Macchiavelli however, far from concealing anything, has exposed all the secrets of a criminal polity; and through him we may learn of what a terrible knowledge of the human heart the Italians are capable. But profound observation is not the province of comedy: the leisure of society, properly speaking, can alone furnish matter for the comic scene. Goldoni, who lived at Venice, where there is more society than in any other Italian city, has introduced more refinement of observation into his pieces than is generally to be found in other authors. Nevertheless his comedies are monotonous, and we meet with the same situations in them, because they contain so little variety of character. His numerous pieces seem formed upon the general model of dramatic works, and not copied from real life. The true character of Italian gaiety is not satire, but imagination; not delineation of manners, but poetical exaggeration. It is Ariosto, and not Molière, who can amuse Italy.
Gozzi, the rival of Goldoni, has more originality in his compositions; they bear less resemblance to regular comedy. His determination was liberally to indulge the Italian genius; to represent fairy tales, and mingle buffoonery and harlequinade with the marvels of poetry; to imitate nothing in nature, but to give free scope to the gay illusions of fancy, to the chimeras of fairy magic, and to transport the mind by every means beyond the boundaries of human action. He was crowned with prodigious success in his time, and perhaps there never existed an author more congenial to an Italian imagination; but to know with certainty what degree of perfection Tragedy and Comedy can reach in Italy, it should possess a theatrical establishment. The multitude of little cities who all wish to have a theatre, lose, by dispersing them, its dramatic resources: that division in states, in general so favourable to liberty and happiness, is hurtful to Italy. She must needs concentrate her light and power to resist the prejudices which are devouring her. The authority of governments often represses individual energy. In Italy this authority would be a benefit if it struggled against the ignorance of separate states and of men isolated among them; if it combated by emulation that indolence so natural to the climate; and if, in a word, it gave life to the whole of this nation which now is satisfied with a dream.
These ideas, and several others besides, were ingeniously developed by Corinne. She well understood the rapid art of light conversation, which does not dogmatically insist upon any thing, and also that pleasing address which gives a consideration to each of the company in turn, though she often indulged in that kind of talent which rendered her a celebrated improvisatrice. Several times she intreated Prince Castel-Forte to assist her with his opinion on the same subject; but she spoke so well herself, that all the audience were delighted in listening to her, and would not suffer her to be interrupted. Mr Edgermond, in particular, could scarcely satisfy himself with seeing and hearing Corinne; hardly did he dare to express the admiration she inspired him with, and he pronounced some words of panegyric in a low tone of voice hoping she would comprehend them without obliging him to address her personally. He however possessed such a lively desire to know her sentiments on Tragedy, that in spite of his timidity he ventured a few words on that subject.
"Madam," said he to Corinne, "where the Italian literature appears to me most defective is in Tragedy; methinks the distance is not so great between infancy and manhood, as between your Tragedies and ours; for in the changeableness of children may be discovered true if not deep sentiments, but there is something affected and extravagant in Italian Tragedy, which destroys for me all emotion whatever. Is this not so? Lord Nelville," continued Mr Edgermond, turning to his lordship and inviting his support by a glance, quite astonished at having found courage to speak in such a numerous assembly.
"I am entirely of your opinion," answered Oswald; "Metastasio, who is vauntingly called the poet of love, gives the same colouring to this passion in every country and under every circumstance. His admirable airs are entitled to our applause as much from their grace and harmony as the lyrical beauties which they contain, especially when detached from the drama in which they are placed; but it is impossible for us who possess Shakespeare, who has most deeply fathomed History and the passions of man, to suffer those amorous couples, that divide between them almost all the pieces of Metastasio alike, under the names of Achilles, of Tircis, of Brutus, and of Corilas, singing, in a manner that hardly touches the surface of the soul, the grief and sufferings of love, so as almost to reduce to imbecility the noblest passion that animates the human heart. It is with the most profound respect for the character of Alfieri that I shall indulge in a few reflections upon his pieces. Their aim is so noble, the sentiments which the author expresses are so much in unison with his personal conduct, that his tragedies must always deserve praise as actions, even when they are criticised as literary performances. But I find in the vigour of some of his tragedies as much monotony as in the tenderness of Metastasio. There is, in the plays of Alfieri, such a profusion of energy and magnanimity, or rather such an exaggeration of violence and crime, that it is impossible to discover in them the true characters of men. They are never so wicked nor so generous as painted by this author. The aim of most of his scenes is to place virtue and vice in contrast with each other; but these oppositions are not according to the gradations of truth. If, during their life, tyrants bore with what the oppressed are made to say to their face in the tragedies of Alfieri, one would be almost tempted to pity them. His play of Octavia is one of those where the want of probability is most striking. In this piece, Seneca moralises incessantly with Nero, as if the latter were the most patient of men, and Seneca the most courageous. The master of the world permits himself to be insulted, and his anger to be excited in every scene, for the amusement of the spectators, as if it were not in his power to end it all with a word. Certainly these continual dialogues give rise to some very fine replies on the part of Seneca, and one would be glad to find in an harangue or in a moral work the noble thoughts which he expresses; but is this the way to give us an idea of tyranny? It is not painting it in its formidable colours, but merely making it a subject for verbal fencing. If Shakespeare had represented Nero surrounded by trembling slaves, who hardly dared reply to the most indifferent question, himself concealing his internal agitation and endeavouring to appear calm, with Seneca near him writing the apology for the murder of Agrippina, would not the terror have been a thousand times greater? And for one reflection spoken by the author, would not a thousand be generated in the soul of the spectators by the very silence of rhetoric and the truth of the picture?"
Oswald might have spoken much longer without receiving any interruption from Corinne; so much pleasure did she receive from the sound of his voice and the noble elegance of his language, that she could have wished to prolong this impression for hours together. Hardly could she remove her eyes, which were earnestly fixed upon him, even after he had ceased to speak. She turned them reluctantly to the rest of the company, who were impatient to hear her thoughts upon Italian tragedy, and turning to Lord Nelville:—"My Lord," said she, "it is not to combat your sentiments that I reply, for they meet mine in almost every point: my only intention is to offer some exceptions to your rather too general observations. It is true that Metastasio is rather a lyrical than a dramatic poet, and that he describes love like one of the fine arts that adorn life, not as the most important secret of our happiness and our pain. I will venture to say, notwithstanding our language has been consecrated to the cause of love, that we have more profoundness and sensibility in describing any other passion than this. The practice of making amorous verses has created a kind of commonplace language amongst us for that subject; so that not what he has felt, but what he has read, inspires the poet. Love, such as it exists in Italy, by no means resembles that love which is described by our writers. It is only in Boccacio's romance of Fiametta, that according to the best of my recollection, there is to be found an idea of that passion, painted in truly national colours. Our poets subtilise and exaggerate the sentiment, whilst agreeably to the real Italian character, it is a rapid and profound impression, which rather expresses itself by silent and passionate actions than by ingenious language. In general our literature is not characteristic of our national manners[23]. We are much too modest, I had almost said too humble a nation to aspire to tragedies taken from our own history, and bearing the stamp of our own sentiments.
"Alfieri, by a singular chance, was transplanted, if I may use the expression, from ancient to modern times; he was born for action, and his destiny only permitted him to write; this constraint appears in the style of his tragedies. He wished to make literature subservient to a political purpose; undoubtedly his object was noble, but nothing perverts the labours of the imagination so much as having a purpose. In this nation, where certainly, some erudite scholars and very enlightened men are to be met with, Alfieri was indignant at seeing literature consecrated to no serious end, but merely engrossed with tales, novels, and madrigals. Alfieri wished to give a more austere character to his tragedy. He has stript it of all the borrowed appendages of theatrical effect, preserving nothing but the interest of the dialogue. It appears to have been his wish to place the natural vivacity and imagination of the Italians in a state of penitence; he has however been very much admired for his character and the energies of his soul, which were truly great. The inhabitants of modern Rome are particularly given to applaud the actions and sentiments of their ancient country; as if those actions and sentiments had any relation to them in their present state.
They are amateurs of energy and independence, in the same manner as they are of the fine pictures which adorn their galleries. But it is not less true that Alfieri has by no means created what may be called an Italian theatre; that is to say, tragedies of a merit peculiar to Italy. He has not even characterised the manners of those countries and those centuries which he has painted. His conspiracy of the Pazzi, his Virginia, and his Philip II., are to be admired for elevation and strength of thought; but it is always the character of Alfieri, and not that of peculiar nations and peculiar times, which are to be discovered in them. Although there be no analogy between the French genius and that of Alfieri, they resemble each other in this, that both of them give their own colouring to every subject of which they treat."
The Count d' Erfeuil, hearing the French genius called in question, was induced to speak. "It would be impossible for us," said he, "to tolerate upon the stage either the incongruities of the Greeks or the monstrosities of Shakespeare; the French have too pure a taste for that. Our theatre is the model of delicacy and elegance: those are its distinguishing characteristics, and we should plunge ourselves into barbarism by introducing anything foreign amongst us."
"That would be like encompassing yourselves with the great wall of China," said Corinne, smiling. "There are certainly many rare beauties in your tragic authors; and perhaps they would admit of new ones, could you bring yourselves to tolerate anything not exactly French on your stage. But as for us Italians, our dramatic genius would be greatly diminished in submitting to the fetters of those laws which we had not the honour of inventing, and from which, consequently, we could derive nothing but their restraint. A theatre ought to be formed upon the imagination, the character, and the custom of a nation. The Italians are passionately fond of the fine arts, of music, painting, and even pantomime: of every thing, in short, that strikes the senses. How then could they be satisfied with the austerity of an eloquent dialogue, as their only theatrical pleasure?[24] Vainly has Alfieri, with all his genius, endeavoured to reduce them to it; he felt himself that his system was too rigorous.