He ceased, and with one voice the feathered choir,
Applauding as it seemed, resume their strain;
Again the billing, amorous doves suspire,
And every creature turns to love again;[18]
Chaste laurel burns, the thrilling sap mounts higher
In rugged oaks, light foliage flutters fain;
And earth and ocean seem to throb and move
With softest sense and sweetest sighs of Love.
The alterations introduced by Tasso when he remodelled his epic amount to an admission of the justice of the charges brought against him, of having deviated too much into picturesque episodes, and been, in short, too lyrical. It might therefore have been expected that he would have taken a supreme place in lyrical poetry, and the anticipation would have been confirmed by the triumph of his Aminta. It is not entirely justified by his other lyrical performances; few of his numerous canzoni and multitudinous sonnets being absolutely in the front rank. The cause is probably want of concentration; he was always ready with a sonnet at call, and composed far too many upon petty and trivial occasions. His best lyrics, nevertheless, have a property which no other Italian poetry possesses in like measure—a certain majestic vehemence, like that of a mighty river, or what Shakespeare describes as “the proud full sail of his great verse.” It has even been argued, mainly on the strength of “that affable familiar ghost,” that Tasso was the rival of whom Shakespeare complains; however this may be, no description could better express the peculiarity of his lyrical style. The manner, unfortunately, is often far in advance of the matter. There is no more splendid example, for instance, than his “Coronal”[19] of sonnets, where a sonority and impetuosity that might have celebrated the battle of Lepanto are squandered upon the house of Este. The same qualities, however, are always present when his feelings are deeply moved, as when he accompanies in thought his lady to the verge of the sea:
Silver and diamond and gem and gold—
Wealth from wrecks anciently by tempests rent—
And coral of its own with pearl besprent,
The sea in homage at thy feet uprolled;—
For whom might Jupiter again be bold
In shape of bull to plough the element—
And, foaming at thy feet in billows spent,
With liquid tongue its murmuring story told:
O Nymph, O Goddess, not from caverned bower
Of ocean sprung, but heaven, who canst enchain
My seething turbulence, not now the power
Of gentle moon conducts the obedient main,
But thine; fear nothing; I but swell to shower
My gifts, and turn me to my deeps again.
FOOTNOTES:
[18] “Ogni animal di amar si riconsiglia.” A line taken bodily out of Petrarch.
[19] A series of twelve sonnets on the same subject, interlinked by each successive piece beginning with the last line of the preceding.
CHAPTER XIX
THE PROSE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
The seventeenth century is for Italy a period of stagnation, relieved only by the endeavour to conceal decay by fantastic extravagance, by a fortunate reaction near its termination, and by some genuine progress in isolated directions, which would have been fruitful of important results in a better age. The false taste which disfigured the epoch was not peculiar to Italy; but while in other countries it appears a symptom of exuberant life, a disorder incident to infancy, in Italy it dominates literature, some departments of practical knowledge and study excepted. What elsewhere was boisterous youth, was in Italy premature old age. No other cause for this decadence can be assigned than the withering of national life under the blight of civil and ecclesiastical tyranny. The reform of the Church, the purification of morals, excellent things in themselves, had been bought from the counter-Reformation at far too high a price.