"Tasso!" exclaimed he then, "Jerusalem delivered? and the very canto which treats of Armida and Rinaldo? I must confess that Tasso is not my favourite, he takes things so terribly seriously, and describes circumstances which are really frivolous, with such solemn feeling; he is for ever squinting at the capitoline laurels."
"Oh, who would not," cried the singer suddenly raising herself, "gaze towards those laurels, even with weary expiring eyes, as the poet beneath the oak of San Onofrio gazed across at the Capitol?"
"I personally," said Salomon, "am not susceptible to laurel wreaths; in these days they are much too cheap a prize!"
And at the same time he cast an impertinent glance at the velvet wall which was completely covered with such wreaths.
"But as far as Gerusalemme Liberata is concerned, as Tasso sings of it, it is an old worn-out story which never becomes new, thank God; because the crusades could only take place in a period so little enlightened as the so-called middle ages, when any monk with a long beard, who sat upon a jackass, possessed more influence than a minister of war, and who mobilised the whole Reserve and Landsturm of Christianity. Such things are no longer possible in these days. You cannot misunderstand me when I, as an educated man of our times, in connection with the 'Jerusalem delivered,' think of something very different than what that mad poet glorified in his stanzas, namely the emancipation of our faith. Heine is our Tasso, and is indeed a much greater poet; for when he describes an Armida, she is flesh and blood, and with a few strokes of the brush he gives her more vivid colouring than when Tasso absorbs a whole palette full of tints in order to paint her upon canvas."
Signora Giulia paid no attention to the chatterer, and calmly continued to read her poem.
"[Ariosto] now, is quite a different man! In him there is some of the blood of Heinrich Heine; an ironical light hovers around his creations; his giants bear some resemblance to Atta Troll, and his beautiful women might move about in a drawing-room. But you are surely unwell, Signora? I must, it is true, confess that I have not perceived any of the hoarseness of which the play-bills speak, but they, so far as I am concerned, are very little deserving of credence, I, who, indeed, possess a sceptical nature; but you seem to be exhausted also, and doubtlessly such a conversation as I love to hold, I might say in academical style, fatigues you, because my mind is always devoted to the loftier interests of art and literature, although I am also interested in butterflies and other creatures of the animal kingdom. Indeed, I surely weary you?"
For the first time, Giulia gave him a look of gratitude; she acknowledged that she was unwell, and begged him to thank the brave youth of the Albertina, who had behaved so admirably at the late commemoration. Salomon acknowledged these thanks in the name of all the students, and not without a sensation of dissatisfaction left the singer who had not given him personally that sympathy which his enthusiasm and constant efforts merited.
"A sad lot," said Giulia to Beate, who entered, "this dependence upon the public--is it not the worst slavery? And what is it all for? So that in the general exultant applause, no sound of disapproval, no token of discontent may be mingled. Always fear for this evanescent fame; ever from day to day this begging for the alms of applause!"
"Well," said Beate, "they have always been expended lavishly upon you!"