfth Night, 72

Shelley, quoted to illustrate the character of Venetian landscape, iii. 350;

his opinion of the Orlando Furioso, v. 41 note 1

Sicilian period of Italian literature, iv. 20;

period during which it flourished, 21, 27;

character of the dialect used by the Sicilian poets (the lingua aulica), 22;

artificial nature of this poetry, 25;

translated into Tuscan idioms, 41, 42, 268;

traces of popular feeling in it, 26, v. 504;

its intrinsic weakness, iv. 44

Sicilies, Kingdom of the Two, united by Frederick II. to the Empire, i. 68;

given by the Papacy to Charles of Anjou, 75

Sidney, Sir Philip, his ideal of a classic drama, v. 111, 136;

his praise of the tragedy of Gorboduc, 132 note 1, 136;

took Sannazzaro's Arcadia as the model of his own work, 211

Siena, produced no great work of literature, i. 79;

generally Ghibelline, 194 (cp. iv. 161);

discords of Siena, 207-209, 616, ii. 164, iii. 212, 213, 220;

distinguished by religious revivals as well as by factions, i. 620 note 1, iii. 183, 220 (cp. iv. 281);

the Sienese bury a statue of Venus in the Florentine territory, ii. 433, iii. 212;

architecture of the Sienese palaces, iii. 60;

independent origin of painting in Siena, 214;

the Sienese dedicate their city to the Virgin, 214, 357;

pageants at Siena in honour of S. Bernardino, iv. 315;

luxury of Siena in the middle ages, v. 96

—— S. Bernardino, Pacchia's paintings, iii. 501;

S. Domenico, Guido da Siena's Madonna, 214;

Sodoma's S. Catherine at the Execution of Tuldo, 500;

Duomo, the, contrasted with Northern cathedrals, 54;

its façade (by Giovanni Pisano), 110;

its mosaic pavements, 209, 502, iv. 130;

Duccio's altarpiece, iii. 215;

Pinturicchio's frescoes (in the Library), 302;

Church of Fontegiusta, Peruzzi's Augustus and the Sibyl, 501;

Monte Oliveto, Fra Giovanni's wood-carvings, 78 note 2;

Signorelli's Soldiers of Totila, 286;

Sodoma's frescoes, 499, iv. 132, 343, v. 54

—— Palazzo Pubblico, iii. 61;

Taddeo di Bartolo's frescoes, 209;

Ambrogio Lorenzetti's frescoes, 210;

Simone Martini's Virgin enthroned, 217;

comparison of its decorations with those of the Ducal Palace, Venice, 359

—— University, the: receives a diploma from Charles IV., ii. 118

—— Sienese School in Painting, the, characteristics of the early Sienese masters, iii. 214, 216;

the scholars of Sodoma, 501

Sigismund, the Emperor, crowns Beccadelli poet at Siena, ii. 255;

Filelfo's mission to him at Buda, 268;

pageant in his honour at Lucca, iv. 315

Signorelli, Luca, his studies from the nude illustrate the changed direction of art, iii. 23, 279, 292;

his frescoes at Orvieto, iii. 56, 280, 281, 282, iv. 414 note 1;

the arabesques, ii. 440, iii. 283;

boldness and vigour of his genius, iii. 279;

indebtedness of Michelangelo to him, 279;

story of his painting his dead son, 280;

his study of human form, 285, 288;

his four types of form, 286, 288;

his quality as a colourist, 289;

the Last Supper at Cortona, 289, 326 note 1;

his treatment of mythology compared with that of other painters, 289-291;

said by Michelangelo to have treated him badly, 292 note 1;

his visit to the Vasaris at Arezzo, 293;

Vasari's character of him, 293;

competes for the decoration of the Stanze of the Vatican, 300

Simone, his bas-reliefs at S. Francesco, Rimini, iii. 162

Simonetta, Cecco, his execution by Lodovico Sforza, i. 543, 548

Simonetta, La Bella, v. 230;

her relation to Giuliano de' Medici, iv. 403, 406 note 1 (cp. 420-422);

her portrait by Botticelli, 406 note 1;

painted by Lippo Lippi in his frescoes at Prato, 422

Simony of the Cardinals at Rome, i. 404, 406

Simplicity of character, as contemptible in Italy as in Greece during the Peloponnesian war, i. 324

Sinigaglia, Massacre of, i. 324, 347, 427, 462

Sismondi, i. 64;

his special pleading for Republican institutions, 78, 115;

his description of Gian Galeazzo, 144;

quoted about the Condottieri, 159;

his account of the withdrawal of the Florentines from military service, 226;

on the Venetian Council of Ten, 234 note 1;

his argument that Italy would have been best off under a confederation, 538 note 1;

his calculation of the decline in number of the free citizens in Italy, 547 note 1

Sitibondi, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Sixtus IV., his avarice, sensuality, and brutality, i. 105, 113, 393-396, iii. 146;

his low origin, i. 116, 388;

abettor of the Pazzi conjuration, 168, 396-398, iv. 447, v. 118;

his services to art, i. 384 note 1;

amount of truth in the stories about him, 388 note 1;

began the system of founding principalities for his family, 389;

his wars, 395;

his share in the creation of the Inquisition and the expulsion of the Jews, 399-402;

invites Filelfo to Rome, ii. 285;

opens the Vatican Library to the public, i. 384 note 1, ii. 227, 359;

his destruction of ancient monuments at Rome, 430;

dies of disappointment and rage, i. 396;

his monument by Antonio del Pollajuolo, iii. 147

Smarriti, the, an Academy at Faenza, ii. 366

Soardi Family, the, at Bergamo, i. 150

Soderini, Antonio, i. 202, 289, 308, 313 note 1;

Cardinal, 414;

concerned in Petrucci's conspiracy, 437

Soderini, Piero, Gonfaloniere of Florence, i. 289, 314, iii. 308, iv. 393;

Machiavelli's epigram upon him, i. 324, iii. 391;

aids in the reconciliation of Michelangelo with Julius II., iii. 402

Sodoma, competes for the decoration of the Stanze of the Vatican, iii. 300;

his Sebastian, an instance of the introduction of pagan ideas into Christian art, 34, 501;

his Marriage of Alexander, illustrating his treatment of the antique, 291;

studied both under Lionardo da Vinci and Raphael, 499;

inferiority of his later manner, 500;

deficiency in composition of his pictures, 500

Soldanieri, Niccolò, his Lyrics, iv. 156

Soleri, Anna, i. 581

Sonnachiosi, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Spaniards, cruelty of the, i. 478, ii. 441, 444

Sparta: comparison between Venice and Sparta, i. 234

Spenser, his mistake in supposing the Orlando Furioso to be an allegory throughout, v. 21

Speroni, Speron, v. 78;

his correspondence with Aretino, 410 note 1;

his tragedy of Canace, 130;

his pastoral poems, 224;

a passage quoted from his Dialogues to show the spirit in which the Italian purists worked, 252-256;

the Dialogo delle Lingue, 271 note 1

Spina, Bartolommeo di, takes part in the controversy raised by the publication of Pomponazzi's De Immortalitate Animæ, v. 461

Spinelli, Matteo, doubtful authenticity of his Chronicle, iv. 36, 130 note 1, 415 note 1

Spinello, Aretino, the scholar of Giotto, iii. 197;

vigour of his work, 219;

his love of warlike subjects, 220;

various paintings of his, 219

Spino, Pietro, his Life of Bartolommeo Colleoni, iii. 144

Spirito, Convent of Santo, at Florence, Marsigli's Circle in, ii. 102

Spoleto, a Lombard Duchy, i. 48;

its fate, 48 note 1, 50

Spoleto, the Cathedral: Filippo Lippi's frescoes, iii. 246

Squarcione, his school of art at Padua, iii. 236, 270

Stampa, Gaspara, v. 288

Stefani, Marchionne, iv. 176

Stefano da Bergamo, his tarsia work at Perugia, iii. 78 note 2

Stephani, the Estienne family of printers at Paris, i. 23, ii. 373, 383, 391;

Henricus (the younger) refuses his books to Casaubon, 390 note 3

Stephen II., invites the Franks against the Lombards, i. 50;

Stephen X., 60

Storditi, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Stornelli, meaning of the term, iv. 264;

their antiquity, 269;

their themes, 272;

purer in the country than in the towns, 272

Strambotti, meaning of the term, iv. 264

Straparola, Francesco, his Tredici piacevoli Notti, v. 60, 78, 102;

the Novella of the Devil and his Wife compared with Machiavelli's Belphegor, 102

Strozzi, the, of Ferrara, iv. 457;

their panegyrics of Lucrezia Borgia, i. 422

—— Ercole, his elegies, ii. 497;

advocates the sole use of Latin against Bembo, 414, v. 259;

assassinated, i. 423;

Lucia, mother of Boiardo, iv. 457

Strozzi, the, at Florence, i. 210 note 2

—— Alessandra, her Letters, iv. 176, 190 note 1, v. 190;

Filippo (1), account of his building the Palazzo Strozzi, iii. 77 note 1;

Filippo (2), leader of the Florentine Exiles, i. 211, 237, 280;

general agreement of the historians upon his character, 285, 287;

advises Lorenzo de' Medici (Duke of Urbino) to make himself Duke of Florence, 286;

his vices and inconsistent conduct, 286;

his death, 287;

Marietta di Palla, Desiderio's bust of her, iii. 159;

Palla, a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, ii. 100;

aids Salutato to found the Chair of Greek at Florence, 106, 109;

learns Greek from Chrysoloras, 110;

his patronage of learning, 165, 223;

first collects books to form a public library, 166;

exiled by Cosimo de' Medici, 167, 170;

Pietro, story of his threat to assassinate Aretino, v. 406

Sulmona, traditional reverence for Ovid there, ii. 30, iv. 12

Sulpizio da Veroli, his letter to Cardinal Riario mentioning the representations of Plautus and Terence at Rome, v. 139 note 1

Sweynheim, printer at Rome, ii. 368

Sylvius, Æneas. (See Pius II.)

Syncerus, Accius. (See Sannazzaro.)

Syphilis, first noticed in Charles' army at Naples, i. 567, 567 note 1, ii. 477

TADDEO DI BARTOLO, iii. 216;

his frescoes in the Palazzo Pubblico, Siena, 209;

his Visit of the Apostles to the Virgin, in S. Francesco, Pisa, 218

Talento, use of the word, in early Italian writers, iv. 106

Tansillo, Luigi, his pastoral poems, v. 224

Tardolus, Laomedon, tortured by the Spaniards at the Sack of Rome, ii. 445

Tarlati di Pietra Mala, Bishop Guido dei, i. 83;

his tomb, iii. 210 note 2

Tasso, Bernardo (father of the poet), the story of his life, v. 297;

his Letters and Miscellaneous Poems, 299;

Aretino's criticism of the Letters, 411;

his Amadigi, 299;

failed to gain popular applause, 299;

his Floridante, 300 note 1;

Torquato, his ascription of part of the Morgante to Ficino, iv. 455 note 3;

his genius representative of the Counter-Reformation, 464, v. 2;

his censure of Ariosto's inductions, v. 23;

contrast of Ariosto and Tasso, 44;

the Aminta with Guarini's Pastor Fido, the perfection of the Italian pastoral drama, 114, 223, 241;

completes the Italian reaction against the middle ages, 244;

the most original dramatic works in Italian, 511;

essentially lyrical nature of the Aminta, 511;

its opposition of an ideal world of freedom to the world of laws, 242;

the chorus on the Age of Gold, illustrative of Italian ideas of honour, i. 486, v. 243

Taxes, farming of, at Perugia, i. 86 note 1

Tebaldeo, Antonio, his Pastoral Poems, v. 224, 282 note 3

Tedaldi, Pieraccio, his Sonnet on Dante, iv. 162;

discouragement expressed in his poems, 165

Telesio, v. 449;

Telesio and Campanella, 483;

his importance in the history of thought, 483-485, 500, 518

Ten, Council of, at Venice. (See Council of Ten.)

Terence, influence of, on the Italian playwrights, v. 122, 136, 145, 181;

representations of, in the original, at Rome, 138;

at Ferrara, 139-142;

early translations of Terence, forming the beginning of Italian comedy, 140

Terra Cotta, beauty of Italian, iii. 79, 151, 163

Terracina, Laura, v. 288

Terzi, Ottobon, i. 150, 151;

assassinated, 120

Tessiras, a scholar of Poliziano, ii. 350

Theatres, the lack of permanent theatres a hindrance to national drama in Italy, v. 144;

the first, that built by order of Alfonso I. at Ferrara, iv. 499, v. 144;

theatre built by Leo X. at Rome, v. 144;

the Teatro Farnese at Parma, 144

Theodoric, reign of, i. 46, 47, 51

Thomas of Aquino, S., the Summa, i. 60, v. 450, 468;

teaching of S. Thomas on the soul, v. 469

Thucydides, his account of Greek morality compared with the state of Italy at the Renaissance, 325

Tiburzio, conspiracy of, at Rome, i. 386

Tiepolo, conspiracy of, at Venice, i. 217 note 1, 218

Tifernas, Gregorios, translates the Ethics for Nicholas V., ii. 229

Tintoretto [Jacopo Robusti], his sense of beauty, iii. 377;

compared with Titian and Veronese, 378;

inequality of his work, 379;

character of his genius, v. 46;

his Bacchus and Ariadne, illustrating his treatment of the antique, iii. 291;

his Paradise in the Ducal Palace, 358;

his vehemence and imaginativeness, 369, 370, 375;

his preference of subjects more properly belonging to poetry, 376;

story of his offering to paint Aretino's portrait, v. 406

Titian, his portrait of Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici, ii. 27;

sensuousness of his work, iii. 25;

the friend of Sansovino and Aretino, 167, 168, v. 398, 409;

a letter of his quoted for the project of making Aretino Cardinal, v. 405 note 2;

his Bacchus and Ariadne, illustrating his treatment of the antique, iii. 291;

perfect balance of his powers, 370, 379;

the Three Ages of Man, v. 522;

the Assumption of Madonna, iii. 380

Todi, S. Maria della Consolazione (by Bramante), iii. 82;

birthplace of Jacopone, iv. 285

Tolommei, Claudio, his Cesano, v. 271 note 1

Tommaso, a Dominican monk, his preaching at Milan, i. 621

Tommaso (son of Andrea da Pontedera), iii. 123

Tommaso da Sarzana. (See Nicholas V.)

Tornielli Family, the, of Novara, i. 145

Torquemada, i. 400

Torrensi, the, or Della Torre family, at Milan: their rise to power, i. 112;

their downfall, 132, 136

Torriani, the, of Verona, ii. 506

Torrigiani, his account of Michelangelo's scornfulness, iii. 386 note 2;

his quarrel with Michelangelo, 432, 445;

invites Cellini to accompany him to England, 444;

Cellini's description of him, 445;

his death, 445

Torrigiani, Marchionne, poems of, iv. 164

Tortello, Giovanni, librarian to Nicholas V., ii. 229

Tortosa, the Cardinal of. (See Adrian VI.)

Tourneur, Cyril, the plots of his dramas compared with real events in Italian history, v. 117, 118

Towns, buying and selling of, i. 114, 134, 148

Traini, Francesco, his Triumph of S. Caterina, Pisa, iii. 207

Translations of the classics, executed by command of Nicholas V., ii. 228

Trapezuntius, Georgios, teaches Greek in Italy, ii. 210;

employed by Nicholas V. in translating Plato and Aristotle, 228;

his quarrel with Valla, 242, 263;

his fight with Poggio, 243;

his controversy with Bessarion, 247

Traversari, Ambrogio (Il Camaldolese), his account of Vittorino's system of education, i. 177;

a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, ii. 100;

learns Greek from Chrysoloras, 110;

cited for the high pay of the copyists, 130;

his distraction between scholarship and the claims of the Church, 193-195;

cited in proof of Poggio's account of Filelfo's marriage, 269 note 1;

the only great monastic scholar of the Renaissance, 517;

one of the best class of Humanists, 523

Tremacoldo, his murder of the Vistarini, i. 148 note 1

Treviso, culture of the Trevisan Court, iv. 6, 15

—— Monte di Pietà, The Entombment (by Giorgione?), iii. 367 note 2

Tribune, name of magistrate in some Italian cities, i. 35

Trifone [Trifone Gabrielle], i. 233, v. 78, 253 note 1

Trinci, the, at Foligno, massacres of the, i. 121, 122

Trissiniana, La, an Academy founded by Giangiorgio Trissino, v. 302

Trissino, Ciro (son of Giangiorgio Trissino), v. 303;

murdered, 305;

Giangiorgio, story of his life, 300;

the pupil of Demetrius Chalcondylas, 301;

his magnificence and studious retirement, 302;

always attracted to Court life, 303;

his quarrel with his son Giulio, 303-305;

inserts a virulent satire on his son in his Italia Liberata, 304;

accuses him of heresy in a codicil of his will, 304;

his device of the Golden Fleece, 305;

his Italia Liberata, 126, 127, 306;

its dulness and unpoetical character, 307, 520;

compared with Milton's Epics, 308;

his Sofonisba, the first Italian tragedy, 126, 236, 301, 305;

its correctness and lifelessness, 127;

his comedy, the Simillimi, 305;

his testimony to the corruption of Rome, 190, 303;

his friendship with Giovanni Rucellai, 236;

his orthographical disputes with Firenzuola, 271, 306;

his Poetica, 306;

discovers the De Eloquio of Dante, 306;

Giulio (son of Giangiorgio Trissino), his quarrel with his father, 303, 325 note 2;

denounced as a heretic by his father in his will, 304;

condemned by the Inquisition and dies in prison, 304

Trivulzi, Giovan Jacopo da, i. 552, 573

Tuldo, Niccolò, story of his execution as related by S. Catherine of Siena, iv. 174

Tullia di Aragona, the, poetess, v. 288

Turini, Baldassare, ii. 405

Turks, descent of the, upon Otranto, i. 399, 572 (cp. v. 122)

Turpin, the Chronicle of, iv. 432

Tuscan, superiority of, to other Italian dialects, iv. 31;

early recognition of this, 31

Tyrannicide, popular estimation of, in Italy, i. 169;

influence of the study of antiquity in producing tyrannicide, 165, 466, 468, v. 414

UBERTI, the, at Florence, their houses destroyed as traitors, iii. 63;

Fazio degli, his Dittamondo cited for a description of Rome in desolation, ii. 154, iv. 167;

character of the Dittamondo, iv. 166-168;

his Sermintese on the cities of Italy, 160;

his Ode on Rome, 160

Uccello, Paolo, his study of perspective, iii. 225, 232;

his love of natural studies, 226, 231 note 1

Ugolini, Baccio, said to have composed music for the Orfeo, iv. 414

Ugolino da Siena, his painting of the Madonna in Orsammichele, Florence, iii. 125

Uguccione da Fagiuola, tyrant of Lucca, i. 75 note 1, 112;

introduced in the frescoes in the Campo Santo, Pisa, iii. 203

Umbria,

distinguished by its pietism, i. 620 note 1, iii. 182, 220, iv. 281

—— Umbrian School in painting, the, its originality, 182

Umidi, Gli, an Academy at Florence, v. 79, 272;

Il Lasca and the Umidi, 79 note 2;

Doni once its secretary, 90

Umorosi, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Universities, Italian, their character, ii. 115;

number of foreigners attending them, 119;

liberality of the town governments to them, 119;

pay of professors in them, 120;

subordinate position of the Humanist professors in them, 123

Urban VIII., consecrates S. Peter's, iii. 93

Urbino, its position in Italian history, v. 498

—— Castle of, iii. 59, 76;

wood panelling in, 78 note 2

Urbino, Dukes of, first dynasty (see Montefeltro);

second dynasty (see Rovere);

encouragement of the pottery works of Gubbio by the Princes of Urbino, i. 80

VALDES, JOHN, his suicide during the Sack of Rome ii. 445

Valeriano, patronised by Ippolito de' Medici, ii. 405;

his De Literatorum Infelicitate quoted for the sufferings of the learned in the Sack of Rome, 443, 542 (cp. 530);

for the Latin periphrases employed by scholars, 397;

cited for Inghirami's eloquence, 425 note 1;

his work on hieroglyphics, 428

Valla, Lorenzo, the tutor of Ferdinand of Naples, i. 174;

his Declamation against the Donation of Constantine, 377 note 2, 386, ii. 260;

his stipend at Pavia, ii. 122;

his translations of Thucydides, Homer, and Herodotus, 228, 262;

appointed Apostolic Scriptor by Nicholas V., 229, 262;

his quarrel with Poggio, 240 note 1, 241, 263;

with Trapezantios and with Morando, 242, 263;

cited for Alfonso the Magnanimous' love of learning, 253;

his opposition to the Church, 258, 261;

the publication of the Elegantiæ brings him into fame, 259 (cp. 526);

invited to Naples by Alfonso, 261;

his appearance before the Inquisition, 262;

his dispute with Fazio, 263;

his character of Aurispa, 302 note 1;

the De Voluptate, v. 455, 457, 519

Valori, Baccio, i. 230, 285;

Filippo, bears the expense of printing Ficino's Plato, ii. 326

Vandyck, Antony, his portrait of Cardinal de' Bentivogli, ii. 27

Van Eyck, John, his power of colouring, iii. 349;

comparison of his works with those of the Venetian masters, 361

Vanini, his execution, v. 478

Vannucci, Pietro. (See Perugino.)

Varallo, S. Maria delle Grazie, iii. 489;

the terra-cotta groups in the Sacro Monte, cited in illustration of the Sacred Drama, iv. 327 note 1

Varani, the, of Camerino, i. 111, 375;

massacre of them, 121, 164 note 1;

members of this family become Condottieri, 161

Varano, Giovanni, his murder, i. 119 note 2;

Giulio Cesare, story of, 121;

murdered with three of his sons by Cesare Borgia, 122, 353, 427

Varchi, Benedetto, his Florentine History, i. 278, 279;

employed by Duke Cosimo to write the work, 281;

its character and value, 293;

written in a liberal spirit, 289;

Varchi's labour in writing the History, 249 note 2;

his study of Tacitus and Polybius, 250 note 1;

account of the Florentine government, 195 note 1 (see also Appendix ii. vol. i.);

the Genoese constitution of 1528, 201 note 1;

Savonarola's legislation, 202 note 2;

the defects of the Florentine State, 204;

the population of Florence, 209;

censure of the Ordinanze della Giustizia, 225, 244;

the corruption of Florence, 231, 282;

Florentine intelligence, 232;

the conduct of the Florentine exiles, 236;

the dedication of Florence to Christ, 222 note 1;

the Parlamento at Florence, 237 note 2;

character of Guicciardini, 296, 296 note 2, 298 note 1, 299 notes 1, 2 and 3, 300 note 2;

the reception of Machiavelli's Prince at Florence, 326;

character of Machiavelli, 333;

Italian immorality, 477 note 1;

Florentine habits of life, Appendix ii. (p. 595);

description of the friars who preached in Rome in Clement's Pontificate, 620;

the murder of Alessandro de' Medici by his cousin Lorenzino, v. 118;

—— the Ercolano (Dialogo delleLingue), v. 271 note 1;

its account of Varchi's early training, iv. 237;

the Dissertation on Buonarroti's Sonnets, iii. 520, v. 297;

the pastoral poems, v. 224;

Varchi sides with Caro in his quarrel with Castelvetro, 286;

his Capitoli, 365;

his correspondence with Aretino, 410 note 1

Vasari, Giorgio, finishes the cupola of the Umiltà at Pistoja, iii. 83;

the Lives of the Painters, ii. 36;

their inaccuracy, iii. 103, 116;

ascribes Florentine intelligence to the Tuscan air, i. 232;

his remark on the indebtedness of Michelangelo to Signorelli, iii. 279;

the story of Signorelli's painting his dead son, 280;

his relation of Signorelli's visit to Arezzo, 293;

his character of Signorelli, 293;

his account of Perugino, 297, 299;

on Lionardo da Vinci, 323, 324;

on Raphael's gentleness, 329;

his panegyric of Michelangelo, 424, 494;

his account of Benvenuto Cellini, 440;

the story of the picture painted by Botticelli for Palmieri, iv. 171;

the midsummer festivals at Florence, 318, 325;

the Triumph of Death, 393-395, v. 114;

the festivals organised by Rustici, v. 115;

Vasari's friendship with Michelangelo and Aretino, 409 note 2

Vatican library, its foundation, i. 21, ii. 227, 357;

opened to the public by Sixtus IV., 384 note 1, ii. 227, 359;

librarians of the Vatican from Inghirami to Aleander, 424

Vaucluse, Petrarch's residence at, iv. 87, 96

Vegio, Matteo, the only writer of Latin verse in the Renaissance who took the cowl, ii. 517

Velletti, Agostino, author of the novel in verse of Ginevra degli Almieri, iv. 250;

analysis of the story, 250

Venasso, Antonio da, murdered at Sinigaglia by Cesare Borgia, i. 351

Veneziano, Marco, his friendship with Berni, v. 363

Venice, defeat of the Venetians by Francesco Sforza, i. 155;

selfish policy of Venetians in not supporting the Milanese, 155;

neutrality of Venice in the French invasion, 550 note 1;

heads the league against Charles VIII., 576;

hostile to the Roman Church, 35, iii. 353, 357, v. 89, 393;

hatred of Venice by other States, i. 91, 214;

never entrusted her armies to Venetians, 157, 220;

contentment of the Venetians with their government, 198, 200, 215, 220, 233, iii. 353;

political isolation of Venice, i. 214;

Venetian constitutional history, 215-219;

good government of the subject cities by Venice, 220;

liberty of life and speech at Venice, iv. 364, v. 393, 497;

estimates of the number of inhabitants, i. 210;

divisions of the population, 215;

trading spirit of Venice, 238, iii. 353;

Venetian luxury, i. 475, iii. 167, 353, iv. 365, v. 191;

unenthusiastic character of Venetian religion, iii. 357-359;

contrast of Venice and Florence, i. 221, 222 note 1, 231, 306 note 2, iii. 182, 354;

comparison between Venice and Sparta, i. 234, 306 note 2;

beauty of Venice, iii. 348;

Venetian art isolated from that of the rest of Italy, iii. 313;

architecture of the Venetian palaces, 60;

literature not encouraged at Venice, i. 79, 233, ii. 108, 212, 247 note 3, 441, v. 497;

early Venetian printers, ii. 369, 376, 386;

the press at Venice, iv. 364, v. 96, 104;

Frari, the, Donatello's (wooden) statue of the Baptist, iii. 136 note 2;

S. Giovanni e Paolo ('S. Zanipolo'), the Tombs of the Doges, 162;

S. Maria dell' Orto, Tintoretto's paintings, 376 note 1;

S. Mark, its style borrowed from the mosques of Alexandria, 44, 45;

the bronze door of the sacristy by Sansovino, 168, v. 424;

S. Zaccaria, Giovanni Bellini's Madonna with Saints, iii. 365

—— Scuola di S. Croce, iii. 363;

its decorations by Gentile Bellini, 363;

Scuola di Sant' Orsula, 363;

its decorations by Carpaccio, 363, iv. 343, v. 54;

Scuola di San Rocco, iii. 85;

Tintoretto's paintings, 375 note 1, 380

—— Ducal Palace, the, iii. 61, 355, 376 note 1;

contrast of its decorations with those of the Public Palace of Siena, 359;

Palazzo Corner, 85;

—— Vendramini Calergi, 85

—— Library of S. Mark's, the, iii. 85

Venetian Masters, the, distinguished by their preference for sensuous beauty, iii. 182, 340, 354, 453, iv. 402;

influence of the peculiar character of Venice upon them, iii. 348;

their art to be compared to that of Greece, 355, 357;

their personification of Venice, 233, iii. 355, 356, 360;

quality of their religion, 357-359, 361, 364;

originality of their art, 361 note 1, 362;

comparison between them and the Flemish masters, 361;

subjects of their art, i. 233, iii. 362;

the unity and solidarity of the Venetian school, 371;

their naturalness, 382

Veniero, Lorenzo, his relations to Aretino, v. 419

Venusti, Marcello, influence of Michelangelo on his works, iii. 493

Vercelli: Ferrari's frescoes, iii. 489;

High School, the, ii. 116

Vergerio, Pier Paolo (the elder), a scholar of Giovanni da Ravenna, ii. 100

Vergerio, Pier Paolo, Bishop of Capo d'Istria, his attack on Della Casa, v. 275 note 1, 381 note 1;

his account of Berni's conversion to Lutheranism, 378 note 1;

relates that Berni's object in the rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato was the diffusion of Lutheran opinions, 378-380;

his flattery of Aretino, 410 note 1

Verme, Jacopo dal, leader of Condottieri, i. 150

Verocchio, Andrea, importance of his influence, iii. 141;

limitations of his genius, 142;

various works of his at Florence, 142, 145;

his equestrian statue of Colleoni, 143

Verona: S. Anastasia, monument of the Cavalli, iii. 163;

tombs of the Scaligers, 124, 163

Veronese, Paolo, his Europa, illustrating his treatment of mythology, iii. 291, 374;

his appearance before the Inquisition, 359, 446 note 1;

his sense of magnificence, 370 (cp. v. 398 note 2);

subjects of his art, iii. 372, 374;

his types of beauty compared with those of Rubens, 372;

his sobriety of imagination and excellence of workmanship, 373-374

Verradi, Carlo, his Ferrandus Servatus, v. 117 note 1

Verucchio, capture of, i. 176

Vesc, Stephen de, Seneschal de Beaucaire, his influence with Charles VIII., i. 541

Vespasiano, his contempt for printing, ii. 304, 370;

the last of the copyists, and the first of modern booksellers, 306;

value of his work, and goodness of his character, 307;

reason why he wrote in Italian, iv. 235;

his Biographies, 265 note 1;

his Life of Duke Frederick of Urbino, 174, 176, 179;

the library which he collected for the Duke of Urbino, 175, ii. 304;

cited for the Life of Pandolfino, i. 239 note 1, iv. 199;

does not mention him as author of the Governo della Famiglia, iv. 199;

his account of Poggio and Bruni, i. 275;

his Life of Alfonso the Magnanimous, 480 note 1, 569 note 1;

his Life of San Bernardino, 612;

quoted for Italian profligacy, 477 note 1;

his Life of Piero de' Pazzi, ii. 42 note 1;

his account of how Palla degli Strozzi brought Chrysoloras to Florence, 109;

cited for Strozzi's services to learning, 166;

copies MSS. for Cosimo de' Medici, 174;

relates how he collected books for Cosimo, 175;

quoted for Cosimo's versatility of talent, 176;

his anecdote of Cosimo's pruning his own fruit trees, v. 196;

his Life of Niccolò de' Niccoli, ii. 178;

his Life of Carlo Marsuppini, 186, 530;

his Life of Manetti, 186 note 1;

his description of Tommaso Parentucelli (Nicholas V.) in the Medicean circle at Florence, 224;

the catalogue of Niccolò's MSS. made by Tommaso, 174;

his account of his interview with Tommaso after his election, 226;

his character of Nicholas, 226;

his story of Pope Calixtus in the Vatican Library, 357;

cited for Vittorino da Feltre's purity of character, 297;

for the virtues of the Cardinal di Portogallo, iii. 154, v. 324 note 1

Vespucci, Guido Antonio, i. 201

Vettori, Francesco, i. 197 note 1, 203 note 1, 230;

the friend of Machiavelli, 315, 317 note 1, 322 note 2, 318;

his Sommario della Storia d' Italia, Appendix v. vol. i.

Vicars of the Church, their passage to tyranny, i. 111.

Vicars of the Empire, i. 35, 106, 133;

their passage to tyranny, 111, 156

Vicenza, early printing at, ii. 376;

luxury of the nobles of Vicenza, v. 191

—— Palazzo della Ragione, by Palladio, iii. 95;

representation of Anguillara's Edippo there, v. 134

—— High School, the, ii. 116;

attendance of foreigners there, 119;

its early decline, v. 497

Vico of the Prefetti at Viterbo, Francesco, murder of, i. 120, 168 note 1

Victor, John Bonifacius, tortured by the Spaniards at the Sack of Rome, ii. 445

Victor II., i. 59

Vida, made Bishop of Alba, ii. 403, 407;

his Cremonese origin, illustrating the loss of intellectual supremacy by Florence, 506;

frigid purism of his Christiad, 398, 399 (cp. 535, v. 519);

quoted to illustrate the subjects in which the poets of the Renaissance best succeeded, ii. 400;

the Art of Poetry, 471-476;

the apostrophe to Rome, 475, v. 522;

translated (prose), ii. 475

Vidovero, of Brescia, murdered by Pandolfo Malatesta, i. 113 note 1

Vignajuoli, I, name of an Academy at Rome, ii. 365, v. 227, 272, 357

Vignate, Giovanni, the millionaire of Lodi, i. 114;

imprisoned in a wooden cage by Filippo Visconti, 120

Vignola, his labours at S. Peter's, iii. 93;

his 'Treatise on the Orders,' 95, 96 note 1;

character of his genius, 96

Vigonça, the hero of an anonymous Maccaronic poem by a Paduan author, v. 331, 479 note 1

Villani, Chronicle of the, iv. 176;

its value, i. 251-260;

praised by Vespasiano, 276

—— Filippo, continues the Chronicle of Florence, i. 254;

his Lives of illustrious Florentines, 255;

cited for the story of Boccaccio at the tomb of Virgil, ii. 88, iv. 102;

apologises for his father not having written in Latin, iv. 236;

Giovanni, his Chronicle of Florence, i. 251, 254;

his reasons for undertaking it, 253, ii. 30, 144;

cited for the division of Guelfs and Ghibellines, i. 81;

for the rise of the Condottiere system, 156;

his account of the Flagellants, 618;

his relation of the taxes raised in Florence to build the Cathedral, iii. 64;

his story of the representation of Hell by burghers of the Borgo S. Friano, 198, v. 114;

his description of Florentine festivals, iv. 50, 51;

Matteo, his description of the despots, i. 128;

continues his brother's Chronicle, 254;

cited for the assassination of Matteo Visconti, 137 note 1;

for the cruelty of Bernabo Visconti, 139 note 1;

his account of the 'Black Death,' 259, iv. 111, v. 191;

of the preaching of Fra Jacopo, i. 610;

of the foundation of the Florentine University, ii. 119

Villotta, a name in N.E. Italy for the Rispetti, iv. 264, 266

Vinci, Lionardo da, universality of his genius, 171, 326, ii. 10, iii. 313, 314, 322, 327 note 1, 382;

the only great Florentine artist not befriended with the Medici, iii. 263;

one of the four great artists by whom the Renaissance was fully expressed, 312;

his studies of beauty and ugliness, 316-318;

his interest in psychological problems, 318 (cp. 35), 323, 363;

his study of the technicalities of art, 320;

his love of strange things, 321;

hisstrong personality, 322 note 3, 329;

his reluctance to finish, 323, 482;

greatness of his aims, 325;

his S. John, as illustrating the introduction of Pagan motives into Christian art, 34, 137, 318;

indebted for the type of face preferred by him to Verocchio, 142, 316;

his models for an equestrian statue of Francesco Sforza, 144, 324, 325;

his Leda and the Swan, illustrating his treatment of the antique, 291, 318;

fate of his works, 325;

the cartoon for the Council Chamber at Florence, 325, 396;

the Last Supper, 323, 326;

Lionardo's visit to the Court of France, 445;

school formed by him at Milan, 482;

his Treatise on Physical Proportions, ii. 37;

his Poems, iii. 314;

translation of a sonnet, 314 note 1

Vinciguerra, Antonio, his satirical poems, v. 381

Vindelino of Spires, joins his brother John as printer at Venice, ii. 369

Violi, Lorenzo, his notes of Savonarola's sermons, i. 511, 530 note 1

Virago, used without reproach at the time of the Renaissance as a term for accomplished ladies, v. 288

Virgil, read in the middle ages, i. 20;

honours paid to him at Mantua, 20, ii. 30, 63;

translation of a stanza from a hymn on Virgil used at Mantua, 63;

turned by popular belief into a magician, a Christian, a prophet of Christ, 65, 143;

influence of the Eclogues in forming the ideal of a Golden Age prevalent at the Renaissance, v. 195;

his tomb at Naples, i. 461, ii. 30, iv. 12, 88, 101

Viridario, the, an Academy at Bologna, ii. 366

Virtù, Machiavelli's use of the word, i. 171, 337 note 1, 345, 482, 484, 493, ii. 35, v. 440;

illustrated by Benvenuto Cellini, iii. 439, 479;

by Aretino, iv. 497, v. 410, 416, 425

Virtù, Le, the Vitruvian Club at Rome, ii. 366, v. 227

Visconti, the, i. 81, 116;

quarrel of the Visconti with Florence, 81, 82;

how they acquired their power, 112;

their patronage of art, iii. 42

—— Azzo, i. 133, 134;

his impartiality, 83 note 1;

Bernabo, 136, 139, 140, 141;

Carlo, one of the assassins of Galeazzo Maria Sforza, 165;

Filippo Maria, was afraid of thunder, 119, 152;

imprisons Giovanni Vignate in a wooden cage, 120;

seizes Pavia, 151;

has his wife beheaded, 152 note 2;

his character, 153, ii. 265;

his conduct to Alfonso the Magnanimous, i. 568 note 1;

his patronage of Filelfo, ii. 265, 277;

commissions Filelfo to write an Italian poem on S. John the Baptist, 279, iv. 235;

Gabriello, i. 102, 151;

Galeazzo (1), 133;

Galeazzo (2), 134, 136-140;

Gian Galeazzo, 87, 98, 102, 113 note 1, 138;

his marriage, 138;

succeeds, 140;

murders his uncle, 141;

his love of art, 141;

the grandeur of his schemes, 141;

his wealth, 143;

his character, 144;

his plots against the D'Este Family and the Gonzaghi, 146, 147;

transfers Asti to the House of Orleans, 143 note 1, v. 333;

progress of his conquests, 149;

dies of the plague, 149, iv. 162;

his plan to make himself King of Italy, iv. 161;

his saying on the injury caused him by Salutato's literary powers, ii. 104;

Giovanni, Archbishop of Milan, i. 135, 136;

Giovanni Maria, 151;

his cruelty and lust, 151, 478;

murdered, 152, 397 note 2;

Lucchino, 134;

Matteo, 136;

Otho, Archbishop of Milan, causes the downfall of the Della Torre family, 132;

Stefano, 136;

Valentina, her marriage to Louis d'Orléans, 143 note 1, 154 note 1;

Violante, her marriage to the Duke of Clarence, 137 note 2

Viscounts, creation of the title, i. 53

Vistarini family, the, their murder by Fisiraga, i. 120;

massacre by Tremacoldo, 148 note 1

Vitelleschi, Cardinal dei, his slaughter of the Trinci, i. 122;

attacked by Valla in the treatise on Constantine's Donation, ii. 260

Vitelli, the, of Città di Castello, their rise to power, i. 114;

members of this family become Condottieri, 161

—— Vitelozzo, i. 351;

murdered by Cesare Borgia at Sinigaglia, 351, 352, 462

Viterbo, pageants at, in 1462, on the Corpus Christi festival, iv. 316

Vitoni, Ventura, his Church of the Umiltà at Pistoja, iii. 83

Vitruvius, his influence on Italian architects, ii. 436, iii. 94 note 1

Vivarini, the, the first masters of the Venetian School, iii. 361

Volaterranus, Jacobus, his character of Julius II., i. 389 note 3

Volterra, Sack of, i. 176 note 1

—— Duomo, the: its roof, iii. 79 note 4;

Mino da Fiesole's Ciborium, 158 note 1

WALTER of Brienne. (See Duke of Athens.)

Webster, the dramatist, quoted, i. 119 note 2, ii. 35, iii. 155;

his 'White Devil of Italy,' i. 557, v. 69, 117, 288;

his treatment of Italian subjects, 68, 117

Wenceslaus, the Emperor, i. 148, 154

Werner of Urslingen, leader of Condottieri, i. 86, 158

William II., of Sicily, beginning of the Sicilian period of Italian literature at his Court, iv. 21

Wippo, his panegyric to the Emperor Henry III., cited, iv. 4

Witchcraft, Bull of Innocent VIII. against, i. 402 note 1, v. 347;

supposed prevalence of witchcraft in the Valtellina and Val Camonica, in the sixteenth century, i. 402 note 1, v. 316, 346 notes 1 and 2, 347;

general belief in witchcraft at that period in Italy, 344;

character of the Italian witches, 345;

Teutonic character of witchcraft in the Lombard district, 347

Wolfhard, his Life of S. Walpurgis, cited for medieval contempt of antiquity, ii. 60

Women, abuse of, common to the authors of the Renaissance, how explained, iv. 212

Wool trade, the, of Florence, i. 257

Worcester, Earl of, Bruni's translation of Aristotle's Politics originally dedicated to him, ii. 184

XENOPHON, the influence of his Œconomicus on Italian writers, iv. 196

ZANCHIUS, BASILIUS, his verses upon the death of Navagero, ii. 488

Zane, Paolo, his encouragement of learning at Venice, ii. 212;

sends Guarino to Constantinople, 299

Zeno, the Greek Emperor, i. 46

Zilioli, his account of Doni's life at Monselice, v. 91

TRANSLATIONS IN VERSE BY AUTHOR.

Alamanni, Triumph of Death, iv. 395

Aretino, Epitaph on, v. 423

Aristotle, Lines on Virtue, iv. 62

Bembo, De Galeso, ii. 483;

a Sonnet, v. 262

Benivieni, Song of Divine Madness, i. 481, iv. 304;

Laud to Jesus, iv. 303;

Passage from an Elegy, 561

Bernard, S., Stanzas from the Passion Hymn, iii. 17

Berni, Sonnet on Clement VII., v. 368;

Confession of Faith from the Rifacimento of Orlando Innamorato, 543-547

Boiardo, Sleeping Rinaldo, iv. 471;

Apostrophe of Orlando, 473;

on Friendship, 474;

Discourse of Orlando with Agricane, 475-477;

on Chivalrous Indifference to Wealth, 477;

Rinaldo at Merlin's Well, 482-484;

Tale of Narcissus, 485-487

Buonarroti, Madrigal on Florence, iii. 392;

Quatrain on La Notte, 394;

Twenty-three Sonnets, Appendix ii.;

Passage from an Elegy, iv. 561

Campanella, Three Sonnets, v. 481-483

Canto Carnascialesco, The Triumph of the Sieve, iv. 392

Della Casa, Six Sonnets, v. 279

Donati, Three Madrigals, iv. 531

Folengo, Two Stanzas from the Orlandino, v. 320 note 2;

Berta's Prayer from ditto, 356;

Rainero's Discourse on Monks from ditto, 537-540;

Rainero's Confession of Faith from ditto, 541-543

Folgore da San Gemignano, Ten Sonnets, iv. 526-530

Guidiccioni, A Sonnet, v. 282

Ibycus, On Peace, iv. 52

Jacopone, Fra, Presepio, iv. 532-534;

Corrotto, 535-538;

Stanzas from the Hymn of Love, 539-542

Machiavelli, Epigram on Soderini, i. 297

Medici, Lorenzo de', Sonnet to Venus, iv. 373;

Sonnet to the Evening Star, 374;

Passages from Le Selve, 376-380;

Passage from Corinto, 377;

Song of Baccus and Ariadne, 390

Molza, Five Stanzas from the Ninfa Tiberina, v. 231-233

Poliziano, Pantheistic Hymn, ii. 24;

Ballata of Roses, iv. 378;

Golden Age, 408;

Chorus of Mænads, 414;

Passages from the Canzoni and Giostra, 420

Popular Songs, Four, iv. 264-266

Pulci, Character of Margutte, iv. 543, 549;

Discourses of Astarotte, 549-556;

Description of the Storm at Saragossa, 557;

Autobiographical Stanza, 558;

Death of Baldwin, 559

Sacre Rappresentazioni, S. Uliva: Dirge for Narcissus, iv. 328;

May Song 329;

S. Maddalena: Christ's Sermon, 333-336

Sannazzaro, Sonnet on Jealousy, v. 200;

Sestine from the Arcadia, 212

Sappho, On Fame, ii. 41

Vinci, Lionardo da, Sonnet, iii. 314

Virgil, Stanza from the Hymn on, ii. 63

FOOTNOTES

[1] Students who care to trace the thoughts and characters of this great poem to their sources, should read Pio Rajna's exhaustive essay, Le Fonti dell'Orlando Furioso, Firenze, Sansoni, 1876. The details of the Orlando are here investigated and referred with scientific patience to Greek, Latin, French, Italian, and other originals. If anything, Signor Rajna may seem to have overstrained the point of critical sagacity. It is hardly probable that Ariosto, reader of few books as Virginio says he was, should have drawn on stores so multifarious of erudition.

[2] See Ugo Foscolo's essay on the Narrative and Romantic Poems of Italy in the Quarterly Review for April, 1819.

[3] Especially in Morgante and Margutte.

[4] See Capitolo iii.

[5] Ariosto's method of introducing flattery is simple. He makes Merlin utter predictions from his tomb, Melissa prophesy to Bradamante and Atlante to Ruggiero; or he displays magic frescoes, statues, and embroideries, where the future splendors of the Este family are figured; or, again, in the exordia of his cantos he directly addresses his patrons. Omitting lesser passages, we may reckon fifteen principal panegyrics of the Este house: canto iii. 16 to end, the fabulous pedigree; viii. 62, 63, praise of Ippolito; xiii. 57 and on, praises of the women of the family; xiv. beginning, the battle of Ravenna and Alfonso; xv. 2, 29, Alfonso's defeat of the Venetians; xviii. 1, 2, Alfonso's justice; xxxv. 4-9, prophecy of Ippolito; xxxvi. 1-9, Ippolito and the Venetians; xl. 1-5, defeat of the Venetians again; xli. 1-3, general adulation; xli. 62-67, pedigree again; xlii. 3, Alfonso wounded; xlii. 83-92, women of the family again; xliii. 54-62, praises of Ferrara; xlvii. 85-97, life of Ippolito. The most extravagant flatteries are lavished upon Ippolito and Lucrezia Borgia. When we remember who and what these Este princes were—how brutal in his cruelty Alfonso, how coarse and selfish and sensual Ippolito, how doubtful in her life Lucrezia—we cannot but feel these panegyrics to be sickening in their impudence.

[6] See the ending of the ninth and the beginning of the eleventh cantos of the Furioso.

[7] What Ariosto thought about contemporary Italy may be gathered from these lines (xvii. 76):

O d'ogni vizio fetida sentina,

Dormi, Italia imbriaca, e non ti pesa

Ch'ora di questa gente, ora di quella,

Che già serva ti fu, sei fatta ancella?

[8] Those who are curious may compare the three lines in which Dante likens Piero delle Vigne's voice issuing from his tree of torment to the hissing of sap in a green log upon the fire (Inf. xiii. 40) with the eight lines used by Ariosto to expand the same simile (Orl. Fur. vi. 27); or, again, Dante's picture of the sick woman on her bed of fever (Purg. vi. 149) with Ariosto's copy (Orl. Fur. xxviii. 90).

[9] Canto x. 52 et seq.

[10] Canto xxxvii. 104 et seq.

[11] Cantos xxxviii. xxxi. xxi. xliii. xlv. xliv. xvi.

[12] Canto xxxiv. 76-85.

[13] Par. Lost, iii. 440.

[14] Canto xxxv. 4-9.

[15] Canto xiv. 68-73.

[16] Canto xxvii. 37.

[17] Canto xxxviii. 30, 33, 26.

[18] Canto x. 72; ix. 68; xxii. 16; xlv. 65; xiii. 36.

[19] Canto xx. 122.

[20] Canto xxvii.

[21] Ibid. 101.

[22] The comparison of Ariosto and Euripides is not wholly fanciful. Both were supreme artists in an age of incipient decadence, lacking the convictions of their predecessors, and depending for effect upon rhetorical devices. Both were τραγικώτατοι in Aristotle's sense of the phrase, and both were romantic rather than heroic poets.

[23] Canto x. 84.

[24] The whole scene, with all its gradations of emotion, is too long to quote. But see xxiv. 74-87.

[25] Canto xxix. 27.

[26] Canto x. 20-34.

[27] See above, Part i. p. 510.

[28] Canto xxxvi., especially stanza 50.

[29] Canto xxxix. 10-15; cp. ib. 67-72.

[30] Canto xxxvii. 15.

[31] Canto xxxix. 69.

[32] See especially iv. 63-67.

[33] Introductions to cantos xliii. xxviii. xxix. xxii. xxvi.; cp. xxvii. 123.

[34] Canto xlii.

[35] Stanzas 6-9.

[36] If this seems over-stated, I might refer the reader to the prologue of the Suppositi, where the worst vice of the Renaissance is treated with a flippant relish; or, again, to the prologue of the Lena, where the double entendre is worthy of the grossest Capitolo. The plots of all Ariosto's comedies are of a vulgar, obscene, bourgeois type.

[37] See xxxix. 10-72, xx. 113, xlvi. 137, and passim, for the carnage wrought by knights cased in enchanted armor with invulnerable bodies upon defenseless Saracens or unarmed peasants. It was partly this that made Shelley shrink with loathing from the Furioso.

[38] Cantos xxi. 1-3, xx. 143, xxxviii. introduction, xlv. 57, xxv. introduction.

[39] Cantos xliv. xlv.

[40] Canto vi. 80, vii. 41-44. The sentiments, though superficial, are exquisitely uttered.

[41] Canto vi. 73.

[42] Canto vi. 75.

[43] Notice, for example, the irony of the seventh line in vi. 71, and of the third and fourth in the next stanza.

[44] Canto x. 95, 96, xi. 65, 66. The one is Angelica, the other Olimpia.

[45] Canto vi. 62, 63, 75.

[46] Canto vi. 71, xxxiv. 51-53.

[47] Canto ix. 7.

[48] Canto x. 102-106.

[49] Canto xi. 34-38.

[50] Canto xviii. 11, 14, 19, 22, 35.

[51] Canto i. 65, ii. 5, ix. 78, xx. 89, xxi. 15, 16, xxiv. 63, xxxvi. 40.

[52] Canto xxxix. 17.

[53] Canto xliii. 169.

[54] Iliad, iv. 140.

[55] Canto xxiv. 66.

[56] Canto xviii. 153.

[57] Canto xli. 1.

[58] See Bandello's Introduction to Nov. xxxv. of Part i., where a most disgusting story is ushered in with ethical reflections; and take this passage from the opening of one of Il Lasca's least presentable novels: "Prima che al novellare di questa sera si dia principio, mi rivolgo a te, Dio ottimo e grandissimo, che solo tutto sai e tutto puoi, pregandoti divotamente e di cuore, che per la tua infinita bontà e clemenza mi conceda, e a tutti questi altri che dopo me diranno, tanto del tuo ajuto e della tua grazia, che la mia lingua e la loro non dica cosa niuna, se non a tua lode e a nostra consolazione."—Le Cene (Firenze, Lemonnier, 1857), p. 7.

[59] It may be mentioned that not all stories were recited before women. Bandello introduces one of his tales with the remark that in the absence of the ladies men may be less careful in their choice of themes (Nov. xxx. pt. i.). The exception is singular, as illustrating what was thought unfit for female ears. The Novella itself consists of a few jokes upon a disgusting subject; but it is less immodest than many which he dedicated to noble women.

[60] I Novellieri in Prosa, by Giambattista Passano (Milano, Schiepatti, 1864), will be found an excellent dictionary of reference.

[61] This motive may have been suggested by Folgore da S. Gemignano's sonnet on the month of January.

[62] These are the pair so nobly painted by Luini above the high-altar of S. Maurizio at Milan. See my Sketches and Studies in Italy.

[63] What we know about manners at the Courts of our Elizabeth and James, and the gossip of the French Court in Brantome's Dames Galantes, remind us that this blending of grossness and luxury was not peculiar to Italy.

[64] See Dedication to Nov. xi. of second part.

[65] Read, for example, the Novella of Zilia, who imposed silence on her lover because he kissed her, and the whole sequel to his preposterous obedience (iii. 17); or the tale of Don Giovanni Emmanuel in the lion's den (iii. 39); or the rambling story of Don Diego and Ginevra la Bionda (i. 27). The two latter have a touch of Spanish extravagance, but without the glowing Spanish passion. In quoting Bandello, I shall refer to Part and Novel by two numerals. References are made to the Milanese edition, Novellieri Italiani, 1813-1816.

[66] For instance, Parte ii. Nov. 14; ii. xlv.; iii. 2, 3, 4, 7, 20.

[67] See the description in ii. 36 (vol. v. p. 270); and again, iii. 61; ii. 45.

[68] ii. 2.

[69] ii. 24.

[70] See, for instance, ii. 20; ii. 7.

[71] I need not give any references to the Novelle of this groveling type. But I may call attention to i. 35; ii. 11; iv. 34, 35. These tales are not exceptionally obscene; they illustrate to what extent mere filth of the Swiftian sort passed for fun in the Italy of Bembo and Castiglione.

[72] i. 42; iii. 21; iii. 52; ii. 12.

[73] iii. 18; ii. 21; i. 36; iii. 55.

[74] ii. 35; cp. i. 37.

[75] The pictures of Milanese luxury before the Spanish occupation are particularly interesting. See i. 9, and the beginning of ii. 8. It seems that then, as now, Milan was famous for her equipages and horses. The tale of the two fops who always dressed in white (iii. 11) brings that life before us. For the Venetian and Roman demi-monde, iii. 31; i. 19; i. 42; ii. 51, may be consulted. These passages have the value of authentic studies from contemporary life, and are told about persons whom the author knew at least by name.

[76] i. 8; i. 47.

[77] i. 26.

[78] i. 108.

[79] iii. 65.

[80] i. 44.

[81] ii. 41.

[82] ii. 37. It is clear that both followed the earlier version of Da Porto.

[83] ii. 36. This tale was fashionable in Italy. It forms the basis of that rare comedy, Gli Ingannati, performed by the Academy degli Intronati at Siena, and printed in 1538. The scene in this play is laid at Modena; the main plot is interwoven with two intrigues—between Isabella's father and Lelia, the heroine; and between Isabella's maid and a Spaniard. In spite of these complications the action is lucid, and the comedy is one of the best we possess. There is an excellent humorous scene of two innkeepers touting against each other for travelers (Act iii. 2). That Shakspere knew the Novella or the comedy before he wrote his Twelfth Night is more than probable.

[84] ii. 37. Historians will not look for accuracy in what is an Italian love-tale founded on an English legend.

[85] Take the description of the King's love-sickness (Nov. It. vol. v. p. 352), the incident of the King's offer to the Earl (pp. 353, 354), Edward's musings (p. 364), Alice alone in London (p. 376), the King's defiance of opinion (p. 379), the people's verdict against Alice (p. 380), Alice arming herself with the dagger (p. 398), the garden scene upon the Thames (p. 399). Then the discourses upon love and temperament (p. 325), on discreet conduct in love affairs (pp. 334-338), on real and false courtiers (pp. 382-388). Compare the descriptive passages on pp. 352, 354, 369, 393, 395, 398, with similar passages in Beaumont and Fletcher.

[86] Nov. It. vol. iv. p. 226. Compare the peroration of his Preface to the third part (vol. vii. p. 13).

[87] Vol. v. p. 38.

[88] Vol. iv. p. 226. Cp. vol. ix. p. 339.

[89] Vol. vi. p. 254.

[90] Vol. vii. p. 11.

[91] In the biography of Bandello he says, "Lo stile è piuttosto colto e studiato, che che taluno n'abbia detto in contrario, non però in guisa che possa mettersi a confronto di quello del Boccaccio."

[92] See Sonnet 79, Rime (ed. 1741).

[93] Founded respectively in 1540 and 1583. Grazzini quarreled with them both.

[94] Cena i. Nov. 3, is in its main motive modeled on that novel.

[95] The contrast between the amiable manners of the young men and women described in the introduction to Le Cene, and the stories put into their mouths; between the profound immorality, frigid and repellent, of the tales and Ghiacinto's prayer at the beginning; need not be insisted on.

[96] As I shall not dilate upon these novels further in the text, I may support the above censure by reference to the practical joke played upon the pedagogue (i. 2), to the inhuman novel of Il Berna (ii. 2), to the cruel vengeance of a brother (ii. 7), and to the story of the priest (ii. 8).

[97] See above, p. 56, note.

[98] Cena ii. 3.

[99] Cena ii. 4.

[100] See the Letters of Aretino, vol. ii. p. 239.

[101] All my references are made to the Opere di Messer Agnolo Firenzuola, 5 vols. Milan, 1802.

[102] Storia della Lett. It. lib. iii. cap. 3, sect. 27.

[103] In a letter to Aretino, dated Prato, Oct. 5, 1541, he says he had been ill for eleven years. It seems probable that his illness was of the kind alluded to in his Capitolo "In Lode del Legno Santo" (Op. Volg. iv. p. 204).

[104] Op. ii. pp. 94, 130.

[105] For example, Nov. iv. is the same as Bandello's II. xx.; Nov. vii. is the same as Il Lasca's ii. 10. and Fortina's xiv.

[106] Vol ii. p. 28. The poem put into Celso's mouth, p. 39, is clearly autobiographical.

[107] There is the usual reference to Boccaccio, at p. 32. I may take this occasion for citing an allusion to Boccaccio from the Introduction to Le Cene, which shows how truly he was recognized as the patron saint of novelists. See Le Cene (Firenze, Lemonnier, 1857), p. 4.

[108] Vol. i. pp. 1-97. I may here allude to a still more copious and detailed treatise on the same theme by Federigo Luigino of Udine: Il Libro della Bella Donna, Milano, Daelli, 1863; a reprint from the Venetian edition of 1554. This book is a symphony of grateful images and delicately chosen phrases; it is a dithyramb in praise of feminine beauty, which owes its charm to the intense sympathy, sensual and æsthetic, of the author for his subject.

[109] Selvaggia was the lady of Firenzuola's Rime.

[110] See the Elegia alle Donne Pratesi, vol. iv. p. 41.

[111] Vol. i. p. 16. Compare the extraordinary paragraph about female beauty being an earnest of the beauties of Paradise (pp. 31, 32).

[112] Ibid. p. 21.

[113] Ibid. pp. 51-62.

[114] Vol. i. pp. 75-80.

[115] Vol. iii. The Golden Ass begins with an autobiography (vol. i. p. 103).

[116] Vol. iv. pp. 19, 76.

[117] My principal authority is Doni's Life by S. Bongi prefixed to an edition of the Novelle, 1851, and reprinted in Fanfani's edition of I Marmi, Florence, 1863.

[118] See Zilioli, quoted by Bongi, I Marmi, vol. i. p. xiv.

[119] How Doni hated his orders may be gathered from these extracts: "La bestial cosa che sia sopportare quattro corna in capo senza belare unquanco. Io ho un capriccio di farmi scomunicare per non cantare più Domine labia, e spretarmi per non essere a noia a tutte le persone." "L'esser colla chierica puzza a tutti." His chief grievance was that he had made no money out of the Church.

[120] The greater part of what we know about the Pellegrini occurs in Doni's I Marmi. See also a memoir by Giaxich, and the notices in Mutinelli's Diari Urbani.

[121] Those I am acquainted with are I Marmi, I Mondi, Lo Stufaiuolo, the Novelle, and two little burlesque caprices in prose, La Mula and La Chiave.

[122] I Marmi, per Fanfani e Bongi, Firenze, Barbèra, 1863, 2 vols.

[123] Parte ii. "Della Stampa."

[124] Novelle di Autori Senesi, edited by Gaetano Poggiali, Londra (Livorno), 1796. This collection, reprinted in the Raccolta di Novellieri Italiani, Milano, 1815, vols. xiv. and xv., contains Bernardo Illicini, Giustiniano Nelli, Scipione Bargagli, Gentile Sermini, Pietro Fortini, and others. Of Sermini's Novelle a complete edition appeared in 1874 at Livorno, from the press of Francesco Vigo; and to this the student should now go. Romagnoli of Bologna in 1877 published three hitherto inedited novels of Fortini, together with the rubrics of all those which have not yet been printed. Their titles enable us to comprehend the scruples which prevented Poggiali from issuing the whole series.

[125] Imbasciata di Venere, Sermini, ed. cit. p. 117.

[126] Il Giuoco della pugna, Sermini, ed. cit. p. 105.

[127] See Le Cene, pt. ii. Nov. 10, and Firenzuola's seventh Novella.

[128] None of them are included in the Milanese Novellieri Italiani. The editions I shall use are Proverbii di Messer Antonio Cornazano in Facetie, Bologna, Romagnoli, 1865; Le Piacevoli Notti, in Vinegia per Comin da Trino di Monferrato, MDLI.; Gli Hecatommithi di M. Giovanbattista Giraldi Cinthio, Nobile Ferrarese, in Vinegia, MDLXVI., Girolamo Scotto, 2 vols.

[129] Fiabe, Novelle, Racconti, Palermo, Lauriel, 1875, 4 vols. I may here take occasion to notice that one Novella by the Conte Lorenzo Magalotti (Nov. It. vol. xiii. p. 362), is the story of Whittington and his Cat, told of a certain Florentine, Ansaldo degli Ormanni, and the King of the Canary Islands.

[130] John Wilson's play of Belphegor, Dekker's If it be not good the Divel is in it, and Ben Jonson's The Devil is an Ass, were more or less founded on Machiavelli's and Straparola's novels.

[131] Dunlop in his History of Fiction, vol. ii. p. 411, speaks of a Latin MS. preserved in the library of S. Martin at Tours which contained the tale, but he also says that it was lost at "the period of the civil wars in France."

[132] The title leads us to expect one hundred tales; but counting the ten of the Introduction, there are one hundred and ten. When the book first circulated, it contained but seventy. The first edition is that of Monte Regale in Sicily, 1565. My copy of the Venetian edition of 1566 is complete.

[133] The ten novels of the Introduction deal exclusively with the manners of Italian prostitutes. Placed as a frontispiece to the whole repertory, they seem intended to attract the vulgar reader.

[134] "Comedia de Timone per el Magnifico Conte Matheo Maria Boyardo Conte de Scandiano traducta de uno Dialogo de Luciano. Stampata in Venetia per Georgio di Rusconi Milanese, del MDXVIII. adì iii di Decembre." From the play itself we learn that it must have been represented on a double stage, a lower one standing for earth and a higher one for heaven. The first three acts consist chiefly of soliloquies by Timon and conversations with celestial personages—Jove, Mercury, Wealth, Poverty. In the fourth act we are introduced to characters of Athenians—Gnatonide, Phylade, Demea, Trasycle, who serve to bring Timone's misanthropy into relief; and the fifth act brings two slaves, Syro and Parmeno, upon the scene, with a kind of underplot which is not solved at the close of the play. The whole piece must be regarded rather as a Morality than a Comedy, and the characters are allegories or types more than living persons.

[135] To determine the question of priority in such matters is neither easy nor important. Students who desire to follow the gradual steps in the development of Italian play-writing before the date of Ariosto and Machiavelli may be referred to D'Ancona's work on the Origini del Teatro.

[136] I have enlarged on these points in my Essay on Euripides (Greek Poets, Series i.). I may take occasion here to say that until Sept. 1879, after this chapter was written, I had not met with Professor Hillebrand's Études Italiennes (Paris, Franck, 1868).

[137] Exception must be made in favor of some ancient quasi-tragedies, which seem to prove that before the influences of Boccaccio and the Renaissance had penetrated the nation, they were not deficient in the impulse to dramatize history. The Eccerinis of Albertino Mussato (c. 1300), half dialogue and half narration, upon the fate of Ezzellino da Romano, composed in the style of Seneca; the dialogue upon the destruction of Cesena (1377) falsely attributed to Petrarch; Giovanni Mangini della Motta's poem on the downfall of Antonio della Scala (1387), Lodovico da Vezzano's tragedy of Jacopo Piccinino; though far from popular in their character, and but partially dramatic, were such as under happier auspices might have fostered the beginnings of the tragic theater. Later on we hear of the Fall of Granada being represented before Cardinal Riario at Rome, as well as the Ferrandus Servatus of Carlo Verradi (1492).

[138] See the first cast of Jonson's Every Man in his Humor.

[139] See above, Part I, p. 276, where one ballad of the Border type is discussed.

[140] It is certainly significant that the Spanish share with the English the chief honors both of the ballad and the drama. The Scandinavian nations, rich in ballads, have been, through Danish poets, successful in dramatic composition. The Niebelungen Lied and the Song of Roland would, in the case of Germany and France, have to be set against the English ballads of action. But these Epics are different in character from the minstrelsy which turned passing events into poetry and bequeathed them in the form of spirit-stirring narratives to posterity. Long after the epical impulse had ceased and the British epic of Arthur had passed into the sphere of literature, the ballad minstrels continued to work with dramatic energy upon the substance of contemporary incidents.

[141] See above, p. 54, for the distinction between the Italian Novella and the modern novel.

[142] In the same way Alfieri's biography is a tragic and Goldoni's a comic novel. The Memoirs of Casanova, which I incline to accept as genuine, might rather be cited as a string of brilliantly written Novelle.

[143] Cantù quotes the prologue of a MS. play which goes so far as to apologize for the scene not being laid at Athens (Lett. It. p. 471):

Benchè l'usanza sia

Che ogni commedia

Si soglia fare a Atene,

Non so donde si viene

Che questa non grecizza,

Anzi fiorentinizza.

[144] Commedie di Antonfrancesco Grazzini (Firenze, Lemonnier, 1859), p. 5.

[145] Op. cit. p. 109.

[146] Ibid. p. 173.

[147] I have put into an Appendix some further notes upon the opinions recorded by the playwrights concerning the progress of the dramatic art.

[148] My references to Italian tragedies will be made to the Teatro Italiano Antico, 10 vols., Milano, 1809.

[149] This is shown by his device of a Golden Fleece, referring to the voyage of the Argonauts. To sail the ocean of antiquity as an explorer, and to bring back the spoils of their artistic method was his ambition.

[150] Compare what Giraldi says in the dedication of his Orbecche to Duke Ercole II.: "Ancora che Aristotele ci dia il modo di comporle." In the same passage he dwells on the difficulties of producing tragedies in the absence of dramatic instinct, with an ingenuousness that moves our pity: "Quando altri si dà a scrivere in quella maniera de' Poemi, che sono stati per tanti secoli tralasciati, che appena di loro vi resta una lieve ombra." It never occurred to him that great poetry comes neither by observation nor by imitation of predecessors. The same dedication contains the monstrous critical assertion that the Latin poets, i.e. Seneca, improved upon Greek tragedy—assai più grave la fecero.

[151] This tragedy was acted at Ferrara in Giraldi's house before Ercole II., Duke of Ferrara, and a brilliant company of noble persons, in 1541. The music was composed by M. Alfonso dalla Viuola, the scenery by M. Girolamo Carpi.

[152] Giraldi, a prolific writer of plays, dramatized three other of his novels in the Arrenopia, the Altile and the Antivalomeni. He also composed a Didone and a Cleopatra.

[153] It may here be remarked that though the scholarly playwrights of the Renaissance paid great attention to Aristotle's Poetics, and made a conscientious study of some Greek plays, especially the Antigone, the Œdipus Tyrannus, the Phœnissæ, and the Iphigenia in Tauris, they held the uncritical opinion, openly expressed by Giraldi, that Seneca had improved the form of the Greek drama. Their worst faults of construction, interminable monologues, dialogues between heroines and confidantes, dry choric dissertations, and rhetorical declamations are due to the preference for Seneca. The more we study Italian literature in the sixteenth century, the more we are compelled to acknowledge that humanism and all its consequences were a revival of Latin culture, only slightly tinctured with the simpler and purer influences of the Greeks. Latin poetry had the fatal attraction of facility. It was, moreover, itself composite and derivatory, like the literature of the new age. We may profitably illustrate the attitude of the Italian critics by Sidney's eulogy of Gorboduc: "full of stately speeches and well-sounding phrases, climbing to the height of Seneca his style, and as full of notable morality which it doth most delightfully teach and so obtain the very end of Poesy."

[154] D'Ancona (Origini del Teatro, vol. ii. sec. xxxix.) may be consulted upon the attempts to secularize the Sacre Rappresentazioni which preceded the revival of classical comedy.

[155] Leo X., with a Medici's true sympathy for plebeian literature added to his own coarse sense of fun, patronized the farces of the Sienese Company called Rozzi. Had his influence lasted, had there been any one to continue the traditions of his Court at Rome, it is not impossible that a more natural comedy, as distinguished from the Commedia erudita, might have been produced by this fashionable patronage of popular dramatic art.

[156] See D'Ancona, Or. del Teatro, vol. ii. p. 201.

[157] Sabellico, quoted by Tiraboschi, says of him: "primorum antistitum atriis suo theatro usus, in quibus Plauti, Terentii, recentiorum etiam quædam agerentur fabulæ, quas ipse honestos adolescentes et docuit et agentibus præfuit."

[158] See the letter of Sulpizio da Veroli to Raffaello Riario, quoted by Tiraboschi; "eamdemque, postquam in Hadriani mole Divo Innocentio spectante est acta, rursus inter tuos penates, tamquam in media Circi cavea, toto consessu umbraculis tecto, admisso populo, et pluribus tui ordinis spectatoribus honorifice excepisti. Tu etiam primus picturatæ scenæ faciem, quum Pomponiam comœdiam agerent, nostro sæculo ostendisti."

[159] See Lucrezia Borgia, by Gregorovius (Stuttgart, 1874), vol. i. p. 201.

[160] Nicolò was a descendant of the princely house of Correggio. He married Cassandra, daughter of Bartolommeo Colleoni. His Cefalo was a mixed composition resembling the Sacre Rappresentazioni in structure. In the Prologue he says:

Requiret autem nullus hic Comœdiæ

Leges ut observentur, aut Tragœdiæ;

Agenda nempe est historia, non fabula.

See D'Ancona, op. cit. vol. 2, pp. 143-146, 155.

[161] Ep. Fam. i. 18, quoted by Tiraboschi.

[162] Gregorovius in his book on Lucrezia Borgia (pp. 228-239) has condensed the authorities. See, too, Dennistoun, Dukes of Urbino, vol. i. pp. 441-448.

[163] The minute descriptions furnished by Sanudo of these festivals read like the prose letterpress accompanying the Masks of our Ben Jonson.

[164] Il Lasca in his prologue to the Strega (ed. cit. p. 171) says: "Questa non è fatta da principi, nè da signori, nè in palazzi ducali e signorili; e però non avrà quella pompa d'apparato, di prospettiva, e d'intermedj che ad alcune altre nei tempi nostri s'è veduto."

[165] A fine example of the Italian Mask is furnished by El Sacrificio, played with great pomp by the Intronati of Siena in 1531 and printed in 1537. El Sacrificio de gli Intronati Celebrato ne i giuochi del Carnovale in Siena l'Anno MDXXXI. Full particulars regarding the music, mise en scène, and ballets on such ceremonial occasions, will be found in two curious pamphlets, Descrizione dell'Apparato fatto nel Tempio di S. Giov. di Fiorenza, etc. (Giunti, 1568), and Descrizione dell'Entrata della Serenissima Reina Giovanna d'Austria, etc. (Giunti, 1566). They refer to a later period, but they abound in the most curious details.

[166] See the details brought together by Campori, Notizie per la vita di Lodovico Ariosto, p. 74, Castiglione's letter on the Calandra at Urbino, the private representation of the Rosmunda in the Rucellai gardens, of the Orbecche in Giraldi's house, of the Sofonisba at Vicenza, of Gelli's Errore by the Fantastichi, etc.

[167] Stadt Rom, viii. 350.

[168] See the article "Fornovo" in my Sketches and Studies in Italy.

[169] At this point, in illustration of what has been already stated, I take the opportunity of transcribing a passage which fairly represents the conditions of play-going in the cinque cento. Doni, in the Marmi, gives this description of two comedies performed in the Sala del Papa of the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence.[A] "By my faith, in Florence never was there anything so fine: two stages, one at each end of the Hall: two wonderful scenes, the one by Francesco Salviati, the other by Bronzino: two most amusing comedies, and of the newest coinage; the Mandragola and the Assiuola: when the first act of the one was over, there followed the first act of the other, and so forth, each play taking up the other, without interludes, in such wise that the one comedy served as interlude for the other. The music began at the opening, and ended with the close."

[A] Barbèra's edition, 1863, vol. i. p. 67.

[170] One of the chief merits of the Calandra in the eyes of contemporaries was the successful adaptation of Boccaccio's style to the stage. Though Italians alone have the right to pronounce judgment on such matters, I confess to preferring the limpid ease of Ariosto and the plebeian freshness of Gelli. The former has the merit of facile lucidity, the latter of native raciness. Bibbiena's somewhat pompous phraseology sits ill upon his farcical obscenities.

[171] See the translation in Dennistoun, vol. ii. p. 141.

[172] See Vasari, viii. 227.

[173] See D'Ancona, op. cit. vol. ii. p. 250, for the special nature of the Farsa. See also ib. p. 211, the description by Paolucci of Leo's buffooneries in the Vatican.

[174] See Campori, Notizie Inedite di Raffaello di Urbino, Modena, 1863, quoted by D'Ancona, op. cit. p. 212. The entertainment cost Leo 1,000 ducats.

[175] No doubt Paolucci refers to the obscene play upon the word Suppositi, and to the ironical epithet of Santa applied to Roma in a passage which does no honor to Ariosto.

[176] For the dates of Ariosto's dramatic compositions, see above, Part I, p. 499. The edition I shall refer to, is that of Giovanni Tortoli (Firenze, Barbèra, 1856), which gives both the prose and verse redactions of the Cassaria and Suppositi. It may here be incidentally remarked that there are few thoroughly good editions of Italian plays. Descriptions of the dramatis personæ, stage directions, and illustrative notes are almost uniformly wanting. The reader is left to puzzle out an intricate action without help. All the slang, the local customs, and the passing allusions which give life to comedy and present so many difficulties to the student, are for the most part unexplained.

[177] Gabrielle added the last two scenes of the fifth act. See his prologue. But whether he introduced any modifications into the body of the play, or filled up any gaps, does not appear.

[178]

Poichè a Pavia levato era il salario

Alli dottor, nè più si facea studio

Per le guerre che più ogni dì augumentano.

[179] Their opposite humors are admirably developed in the dialogues of act ii. sc. 5, act iii. sc. 5.

[180] Compare Bartolo's soliloquy in act iv. sc. 6, with Lazzaro's confidences to Bonfazio, whom he mistakes for Bartolo, in act v. sc. 3.

[181] His action in the comedy is admirably illustrated by the self-revelation of the following soliloquy (act iv. sc. 1):

Io vuò a ogni modo aiutar questo giovane,

E dir dieci bugie, perchè ad incorrere

Non abbia con suo padre in rissa e in scandalo:

E così ancor quest'altro mio, che all'ultima

Disperazione è condotto da un credere

Falso e da gelosia che a torto il stimola.

Nè mi vergognerò d'ordire, o tessere

Fallacie e giunti, e far ciò ch'eran soliti

Gli antichi servi già nelle commedie:

Chè veramente l'aiutare un povero

Innamorato, non mi pare uffizio

Servil, ma di gentil qualsivoglia animo.

[182] The process is well indicated in the lines I have italicized in Bonifazio's soliloquy. He is no longer a copy of the Latin slaves, but a free agent who emulates their qualities.

[183] With all admiration for the Lena, how can we appreciate the cynicism of the situation revealed in the first scene—the crudely exposed appetites of Flavio, the infamous conduct of Fazio, who places his daughter under the tutelage of his old mistress?

[184] Act iii. sc. 6.

[185] Act iv. sc. 4. In the last line but one, ought we not to read mostreratela or else mostrerollavi?

[186] Room must be found for a few of the sarcasms, uttered chiefly by Accursio, which enliven the Scolastica. Here are the humanists:

questi umanisti, che cercano

Medaglie, e di rovesci si dilettano.

Here is Rome:

Roma, dove intendono

Che 'l sangue degli Apostoli e de' Martiri

È molto dolce, e a lor spese è un bel vivere.

Here is Ferrara:

Ferrara, ove pur vedesi

Che fino alli barbieri paion nobili.

Here are the Signori of Naples:

da Napoli.

Ho ben inteso che ve n'è più copia

Che a Ferrara di Conti; e credo ch'abbiano,

Come questi contado, quei dominio.

[187] Cecchi noticed the lucid order, easy exposition and smooth conduct of Ariosto's plots, ranking him for these qualities above the Latin poets. See the passage from Le Pellegrine quoted below.

[188] In an essay on the Italian language, included among Machiavelli's works, but ascribed to him on no very certain ground.

[189] Notice the long monologue of the Cassaria in which Lucramo describes the fashionable follies of Ferrara. Ariosto gradually outgrew this habit of tirade. The Scolastica is freer than any of his pieces from the fault.

[190] Le Commedie di N. Machiavelli, con prefazione di F. Perfetti, Firenze, Barbèra, 1863.

[191] Take this picture of Virginia (act i. sc. 2):

Ap.

Dilettasi ella dar prova a filare,

O tessere, o cucire, com'è usanza?

Mis.

No, chè far lassa tal cosa a sua madre.

Ap.

Di che piglia piacer?

Mis.

Delle finestre,

Dove la sta dal mattino alla sera.

E vaga è di novelle, suoni e canti,

E studia in lisci, e dorme, e cuce in guanti.

Or the picture of the lovers in church described by the servant, Doria (act iii. sc. 2), or Virginia's portrait of her jealous husband (act iii. sc. 5).

[192] The scene between Caterina and Amerigo, when the latter is caught in flagrant adultery (act iii. 5), anticipates the catastrophe of the Clizia. The final scene between Caterina, Amerigo, and Fra Alberigo bears a close resemblance to the climax of the Mandragola. On the hypothesis that this comedy is not Machiavelli's but an imitator's, the playwright must have had both the Clizia and the Mandragola in his mind, and have designed a pithy combination of their most striking elements.

[193] See especially the scenes between Caterina and Margherita (act i. 3; act ii. 1) where the advantages of taking a lover and of choosing a friar for this purpose are discussed. They abound in gros mots, as thus:

Cat. Odi, in quanto a cotesta parte tu di' la verità; ma quello odore ch'egli hanno poi di salvaggiume, non ch'altro mi stomaca a pensarlo.

Marg. Eh! eh! poveretta voi! i frati, eh? Non si trova generazione più abile ai servigi delle donne. Voi dovete forse avere a pigliarvi piacere col naso? etc.

[194] Compare his speech to Caterina (act ii. 5) with his dialogue with Margherita (act iii. 4) and his final discourse on charity and repentance (act iii. 6). The irony of these words, "Certamente, Amerigo, che voi potete vantarvi d'aver la più saggia e casta giovane, non vo' dir di Fiorenza ma di tutto 'l mondo," pronounced before Caterina a couple of hours after her seduction, fixes the measure of Machiavelli's cynicism.

[195] The quite unquotable but characteristic monologue which opens the third act is an epitome of Margherita's character.

[196] Act iii. 5.

[197] From an allusion in act ii. sc. 3, it is clear that the Clizia was composed after the Mandragola. If we assign the latter comedy to a date later than 1512, the year of Machiavelli's disgrace, which seems implied in its prologue, the Clizia must be reckoned among the ripest products of his leisure. The author hints that both of these comedies were suggested to him by facts that had come under his notice in Florentine society.

[198] The Clizia furnished Dolce with the motive of his Ragazzo ("Il Ragazzo, comedia di M. Lodovico Dolce. Per Curtio de Navò e fratelli al Leone, MDXLI."). An old man and his son love the same girl. A parasite promises to get the girl for the old man, but substitutes a page dressed up like a woman, while the son sleeps with the real girl. Readers of Ben Jonson will be reminded of Epicœne. But in Dolce's Ragazzo the situation is made to suggest impurity and lacks rare Ben's gigantic humor.

[199] See Sofronia's soliloquy, act. ii. sc. 4.

[200] Cleandro understands the faint shadow of scruple that suggested this scheme: "perchè tentare d'averla prima che maritata, gli debbe parere cosa impia e brutta" (act i. sc. 1). This sentence is extremely characteristic of Italian feeling.

[201] His observations on his father, are, however, marked by more than ordinary coarseness. "Come non ti vergogni tu ad avere ordinato, che si delicato viso sia da sì fetida bocca scombavato, sì delicate carni da sì tremanti mani, da sì grinze e puzzolenti membra tocche?" Then he mingles fears about Nicomaco's property with a lover's lamentations. "Tu non mi potevi far la maggiore ingiuria, avendomi con questo colpo tolto ad un tratto e l'amata e la roba; perchè Nicomaco, se questo amor dura, è per lasciare delle sue sustanze più a Pirro che a me" (act iv. sc. 1).

[202] Act iii. scs. 4, 5, 6.

[203] Act v. scs. 2 and 3.

[204] See Age of the Despots, pp. 315-319. Of the two strains of character so ill-blent in Machiavelli, the Mandragola represents the vulgar, and the Principe the noble. The one corresponds to his days at Casciano, the other to his studious evenings.

[205] "Se voi vedessi uscire i personaggi più di cinque volte in scena, non ve ne ridete, perchè le catene che tengono i molini sul fiume, non terrebbeno i pazzi d'oggidì" (Prologue to the Cortigiana).

[206] "Non vi maravigliate se lo stil comico non s'osserva con l'ordine che si richiede, perchè si vive d'un'altra maniera a Roma che non si vivea in Atene" (Ibid.).

[207] "Io non mi son tolto dagli andari del Petrarca e del Boccaccio per ignoranza, chè pur so ciò che essi sono; ma per non perdere il tempo, la pazienza e il nome nella pazzia di volermi transformare in loro" (Prologue to the Orazia).

[208] "Più pro fa il pane asciutto in casa propria che l'accompagnato con molte vivande su altrui tavola. Imita qua, imita là; tutto è fava, si può dire alle composizioni dei più ... di chi imita, mi faccio beffe ... posso giurare d'esser sempre me stesso, ed altri non mai" (Ibid.).

[209] "Io mi rido dei pedanti, i quali si credono che la dottrina consiste nella lingua greca, dando tutta la riputatione allo in bus in bas della grammatica" (Prologue to Orazia). "I crocifissori del Petrarca, i quali gli fanno dir cose con i loro comenti, che non gliene fariano confessare diece tratti di corda. E bon per Dante che con le sue diavolerie fa star le bestie in dietro, che a questa ora saria in croce anch'egli" (Prologue to Cortigiana).

[210] His tragedy Orazia has just the same merits of boldness and dramatic movement in parts, the same defects of incoherence. It detaches itself favorably from the tragedies of the pedants.

[211] "Egli è uno di quegli animali di tanti colori che il vostro avolo comperò in cambio d'un papagallo" (act i. sc. 1).

[212] Its most tedious episode is a panegyric of Venice at the expense of Rome (act iii. sc. 7).

[213] Act i. sc. 22.

[214] He makes the same point in the prologue to La Talenta: "Chi brama d'acquistarsi il nome del più scellerato uomo che viva, dica il vero."

[215] Act i. sc. 9; act ii. sc. 6; act ii. sc. 10; act iii. sc. 7.

[216] See especially act i. sc. 7.

[217] Act iv. sc. 6.

[218] Notice the extraordinary virulence of his invective against the tinello or common room of servants in a noble household (act v. sc. 15).

[219] Act ii. sc. 1; act i. scs. 11-18.

[220] Act i. sc. 4; act i. sc. 11; act ii. sc. 7.

[221] Act ii. sc. 6.

[222] Of all Aretino's plays the Marescalco is the simplest and the most artistically managed.

[223] Act i. sc. 6; act ii. sc. 5.

[224] Talanta's apology for her rapacity and want of heart (act i. sc. 1); the description of her by her lover Orfinio, who sees through her but cannot escape her fascination (act i. sc. 7); the critique of her by a sensible man (act i. sc. 12); her arts to bring her lover back to his allegiance and wheedle the most odious concessions (act i. sc. 13); her undisguised marauding (act i. sc. 14); these moments in the evolution of her character are set forth with the decision of a master's style.

[225] The Prologue to the Cortigiana passes all the literary celebrities of Italy in review with a ferocity of sarcasm veiled in irony that must have been extremely piquant. And take this equivocal compliment to Molza from the Marescalco (act v. sc. 3), "il Molza Mutinense, che arresta con la sua fistola i torrenti."

[226] Lorenzino de' Medici, Daelli, Milano, 1862.

[227] The pseudo-classical hybrid I have attempted to describe is analogous in its fixity of outline to the conventional framework of the Sacre Rappresentazioni, which allowed a playwright the same subordinate liberty of action and saved him the trouble of invention to a like extent. It may here be noticed that the Italians in general adopted stereotyped forms for dramatic representation. Harlequin, Columbine, and Pantaloon, the Bolognese doctor, the Stenterello of Florence, the Meneghino of Milan, and many other dramatic types, recognized as stationary, yet admitting of infinite variety in treatment by author or actor, are notable examples. In estimating the dramatic genius of Italy this tendency to move within defined and conventional limits of art, whether popular or literary, must never be forgotten.

[228] Cinthio's conduct towards Emilia in the Negromante is a good instance.

[229] See above, p. 163, note, for Cleandro in the Mandragola; and compare Alamanno's conversation with his uncle Lapo, his robbery of his mother's money-box, and his reflections on the loss he should sustain by her re-marriage, in Gelli's La Sporta (act iii. 5; ii. 2). Camillo's allusions to his father's folly in Gelli's Errore (act iv. 2) are no less selfish and heartless. Alamanno's plot to raise a dower by fraud (La Sporta, iv. 1) may be compared with Fabio's trick upon his stepmother in Cecchi's Martello. In the latter his father takes a hand.

[230] Ghirigoro in Gelli's Sporta, Gherardo in Gelli's Errore, Girolamo in Cecchi's Martello. It is needless to multiply examples. The analyses of Machiavelli's comedies will suffice.

[231] It would be easy to illustrate each of these points from the comedies of Ariosto, Cecchi, Machiavelli, Lorenzino de' Medici; to which the reader may be referred passim for proof.

[232] Opere di Gio. Battista Gelli (Milano, 1807), vol. iii.

[233] Commedie di Giovan Maria Cecchi, 2 vols., Lemonnier.

[234] Opere di Messer Agnolo Firenzuola (Milano, 1802), vol. v.

[235]

E 'l divino Ariosto anco, a chi cedono

Greci, Latini e Toscan, tutti i comici.

Prologue to I Rivali.

Ma che dirò di te, spirito illustre,

Ariosto gentil, qual lode fia

Uguale al tuo gran merto, al tuo valore?

Cede a te nella comica palestra

Ogni Greco e Latin, perchè tu solo

Hai veramente dimostrato come

Esser deve il principio, il mezzo e 'l fine

Delle comedie, etc.

Le Pellegrine, Intermedio Sesto, published by Barbèra, 1855.

[236] See the "Esaltazione della Croce," Sacre Rappresentazioni, Lemonnier, vol. iii. Compare those curious hybrid plays, Il Figliuolo Prodigo, La Morte del Re Acab, La Conversione della Scozia, in his collected plays (Lemonnier, 1856). Lo Sviato may be mentioned as another of his comedies derived from the Sacre Rappr. with a distinctly didactic and moral purpose.

[237] See Prologue to La Strega, and above, p. 124.

[238] I reserve for another chapter the treatment of the Pastoral, which eventually proved the most original and perfect product of the Italian stage.

[239] The titles of his Farse given by D'Ancona are I Malandrini, Pittura, Andazzo, Sciotta, Romanesca.

[240] Prologue to the Romanesca, Firenze, Cenniniana, 1874.

[241] Dolce in the Prologue to his Ragazzo says that, immodest as a comedy may be, it would be impossible for any play to reproduce the actual depravity of manners.

[242] What I have already observed with regard to the Novelle—namely, that Italy lacked the purifying and ennobling influences of a real public, embracing all classes, and stimulating the production of a largely designed, broadly executed literature of human nature—is emphatically true also of her stage. The people demand greatness from their authors—simplicity, truth, nobleness. They do not shrink from grossness; they tolerate what is coarse. But these elements must be kept in proper subordination. Princes, petty coteries, academies, drawing-room patrons, the audience of the antechamber and the boudoir, delight in subtleties, doubles entendre, scandalous tales, Divorce Court arguments. The people evokes Shakspere; the provincial Court breeds Bibbiena.

[243] Cortigiana, act ii. sc. 10.

[244] See Corio, quoted in Age of the Despots, p. 548, note 1. For Milanese luxury, Bandello, vol. i. pp. 219 et seq.; vol. iv. p. 115 (Milan edition, 1814). For Vicenza, Morsolin's Trissino, p. 291.

[245] De Poet. Hist. Dial. 8. Giraldi may have had men like Inghirami, surnamed "Phædra," and Cardinal Bibbiena in view.

[246] See above, Part i. p. 170, for the Golden Age in the Quadriregio.

[247] The chief sources of Sannazzaro's biography are a section of his Arcadia (Prosa, vii.), and his Latin poems. The Sannazzari of Pavia had the honor of mention in Dante's Convito. Among the poet's Latin odes are several addressed to the patron saint of his race. See Sannazarii op. omn. Lat. scripta (Aldus, 1535), pp. 16, 53, 56, 59.

[248] Elegy, "Quod pueritiam egerit in Picentinis," op. cit. p. 27.

[249] Elegy, "Ad Junianum Maium Præceptorem," op. cit. p. 20.

[250] I may refer in particular to Sannazzaro's beautiful elegy "De Studiis suis et Libris Joviani Pontani" among his Latin poems, op. cit. p. 10. For their terra-cotta portraits, see above Revival of Learning, p. 365.

[251] Sannazzaro's two odes on "Villa Mergellina" and "Fons Mergellines" (Op. cit. pp. 31, 53), are among his purest and most charming Latin compositions.

[252] She is described in Prosa iv., and frequently mentioned under the name of Arancio or Amaranta.

[253] See the Epitaph "Hic Amarantha jacet," the last Eclogue of Arcadia, and the Latin eclogue "Mirabar vicina Mycon," in which Carmosina is celebrated under the name of Phyllis. I may here call attention to Pontano's elegy beginning "Harmosyne jacet hic" in the Tumuli, lib. ii. (Joannis Joviani Pontani Amorum Libri, etc., Aldus, 1518, p. 87).

[254] In Prosa xi. he mentions a vase painted by the "Padoano Mantegna, artefice sovra tutti gli altri accorto ed ingegnosissimo."

[255] Prosa iii.

[256] Prosa iv.

[257] Prosa iv.

[258] Ibid.

[259] Prosa v.

[260] Prosa x.

[261] Ibid.

[262] Prosa viii.

[263] Ibid.

[264] Even in this Sidney tried to follow him, with an effect the clumsiness of which can only be conceived by those who have read his triple rhyming English terza rima.

[265] Egloga vii.

[266] From my chapter on Latin poetry in the Revival of Learning I purposely omitted more than a general notice of Pontano's erotic verses, intending to treat of them thereafter, when it should be necessary to discuss the Neapolitan contribution in Italian literature. The lyrics and elegies I shall now refer to, are found in two volumes of Pontani Opera, published by Aldus, 1513 and 1518. These volumes I shall quote together, using the minor titles of Amorum, Hendecasyllabi, and so forth, and mentioning the page. I am sorry that I have not a uniform edition of his Latin poetry (if that, indeed, exists, of which I doubt) before me.

[267] Fannia is the most attractive of these women. See Amorum, lib. i. pp. 4, 5, 13. Stella, the heroine of the Eridani, is touched with greater delicacy. Cinnama seems to have been a girl of the people. Pontano borrows for her the language of popular poetry (Amorum, i. 19).

Ipsa tibi dicat, mea lux, mea vita, meus flos,

Liliolumque meum, basiolumque meum.

Carior et gemmis, et caro carior auro,

Tu rosa, tu violæ, tu mihi lævis onyx.

[268] Among the most touching of his elegiac verses is the lament addressed to his dead wife upon the death of their son Lucius, Eridanorum, lib. ii. p. 134. The collection of epitaphs called Tumuli bears witness to the depth and sincerity of his sorrow for the dead, to the all-embracing sympathy he felt for human grief. The very original series of lullabies, entitled Næniæ, illustrate the warmth of his paternal feeling. The nursery has never before or since been celebrated with such exuberance of fancy—and in the purest Ovidian elegiacs! It may, however, be objected that there is too much about wet-nurses in these songs.

[269] Pontano revels in Epithalamials and pictures of the joys of wedlock. See the series of elegies on Stella, Eridanorum, lib. i. pp. 108, 111, 113, 115; the congratulation addressed to Alfonso, Duke of Calabria, Hendecasyllaborum, lib. i. p. 194; and two among the many Epithalamial hymns, Hendec. lib. i. p. 195; Lepidina Pompa 7, p. 172, with its reiterated "Dicimus o hymenæe Io hymen hymenæe." The sensuality of these compositions will be too frank and fulsome for a chastened taste; but there is nothing in them extra or infra-human.

[270] Hendecasyllaborum, lib. i. and ii. pp. 186-218. If one of these lyrics should be chosen from the rest, I should point to "Invitantur pueri et puellæ ad audiendum Charitas," p. 209. It begins "Ad myrtum juvenes venite, myrti."

[271] For such glimpses into actual life, see Lepidina, pp. 160-174, in which a man and woman of Naples discourse of their first loves and wedlock. The Eclogues abound in similar material.

[272] Lepidina, p. 168. Capimontius is easily recognized as Capo di Monte.

[273] See De Hortis Hesperidum, p. 139, and Amorum, lib. ii. p. 33.

[274] Versus Lyrici, pp. 91-94.

[275] See, for example, the elegy "De Venere lavante se in Eridano et quiescente," Erid. lib. i. p. 118.

[276] De Amore Conjugali, lib. i. p. 35. "Hither, and bind with myrtle thy shining hair! O hither, Elegia, with the woven tresses! Take a new form of sumptuous grace, and let thy loose robe flutter to thy snow-white feet. And where thou movest, breathe Arabian nard, and blandest perfume of Assyrian unguents. Let the girl Graces come, thy charge, with thee, and take their joy in dances woven with unwonted arts. Thou in his earliest years dost teach he boy of Venus, and instruct him in thy lore. Wherefore Cytherea gives thee perpetual youth, that never may thy beauty suffer decrease. Come hither, then, and take, O goddess, thy lyre, but with a gentle quill, and move the soft strings to a dulcet sound. Nay, thou thyself hast tried new pleasures, and knowest the sweet thefts of lovers laid on meadow grass. For they say that, wandering once in Umbria, my home, thou didst lie down beside Clitumnus' liquid pools; and there didst see a youth, and dote upon him while he swam, and long to hold him in thine arms. What dost thou, beauteous boy, beneath the wanton waves? These fields are better suited to thy joys! Here canst thou weave a violet wreath, and bind thy yellow hair with flowers of many a hue! Here canst thou sleep beneath cool shade, and rest thy body on the verdant ground! Here join the dances of the Dryads, and leap along the sward, and move thy supple limbs to tender music! The youth inflamed with this, and eager for the beauty and the facile song, wherewith thou captivatest gods, with thee among the willows, under a vine-mantled elm, joined his white limbs upon a grassy bed, and both enjoyed the bliss of love."

[277] I will only refer in detail to the elegy entitled "Lætatur in villa et hortis suis constitutis" (De Amore Conjugali, lib. ii. p. 52). The two books De Hortis Hesperidum (Aldus, 1513, pp. 138-159), compose a typical didactic poem.

[278] It was printed in 1486.

[279] See the Poesie Volgari e Latine del Conte B. Castiglione (Roma 1760), pp. 7-26.

[280] To do so would be almost impossible within lesser limits than those of a bulky volume. Any one who wishes to form a conception of the multitudes of pastoral plays written and printed in Italy, may consult the catalogues. I have before me one list, which I do not believe to be complete, in the Teatro Italiano, vol. x. It occupies twenty-seven closely-printed pages, and is devoted solely to rural scenes of actual life. The Arcadian masks and plays are omitted. Mutinelli, in the Annali Urbani di Venezia, p. 541, gives a list of the shows performed at Doges' banquets between 1574 and 1605. The large majority are pastoral; and it is noticeable that, as years go on, the pastorals drive all other forms of drama out of the field.

[281] See above, Part i., pp. 381, 382.

[282] For Berni, see Barbèra's small edition, Florence, 1863. For Buonarroti, Lemonnier's edition in two volumes, 1860.

[283] See Poesie Pastorali e Rusticali (Milano, Classici Italiani, 1808) for a fairly representative collection of these authors.

[284] Of Molza's many sonnets upon this woman and her death, see especially Nos. cxi. cxii.

[285] In the chapter on Burlesque Poetry I shall have to justify this remark.

[286] See Revival of Learning, p. 488.

[287] The best Life of Molza is that written by Pierantonio Serassi, Bergamo, 1747. It is republished, with Molza's Italian poems, in the series of Classici Italiani, 1808.

[288]

Ten apples of fine gold, elect and rare,

Which hung for thee, and softest perfume shed,

Like unto that which from thy bosom fair

Doth often breathe, whence Love is nourishéd,

Humbly I offer; and if thou shalt care,

To-morrow with the dawn yon fields I'll tread,

My great desire some little to requite,

Plucking another ten for thy delight.

Also an olive cup, where still doth cling

That pure perfume it borrowed from the lathe,

Where in the midst a fair youth ruining

Conducts the day, and with such woeful scathe

Doth guide his car, that to their deepest spring

The rivers burn, and burn the grasses rathe;

Ah fool, who knew not how to hold his way,

Nor by that counsel leal and wise to stay!

[289]

White ivy with pale corymbs loads for thee

That cave, and with thick folds of helichryse

Gildeth the arch it shades so lovingly;

Here lapped in the green grass which round it lies,

Thou shalt dismiss grave thoughts, and fancy-free

Spread wide thy skirt of fair cerulean dyes,

And with the wholesome airs that haunt the hill,

Welcome sweet soothing sleep, secure from ill.

[290]

Her rippling raiment, to the winds a prey,

Waves backward with her wavering tresses light;

Faster than air or arrow, without stay

She through the perfumed wood pursues her flight;

Then takes the river-bed, nor heeds delay,

Made even yet more beautiful by fright;

Threads Aristæus, too, the forest fair,

And seems to have his hands within her hair.

Three times he thrust his right hand forth to clasp

The abundance of her curls that lured him on;

Three times the wind alone deceived his grasp,

Leaving him scorned, with all his hopes undone;

Yet not the toil that made him faint and gasp,

Could turn him from his purpose still unwon;

Nay, all the while, the more his strength is spent,

The more he hurries on the course intent.

[291] Revival of Learning, chap. viii.

[292] Ibid. pp. 453-463.

[293]

Tu vero nate ingentes accingere ad orsus

Et mecum illustres cœli spatiare per oras,

Namque aderit tibi Mercurius, cui cœlifer Atlas

Est avus, et notas puerum puer instruet artes.

Ed. Aldus (1513), p. 2.

[294] Ibid. p. 138.

[295] See Revival of Learning, pp. 471-481, for notices of the Poetica, Bombyces, Scacchia and Syphilis.

[296] See Morsolin's Giangiorgio Trissino (Vicenza, 1878), p. 92.

[297] Ibid. p. 245.

[298] See Versi e Prose di Luigi Alamanni, 2 vols., Lemonnier, Firenze, 1859. This edition is prefaced by a Life written by Pietro Raffaelli.

[299] Op. cit. vol. ii p. 210. It is the opening of the peroration to Book i.

[300] "But what land is that where now, O glorious Francis, the husbandman may thus enjoy his labors with gladness and tranquillity in peace? Not the fair nest, from which I dwell so far away; nay, not my Italy! She since your ensigns, mighty king, withdrew from her, hath had naught else but tears and war. Her tilled fields have become wild woods, the haunts of beasts, abandoned to lawless men. Herdsman or shepherd can scarce dwell secure within the city beneath their master's mantle; for those who should defend them, make the country folk their prey.... Let Italy's husbandman fly far from his own home, pass the Alpine barrier, seek out the breast of Gaul, repose, great lord, beneath thy empire's pinions! And though he shall not have the sun so warm, the skies so clear, as he was wont to have; though he shall not gaze upon those green Tuscan hills, where Pallas and Pomona make their fairest dwelling; though he shall not see those groves of orange, laurel, myrtle, which clothe the slopes of Parthenope; though he shall seek in vain the banks and waves of Garda and a hundred other lakes; the shade, the perfume, and the pleasant crags, which Liguria's laughing sea surrounds and bathes; the ample plains and verdant meadows which flower beneath the waters of Po, Adda, and Ticino; yet shall he behold glad fields and open, spreading too far for eyes to follow!"

[301] Vol. i. p. 251. It is the end of the third satire. "He who saw truly, would perceive that thyself brings on thee more dishonor than thy Martin Luther, and heavier burdens too. Not Germany, no, but sloth and wine, avarice, ambition, sensuality, and gluttony, are bringing thee to thy now near approaching end. It is not I who say this, not France alone, nor yet Spain, but all Italy, which holds thee for the school of heresy and vice. He who believes it not, let him inquire of Urbino, Ferrara, the Bear and the Column, the Marches and Romagna, yet more of her who weeps because you make her serve, who was once mistress over nations."

[302] I Dialoghi di Messer Speron Sperone (Aldus, Venice, 1542), p. 146. The passage is taken from a Dialogue on Rhetoric. I have tried to preserve the clauses of the original periods.

[303] Trifone Gabrielli was a Venetian, celebrated for his excellent morals no less than for his learning. He gained the epithet of the Socrates of his age, and died in 1549. His personal influence seems to have been very great. Bembo makes frequent and respectful references to him in his letters, and Giasone de Nores wrote a magnificent panegyric of him in the preface to his commentary on Horace's Ars Poetica, which he professed to have derived orally from Trifone.

[304] Sperone probably alludes to works like Minerbi's Vocabulary of words used by Boccaccio (Venice, 1535); Luna's Vocabolario di cinque mila vocaboli toschi del Furioso Petrarca Boccaccio e Dante (Naples, 1536); Accarigi's dictionary to Boccaccio entitled Ricchezze della lingua volgare (Venice, 1543); and so forth.

[305] It should be mentioned that the passage I have paraphrased is put into the lips of Antonio Broccardo, a Venetian poet, whose Rime were published in 1538. He attacked Bembo's works, and brought down upon himself such a storm of fury from the pedants of Padua and Venice that he took to his bed and died of grief.

[306] The difficulty is well put by one of the interlocutors in Castiglione's dialogue upon the courtier (ed. Lemonnier, p. 41): "Oltre a questo, le consuetudini sono molto varie, nè è città nobile in Italia che non abbia diversa maniera di parlar da tutte l'altre. Però non vi ristringendo voi a dichiarar qual sia la migliore, potrebbe l'uomo attaccarsi alla bergamasca così come alla fiorentina." Messer Federigo Fregoso of Genoa is speaking, and he draws the conclusion which practically triumphed in Italy: "Parmi adunque, che a chi vuol fuggir ogni dubio ed esser ben sicuro, sia necessario proporsi ad imitar uno, il quale di consentimento di tutti sia estimato buono ... e questo (nel volgar dico), non penso che abbia da esser altro che il Petrarca e 'l Boccaccio; e chi da questi dui si discosta va tentoni, come chi cammina per le tenebre e spesso erra la strada."

[307] In the famous passage of the Furioso where Ariosto pronounces the eulogy of the poets of his day, he mentions Bembo thus (Orl. Fur. xlvi. 15).

Pietro

Bembo, che 'l puro e dolce idioma nostro,

Levato fuor del volgar uso tetro,

Quale esser dee, ci ha co 'l suo esempio mostro.

[308] See Bembo's elegy on Poliziano quoted by me in the Revival of Learning, p. 484.

[309] See Revival of Learning, p. 506, for the transference of scholarship to Lombardy.

[310] See the Latin hendecasyllables quoted by me in the Revival of Learning, p. 415, and the Defense of Italian in the treatise "Della volgare Lingua" (Bembo, Opere, Milan, Class. It. x. 28). Carducci in his essay Delle Poesie Latine di Ludovico Ariosto, pp. 179-181, gives some interesting notices of Ercole Strozzi's conversion to the vulgar tongue.

[311] See Revival of Learning, pp. 410-415, 481-485.

[312] Opere del Cardinale Bembo (Class. It. Milano, 1808, vol. x.).

[313] See his Latin treatise De Imitatione. It is in the form of an epistle.

[314] See Panizzi, Bioardo ed Ariosto, vi. lxxxi.

[315] Sonnet xxxvi. of his collected poems.

[316] My edition is in four volumes, Gualtero Scotto, Vinegia, MDLII. They are collected with copious additions in the Classici Italiani.

[317] It will be impossible to do more than make general reference to the vast masses of Italian letters printed in the sixteenth century. I must, therefore, content myself here with mentioning the collections of La Casa, Caro, Bernardo, and Torquato Tasso, Aretino, Guidiccioni, together with the miscellanies published under the titles of Lettre Scritte al Signor Pietro Aretino, the Lettere Diverse in three books (Aldus, 1567), and the Lettere di Tredici Uomini Illustri (Venetia, 1554).

[318] Lettere, ed. cit. vol. iv. pp. 1-31.

[319] Another letter, dated Venice, August 1, 1504, is fuller in particulars about this dearly-loved brother.

[320] Il Cortegiano (ed. Lemonnier, Firenze, 1854), pp. 296-303. I have already spoken at some length about this essay in the Age of the Despots, pp. 183-190, and have narrated the principal events of Castiglione's life in the Revival of Learning, pp. 418-422. For his Latin poems see ib. pp. 490-497.

[321] Ed. cit. pp. 39-53.

[322] Ariosto's style was formed on precisely these principles.

[323] The preface to the Cortegiano may be compared with this passage. When it appeared, the critics complained that Castiglione had not imitated Boccaccio. His answer is marked by good sense and manly logic: see pp. 3, 4. With Castiglione, Aretino joined hands, the ruffian with the gentleman, in this matter of revolt against the purists. See the chapter in this volume upon Aretino.

[324] Varchi's Ercolano or Dialogo delle Lingue; Sperone's dialogue Delle Lingue; Claudio Tolommei's Cesano; Girolamo Muzio's Battaglie.

[325] Varchi called it Fiorentina, Tolommei and Salviati Toscana, Bargagli Senese, Trissino and Muzio Italiana. Castiglione and Bembo agreed in aiming at Italian rather than pure Tuscan, but differed in their proposed method of cultivating style. Bembo preferred to call the language Volgare, as it was the common property of the Volgo. Castiglione suggested the title Cortigiana, as it was refined and settled by the usage of Courts. Yet Castiglione was more liberal than Bembo in acknowledging the claims of local dialects.

[326] For a list of commentators upon Petrarch at this period, see Tiraboschi, lib. iii. cap. iii., section 1. Common sense found at last sarcastic utterance in Tassoni.

[327] See Revival of Learning, pp. 365-368.

[328] Quirino is mentioned as "legitimatum, seu forsitan legitimandum," in La Casa's will (Opp. Venezia, Pasinelli, 1752, vol. i. p. lxxvii.). From his name and his age at La Casa's death we ought perhaps to refer this fruit of his amours to the Venetian period of his life and his intimacy with the Quirino family. His biographer, Casotti, says that he discovered nothing about the mother's name (loc. cit. p. lxxiii.).

[329] La Casa received a special commission at Venice in 1546, to prosecute Pier Paolo Vergerio for heresy. When Vergerio went into exile, he did his best to blacken La Casa's character, and used his writings to point the picture he drew in Protestant circles of ecclesiastical profligacy. The whole subject of La Casa's exclusion from the College is treated by his editor, Casotti (Opp. vol. 1. pp. xlv.-xlviii.). That the Bishop of Benevento was stung to the quick by Vergerio's invectives may be seen in his savage answer "Adversus Paulum Vergerium" (Opp. iii. 103), and in the hendecasyllables "Ad Germanos" (Opp. i. 295), both of which discuss the Forno and attempt to apologize for it.

[330] Opp. vol. i. pp. 237-306. Galateo is said to have been a certain Galeazzo Florimonte of Sessa.

[331] Vol. ii. of the Venetian edition, 1752.

[332] Take for instance this outburst from a complimentary sonnet (No. 40, vol. i. p. 70):

O tempestosa, o torbida procella,

Che 'n mar sì crudo la mia vita giri!

Donna amar, ch'Amor odia e i suoi desiri,

Che sdegno e feritate onor appella.

Or this opening of the sonnet on Court-honors (No. 26):

Mentre fra valli paludose ed ime

Ritengon me larve turbate, e mostri,

Che tra le gemme, lasso, e l'auro, e gli ostri

Copron venen, che 'l cor mi roda e lima.

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 lasso;

Tal io per entro il tuo dubbioso, e fosco.

E duro calle, Amor, corro e trapasso.

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

[334] No. 52, ib. p. 136.

[335] Canzone 4, ib. p. 102.

[336] Sonnets 8, 26, 40. ib. pp. 12, 39, 70; Canzone 2, ib. p. 79.

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

[338] La Casa, Canzone 4 (Opp. i. 151).

[339] De Poetis, Dial. ii.

[340] Opere di Messer G. Guidiccioni (Firenze, Barbèra, 1867), vol. i. p. 12.

[341] We might parallel Guidiccioni's lamentations with several passages 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 passage 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.

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

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

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

[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 sarò sforzato a finirla, per ogni altra via, e vengane ciò che vuole." See Tiraboschi, Part 3, lib. iii. chap. 3 sec. 13.

[346] The identity 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.

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

[348] In a rare tract called Tariffa delle puttane, etc., Tullia d'Aragona is catalogued among the courtesans of Venice. See Passano, Novellieri in Verso, p. 118.

[349] See Revival of Learning, p. 375.

[350] Rinaldo Corso, quoted by Tiraboschi.

[351] See Ricordi Inediti di Gerolamo Morone, pubblicati dal C. Tullio Dandolo, Milano, 1855.

[352] The most recent investigations tend rather to confirm the tradition of Vittoria's Lutheran leanings. See Giuseppe Campori's Vittoria Colonna (Modena, 1878), and the fine article upon it by Ernesto Masi in the Rassegna Settimanale, January 29, 1879. Karl Benrath's Ueber die Quellen der italienischen Reformationsgeschichte (Bonn, 1876) is a valuable contribution to the history of Lutheran opinion in the South.

[353] The whole document may be seen in the Archivio Storico, nuov. ser. tom. v. part 2, p. 139, or in Grimm's Life of Michelangelo.

[354] The first lines of the introductory sonnet are strictly true:

Scrivo sol per sfogar l'interna doglia,

Di che si pasce il cor, ch'altro non vole,

E non per giunger lume al mio bel sole,

Che lasciò in terra si onorata spoglia.

[355] The last biographer of Vittoria Colonna, G. Campori, has shown that her husband was by no means faithful to his marriage vows.

[356] The close of the twenty-second sonnet is touching by reason of its allusion to the past. Vittoria had no children.

Sterili i corpi fur, l'alme feconde,

Chè il suo valor lasciò raggio si chiaro,

Che sarà lume ancor del nome mio.

Se d'altre grazie mi fu il ciel avaro,

E se il mio caro ben morte m'asconde,

Pur con lui vivo; ed è quanto disio.

[357] See, for instance, Rime Varie, Sonetto li. and lxxi. xc.

[358] It is No. 31 of the Rime Varie (Florence, Barbèra, 1860).

[359] The introductory Sonnet has, however, these ugly concetti:

I santi chiodi ormai sian le mie penne,

E puro inchiostro il prezioso sangue;

Purgata carta il sacro corpo esangue,

Sì ch'io scriva nel cor quel ch'ei sostenne.

[360] Rime Sacre, 119, 120, 86, 87.

[361] Ibid. 75, 80, 81.

[362] For a brief account of Michelangelo's Rime, see Fine Arts, Appendix ii.; also the introduction to my translation of the sonnets, The Sonnets of Michael Angelo Buonarroti and Tommaso Campanella, Smith and Elder, 1878.

[363] Varchi's and Guidicci's Lezioni will be found in Guasti's edition of the Rime.

[364] I use the Life prefixed by G. Campori to his Lettere Inedite di Bernardo Tasso (Bologna, Romagnoli, 1869).

[365] The Amadigi was printed by Giolito at Venice in 1560 under the author's own supervision. The book is a splendid specimen of florid typography.

[366] Besides the Amadigi, Bernardo Tasso composed a second narrative poem, the Floridante, which his son, Torquato, retouched and published at Mantua in 1587.

[367] Giangiorgio Trissino, by Bernardo Morsolin (Vicenza, 1878), is a copious biography and careful study of this poet's times.

[368] Francesco died in 1514.

[369] See above, pp. 126-128.

[370] See Morsolin, op. cit., p. 360, for Trissino's own emphatic statement that his services had been unpaid. Ibid. p. 344, for a list of the personages he complimented.

[371] Ibid. p. 323.

[372] Ibid. pp. 219-235.

[373] Ibid. p. 301.

[374] Op. cit. p. 366.

[375] Op. cit. p. 385.

[376] Ibid. p. 413.

[377] Ibid. p. 414.

[378] The whole of this extraordinary sequel to Trissino's biography will be read with interest in the last chapter of Signor Morsolin's monograph. It leaves upon my mind the impression that Giulio, though unpardonably ill-tempered, and possibly as ill-conducted in his private life as his foes asserted, was the victim of an almost diabolical persecution.

[379] See Morsolin, op. cit., p. 197. This device was imprinted as early as 1529, upon the books published for Trissino at Verona by Janicolo of Brescia.

[380] The Poetica was printed in 1529; but it had been composed some years earlier.

[381] His grammatical and orthographical treatises were published under the titles of Epistola a Clemente VII., Grammatichetta, Dialogo Castellano, Dubbi Grammaticali. Firenzuola made Trissino's new letters famous and ridiculous by the burlesque sonnets he wrote upon them.

[382] Vicenza, Tolomeo Janicolo, 1529.

[383] Nine books were first printed at Rome in 1547 by Valerio and Luigi Dorici. The whole, consisting of twenty-seven books, was published at Venice in 1548 by Tolomeo Janicolo of Brescia. This Janicolo was Trissino's favorite publisher.

[384] See the Madrigals in Opere Burlesche, vol. iii. pp. 36-38.

[385] Ibid. p. 290.

[386] In Mac. xx. (p. 152 of Mantuan edition, 1771), he darkly alludes to this episode of his early life, where he makes an exposed witch exclaim:

Nocentina vocor magicis tam dedita chartis,

Decepique mea juvenem cum fraude Folengum.

[387] I cannot find sufficient authority for the story of Folengo's having had a grammar-master named Cocaius, from whom he borrowed part of his pseudonym. The explanation given by his Mantuan editor, which I have adopted in the text, seems the more probable. Cocáj in Mantuan dialect means a cork for a bottle; and the phrase ch'al fà di cocáj is used to indicate some extravagant absurdity or blunder.

[388] There seems good reason, from many passages in his Maccaronea, to believe that his repentance was sincere. I may here take occasion to remark that, though his poems are gross in the extreme, their moral tone is not unhealthy. He never makes obscenity or vice attractive.

[389] Part of Folengo's satire is directed against the purists. See Canto i. 7-9. He confesses himself a Lombard, and shrugs his shoulders at their solemn criticisms:

Non però, se non nacqui Tosco, i' piango;

Chè ancora il ciacco gode nel suo fango.

To the reproach of "turnip-eating Lombard" he retorts, "Tuscan chatterbox." Compare vi. 1, 2, on his own style:

Oscuri sensi ed affettate rime,

Qual'è chi dica mai compor Limerno?

[390] The first line of the elegy placed upon the edition of 1526 runs thus:

Mensibus istud opus tribus indignatio fecit.

Folengo claims for himself a satiric purpose. The edition used by me is Molini's, Londra, 1775.

[391] See above Part i. p. 455, for the belief that Poliziano was the real author of the Morgante Maggiore.

[392] Canto i. 64, 65; ii. 1-4:

Ed io dico ch'Amor è un bardassola

Più che sua madre non fu mai puttana, etc.

Folengo, of course, has a mistress, to whom he turns at the proper moments of his narrative. This mia diva Caritunga is a caricature of the fashionable Laura. See v. 1, 2:

O donna mia, ch'hai gli occhi, ch'hai l'orecchie,

Quelli di pipistrel, queste di bracco, etc.

[393] Canto ii. 9-42.

[394] Canto vi. 40-46. I have placed a translation of this passage in an Appendix to this chapter.

[395] Canto v. 56-58. The contempt for country folk seems unaffected.

[396] Canto vi. 55-57. This passage is a caricature of Pulci's burlesque description of the Last Day. See above Part i. p. 449. Folengo's loathing of the strangers who devoured Italy is clear here, as also in i. 43, ii. 4, 59. But there is no force in his invectives or laments.

L'Italia non più Italia appello,

Ma d'ogni strana gente un bel bordello....

Che 'l cancaro mangiasse il Taliano,

Il quale, o ricco, o povero che sia,

Desidra in nostre stanze il Tramontano....

Chè se non fosser le gran parti in quella,

Dominerebbe il mondo Italia bella.

[397]

For verily on that most dreadful day,

When in the Valley of Jehosaphat

The trump shall sound, and thrill this globe of clay,

And dead folk shuddering leave their tombs thereat,

No well, sewer, privy shall be found, I say,

Which, while the angels roar their rat-tat-tat,

Shall not disgorge its Spaniards, Frenchmen, Swiss,

Germans, and rogues of every race that is.

Then shall we see a wonderful dispute,

As each with each they wrangle, bone for bone;

One grasps an arm, one grabs a hand, a foot;

Comes one who says, "These are not yours, you loon!"

"They're mine!" "They're not!" While many a limb of brute

Joined to their human bodies shall be shown,

Mule's heads, bull's legs, cruppers and ears of asses,

As each man's life on earth his spirit classes.

[398] Canto vi. 8-11:

Quì nacque Orlando, l'inclito Barone;

Quì nacque Orlando, Senator Romano, etc.

[399] Canto vii. 61-65.

[400] He has been identified on sufficiently plausible grounds with Ignazio Squarcialupo, the prior of Folengo's convent. In the Maccaronea this burlesque personage reappears as the keeper of a tavern in hell, who feeds hungry souls on the most hideous messes of carrion and vermin (Book xxiii. p. 217). There is sufficient rancor in Griffarosto's portrait to justify the belief that Folengo meant in it to gratify a private thirst for vengeance.

[401] In the play on the word lingue there is a side-thrust at the Purists.

[402] Canto viii. 23-32.

[403] Canto viii. 73-84. This passage I have also translated and placed in an Appendix to this chapter, where the chief Lutheran utterances of the burlesque poets will be found together.

[404] In addition to the eighth Canto, I have drawn on iii. 4, 20; iv. 13; vi. 44, for this list.

[405] Leo X.'s complacent acceptance of the Mandragola proves this.

[406] The curious history of Giulio Trissino, told by Bernardo Morsolin in the last chapters of his Giangiorgio Trissino (Vicenza, 1878), reveals the manner of men who adopted Lutheranism in Italy in the sixteenth century. See above, p. 304. I shall support the above remarks lower down in this chapter by reference to Berni's Lutheran opinions.

[407] The political and ecclesiastical satires known in England as the work of Walter Mapes, abound in pseudo-Maccaronic passages. Compare Du Méril, Poésies Populaires Latines antérieures au xiime Siècle, p. 142, etc., for further specimens of undeveloped Maccaronic poetry of the middle ages.

[408] Those who are curious to study this subject further, should consult the two exhaustive works of Octave Delepierre, Macaronéana (Paris, 1852), and Macaronéana Andra (Londres, Trübner, 1862). These two publications contain a history of Maccaronic verse, with reprints of the scarcer poems in this style. The second gives the best text of Odassi, Fossa, and the Virgiliana. The Maccheronee di Cinque Poeti Italiani (Milano, Daelli, 1864), is a useful little book, since it reproduces Delepierre's collections in a cheap and convenient form. In the uncertainty which attends the spelling of this word, I have adopted the form Maccaronic.

[409] Take one example, from the induction to Odassi's poems (Mac. Andr. p. 63):

O putanarum putanissima, vacca vaccarum,

O potifarum potissima pota potaza ...

Tu Phrosina mihi foveas, mea sola voluptas;

Nulla mihi poterit melius succurrere Musa,

Nullus Apollo magis.

[410] The book was first printed at Vicenza. The copy I have studied is the Florentine edition of 1574. Scrofa's verses, detached from the collection, may be found in the Parnaso Italiano, vol. xxv.

[411] Op. cit. p. 23.

[412] Bernardino Scardeone in his work De antiquitate urbis Patavii, etc. (Basileæ, 1560), speaks of Odassi as the inventor of Maccaronic poetry: "adinvenit enim primus ridiculum carminis genus, nunquam prius a quopiam excogitatum, quod Macaronæum nuncupavit, multis farcitum salibus, et satyrica mordacitate respersum." He adds that Odassi desired on his deathbed that the book should be burned. In spite of this wish, it was frequently reprinted during Scardeone's lifetime.

[413] It is with great regret that I omit Bertapalia, the charlatan—a portrait executed with inimitable verve. Students of Italian life in its lowest and liveliest details should seek him out. Mac. Andr. pp. 68-71.

[414] Ibid. p. 71. I have altered spelling and punctuation.

[415]

Cognosces in me quantum tua numina possunt,

Quæque tua veniunt stilantia carmina pota.

[416] This anonymous poet has been variously identified with Odassi and with Fossa of Cremona. The frequent occurrence of Paduan idioms seems to point to a Paduan rather than a Cremonese author; and though there is no authoritative reason for referring the poem to Odassi, it resembles his style sufficiently to render the hypothesis of his authorship very plausible. The name of the hero, Vigonça, is probably the Italian Bigoncia, which meant in one sense a pulpit or a reading-desk, in its ordinary sense a tub.

[417] Daelli, Maccheronee di Cinque Poeti Italiani (Milano, 1864), p. 50; cp. Mac. Andr. p. 19.

[418] Daelli, op. cit. pp. 52, 54.

[419] Ibid. p. 112; Mac. Andra, p. 32.

[420] "De fossa compositore quando venit patavio" (Mac. Andra, p. 39).

[421] Alione says:

Cum nos Astenses reputemur undique Galli.

[422] See the passage beginning "O Longobardi frapatores," and ending with these lines:

Tunc baratasti Gallorum nobile nomen

Cum Longobardo, etc.

Daelli, op. cit. p. 94.

[423] Daelli, p. 93.

[424] In the first book of the Moscheis, line 7, he says:

Gens ceratana sinat vecchias cantare batajas,

Squarzet Virgilios turba pedanta suos.

The end of the Maccaronea sets forth the impossibility of modern bards contending with the great poet of antiquity. Pontanus, Sannazzarius, all the best Latin writers of the age, pale before Virgil:

Non tamen æquatur vati quem protulit Andes,

Namque vetusta nocet laus nobis sæpe modernis.

This refrain he repeats for each poet with whimsical reiteration. Folengo's own ambition to take the first place among burlesque writers appears in the final lines of Mac. book iii.:

Mantua Virgilio gaudet, Verona Catullo,

Dante suo florens urbs Tusca, Cipada Cocajo:

Dicor ego superans alios levitate poetas,

Ut Maro medesimos superans gravitate poetas.

The induction to the Moscheis points to a serious heroic poem on Mantua which he abandoned for want of inspiration. We have in these references enough to account for the myth above mentioned.

[425] Compare Mac. vii. p. 195.

Nil nisi crassiloquas dicor scrivisse camœnas,

Crassiloquis igitur dicamus magna camœnis.

This great theme is nothing less than monasticism in its vilest aspects.

[426] At the end of the Maccaronea I think there may be an allusion to Odassi conveyed in these words, Tifi Caroloque futuris.

[427] I do not recognize Pulicanus, who is said to be the ancestor of Falchettus. Is it a misprint for Fulicanus? Fulicano is a giant in Bello's Mambriano, one of Folengo's favorite poems of romance.

[428] Mac. iii. The edition I quote from is that of Mantua (?) under name of Amsterdam, 1769 and 1771, 2 vols. 4to. See vol. i. p. 117, for a satire on the frauds and injustice of a country law-court, followed by a mock heroic panegyric of the Casa Gonzaga. The description of their celebrated stud and breed of horses may be read with interest.

[429] The episode of Berta's battle with her sister Laena (Mac. iv. p. 144), the apostrophe to old age (Mac. v. p. 152), the village ball (ibid. p. 163), the tricks played by Cingar on Zambellus (ibid. p. 168, and Mac. vi.), the description of the convent of Motella (Mac. vii. 196), the portrait of the ignorant parish-priest (Mac. vii. p. 202), the Carnival Mass (Mac. viii. p. 212), followed by a drunken Ker Mess (ibid. p. 214), are all executed in the broad style of a Dutch painter, and abound in realistic sketches of Lombard country-life.

[430] Mac. vii. p. 204.

[431] Mac. vii. p. 212. Folengo seems to have been fond of music. See the whimsical description of four-part singing, Mac. xx. p. 139, followed by the panegyric of Music and the malediction of her detractors.

[432] This episode of Cingar's triumph over the enemies of Baldus, his craft, his rhetoric, his ready wit, his infinite powers of persuasion, his monkey tricks and fox-like cunning, is executed with an energy of humor and breadth of conception, that places it upon a level with the choicest passages in Rabelais.

[433] Mac. xii. p. 296.

[434] In the course of this oration Folengo introduces an extraordinarily venomous invective against contadini, which may be paralleled with his allegory in the Orlandino. It begins (Mac. xiii. p. 11):

Progenies maledicta quidem villana vocatur,

and extends through forty lines of condensed abuse.

[435] Mac. xvi. p. 66.

[436] Mac. xx. p. 152. From this point onward the poet and Merlin are one person:

Nomine Merlinos dicor, de sanguine Mantus,

Est mihi cognomen Cocajus Maccaronensis.

[437] The Novella of Luca Philippus, who kept a tavern at the door of Paradise, and had no custom, since no one came that way so long as Gulfora ruled on earth, forms a significant preface to her episode. See Mac. xxi. p. 180. The altercation between this host and Peter at the rusty gate of heaven is written in the purest Italian style of pious parody.

[438] Aretino's Cortigiana contains a very humorous exorcism inflicted by way of a practical joke upon a fisherman.

[439] See above, Part i, p. 453, note 2, for the distinction between the fiends and the sprites drawn by Pulci.

[440] See Lasca's Novella of Zoroastro; Bandello's novels of witchcraft (Part iii. 29 and 52); Cellini's celebrated conjuration in the Coliseum; and Ariosto's comedy of the Negromante. These sources may be illustrated from the evidence given by Virginia Maria Lezia before her judges, and the trial of witches at Nogaredo, both of which are printed in Dandolo's Signora di Monza (Milano, 1855). Compare the curious details about Lombard witchcraft in Cantù's Diocesi di Como.

[441] It may be remembered that the necromancer in Cellini sent his book to be enchanted in the Apennines of Norcia. Folengo alludes to this superstition:

Qualiter ad stagnum Nursæ sacrare quadernos.

With regard to Val Camonica, see the actual state of that district as reported by Cantù. Folengo in the Orlandino mentions its witches. Bandello (iii. 52) speaks of it thus: "Val Camonica, ove si dice essere di molte streghe."

[442] Witchcraft in Italy grew the more formidable the closer it approached the German frontier. It seems to have assumed the features of an epidemic at the close of the fifteenth century. Up to that date little is heard of it, and little heed was paid to it. The exacerbation of the malady portended and accompanied the dissolution of medieval beliefs in a population vexed by war, famine and pestilence, and vitiated by ecclesiastical corruption.

[443]

Hic sunt Grammaticæ populi, gentesque reductæ,

Huc, illuc, istuc, reliqua seguitante fameja:

Argumenta volant dialectica, mille sophistæ

Adsunt bajanæ, pro, contra, non, ita, lyque:

Adsunt Errores, asunt mendacia, bollæ,

Atque solecismi, fallacia, fictio vatum...

Omnes altandem tanto rumore volutant

Ethicen et Physicen, Animam, centumque novellas,

Ut sibi stornito Baldus stopparet orecchias.

Squarnazzam Scoti Fracassus repperit illic,

Quam vestit, gabbatque Deum, pugnatque Thomistas.

Alberti magni Lironus somnia zaffat.

[444] This hypothesis receives support from the passage in which Baldus compares his new love for Crispis, the paragon of all virtues, with his old infatuation for Berta, who is the personification of vulgar appetite, unrefined natural instinct. See the end of Book xxiii.

[445] The rage of a man who knows that he has chosen the lower while he might have trodden the higher paths of life and art, flames out at intervals through this burlesque. Take this example, the last five lines of Book xxiii.:

Sic ego Macronicum penitus volo linquere carmen

Cum mihi tempus erit, quod erit, si celsa voluntas

Flectitur et nostris lachrymis et supplice voto.

Heu heu! quod volui misero mihi? floribus Austrum

Perditus et liquidis immisi fontibus aprum.

[446] Zanitonella, p. 3.

[447] Ibid. p. 2. Compare Sonolegia xiii. ib. p. 40.

[448] Op. cit. p. 42.

[449] We may ascend to the very sources of popular Tuscan poetry, and we shall find this literature of double entendre in the Canzoni of the Nicchio and Ugellino, noticed above, Part i. p. 38. Besides the Canti Carnascialeschi edited by Il Lasca, we have a collection of Canzoni a Ballo, printed at Florence in 1569, which proves that the raw material of the Capitoli lay ready to the hand of the burlesque poets in plebeian literature.

[450] My references are made to Opere Burlesche, 3 vols., 1723, with the names of Londra and Firenze. Gregorovius says of them: "Wenn man diese 'scherzenden' Gedichte liest, muss man entweder über die Nichtigkeit ihrer Gegenstände staunen, oder vor dem Abgrund der Unsittlichkeit erschrecken, den sie frech entschleiern." Stadt Rom. vol. viii. p. 345.

[451] The probable date is 1496.

[452] Orl. Inn. Rifatto da Fr. Berni, i. 14, 23-28, makes it clear that Berni was an eye-witness of the Sack of Rome. Panizzi's reference to this passage (Boiardo ed Ariosto, London, 1830, vol. ii. p. cxi.) involves what seems to me a confusion.

[453] The matter is fully discussed by Mazzuchelli in his biography of Berni. He, relying on the hypothesis of Berni having lived till 1536, if not till 1543, points out the impossibility of his having been murdered by the Cardinal, who died himself in July, 1535. This difficulty has recently been removed by Signor Antonio Virgili's demonstration of the real date of Berni's death in May, 1535. See Rassegna Settimanale, February 23, 1879, a paper of great importance for students of Berni's life and works, to which I shall frequently refer.

[454] It is enough to mention the Capitoli "Delle Pesche," "A M. Antonio da Bibbiena," "Sopra un Garzone," "Lamentazion d'Amore." References are made to the Rime e Lettere di Fr. Berni, Firenze, Barbèra, 1865. For the Rifacimento of the Orlando Innamorato I shall use the Milan reprint in 5 vols., 1806, which also contains the Rime.

[455] Book III. canto vii. (canto 67 of the Rifacimento, vol. iv. p. 266).

[456] This translation will be found in Panizzi's edition of the Orlando Innamorato (London, Pickering, 1830), vol. ii. p. cxiv.

[457] Letter vi. to Messer Giamb. Montebuona.

[458] Letter xvii.

[459] Letter xxiv.

[460] Letter to Ippolito de' Medici (ed. Milan, vol. v. p. 227).

[461] Letter ix.

[462] Letter vii. Compare the sonnet "In nome di M. Prinzivalle da Pontremoli" (ed. Milan, vol. v. p. 3).

[463] It was published at Rome by Calvo in 1526, with the comment of M. Pietro Paolo da S. Chirico.

[464] Il Lasca prefixed a sonnet to his edition of 1548, in which he speaks of "Il Berni nostro dabbene e gentile," calls him "primo e vero trovatore, Maestro e padre del burlesco stile," says that it is possible to envy but impossible to imitate him, and compares him thus with Burchiello:

Non sia chi mi ragioni di Burchiello,

Che saria proprio come comparare

Caron Dimonio all'Agnol Gabriello.

In another sonnet he climbs a further height of panegyric:

Quanti mai fur poeti al mondo e sono,

Volete in Greco, in Ebreo, o in Latino,

A petto a lui non vagliono un lupino,

Tant'è dotto, faceto, bello e buono:

and winds up with the strange assurance that:

da lui si sente

Anzi s'impara con gioja infinita

Come viver si debbe in questa vita.

[465] Sonnet xxvii.

[466] Sonnet ix.

[467] The scholars of the day were not content with writing burlesque Capitoli. They must needs annotate them. See Caro's Commentary on the Ficheide of Molza (Romagnoli, Scelta di Curiosità Letterarie, Dispensa vii. Bologna, 1862) for the most celebrated example. There is not a sentence in this long and witty composition, read before the Accademia delle Virtù, which does not contain a grossly obscene allusion, scarcely a paragraph which does not refer to an unmentionable vice.

[468] The six opening lines of the Lamentazion d'Amore prevent our regarding Berni's jests as wholly separate from his experience and practice.

[469] A familiar illustration is Cellini's Capitolo del Carcere. Curious examples of these occasional poems, written for the popular taste, are furnished by Mutinelli in his Annali Urbani di Venezia. See above, Part i. pp. 172, 519, for the vicissitudes of terza rima after the close of the fourteenth century.

[470]

A Papacy composed of compliment,

Debate, consideration, complaisance,

Of furthermore, then, but, yes, well, perchance,

Haply, and such-like terms inconsequent;

Of thought, conjecture, counsel, argument,

Starveling surmise to summon countenance,

Negotiations, audiences, romance,

Fine words and shifts, disbursement to prevent;

Of feet of lead, of tame neutrality,

Of patience and parade to outer view.

Of fawning Faith, of Hope and Charity,

Of Innocence and good intentions too,

Which it were well to dub simplicity,

Uglier interpretations to eschew;

With your permission, you,

To speak the plain truth out, shall live to see

Pope Adrian sainted through this Papacy.

[471] Sonnets xi. xvi. xiv. iii. xx. The same vivid picturesqueness is displayed in the desecrated Abbey (Sonnet xvii.), which deserves to be called an etching in words.

[472] Sonnet xix. In the Capitolo to Ippolito de' Medici, Berni thus alludes to Aretino:

Com'ha fatto non so chi mio vicino,

Che veste d'oro, e più non degna il panno,

E dassi del messere e del divino.

[473] "Di chi presuntuosamente gli ha voluto fare tanta ingiuria." This note occurs at Stanza 83 of Canto 1.

[474] In some cases the readings of the second edition are inferior to those of the first, while both fall short of Boiardo. Boiardo wrote in his description of Astolfo (Canto i. 60):

Quel solea dir, ch'egli era per sciagura,

E tornava a cader senza paura.

In the rifacimento of 1541 we have:

E alle volte cadeva per sciagura,

E si levava poi senza paura.

In that of 1545:

Un sol dispetto avea: dice Turpino

Che nel cader alquanto era latino.

I take these instances from Panizzi.

[475] Boiardo ed Ariosto, vol. ii. p. cxxxiv.

[476] Lettere, Book ii. p. 121.

[477] Ibid. p. 249. We might quote a parallel passage from the Prologue to the Ipocrita, which Aretino published in 1542, just after accomplishing his revenge on Berni: "Io non ho pensato al gastigo che io darei a quegli che pongono il lor nome nei libri che essi guastano nella foggia che un non so chi ha guasto il Boiardo, per non mi credere che si trovasse cotanta temerità nella presunzione del mondo." The hypocrisy of this is worthy of the play's title.

[478] Mazzuchelli (Scrittori d'Italia: Albicante, Giov. Alberto) may be consulted about the relations between these two ruffians, who alternately praised and abused each other in print.

[479] See Mazzuchelli, op. cit., under "Brocardo, Antonio." The spelling of the name varies. Bembo, six years afterwards, told Varchi that Aretino drove Broccardo for him into an early grave. See Lettere all'Aretino, vol. ii. p. 186, ed. Romagnoli. The probability is that Broccardo died of fever aggravated by the annoyance caused him by Aretino's calumnies. There is no valid suspicion of poison.

[480] This curious pamphlet was reprinted from a unique copy by Panizzi, op. cit. vol. iii. p. 361. In the introduction, Vergerio gives an interesting account of Berni. He represents him as a man of worldly life, addicted to gross pleasures and indecent literature until within a few years of his death. Having been converted to evangelical faith in Christ, Berni then resolved to use the Orlando as a vehicle for Lutheran opinions; and his rifacimento was already almost printed, when the devil found means to suppress it. Vergerio is emphatic in his statement that the poem was finished and nearly printed. If this was indeed the case, we must suppose that Albicante worked upon the sheets, canceling some and leaving others, and that the book thus treated was afterwards shared by Giunta and Calvo.

[481] I shall print a translation of the eighteen stanzas in an Appendix to this volume. Lines like the following,

Arrandellarsi come un salsicciuolo,

which are common in the mangled version, would never have passed Berni's censure.

[482] This appears from a reference in Aretino's second letter to Calvo, where he talks of Berni's "friends and relatives." It might be going too far to suggest that Berni was murdered by his ecclesiastical enemies, who feared the scandal which would be caused by the publication of his opinions.

[483] Vergerio may have communicated the eighteen stanzas to Aretino; or conversely he may have received them from him. I have read through the letters exchanged between him and Aretino—and they are numerous—without, however, finding any passage that throws light on this transaction. Aretino published both series of letters. He had therefore opportunity to suppress inconvenient allusions.

[484] We may note the dates and fates of the chief actors in this tragedy. Broccardo died of grief in 1531. Berni died, under suspicion of poison, in 1535. Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici was poisoned a few months later, in 1535. Alessandro de' Medici was murdered by Lorenzino in 1537. Pietro Paolo Vergerio was deprived of his see and accused of heresy in 1544. Berni's old friend, the author of Il Forno, M. La Casa, conducted his trial, as Papal Nuncio at Venice. Aretino, who had assumed the part of inquisitor and mutilator to gratify his private spite, survived triumphant.

[485] See the Raccolta di Poesie Satiriche, Milano, 1808.

[486] See, for the latter series, Poesie Satiriche, pp. 138-156.

[487] See Sonetti di Matteo Franco e di Luigi Pulci, 1759. Cp. above, Part i. p. 431.

[488] The best source of information regarding Pietro Aretino is his own correspondence published in six volumes (Paris, 1609), and the two volumes of letters written to him by eminent personages, which are indeed a rich mine of details regarding Italian society and manners in the sixteenth century. Mazzuchelli's Vita di Pietro Aretino (Padua, 1741) is a conscientious, sober, and laborious piece of work, on which all subsequent notices have been based.

[489] It may be mentioned that Ariosto has immortalized this bully in the Orlando (xlvi. 14), among the most illustrious men and women of his age:

ecco il flagello

De' principi, il divin Pietro Aretino.

[490] Aretino's comedies, letters, and occasional poems are our best sources for acquaintance with the actual conditions of palace-life. The Dialogo de le Corti opens with a truly terrible description of the debauchery and degradation to which a youth was exposed on his first entrance into the service of a Roman noble. It may have been drawn from the author's own experience. The nauseous picture of the tinello, or upper-servants' hall, which occurs in the comedy Cortigiana (act v. sc. 15), proves intimate familiarity with the most revolting details of domestic drudgery. The dirt of these places made an ineffaceable impression on Aretino's memory. In his burlesque Orlandino, when he wishes to call up a disgusting image, he writes:

Odorava la sala come odora

Un gran tinel d'un Monsignor Francese,

O come quel d'un Cardinal ancora

Quando Febo riscalda un bestial mese.

[491] Aretino's correspondence and the comedy above mentioned throw sufficient light upon these features of Roman society. It will, for the rest, suffice to quote a passage from Monsignore Guidiccioni's letter to Giambattista Bernardi (Opere di M. Giov. Guidiccioni, Barbèra, 1867, vol. i. p. 195): "Non solamente da questi illustri per ricchezze non si può avere, ma non si puote ancora sperare premio che sia di lunghe fatiche o di rischio di morte, se l'uomo non si rivolge ad acquistarlo per vie disoneste. Perciocchè essi non carezzano e non esaltano se non adulatori, e quelli che sanno per alfabeto le abitazioni, le pratiche e le qualità delle cortigiane." The whole letter should be read by those who would understand Roman society of the Renaissance. The italics are mine.

[492] Quoted by Philarète Chasles from Gamurrini, Ist. Gen. delle famiglie nobili Toscane ed Umbre, iii. 332. I do not know exactly to what period the letter refers.

[493] Lettere, vol. i. p. 258.

[494] It may be remembered that Giberti, Bishop of Verona, was Berni's patron. This helps to account for the animosity between Berni and Aretino.

[495] Op. Burl. ii. p. 11:

Sotto Milano dieci volte, non ch'una,

Mi disse: Pietro, se di questa guerra

Mi scampa Dio e la buona fortuna,

Ti voglio impadronir della tua terra.

Giovanni de' Medici wrote to him thus: "Vieni presto.... Il re a buon proposito si dolse che non ti aveva menato al solito, onde io diedi la colpa al piacerti più lo stare in Corte che in Campo ... non so vivere senza l'Aretino."—Lettere scritte all'Aretino, i. 6.

[496] The sonnet by Berni quoted above, p. 371, was written to meet these libels of Aretino. It contains an allusion to Achille della Volta's poignard.

[497] See Aretino's Letters, vol. i. pp. 8, 10, for very interesting details concerning the death of Giovanni de' Medici. He here used the interest of his old master to secure the favor of Duke Cosimo.

[498] The edition of Aretino's own letters which I shall use is that of Paris, 1609 in six books. The edition of the Lettere scritte all'Aretino is Romagnoli's reprint, Scelta di Curiosità, Bologna, 1873-1876, Dispensa cxxxii., two books divided into four volumes; to these, for convenience sake, I shall refer as 1, 2, 3, 4.

[499] It is clear from a perusal of the Lettere all'Aretino that his reputation depended in a great measure upon these pious romances. The panegyrics heaped on them are too lengthy and too copious to be quoted. They are curiously mixed with no less fervent praises of the Dialoghi.

[500] Lettere, vol. i. p. 3.

[501] Lettere, i. 204.

[502] Lettere, ii. 58.

[503] Lettere, iii. 145; cp. iii. 89. The whole of the passage translated above is an abstract of a letter professedly written to Aretino by Doni (Lett. all'Ar. vol. iv. p. 395), which may be read with profit as an instance of flattery. The occurrence of the same phrases in both series of epistles raises a doubt whether Aretino did not tamper with the text of the correspondence he published, penning panegyrics of himself and printing them under fictitious names as advertisements. Doni was a man who might have lent himself to such imposture on the public.

[504] See Lettere all'Ar. vol. iv. p. 352, for a vivid description, written by Francesco Marcolini, of Aretino's train of living and prodigal hospitality. It realizes the vast banqueting-pictures of Veronese.

[505] Lettere, iii. 72.

[506] Lettere, i. 206. This passage occurs also in a letter addressed to Aretino by one Alessandro Andrea (Lett. all'Ar. vol. iii. p. 178); whence Mazzuchelli argues that Aretino tampered with the letters written to him, and interpolated passages before he sent them to the press. See last page, note 1.

[507] Lettere, ii. 213.

[508] Lettere, iii. 70.

[509] See Lettere, ii. 257; iii. 340; v. 251.

[510] See the Capitolo al Duca di Fiorenza.

[511] Marcolini's letter (Lettere all'Aretino, vol. iv. p. 352), and some letters from obscure scholars (for example, ib. vol. ii. pp. 118-121), seem to prove that he was really openhanded in cases of distress.

[512] There is a letter from Barbarossa to Aretino in the Lettere all'Ar. vol. iii. p. 269.

[513] See the frank admissions in Lettere, ii. 52; iv. 168; i. 19, 30, 142.

[514] See the plates prefixed to Mazzuchelli's Life of Aretino. Compare a passage in his Letters, vi. 115, and the headings of the Letters addressed to him, passim.

[515] After studying the Lettere scritte all'Aretino—epistles, it must be remembered, from foreign kings and princes, from cardinals and bishops, from Italian dukes and noblemen, from illustrious ladies and great artists, and from the most distinguished men of letters of his day—I am quite at a loss to comprehend the furore of fashion which accompanied this man through his career. One and all praise him as the most powerful, the most virtuous, the bravest, the wittiest, the wisest, or, to use their favorite phrase, the divinest man of his century. Was all this a mere convention? Was it evoked by fear and desire of being flattered in return? Or, after all, had Aretino some now occult splendor, some real, but now unintelligible, utility for his contemporaries?

[516] The Papal Court was attacked by him; but none other that I can discover. The only Prince who felt the rough side of his tongue was the Farnese:

Impara tu, Pierluigi ammorbato,

Impara, Ducarel da sei quattrini,

Il costume d'un Rè si onorato.

Cardinal Gaddi and the Bishop of Verona were pretty roughly treated. So was Clement VII. But all these personages made their peace with Aretino, and paid him homage.

[517] See the curious epistle written to Messer Pompeo Pace by the Conte di Monte Labbate, and included among the Lettere all'Aretino, vol. iv. p. 385. Speaking of Aretino's singular worth and excellent qualities, it discusses the question of the terror he inspired, which the author attributes to a kind of justifiable chantage. That Aretino was the inventor of literary chantage is certain; but that it was justifiable, does not appear.

[518] Aretino made no secret of his artificial method of flattery. In a letter to Bembo (Lettere, ii. 52), he openly boasts that his literary skill enables him to "swell the pride of grandees with exorbitant praises, keeping them aloft in the skies upon the wings of hyperboles." "It is my business," he adds, "to transform digressions, metaphors, and pedagogeries of all sorts into capstans for moving and pincers for opening. I must so work that the voice of my writings shall break the sleep of avarice; and baptize that conceit or that phrase which shall bring me crowns of gold, not laurels."

[519] As a sample of his begging style, we may extract the following passage from a letter (1537), referring to the king of France (Lettere, i. 111): "I was and ever shall be the servant of his Majesty, of whom I preached and published what appears in all my utterances and in all my works. But since it is my wonted habit not to live by dreams, and since certain persons take no care for me, I have with glory to myself made myself esteemed and sought by those who are really liberal. The chain was three years delayed, and four have gone without so much as a courtesy to me from the King's quarter. Therefore I have turned to one who gives without promising—I speak of the Emperor. I adored Francis; but never to get money from the stirring of his liberality, is enough to cool the furnaces of Murano."

[520] See Cromwell's letter, in the Lettere all'Aretino, vol. ii. p. 15.

[521] Lettere all'Aretino, vol. i. p. 245; vol. iv. pp. 281, 289, 300, contain allusions to this project, which is said to have originated with the Duke of Parma. The first citation is a letter of Titian's.

[522] "Divino," "Divinissimo," "Precellentissimo," "Unichissimo," "Onnipotente," are a few of the epithets culled from the common language of his flatterers.

[523] I will translate passages from two letters, which, by their very blasphemies, emphasize this contradiction. "One might well say that you, most divine Signor Pietro, are neither Prophet nor Sibyl, but rather the very Son of God, seeing that God is highest truth in heaven, and you are truth on earth; nor is any city but Venice fit to give you harborage, who are the jewel of the earth, the treasure of the sea, the pride of heaven; and that rare cloth of gold, bedecked with gems, they place upon the altar of S. Mark's, is naught but you" (Lettere scritte a P. Aretino, vol. iii. p. 176). The next is more extraordinary, since it professes to be written by a monk: "In this our age you are a column, lantern, torch and splendor of Holy Church, who, could she speak, would give to you the revenues of Chieti, Farnese, Santa Fiore, and all those other idlers, crying out—Let them be awarded to the Lord Pietro, who distinguishes, exalts and honors me, in whom unite the subtlety of Augustine, the moral force of Gregory, Jerome's profundity of meaning, the weighty style of Ambrose. It is not I but the whole world that says you are another Paul, who have borne the name of the Son of God into the presence of kings, potentates, princes of the universe; another Baptist, who with boldness, fearing naught, have reproved, chastised, exposed iniquities, malice, hypocrisy before the whole world; another John the Evangelist, for exhorting, entreating, exalting, honoring the good, the righteous, and the virtuous. Verily he who first called you Divine, can claim the words Christ spake to Peter: Beatus es, quia caro et sanguis non revelavit tibi, sed Pater noster qui in cœlis est" (Ibid. p. 142).

[524] Her letter may be read in the Lettere all'Aretino, vol iii. p. 28.

[525] Lettere, ii. 9.

[526] She wrote to him again in 1539; see Lettere all'Aretino, vol. iii. p. 30. The series of letters from the virtuous Veronica Gambara are equally astonishing (ib. vol. i. pp. 318-333).

[527] Lettere all'Aretino, vol. ii. p. 335.

[528] Giorgio Vasari, the common friend of Pietro Aretino and M.A. Buonarroti, had no doubt something to do with the acquiescent courtesy of the latter.

[529] The adulation with which all the chief literary men of Italy greeted Aretino, is quite incredible. One must read their letters in the Lettere all'Aretino to have any conception of it. See in particular those of Varchi (ib. vol. ii. pp. 186-202), of Dolce (vol. ii. pp. 277-295), of Paolo Giovio (vol. iii. pp. 59-64), of Niccolò Martelli (vol. iii. pp. 116-125), of Annibale Caro (ib. p. 163), of Sperone (ib. pp. 324-330), of Firenzuola (ib. p. 345), of Doni (vol. iv. p. 395). Molza, terrified by one of Aretino's threats, cringes before him (vol. i. p. 340). Doni signs himself "Il Doni dell'Aretino," and Vergerio, Bishop of Capo d'Istria, "Il Vescovo dell'Aretino." Even the excellent Bishop of Fossombrone pays him courtly compliments (vol. ii. pp. 61-67). The pitch attained by these flatteries may be understood from this opening of a letter: "Bella armonia, e soave concento, dovea essere nel cielo, Signor Pietro divino, e fra le stelle amiche, il dì, che Iddio e la Natura di voi fece altero dono a questa nostra etade," etc. ad. inf. (vol. iv. p. 269). Here is another fragment: "Manifestamente si vede e si conosce che da Iddio per conservazione de la sua gloria e per utilità del mondo v'abbi fra tanti avversari," etc. (vol. iv. p. 398).

[530] Lettere, v. 184. The above is only a condensed paraphrase of a very long tirade.

[531] Lettere, ii. 242.

[532] Lettere, i. 123.

[533] Lettere, ii. 182.

[534] Lettere, i. 210.

[535] Lettere, i. 143.

[536] Lettere, iii. 84. Letter at the end of the Talanta.

[537] Lettere, i. 99.

[538] Lettere, vi. 4.

[539] See Lettere, ii. 168, iii. 169, for his method of composing these books.

[540] I have purposely chosen an extract where the style is keen and mobile. Had I taken examples from the Letters, I could have produced a far closer parallel to Lilly's rhetoric.

[541] See the article on Albicante in Mazzuchelli's Scrittori Italiani, vol. i.

[542] For what follows see Tiraboschi, tom. vii. part 3, lib. iii.

[543] These lines have been, without authority, ascribed to Giovio; they may thus be rendered:

Here lieth Aretine, in prose and poem

Who spake such ill of all the world but Christ,

Pleading for this neglect, I do not know him.

Giovio, we may remember, styled Aretino divino, divinissimo, unichissimo, precellentissimo, in his letters.

[544] Among the many flatteries addressed to Aretino none is more laughable than a letter (Lettere all'Aretino, vol. iii. p. 175) which praises his physical beauty in most extravagant terms: "Most divine Lord Peter; if, among the many and so lovely creatures that swinish Nature sends into this worst of worlds, you alone are of such beauty and incomparable grace that you combine all qualities the human frame can boast of: for the which cause there is no need to wonder that Titian, when he seeks to paint a face that has in it true beauty, uses his skilled brush in only drawing you," etc. etc. The period is too long to finish.

[545] I should not be surprised to see an attempt soon made to whitewash Aretino. Balzac, in his Catherine de Médicis, has already indicated the line to be followed: "L'Arétin, l'ami de Titien et le Voltaire de son siècle, a, de nos jours, un renom en complète opposition avec ses œuvres, avec son caractère, et que lui vaut une débauche d'esprit en harmonie avec les écrits de ce siècle, où le drolatique était en honneur, où les reines et les cardinaux écrivaient des contes, dits aujourd'hui licentieux."

[546] I will only refer to a very curious epistle (Lettere a P. Aretino, vol. iii. p. 193), which appears to me genuine, in which Aretino is indicated as the poor man's friend against princely tyrants; and another from Daniello Barbaro (ibid. p. 217), in which the Dialogue on Courts is praised as a handbook for the warning and instruction of would-be courtiers. The Pornographic Dialogues made upon society the same impression as Zola's Nana is now making, although it is clear to us that they were written with a licentious, and not an even ostensibly scientific, intention.

[547] While these sheets are passing through the press, I see announced a forthcoming work by Antonio Virgili, Francesco Berni con nuovi documenti. We may expect from this book more light upon Aretino's relation to the Tuscan poet.

[548] Age of the Despots, chaps. v. and vi.

[549] "Mi è parso più conveniente andare dietro alla verità effettuale della cosa che all'immaginazione di essa" (Principe, cap. xv.).

[550] The section on the types of commonwealths in the Discorsi (cap. ii.) comes straight from Polybius. But I am not aware of any signs in Machiavelli of a direct study of the elder Greek philosophical writings.

[551] I refer to the Opere Inedite. In the Isteria d'Italia, Guicciardini's style is inferior to Machiavelli's.

[552] I cannot refrain from translating a paragraph in Spaventa's Essay upon Bruno, which, no less truly than passionately, states the pith of this Italian tragedy. "The sixteenth century was the epoch, in which the human spirit burst the chains that up to then had bound it, and was free. There is no more glorious age for Italy. The heroes of thought and freedom, who then fought for truth, were almost all her sons. They were persecuted and extinguished with sword and fire. Would that the liberty of thought, the autonomy of the reason, they gave to the other nations of Europe, had borne fruit in Italy! From that time forward we remained as though cut off from the universal life; it seemed as if the spirit which inspired the world and pushed it onward, had abandoned us" (Saggi di Critica, Napoli, 1867, p. 140).

[553] Epistolæ Angeli Poliziani, lib. ix. p. 269 (ed. Gryphius, 1533).

[554] Laurentius Valla: Opera omnia, Basileæ, 1465. The "De Voluptate" begins at p. 896 of this edition.

[555] "Uterque pro se de laudibus Voluptatis suavissime quidem quasi cantare visus est; sed Antonius hirundini, Nicolaus philomelæ (quam lusciniam nominant) magis comparandus" (ib. lib. iii. p. 697).

[556] "Meâ quidem sententiâ odiosus est si quis in mœchos, si rerum naturam intueri volumus, invehat" (ib. lib. i. cap. 38). "Quisquis virgines sanctimoniales primus invenit, abominandum atque in ultimas terras exterminandum morem in civitatem induxisse.... Melius merentur scorta et postribula quam sanctimoniales virgines ac continentes" (ib. lib. i. cap. 43).

[557] "Quod natura finxit atque formavit id nisi sanctum laudabileque esse non posse" (ib. lib. i. cap. 9).

[558] For the following sketch of Pomponazzi's life, and for help in the study of his philosophy, I am indebted to Francesco Fiorentino's Pietro Pomponazzi, Firenze, Lemonnier, 1868, 1 vol. I may here take occasion to mention a work by the same author, Bernardino Telesio, ibid. 1872, 2 vols. Together, these two books form an important contribution to the history of Italian philosophy.

[559] It will be remembered that in the controversy between Galileo and the Inquisition, the latter condemned Copernicus on the score that he contradicted Aristotle and S. Thomas of Aquino.

[560] These are the words: "Hoc sacro approbante Concilio damnamus et reprobamus omnes asserentes animam intellectivam mortalem esse, aut unicam in cunctis hominibus, et hæc in dubium vertentes, cum illa non solum vere per se et essentialiter humani corporis forma existat ... verum et immortalis, et pro corporum quibus infunditur multitudine, singulariter multiplicabilis et multiplicata et multiplicanda sit."

[561] Cap. viii. "Cum et Aristoteles dicat, necesse esse intelligentem phantasma aliquod speculari." Again, ibid.: "Ergo in omni suo intelligere indiget phantasia, sed si sic est, ipsa est materialis; ergo anima intellectiva est materialis." Again, ibid.: "Humanus intellectus corpus habet caducum, quare vel corrupto corpore ipse non esset, quod positioni repugnat, vel si esset, sine opere esset, cum sine phantasmate per positionem intelligere non posset et sic otiaretur."

[562] Cap. ix. "Et sic medio modo humanus intellectus inter materialia et immaterialia est actus corporis organici." Again, ibid.: "Ipse igitur intellectus sic medius existens inter materialia et immaterialia." Again, ibid.: "Homo est medius inter Deos et bestias, quare sicut pallidum comparatum nigro dicitur album, sic homo, comparatus bestiis, dici potest Deus et immortalis, sed non vere et simpliciter."

[563] Cap. viii. "Vixque sit umbra intellectûs." Again, cap. ix.: "Cum ipsa sit materialium nobilissima, in confinioque immaterialium, aliquid immaterialitatis odorat, sed non simpliciter."

[564] See (cap. viii.) the passage which begins "Secundò quia cum in ista essentia."

[565] See the passages quoted above; and compare De Nutritione, lib. i. cap. 11, which contains Pomponazzi's most mature opinion on the material extension of the soul, which he calls, in all its faculties, realiter extensa.

[566] De Immortalitate, cap. xiv. After demonstrating that the intellectus practicus, as distinguished from the speculativus and the factivus, is the special property of man, and that consequently in Ethics we have the true science of humanity, he lays down and tries to demonstrate the two positions that (1) "præmium essentiale virtutis est ipsamet virtus quæ hominem felicem facit;" (2) "pœna vitiosi est ipsum vitium, quo nihil miserius, nihil infelicius esse potest."

[567] For this argument he refers to Plato in cap. xiv.: "Sive animus mortalis sit, sive immortalis, nihilominus contemnenda est mors, neque alio pacto declinandum est a virtute quicquid accidat post mortem."

[568] See especially the exordium to cap. viii.

[569] Ritter, Geschichte der Christlichen Philosophie, part v. p. 426, quoted by Fiorentino, op. cit.

[570] De Incant. cap. 3.

[571] Ibid. cap. 4.

[572] Ibid. cap. 12.

[573] Peroration of De Incant.

[574] De Incant. cap. 12.

[575] De Fato, lib. iii. cap. 7.

[576] An interesting description of a humanist opening his course at Padua, and of the excitement in the town about it, is furnished by the anonymous Maccaronic poet who sang the burlesque praises of Vigonça. See Delepierre, Macaronéana Andra, London, 1862. Above, p. 331.

[577] He makes these assertions in a treatise De Mente Humanâ.

[578] In the peroration of his treatise on Incantation, Pomponazzi says: "Habes itaque, compater charissime, quæ, ut mea fert opinio, Peripatetici ad ea quæ quæsivisti, dicere verisimiliter haberent. Habes et quæ veritati et Christianæ religioni consona sunt."

[579] From my Sonnets of Michael Angelo and Campanella, p. 119.

[580] Ibid. p. 123.

[581] Ibid. p. 174.

[582] It may be worth reminding the reader that Pomponazzi died in 1525, and Machiavelli in 1527—the year of Rome's disaster. Their births also were nearly synchronous. Pomponazzi was born in 1462, Machiavelli in 1469.

[583] I need hardly guard this paragraph by saying that I speak within the limits of the Renaissance.

[584] Those who are curious in such matters, may be referred to the following works by Giustiniano Nicolucci: La Stirpe Ligure in Italia, Napoli, 1864; Sulla Stirpe Iapigica, Napoli, 1866; Sull'Antropologia delta Grecia, Napoli, 1867; Antropologia dell'Etruria, Napoli, 1869; Antropologia del Lazio, Napoli, 1873. Also to Luigi Calori's Del Tipo Brachicefalo negli Italiani odierni, Bologna, 1868, and a learned article upon this work by J. Barnard Davis in the Journal of the Anthropological Institute, Jan. July, 1871. Nicolucci's and Calori's researches lead to opposite results regarding the distribution of brachycephalic skulls in Italy. Nicolucci adopts in its entirety the theory of an Aryan immigration from the North; Barnard Davis rejects it. It seems to me impossible in our present state of knowledge to draw conclusions from the extremely varied and interesting observations recorded in the treatises cited above.

[585] That the Æneid was still the Italian Epos is proved by the many local legends which connected the foundation of cities with the Trojan wars.

[586] It is enough to mention a few names—Gregory the Great, Lanfranc, S. Anselm, Peter the Lombard, Hildebrand, S. Thomas Aquinas, Accursius, Bartolus—to prove how strong in construction, as opposed to criticism, were the Italian thinkers of the middle ages.

[587] "Roma, caput mundi," is a significant phrase. It marks the defect of Italian nationality as distinguished from cosmopolitan empire.

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Table of Contents

RENAISSANCE IN ITALY

ITALIAN LITERATURE

In Two Parts

PART II

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND PART.

APPENDICES.

RENAISSANCE IN ITALY.

CHAPTER IX.

THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.

CHAPTER X.

THE NOVELLIERI.

CHAPTER XI.

THE DRAMA.

CHAPTER XII.

PASTORAL AND DIDACTIC POETRY.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE PURISTS.

CHAPTER XIV.

BURLESQUE POETRY AND SATIRE.

CHAPTER XV.

PIETRO ARETINO.

CHAPTER XVI.

HISTORY AND PHILOSOPHY.

CHAPTER XVII.

CONCLUSION.

APPENDICES.

APPENDIX I.

Italian Comic Prologues.

APPENDIX II.

Passages translated from Folengo and Berni, which illustrate the Lutheran opinions of the Burlesque Poets.

ORLANDINO VI. 41.

ORLANDINO VIII. 22.

ORLANDINO VIII. 73.

ORLANDO INNAMORATO, CANTO XX. THE SUPPRESSED INDUCTION.

APPENDIX III.

On Palmieri's "Città di Vita." (To illustrate Part I. p. 171.)

INDEX.

TRANSLATIONS IN VERSE BY AUTHOR.

FOOTNOTES

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