Upon his a.s.s Silenus, never sated, With thick, black veins, wherethrough the must is soaking, Nods his dull forehead with deep sleep belated; His eyes are wine-inflamed, and red, and smoking: Bold Maenads goad the a.s.s so sorely weighted, With stinging thyrsi; he sways feebly poking The mane with bloated fingers; Fauns behind him, E"en as he falls, upon the crupper bind him.
We almost seem to be looking at the frescoes in some Trasteverine palace, or at the canvas of one of the sensual Genoese painters. The description of the garden of Venus has the charm of somewhat artificial elegance, the exotic grace of style, which attracts us in the earlier Renaissance work:--
The leafy tresses of that timeless garden Nor fragile brine nor fresh snow dares to whiten; Frore winter never comes the rills to harden, Nor winds the tender shrubs and herbs to frighten; Glad Spring is always here, a laughing warden; Nor do the seasons wane, but ever brighten; Here to the breeze young May, her curls unbinding, With thousand flowers her wreath is ever winding.
Indeed it may be said with truth that Poliziano"s most eminent faculty as a descriptive poet corresponded exactly to the genius of the painters of his day. To produce pictures radiant with Renaissance colouring, and vigorous with Renaissance pa.s.sion, was the function of his art, not to express profound thought or dramatic situations. This remark might be extended with justice to Ariosto, and Ta.s.so, and Boiardo. The great narrative poets of the Renaissance in Italy were not dramatists; nor were their poems epics: their forte lay in the inexhaustible variety and beauty of their pictures.
Of Poliziano"s plagiarism--if this be the right word to apply to the process of a.s.similation and selection, by means of which the poet-scholar of Florence taught the Italians how to use the riches of the ancient languages and their own literature--here are some specimens. In stanza 42 of the "Giostra" he says of Simonetta:--
E "n lei discerne un non so che divino.
Dante has the line:--
Vostri risplende un non so che divino.
In the 44th he speaks about the birds:--
E canta ogni augelletto in suo latino.
This comes from Cavalcanti"s:--
E cantinne gli augelli.
Ciascuno in suo latino.
Stanza 45 is taken bodily from Claudian, Dante, and Cavalcanti. It would seem as though Poliziano wished to show that the cla.s.sic and medieval literature of Italy was all one, and that a poet of the Renaissance could carry on the continuous tradition in his own style.
A, line in stanza 54 seems perfectly original:--
E gia dall"alte ville il fumo esala.
It comes straight from Virgil:--
Et jam summa pocul villarum culmina fumant.
In the next stanza the line--
Tal che "l ciel tutto ra.s.seren d"intorno,
is Petrarch"s. So in the 56th, is the phrase "il dolce andar celeste." In stanza 57--
Par che "l cor del petto se gli schianti,
belongs to Boccaccio. In stanza 60 the first line:--
La notte che le cose ci nasconde,
together with its rhyme, "sotto le amate fronde," is borrowed from the 23rd canto of the "Paradiso." In the second line, "Stellato ammanto"
is Claudian"s "stellantes sinus" applied to the heaven. When we reach the garden of Venus we find whole pa.s.sages translated from Claudian"s "Marriage of Honorius," and from the "Metamorphoses" of Ovid.
Poliziano"s second poem of importance, which indeed may historically be said to take precedence of "La Giostra," was the so-called tragedy of "Orfeo." The English version of this lyrical drama must be reserved for a separate study: yet it belongs to the subject of this, inasmuch as the "Orfeo" is a cla.s.sical legend treated in a form already familiar to the Italian people. Nearly all the popular kinds of poetry of which specimens have been translated in this chapter, will be found combined in its six short scenes.
_ORFEO_
The "Orfeo" of Messer Angelo Poliziano ranks amongst the most important poems of the fifteenth century. It was composed at Mantua in the short s.p.a.ce of two days, on the occasion of Cardinal Francesco Gonzaga"s visit to his native town in 1472. But, though so hastily put together, the "Orfeo" marks an epoch in the evolution of Italian poetry. It is the earliest example of a secular drama, containing within the compa.s.s of its brief scenes the germ of the opera, the tragedy, and the pastoral play. In form it does not greatly differ from the "Sacre Rappresentazioni" of the fifteenth century, as those miracle plays were handled by popular poets of the earlier Renaissance. But while the traditional octave stanza is used for the main movement of the piece, Poliziano has introduced episodes of _terza rima_, madrigals, a carnival song, a _ballata_, and, above all, choral pa.s.sages which have in them the future melodrama of the musical Italian stage. The lyrical treatment of the fable, its capacity for brilliant and varied scenic effects, its combination of singing with action, and the whole artistic keeping of the piece, which never pa.s.ses into genuine tragedy, but stays within the limits of romantic pathos, distinguish the "Orfeo" as a typical production of Italian genius. Thus, though little better than an improvisation, it combines the many forms of verse developed by the Tuscans at the close of the Middle Ages, and fixes the limits beyond which their dramatic poets, with a few exceptions, were not destined to advance. Nor was the choice of the fable without significance. Quitting the Bible stories and the Legends of Saints, which supplied the mediaeval playwright with material, Poliziano selects a cla.s.sic story: and this story might pa.s.s for an allegory of Italy, whose intellectual development the scholar-poet ruled. Orpheus is the power of poetry and art, softening stubborn nature, civilising men, and prevailing over Hades for a season. He is the right hero of humanism, the genius of the Renaissance, the tutelary G.o.d of Italy, who thought she could resist the laws of fate by verse and elegant accomplishments. To press this kind of allegory is unwise; for at a certain moment it breaks in our hands. And yet in Eurydice the fancy might discover Freedom, the true spouse of poetry and art; Orfeo"s last resolve too vividly depicts the vice of the Renaissance; and the Maenads are those barbarous armies destined to lay waste the plains of Italy, inebriate with wine and blood, obeying a new lord of life on whom the poet"s harp exerts no charm. But a truce to this spinning of pedantic cobwebs. Let Mercury appear, and let the play begin.
_THE FABLE OF ORPHEUS_
MERCURY _announces the show_.
Ho, silence! Listen! There was once a hind, Son of Apollo, Aristaeus hight, Who loved with so untamed and fierce a mind Eurydice, the wife of Orpheus wight, That chasing her one day with will unkind He wrought her cruel death in love"s despite; For, as she fled toward the mere hard by, A serpent stung her, and she had to die.
Now Orpheus, singing, brought her back from h.e.l.l, But could not keep the law the fates ordain: Poor wretch, he backward turned and broke the spell; So that once more from him his love was ta"en.
Therefore he would no more with women dwell, And in the end by women he was slain.
_Enter_ A SHEPHERD, _who says_--
Nay, listen, friends! Fair auspices are given, Since Mercury to earth hath come from heaven.
SCENE I
MOPSUS, _an old shepherd_.
Say, hast thou seen a calf of mine, all white Save for a spot of black upon her front, Two feet, one flank, and one knee ruddy-bright?
ARISTAEUS, _a young shepherd_.
Friend Mopsus, to the margin of this fount No herds have come to drink since break of day; Yet may"st thou hear them low on yonder mount.
Go, Thyrsis, search the upland lawn, I pray!
Thou Mopsus shalt with me the while abide; For I would have thee listen to my lay.
_[Exit_ THYRSIS.
"Twas yester morn where trees yon cavern hide, I saw a nymph more fair than Dian, who Had a young l.u.s.ty lover at her side: But when that more than woman met my view, The heart within my bosom leapt outright, And straight the madness of wild Love I knew.
Since then, dear Mopsus, I have no delight; But weep and weep: of food and drink I tire, And without slumber pa.s.s the weary night.
MOPSUS.
Friend Aristaeus, if this amorous fire Thou dost not seek to quench as best may be, Thy peace of soul will vanish in desire.
Thou know"st that love is no new thing to me: I"ve proved how love grown old brings bitter pain: Cure it at once, or hope no remedy; For if thou find thee in Love"s cruel chain, Thy bees, thy blossoms will be out of mind, Thy fields, thy vines, thy flocks, thy cotes, thy grain