" It is not indeed
the sacrilegious invective that might be imagined from the title, but
rather a hymn to Science and to Free Thought, liberated from the
ancient thraldom of dogma and superstition.
the sacrilegious invective that might be imagined from the title, but
rather a hymn to Science and to Free Thought, liberated from the
ancient thraldom of dogma and superstition.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v06 - Cal to Chr
It does happen, however,
that the honorable and learned gentleman being not unfrequently
a speaker in this House, nor very concise in his speeches, and
touching occasionally, as he proceeds, on almost every subject
within the range of his imagination, as well as making some
observations on the matter in hand,--and having at different
periods proposed and supported every innovation of which the
law or Constitution of the country is susceptible, it is impossi-
ble to innovate without appearing to borrow from him. Either,
therefore, we must remain forever absolutely locked up as in a
northern winter, or we must break our way out by some mode
already suggested by the honorable and learned gentleman; and
then he cries out, "Ah, I was there before you! That is what I
told you to do; but as you would not do it then, you have no
right to do it now. "
## p. 3198 (#168) ###########################################
3198
GEORGE CANNING
1
In Queen Anne's reign there lived a very sage and able
critic named Dennis, who in his old age was the prey of a
strange fancy that he had himself written all the good things in
all the good plays that were acted. Every good passage he met
with in any author he insisted was his own. "It is none of
his," Dennis would always say: "no, it's mine! " He went one
day to see a new tragedy. Nothing particularly good to his
taste occurred till a scene in which a great storm was repre-
sented. As soon as he heard the thunder rolling over his head
he exclaimed, "That's my thunder! " So it is with the honor-
able and learned gentleman: it's all his thunder. It will hence-
forth be impossible to confer any boon, or make any innovation,
but he will claim it as his thunder.
But it is due to him to acknowledge that he does not claim
everything; he will be content with the exclusive merit of the
liberal measures relating to trade and commerce. Not desirous
of violating his own principles by claiming a monopoly of fore-
sight and wisdom, he kindly throws overboard to my honorable
and learned friend [Sir J. Mackintosh] near him, the praise of
South America. I should like to know whether, in some degree,
this also is not his thunder. He thinks it right itself; but lest
we should be too proud if he approved our conduct in toto, he
thinks it wrong in point of time. I differ from him essentially;
for if I pique myself on anything in this affair, it is the time.
That at some time or other, States which had separated them-
selves from the mother country should or should not be admitted
to the rank of independent nations, is a proposition to which no
possible dissent could be given. The whole question was one of
time and mode. There were two modes: one a reckless and
headlong course by which we might have reached our object at
once, but at the expense of drawing upon us consequences not
lightly to be estimated; the other was more strictly guarded in
point of principle, so that while we pursued our own interests,
we took
re to give no just cause of offense to other Powers.
## p. 3199 (#169) ###########################################
3199
CESARE CANTÙ
(1805-1895)
ESARE CANTÙ, an Italian historian, was born at Brivio on the
Adda, December 2d, 1805. The eldest of ten children, he
belonged to an old though impoverished family. To obtain
for him a gratuitous education his parents destined him for the
priesthood.
On the death of his father in 1827 he became the sole
support of his mother, brothers, and sisters. In 1825 he had made
his appearance as a writer with a poem entitled 'Algiso and the
Lombard League. ' His 'History of Como,' following in 1829, gave
him a standing in the world of letters.
Although not member of the revolutionary society Young
Italy,' he was the confidant of two of its leaders, Albera and Bal-
zetti, a circumstance which led to his arrest in 1833. Seized by the
Austrian officials in the midst of his lecture at the Lyceum in Milan,
he was incarcerated in the prison in the Convent of Santa Mar-
gherita. Although deprived of books and pen, he beguiled the time
by writing with a toothpick and candle-smoke on the back of a map
and on scraps of paper, Margherita Pusterla,' with one exception the
most popular historical novel in the Italian language.
(
Liberated at the end of a year, but deprived of his professorship,
he and his family would probably have starved had he not chanced
to meet a publisher who wanted a history of the world. The result
of this meeting was his 'Universal History' in thirty-five volumes
(Turin, 1836 et seq. ), which has gone through forty editions and been
translated into many languages. It brought the publisher a fortune
and Cantù a modest independence.
Up to the time of his death in 1895, Cantù wrote almost without
intermission. Besides the books already mentioned, the most notable
are
the 'History of a Hundred Years, 1750-1850' (1864), and the
'Story of the Struggles for Italian Independence' (1873). His mas-
terpiece is the 'Universal History,' the best work of its kind in Italian
and perhaps in any language for lucidity and rapidity of narration,
unity of plan, justness of proportion, and literary art. It is how-
ever written from the clerical point of view, and is not based on a
critical study of documentary sources. The political offenses for
which Cantù suffered persecution were his attempts to secure a federal
union of the Italian States under the hegemony of Austria and the
Papacy.
## p. 3200 (#170) ###########################################
3200
CESARE CANTÙ
THE EXECUTION
From Margherita Pusterla
HE beautiful sunshine which one sees in Lombardy only at
THE the season of vintage, spread its white light and gentle
warmth upon the sombre façades of Broletto. The Piazza
was packed with people; the balconies and belvideres were filled.
with motley groups.
Even ladies were contending for the best
places to see the horrible sight. One mother showed her little
boy all this preparation for death, and said to him:
"Do you see that man yonder with the long black beard and
rough skin? He devours bad boys in two mouthfuls: if you cry,
he will carry you off. "
The frightened child tightly clasped his mother's neck with
his small arms, and hid his face in her breast. Another, half
ashamed at being seen there, asked, "Who is the victim? "
"It is," replied a neighboring stranger, "the wife of the man
who was beheaded yesterday. "
―
"Ah, ah! " put in a third, "then it is the mother of the little
boy who was executed yesterday with Signor Pusterla? "
"How was that? resumed the first speaker; "did they behead
a child? "
"It is only too true," said a woman, joining in the conversa-
tion; "and such a pretty little boy! Two blue eyes, bluer than
the sky, and a face as gentle and sweet as that of the Christ-
child, and hair like threads of gold. I came here to show my
boy how the wicked are punished, and as I stood near the scaf-
fold, I heard and saw everything! "
"Tell us, tell us, Mother Radegonda. " And Radegonda,
enchanted at occupying the centre of attention, began.
"I will tell you," she said. "When he was there- but for
the love of charity, give me more room; you do not wish to
stifle my little Tanuccio? - Well, when he began to ascend the
ladder, ah, see, the child does not wish to go! He stamps his
foot, he weeps, he cries-»
"I believe you," interrupted a person named Pizzabrasa, " for
I heard all the way from the Loggia dei Mercanti, where I was
being crushed, his cries of 'Papa! Mamma! >»
"That was it," continued Radegonda; "and he recoiled with
horror before that savage figure," she said, pointing with her
## p. 3201 (#171) ###########################################
CESARE CANTỪ
3201
forefinger to Mastro Impicca. "His father sobbed, and could not
speak; but his confessor whispered in his ear-
"I saw also," interrupted Pizzabrasa, determined to show that
he had been an eye-witness, and he continued: "the golden
hair of the child soon mingled with the black hair and beard of
the father. One would have said they were yellow flames on a
funeral pall. I also saw the child caress the priest who talked to
him, and the priest-"
"Who is the priest? " interrupted the first speaker. The
question was passed from lip to lip, until finally a man, dressed
somewhat after the ecclesiastical fashion and having a serene and
devout face, replied: -
"He is the one who preached at Lent last year at Santa-
Maria del Sacco. He could have converted Herod himself. But
the world is so wicked! He had no more success than if he had
preached in the desert. "
"His name? "
"Fra Buonvicino of the monastery Della Ricchezza de Brera.
But the riches that he covets are not those which one acquires in
sewing cloaks. Do you know him? Ah, what a man! question
him, talk to him, he knows everything, and—”
"But what did he say to the child? ". "And what did the
child say? ". "And the child's father, what did he do? " - It
was thus they interrupted the speaker, without listening to his
eulogy.
――
-――
Here Radegonda, regretting that she had been deposed from
her throne, took occasion to resume her speech, for no one was
able to give more details. She began again.
"Here, here," she said, "who is to talk, you or I? There are
some people who stick their noses everywhere and who—
Now do you want to know what the priest said? and how the
poor condemned creature walked with courage? and how in one
instant he was in heaven in the company of the angels? "
"And what did the child say? "
"The little child did not want to go along. He said: 'I
know that it is beautiful in Paradise, that the angels live there,
and the kind God, and there lives the good Madonna: but I
would rather stay here with Papa and Mamma; I would rather
stay with them! ' he repeated, and cried. "
"Sacred innocence! " exclaimed one of the listeners by an
instinctive compassion, and shed a few tears; but if any one had
VI-201
## p. 3202 (#172) ###########################################
3202
CESARE CANTÙ
questioned him regarding the justice of putting the child to
death, he would have unhesitatingly answered in the affirmative.
Our eloquent Radegonda continued:-
――――
"But the priest! Is there any one here who did not see his
face? Well, you know how it looks when it rains and shines at
the same time, when they say the Devil beats his wife, - that
was the face of the good monk. Tears large as the beads of a
rosary ran down his cheeks, and at the same time he had a
smile like an angel.
He said to the boy, 'Your father
goes with you to Paradise! ' The child looked at him with sad
eyes, and asked, 'But Mamma? ' 'Your mother,' replied the
priest, will come with us. '-'If I stay on earth,' said the child,
'I must then live without them? › The monk answered 'Yes';
and then the little one consented to kneel. "
—
Here sobs checked the course of the narrative; and the nar-
rator was half ashamed at being affected by the fate of the
condemned ones, just as a young lady is ashamed when she is
caught weeping at the theatre. Pizzabrasa concluded the recital:
"The child dropped upon his knees, and raised towards
heaven his little hands that were whiter than snow, and then
the executioner cut his hair and opened his great eyes to frighten
him. "
"How much I would have been willing to pay to have been
present," exclaimed one of the group; "such affecting scenes
delight me. "
"Then why didn't you come? " asked a neighbor.
The other replied, "What do you think? I had to take to
Saint-Victor a saddle and bridle which I had mended. "
And then with that indifference such compassionate souls
have for the sorrows of others which have affected them for a
moment, they turned the conversation on a thousand unrelated
topics.
On the balconies, on the platforms, and in the magistrates'
halls, conversation of another description was held. Ladies and
gentlemen of high degree discussed arms and battles, inconstant
favors of the court, passage of birds, and the scarcity of hares;
they demanded and related news; and read from the books of
this one and that one. Signora Theodora, the young wife of
Francesco dei Maggi, one of the most famous beauties, asked in
the most nonchalant way as she drew on her gloves, “Who is
this one about to be executed ? »
## p. 3203 (#173) ###########################################
CESAR CANTÙ
3203
« Margherita Visconti," replied Forestino, one of the sons of
Duke, who was playing the gallant with all the ladies
the
present.
« Visconti! " exclaimed the young woman. "She is then a
relative of Signor Vicario? "
"Yes, a distant relative," responded the young man.
But the jester Grillincervello interposed: -"She might have
been a nearer relative, but as she refused this, you see what has
happened. "
"She must regret her action," said another; "she is so young
and beautiful! "
«And then she is not accustomed to dying," put in the fool,
a reflection which caused peals of laughter around him.
Then he turned towards Forestino and his brother Bruzio,
around whom all had gathered in homage: "Serene Princes, it is
my opinion that if you wish to render attentions to the lady of
Signor Franciscolo dei Maggi, she will not imitate Margherita. »
At this moment the clock struck again. There was sullen
silence-then a second stroke- then a third, vibrating with a
moribund horror.
"She has arrived? >>>>
"No. "
"Why is she so late? " was the universal question; for the
spectators were impatient, and imbued with expectation and curi-
osity, as if they were in a theatre waiting for the curtain to
rise.
"Perhaps they have pardoned her? " said one.
"Well, for my part, I should be glad. " And the people seemed
to find as much pleasure in imagining a pardon as in watching
the execution: either way it gave them material for applause,
emotion, criticism, and discussion.
Soon all observations were interrupted, for upon the parlera,
which was covered with black cloth and velvet cushions, they saw
appear the magistrates, the podesta, his lieutenant, and finally
the captain Lucio. As I have told you, justice was then barbar-
ous but honest, and these men came to admire their work.
Through all the narrow streets, which terminated at this point,
ran a whisper; and the murmurs grew more excited towards the
large gate which gave entrance to the Pescheria Vecchia. Here
was seen the winding funeral procession, which made a long cir-
cuit to let the multitude profit by the lesson.
## p. 3204 (#174) ###########################################
CESAR CANTU
3204
"Here she is! Here she is! " they cried, and exactly like a
regiment of infantry in obedience to the commands of a sergeant,
the entire crowd stood on tiptoe, stretched their necks, and turned
heads and eyes to the scene.
Then appeared a yellow standard bordered with gold lace,
upon which was painted a skeleton, erect. In one hand it held
a scythe and in the other an hour-glass. At the right of the
skeleton there was painted a man with a cord around his neck,
and to the left a man carrying his head in his hands. Behind
this gonfalon advanced two by two the Brothers of the Consola-
tion. This was a pious fraternity founded in the chapel of Santa
Maria dei Disciplini; this chapel was afterwards changed into a
church, which yielded to none other in Milan for its beauty of
architecture. To-day it is a
To-day it is a common school. This fraternity,
which was transferred to San Giovanni alle Case rotte, had for
its one aim to succor the condemned and to prepare them for
death. The brothers advanced. They were attired in white
habits, fitting tightly around their figures, and their cowls were
sewn around their heads. Instead of a face, one saw a cross
embroidered in red, and at the arms of this cross tiny holes
were made for the eyes to peer forth. On their breasts they
wore a black medal representing the death of Christ, and at the
foot of the cross was engraved the head of Saint John the
Baptist. With their long unbelted robes, the chains on their
wrists, they resembled nocturnal phantoms.
The last ones bore a coffin, and sang in lugubrious tones the
doleful Miserere. ' Chanting a service and carrying the bier of
a person still in the flesh! Breaking through the crowd, they
arrived near the scaffold and placed the bier upon the ground.
Then they arranged themselves in two cordons around the block,
so that they could receive the victim among them, and also to
form a guard between the world and her who was to leave it.
Now a car came, moving slowly and drawn by two oxen capari-
soned in black. In this car was our poor Margherita.
In obedience to the curious sentiment which commands one
to adorn one's self for all occasions, even the melancholy ones,
Margherita had dressed herself in a rich robe of sombre hue.
With great pains she had arranged her black hair, which set off
to advantage the delicate pallor of the face revealing so much
suffering. Upon her neck, which had so often disputed white-
ness with pearls, she now wore her rosary, which seemed to
## p. 3205 (#175) ###########################################
CESARE CANTU
3205
outline the circle of the axe. In her hands she clasped the
crucifix attached to the chapelet, and from this she never
removed her eyes,-eyes which had always beamed with kind-
ness and sweetness, but which were now full of sorrow. They
could only look upon one object — the cross, the one hope of sal-
vation.
By her side was seated Buonvicino, even paler, if possible,
than she. In his hand he held an image of the Crucified God
who has suffered for us. From time to time he spoke some con-
soling words to the young victim,-a simple prayer such as our
mothers have taught us in infancy, and which come to us again
in the most critical moments of life: "Savior, unto thee I yield
my spirit. Maria, pray for me at the hour of death. Depart,
Christian soul, from this world, which is but a place of exile, and
return into that celestial country sanctified by thy suffering, so
that angels may bear thee to Paradise! "
When Margherita appeared, every one exclaimed: "Oh, how
beautiful she is! She is so young! "
-
Then tears flowed. Many a silken handkerchief hid the eyes
of fair ladies, and many a hand, accustomed to a sword, tried to
retard tears.
Every one looked towards Lucio to see if he would not wave
a white handkerchief-the signal of pardon.
Translated through the French by Esther Singleton, for the Library of the
World's Best Literature. '
## p. 3206 (#176) ###########################################
3206
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
(1836-)
BY FRANK SEWALL
PRS
ARELY in the history of ancient or modern literature has a
writer, while living, been so generally recognized by his
countrymen as their national prophet as has the Italian
poet and essayist Carducci. In January, 1896, he completed his thirty-
fifth year as Professor of Belles-Lettres in the University of Bologna;
and the solemn and brilliant festivities with which the event was
celebrated, extending over three days and including congratulatory
addresses from the king, from the municipality, from the students
and graduates, from foreign universities, and from distinguished
scholars at home and abroad, testified to the remarkable hold this
poet has gained on the affections and esteem of the Italian people,
and the deep impress his writing has made on the literature of our
time.
Born in northern Italy in the year 1836, and entering upon his lit-
erary career at a time coincident with the downfall of foreign power
in Tuscany, the history of his authorship is a fair reflection of the
growth of the new Italy of to-day. In an autobiographical sketch
with which he prefaces his volume of 'Poesie' (1871) he depicts with
the utmost sincerity and frankness the transition through which his
own mind has passed, in breaking from the old traditions in which
he had been nursed at his mother's knee, and in meeting the
dazzling radiance of modern thought and feeling; the thrill of
national liberty and independence, no longer a glory dreamed of,
as by Alfieri, nor sung in tones of despair, as by Leopardi, but as
a living experience of his own time. He felt the awakening to be
at once a literary, political, and religious one; and following his
deep Hellenic instincts, the religious rebound in him was rather to
the paganism of the ancient Latin forefathers than to the spiritual
worship that had come in with the infusion of foreign blood.
"This paganism," he says, "this cult of form, was naught else but
the love of that noble nature from which the solitary Semitic
estrangements had alienated hitherto the spirit of man in such bitter
opposition. My sentiment of opposition, at first feebly defined, thus
became confirmed conceit, reason, affirmation; the hymn to Apollo
became the hymn to Satan. Oh! the beautiful years from 1861 to
1865, passed in peaceful solitude and quiet study, in the midst of a
## p. 3207 (#177) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3207
home where the venerable mother, instead of fostering superstition,
taught us to read Alfieri. But as I read the codices of the fourteenth
century, the ideas of the Renaissance began to appear to me in the
gilded initial letters like the eyes of nymphs in the midst of flowers,
and between the lines of the spiritual laude I detected the Satanic
strophe. ”
So long had Italy lived in passive dependence on the fame of her
great writers of the times of Augustus and of the Medici, and in the
apathy of a long-abandoned hope of political independence and
achievement, that it required a man of powerful instinct and genius
to rouse the people to a sense of their actual possession of a national
life and of a literature that is not alone of the past, and so to throw
off both the "livery of the slave and the mask of the courtesan. "
Such was the mission of Carducci. As Howells in his 'Modern
Italian Poets' remarks of Leopardi :- "He seems to have been the
poet of the national mood: he was the final expression of that hope-
less apathy in which Italy lay bound for thirty years after the fall
of Napoleon and his governments. " So it may be said of Carducci
that in him speaks the hope and joy of a nation waking to new life,
and recalling her past glories, no longer with shame but a purpose
to prove herself worthy of such a heritage.
-
A distinguished literary contemporary, Enrico Panzacchi, says of
Carducci: —
"I believe that I do not exaggerate the importance of Carducci
when I say that to him and to his perseverance and steadfast work
we owe in great part the poetic revival in Italy. "
Cesar Lombroso, in the Paris Revue des Revues, says:— "Among
the stars of first magnitude shines one of greatest brilliance, Carducci,
the true representative of Italian literary genius. "
The poem that first attracted attention and caused no little flutter
of ecclesiastical gowns was the 'Hymn to Satan,' which appeared in
1865 in Pistoja, over the signature "Enotrio Romaho," and bore the
date "MMDCXVIII from the foundation of Rome.
" It is not indeed
the sacrilegious invective that might be imagined from the title, but
rather a hymn to Science and to Free Thought, liberated from the
ancient thraldom of dogma and superstition. It reveals the strong
Hellenic instinct which still survives in the Italian people beneath
the superimposed Christianity, and which here, as in many other of
Carducci's poems, stands out in bold contrast with the subjective and
spiritual elements in religion. It is this struggle of the pagan against
the Christian instinct that accounts for the commingled sentiment of
awe and of rebellion with which Carducci contemplates his great
master Dante; for while he must revere him as the founder of Italian
letters and the immortal poet of his race, he cannot but see both in
## p. 3208 (#178) ###########################################
3208
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
the spirituality of Dante's conception of the Church and in his abso-
lute loyalty to the Empire, motives wholly foreign to the ancient
national instinct. Referring again to his transition years, he writes:
"Meanwhile the shadow of Dante looked down reproachfully upon
me; but I might have answered:-'Father and Master, why didst thou
bring learning from the cloister to the piazza, from the Latin to the
vulgar tongue? Thou first, O great public accuser of the Middle
Ages, gavest the signal for the rebound of thought. That the alarm
was sounded from the bells of a Gothic campanile mattered but
little. '»
Without a formal coronation, Carducci may be regarded as the
actual poet laureate of Italy. He is still, at sixty years of age, an
active and hard-working professor at the University of Bologna,
where his popularity with his students in the lecture-room is equal
to that which his writings have gained throughout the land. A
favorite with the Court, and often invited to lecture before the
Queen, he is still a man of great simplicity, even to roughness, of
manners, and of a genial and cordial nature. Not only do the
Italians with one voice call him their greatest author, but many both
in Italy and elsewhere are fain to consider him the foremost living
poet in Europe.
The citations here given have been selected as illustrating the
prominent features of Carducci's genius. His joy in mental emanci-
pation from the thraldom of dogma and superstition is seen in the
'Roma' and in the 'Hymn to Satan. ’ His paganism and his "cult
of form," as also his Homeric power of description and of color, are
seen in The Ox' and in 'To Aurora. ' His veneration for the great
masters finds expression in the sonnets to Homer and Dante, and the
revulsion of the pagan before the spiritual religious feeling is shown
in the lines In a Gothic Church' and in the sonnet Dante. '
The poems of Carducci have appeared for the most part in the
following editions only:-'Poesie,' embracing the Juvenilia,' 'Levia
Gravia,' and the 'Decennali'; Nuove Poesie,' 'Odi Barbare,' 'Nuove
Rime. ' Zanichelli in Bologna publishes a complete edition of his
writings. His critical essays have appeared generally in the Nuova
Antologia, and embrace among the more recent a history and dis-
cussion of Tasso's 'Aminta. ' and the 'Ancient Pastoral Poetry': a
preface to the translation by Sanfelice of Shelley's 'Prometheus'; the
'Torrismondo' of Tasso: 'Italian Life in the Fifteenth Century,' etc.
Eight Odes' of Carducci have been translated into Latin by Adolfo
Gandiglo of Ravenna, and published by Calderini of that city in 1894.
Tank Swall
## p. 3209 (#179) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3209
:
1
I
G™
Translations from Frank Sewall's Giosue Carducci and the Hellenic
Reaction in Italy) and 'Carducci and the Classic Realism. ' By permission
of Dodd, Mead and Company, copyright 1892.
ROMA
From the Poesie
IVE to the wind thy locks; all glittering
Thy sea-blue eyes, and thy white bosom bared,
Mount to thy chariot, while in speechless roaring
Terror and Force before thee clear the way!
The shadow of thy helmet, like the flashing
Of brazen star, strikes through the trembling air.
The dust of broken empires, cloud-like rising,
Follows the awful rumbling of thy wheels.
So once, O Rome, beheld the conquered nations
Thy image, object of their ancient dread. *
To-day a mitre they would place upon
Thy head, and fold a rosary between
Thy hands. O name! again to terrors old
Awake the tired ages and the world!
HOMER
From the Levia Gravia
ND from the savage Urals to the plain
A
A new barbarian folk shall send alarms,
The coast of Agenorean Thebes again
Be waked with sound of chariots and of arms;
And Rome shall fall; and Tiber's current drain
The nameless lands of long deserted farms:
But thou like Hercules shalt still remain,
Untouched by fiery Etna's deadly charms;
And with thy youthful temples, laurel-crowned,
Shalt rise to the eternal Form's embrace
Whose unveiled smile all earliest was thine;
And till the Alps to gulfing sea give place,
By Latin shore or on Achæan ground,
Like heaven's sun shalt thou, O Homer, shine!
*The allusion is to the figure of Roma' as seen on ancient coins.
## p. 3210 (#180) ###########################################
3210
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
IN A GOTHIC CHURCH
From the Poesie'
TH
HEY rise aloft, marching in awful file,
The polished shafts immense of marble gray,
And in the sacred darkness seem to be
An army of giants
Who wage a war with the invisible;
The silent arches soar and spring apart
In distant flight, then re-embrace again
And droop on high.
So in the discord of unhappy men,
From out their barbarous tumult there go up
To God the sighs of solitary souls
In Him united.
Of you I ask no God, ye marble shafts,
Ye airy vaults! I tremble-but I watch
To hear a dainty well-known footstep waken
The solemn echoes.
'Tis Lidia, and she turns, and slowly turning,
Her tresses full of light reveal themselves,
And love is shining from a pale shy face
Behind the veil.
ON THE SIXTH CENTENARY OF DANTE
From the Levia Gravia
I
SAW him, from the uncovered tomb uplifting
His mighty form, the imperial prophet stand.
Then shook the Adrian shore, and all the land
Italia trembled as at an earthquake drifting.
Like morning mist from purest ether sifting,
It marched along the Apenninian strand,
Glancing adown the vales on either hand,
Then vanished like the dawn to daylight shifting.
Meanwhile in earthly hearts a fear did rise,
The awful presence of a god discerning,
## p. 3211 (#181) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3211
To which no mortal dared to lift the eyes.
But where beyond the gates the sun is burning,
The races dead of warlike men and wise
With joy saluted the great soul's returning.
THE OX
From the Poesie'
LOVE thee, pious ox; a gentle feeling
I
Of vigor and of peace thou giv'st my heart.
How solemn, like a monument, thou art!
Over wide fertile fields thy calm gaze stealing,
Unto the yoke with grave contentment kneeling,
To man's quick work thou dost thy strength impart.
He shouts and goads, and answering thy smart,
Thou turn'st on him thy patient eyes appealing.
From thy broad nostrils, black and wet, arise
Thy breath's soft fumes; and on the still air swells,
Like happy hymn, thy lowing's mellow strain.
In the grave sweetness of thy tranquil eyes
Of emerald, broad and still reflected dwells
All the divine green silence of the plain.
DANTE
From the Levia Gravia ›
DANTE, why is it that I adoring
O
Still lift my songs and vows to thy stern face,
And sunset to the morning gray gives place
To find me still thy restless verse exploring?
Lucia prays not for my poor soul's resting;
For me Matilda tends no sacred fount;
For me in vain the sacred lovers mount,
O'er star and star, to the eternal soaring.
I hate the Holy Empire, and the crown
And sword alike relentless would have riven
From thy good Frederic on Olona's plains.
Empire and Church to ruin have gone down,
And yet for them thy songs did scale high heaven.
Great Jove is dead. Only the song remains.
## p. 3212 (#182) ###########################################
3212
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
TO SATAN
From the 'Poesie'
T
THEE my verses,
Unbridled and daring,
Shall mount, O Satan,
King of the banquet!
Away with thy sprinkling,
O Priest, and thy droning,
For never shall Satan,
O Priest, stand behind thee.
See how the rust is
Gnawing the mystical
Sword of St. Michael;
And how the faithful
Wind-plucked archangel
Falls into emptiness;
Frozen the thunder in
Hand of Jehovah.
Like to pale meteors, or
Planets exhausted,
Out of the firmament
Rain down the angels.
Here in the matter
Which never sleeps,
King of phenomena,
King of all forms,
Thou, Satan, livest.
Thine is the empire
Felt in the dark eyes'
Tremulous flashing,
Whether their languishing
Glances resist, or
Glittering and tearful, they
Call and invite.
How shine the clusters
With happy blood,
So that the furious
Joy may not perish,
## p. 3213 (#183) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3213
So that the languishing
Love be restored,
And sorrow be banished
And love be increased.
Thy breath, O Satan!
My verse inspires,
When from my bosom
The gods I defy
Of kings pontifical,
Of kings inhuman.
Thine is the lightning that
Sets minds to shaking.
For thee Arimane,
Adonis, Astarte;
For thee lived the marbles,
The pictures, the parchments,
When the fair Venus
Anadyomene
Blessed the Ionian
Heavens serene.
For thee were roaring the
Forests of Lebanon,
Of the fair Cypri
Lover re-born;
For thee rose the chorus,
For thee raved the dances,
For thee the pure shining
Loves of the virgins,
Under the sweet-odored
Palms of Idume,
Where break in white foam
The Cyprian waves.
What if the barbarous
Nazarene fury,
Fed by the base rites
Of secret feastings,
Lights sacred torches
To burn down the temples,
## p. 3214 (#184) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3214
Scattering abroad
The scrolls hieroglyphic?
In thee find refuge
The humble-roofed plebs,
Who have not forgotten
The gods of their household.
Thence comes the power,
Fervid and loving, that,
Filling the quick-throbbing
Bosom of woman,
Turns to the succor
Of nature enfeebled;
A sorceress pallid,
With endless care laden.
Thou to the trance-holden
Eye of the alchemist,
Thou to the view of the
Bigoted mago,
Showest the lightning-flash
Of the new time
Shining behind the dark
Bars of the cloister.
Seeking to fly from thee,
Here in the world-life
Hides him the gloomy monk
In Theban deserts.
O soul that wanderest
Far from the straight way,
Satan is merciful. —
See Heloisa!
In vain you wear yourself
Thin in rough gown; I
Still murmur the verses
Of Maro and Flaccus
Amid the Davidic
Psalming and wailing.
And- Delphic figures
Close at thy side-
## p. 3215 (#185) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3215
Rosy, amid the dark
Cowls of the friars,
Enters Licorida,
Enters Glicera.
Then other images
Of days more fair
Come to dwell with thee
In thy secret cell.
Lo! from the pages of
Livy, the Tribunes
All ardent, the Consuls,
The crowds tumultuous,
Awake; and the fantastic
Pride of Italians
Drives them, O Monk,
Up to the Capitol;
And you whom the flaming
Fire never melted,
Conjuring voices,
Wickliffe and Huss,
Send to the broad breeze
The cry of the watchman:
"The age renews itself;
Full is the time. "
Already tremble
The mitres and crowns.
Forth from the cloister
Moves the rebellion.
Under his stole, see,
Fighting and preaching,
Brother Girolamo
Savonarola.
Off goes the tunic
Of Martin Luther;
-
Off go the fetters
That bound human thought.
It flashes and lightens,
Girdled with flame;
## p. 3216 (#186) ###########################################
3216
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
H
"
Matter, exalt thyself;
Satan has won!
A fair and terrible
Monster unchained
Courses the ocean,
Courses the earth.
Flashing and smoking,
Like the volcanoes, he
Climbs over mountains.
Ravages plains,
Skims the abysses;
Then he is lost
In unknown caverns
And ways profound,
Till lo! unconquered,
From shore to shore,
Like to the whirlwind,
He sends forth his cry.
Like to the whirlwind
Spreading his wings,
He passes, O people,
Satan the great!
Hail to thee, Satan;
Hail the rebellion!
Hail, of the reason the
Great Vindicator!
Sacred to thee shall rise
Incense and vows.
Thou hast the god
Of the priest disenthroned!
## p. 3217 (#187) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3217
TO AURORA
From the Odi Barbare ›
HOU risest and kissest, O Goddess, with thy rosy breath, the
THOU clouds,
Kissest the dusky pinnacles of marble temples.
The forests feel thee, and with a cool shiver awake;
Up soars the falcon, flashing in eager joy.
Meanwhile amid the wet leaves mutter the garrulous nests,
And far off the gray gull screams over the purple sea.
First to delight in thee, down in the laborious plain,
Are the streams which glisten amid the rustling poplars.
Daringly the sorrel colt breaks away from his feeding,
Runs to the brooks with high-lifted mane, neighing in the wind.
Wakeful answer from the huts the great pack of the hounds,
And the whole valley is filled with the noisy sound of their bark-
ing.
But the man whom thou awakest to life-consuming labor,
He, O ancient Youth, O Youth eternal,
Still thoughtful admires thee, even as on the mountain
The Aryan Fathers adored thee, standing amid their white oxen.
Again upon the wing of the fresh morning flies forth
The hymn which to thee they sang over their heaped-up spears:
"Shepherdess thou of heaven! from the stalls of thy jealous sister
Thou loosest the rosy kine, and leadest them back to the skies;
"Thou leadest the rosy kine, and the white herds, and the horses
With the blond flowing manes dear to the brothers Asvini. "
Like the youthful bride who goes from her bath to her spouse,
Reflecting in her eyes the love of him her lover,
So dost thou smiling let fall the light garments that veil thee,
And serene to the heavens thy virgin figure reveal.
Flushed thy cheeks, with white breast panting, thou runnest
To the sovereign of worlds, to the fair flaming Suria,
And he joins, and, in a bow, stretches around his mighty neck
Thy rosy arms; but at his terrible glances thou fleest.
VI-202
## p. 3218 (#188) ###########################################
3218
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
'Tis then the Asvinian Twins, the cavaliers of heaven,
Welcome thee rosily trembling in thy chariot of gold,
And thither thou turnest where, measured the road of glory,
Wearied, the god awaits thee in the dull gloaming of eve.
"Gracious thy flight be above us! so invoked thee the fathers;
Gracious the going of thy radiant car over our houses!
"Come from the coasts of the East with thy good fortune,
Come with thy flowering oats and thy foaming milk;
"And in the midst of the calves, dancing, with yellow locks,
All offspring shall adore thee, O Shepherdess of heaven! "
So sang the Aryans. But better pleased thee Hymettus,
Fresh with the twenty brooks whose banks smelt to heaven of
thyme;
Better pleased thee on Hymettus the nimble-limbed, mortal hunts-
man,
Who with the buskined foot pressed the first dews of the morn.
The heavens bent down. A sweet blush tinged the forest and the
hills
When thou, O Goddess, didst descend.
But thou descendedst not; rather did Cephalus, drawn by thy kiss,
Mount all alert through the air, fair as a beautiful god,—
Mount on the amorous winds and amid the sweet odors,
While all around were the nuptials of flowers and the marriage of
streams.
Wet lies upon his neck the heavy tress of gold, and the golden
quiver
Reaches above his white shoulder, held by the belt of vermilion.
O fragrant kisses of a goddess among the dews!
O ambrosia of love in the world's youth-time!
Dost thou also love, O Goddess? But ours is a wearied race;
Sad is thy face, O Aurora, when thou risest over our towers.
The dim street-lamps go out; and without even glancing at thee,
A pale-faced troop go home, imagining they have been happy.
Angrily at his door is pounding the ill-tempered laborer,
Cursing the dawn that only calls him back to his bondage.
## p. 3219 (#189) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3219
Only the lover, perhaps, fresh from the dreams of the loved one,
His blood still warm from her kisses, salutes with joy,
Beholds with delight thy face, and feels thy cool breathing upon
him:
Then cries, "O bear me, Aurora, upon thy swift courser of flame;
"Bear me up into the fields of the stars, that there, looking down,
I may behold the earth beneath thy rosy light smiling;
"Behold my fair one, in the face of the rising day,
Let fall her black tresses down over her blushing bosom. "
RUIT HORA
O
GREEN and silent solitudes, far from the rumors of men
Hither come to meet us true friends divine, O Lidia,
Wine and love.
O tell me why the sea, far under the flaming Hesperus
Sends such mysterious moanings; and what songs are these, O Lidia,
The pines are chanting.
See with what longing the hills stretch their arms to the setting sun.
The shadow lengthens and holds them; they seem to be asking
A last kiss, O Lidia!
THE MOTHER
(A GROUP BY ADRIAN CECIONI)
SUR
URELY admired her the rosy day-dawn, when,
summoning the farmers to the still gray fields,
it saw her barefooted, with quick step passing
among the dewy odors of the hay.
Heard her at mid-day the elm-trees white with dust,
as, with broad shoulders bent o'er the yellow winrows,
she challenges in cheery song the grasshoppers,
whose hoarse chirping rings from the hot hillsides.
And when from her toil she lifted her turgid bosom,
her sun-browned face with glossy curls surrounded,
how then thy vesper fires, O Tuscany,
did richly tinge with color her bold figure!
## p. 3220 (#190) ###########################################
3220
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
'Tis then the strong mother plays at ball with her infant,
the lusty child whom her naked breasts have just sated;
tosses him on high and prattles sweetly with him,
while he, with eye fixed on the shining eyes of his mother,
His little body trembling all over with fear, holds out
his tiny fingers imploring; then loud laughs the mother,
and into the one great embrace of love
lets him fall, clasped close to her bosom.
Around her smiles the scene of homely labor;
tremulous nod the oats on the green hillsides;
one hears the distant mooing of the ox,
and on the barn-roof the gay plumed cock is crowing.
Nature has her brave ones, who for her despise
the masks of glory dear to the vulgar throng.
'Tis thus, O Adrian, with holy visions
thou comfortest the souls of fellow-men.
'Tis thus, O artist, with thy blows severe
thou putt'st in stone the ages' ancient hope,
the lofty hope that cries, "Oh, when shall labor
be happy, and faithful love secure from harm?
"When shall a mighty nation of freemen
say in the face of the sun, Shine no more
on the idle ease and the selfish wars of tyrants,
but on the pious justice of labor? >»
## p. 3221 (#191) ###########################################
3221
THOMAS CAREW
(1598? -1639)
HOMAS CAREW is deservedly placed among the most brilliant
representatives of a class of lyrists who were not only
courtiers but men of rank; who, varied in accomplishments,
possessing culture and taste, expressed their play of fancy with
elegance and ease. The lyre of these aristocratic poets had for its
notes only love and beauty, disdain, despair, and love's bounty,
sometimes frivolous in sound and sometimes serious; and their work
may be regarded as the ancestor of the vers de société, which has
reached its perfection in Locker and Austin Dobson. To Carew's
lyrics we may apply Izaak Walton's famous criticism: "They were
old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good. "
Thomas Carew, son of Sir Matthew Carew, was born in London
about 1598. He left Corpus Christi, Oxford, without a degree, and
early fell into wild habits. In 1613 his father wrote to Sir Dudley
Carleton that "one of his sons was roving after hounds and hawks,
and the other [Thomas] studying in the Middle Temple, but doing
little at law. " The result was that Carleton made Thomas his secre-
tary, and took him to Venice and Turin, returning in 1615. Carew
accompanied him to the Hague also, but resigned his post and again
returned to England. In 1619 he went with Lord Herbert of Cher-
bury to the French court. He became sewer in ordinary to Charles
I. , and a
gentleman of his privy chamber; and the King, who was
particularly fond of him, gave him the royal domain of Sunninghill
in Windsor Forest.
Carew was an intimate friend of Ben Jonson, Sir
John Suckling, John Selden, Sir Kenelm Digby, Davenant, Charles
Cotton, and also of Lord Clarendon; who writes:-"Carew was a
person of a pleasant and facetious wit, and made many poems
(especially in the amorous way) which for the sharpness of the
fancy and the elegance of the language in which that fancy was
spread, were at least equal, if not superior, to any of that time. "
work was
Four editions of Carew's poems appeared between 1640 and 1671,
and four have been printed within the present century, the best
being a quarto published by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt in 1870. His longest
a masque called 'Coelum Britannicum,' performed at
Whitehall, February 18th, 1633. Inigo Jones arranged the scenery,
Henry Lawes the music, and the King, the Duke of Lennox, and
other courtiers played the chief parts. Carew's death is supposed to
have occurred in 1639.
## p. 3222 (#192) ###########################################
THOMAS CAREW
3222
A SONG
A
SK me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither doth stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
These powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat,
She winters and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more where those stars light
That downward fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west
The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.
THE PROTESTATION
N°
O MORE shall meads be deckt with flowers,
Nor sweetness dwell in rosy bowers,
Nor greenest buds on branches spring,
Nor warbling birds delight to sing,
Nor April violets paint the grove,
If I forsake my Celia's love.
The fish shall in the ocean burn,
And fountains sweet shall bitter turn;
The humble oak no flood shall know,
When floods shall highest hills o'erflow;
Black Lethe shall oblivion leave,
If e'er my Celia I deceive.
Love shall his bow and shaft lay by,
And Venus's doves want wings to fly;
## p. 3223 (#193) ###########################################
THOMAS CAREW
3223
The Sun refuse to shew his light,
And day shall then be turned to
And in that night no star appear,
If once I leave my Celia dear.
Love shall no more inhabit earth,
Nor lovers more shall love for worth,
Nor joy above the heaven dwell,
Nor pain torment poor souls in hell;
Grim death no more shall horrid prove,
If I e'er leave bright Celia's love.
WOU
SONG
LD you know what's soft? I dare
Not bring you to the down, or air,
Nor to stars to shew what's bright,
Nor to snow to teach you white;
ht;
Nor, if you would music hear,
Call the orbs to take your ear;
Nor, to please your sense, bring forth
Bruised nard, or what's more worth;
Or on food were your thoughts placed,
Bring you nectar, for a taste:
Would you have all these in one,
Name my mistress, and 'tis done.
THE SPRING
NOV
ow that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes; and now no more the frost
Candies the grass or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream:
But the warm sun thaws the benumbèd earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful Spring:
The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array,
Welcome the coming of the longed-for May.
Now all things smile; only my love doth lower;
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
## p. 3224 (#194) ###########################################
3224
THOMAS CAREW
To melt that marble ice which still doth hold
Her heart congealed, and makes her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside; but, in the cooler shade,
Amyntas now doth with his Cloris sleep
Under a sycamore, and all things keep
Time with the season-only she doth carry
June in her eyes, in her heart January.
THE INQUIRY*
MONGST the myrtles as I walked,
Love and my sighs together talked;
Tell me (said I in deep distress)
Where I may find my shepherdess?
Α
Thou fool (said Love), know'st thou not this,-
In everything that's good she is:
In yonder tulip go and seek;
There thou mayst find her lip, her cheek.
In yonder enameled pansy by,
There thou shalt have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach, in rosy bud,
There wave the streamers of her blood;
In brightest lilies that there stands,
The emblems of her whiter hands;
In yonder rising hill there swells
Such sweets as in her bosom dwells.
'Tis true (said I), and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts a union;
But on a sudden all was gone.
With that I stopped. Said Love, These be
(Fond man) resemblances of thee;
And in these flowers thy joys shall die,
Even in the twinkling of an eye,
And all thy hopes of her shall wither,
Like these short sweets thus knit together.
*Attributed to Herrick in Drake's 'Literary Hours. '
## p. 3225 (#195) ###########################################
3225
EMILIA FLYGARE-CARLÉN
(1807-1892)
MILIA SMITH FLYGARE-CARLEN was born at Strömstad, Sweden
August 8th, 1807. She was the daughter of Rutger Smith,
a merchant of that place, and here her childhood was
passed, varied by frequent sea trips with her father, and excursions
to different parts of the coast. It was probably these early maritime
experiences that laid the foundation of her accurate knowledge of
the character and habits of the Swedish fisherfolk. In 1827 she was
married to Dr. Flygare, a physician of Kronbergslän, but after his
death in 1833 she returned to her native
place. As a child her talent for imagin-
ative literature was known among her
friends, but nothing of any permanent
value was
developed until after her thir-
tieth year, when her first novel, 'Waldemar
Klein,' was published anonymously (1838).
After this first successful literary attempt,
she went to Stockholm upon the advice of
her father (1839), and shortly after she was
married to a lawyer of that city, Johan
Gabriel Carlén, a Swedish poet and author.
Her novels appeared in quick succession;
she at once became popular, and her books
were widely read. Her productivity was
remarkable.
that the honorable and learned gentleman being not unfrequently
a speaker in this House, nor very concise in his speeches, and
touching occasionally, as he proceeds, on almost every subject
within the range of his imagination, as well as making some
observations on the matter in hand,--and having at different
periods proposed and supported every innovation of which the
law or Constitution of the country is susceptible, it is impossi-
ble to innovate without appearing to borrow from him. Either,
therefore, we must remain forever absolutely locked up as in a
northern winter, or we must break our way out by some mode
already suggested by the honorable and learned gentleman; and
then he cries out, "Ah, I was there before you! That is what I
told you to do; but as you would not do it then, you have no
right to do it now. "
## p. 3198 (#168) ###########################################
3198
GEORGE CANNING
1
In Queen Anne's reign there lived a very sage and able
critic named Dennis, who in his old age was the prey of a
strange fancy that he had himself written all the good things in
all the good plays that were acted. Every good passage he met
with in any author he insisted was his own. "It is none of
his," Dennis would always say: "no, it's mine! " He went one
day to see a new tragedy. Nothing particularly good to his
taste occurred till a scene in which a great storm was repre-
sented. As soon as he heard the thunder rolling over his head
he exclaimed, "That's my thunder! " So it is with the honor-
able and learned gentleman: it's all his thunder. It will hence-
forth be impossible to confer any boon, or make any innovation,
but he will claim it as his thunder.
But it is due to him to acknowledge that he does not claim
everything; he will be content with the exclusive merit of the
liberal measures relating to trade and commerce. Not desirous
of violating his own principles by claiming a monopoly of fore-
sight and wisdom, he kindly throws overboard to my honorable
and learned friend [Sir J. Mackintosh] near him, the praise of
South America. I should like to know whether, in some degree,
this also is not his thunder. He thinks it right itself; but lest
we should be too proud if he approved our conduct in toto, he
thinks it wrong in point of time. I differ from him essentially;
for if I pique myself on anything in this affair, it is the time.
That at some time or other, States which had separated them-
selves from the mother country should or should not be admitted
to the rank of independent nations, is a proposition to which no
possible dissent could be given. The whole question was one of
time and mode. There were two modes: one a reckless and
headlong course by which we might have reached our object at
once, but at the expense of drawing upon us consequences not
lightly to be estimated; the other was more strictly guarded in
point of principle, so that while we pursued our own interests,
we took
re to give no just cause of offense to other Powers.
## p. 3199 (#169) ###########################################
3199
CESARE CANTÙ
(1805-1895)
ESARE CANTÙ, an Italian historian, was born at Brivio on the
Adda, December 2d, 1805. The eldest of ten children, he
belonged to an old though impoverished family. To obtain
for him a gratuitous education his parents destined him for the
priesthood.
On the death of his father in 1827 he became the sole
support of his mother, brothers, and sisters. In 1825 he had made
his appearance as a writer with a poem entitled 'Algiso and the
Lombard League. ' His 'History of Como,' following in 1829, gave
him a standing in the world of letters.
Although not member of the revolutionary society Young
Italy,' he was the confidant of two of its leaders, Albera and Bal-
zetti, a circumstance which led to his arrest in 1833. Seized by the
Austrian officials in the midst of his lecture at the Lyceum in Milan,
he was incarcerated in the prison in the Convent of Santa Mar-
gherita. Although deprived of books and pen, he beguiled the time
by writing with a toothpick and candle-smoke on the back of a map
and on scraps of paper, Margherita Pusterla,' with one exception the
most popular historical novel in the Italian language.
(
Liberated at the end of a year, but deprived of his professorship,
he and his family would probably have starved had he not chanced
to meet a publisher who wanted a history of the world. The result
of this meeting was his 'Universal History' in thirty-five volumes
(Turin, 1836 et seq. ), which has gone through forty editions and been
translated into many languages. It brought the publisher a fortune
and Cantù a modest independence.
Up to the time of his death in 1895, Cantù wrote almost without
intermission. Besides the books already mentioned, the most notable
are
the 'History of a Hundred Years, 1750-1850' (1864), and the
'Story of the Struggles for Italian Independence' (1873). His mas-
terpiece is the 'Universal History,' the best work of its kind in Italian
and perhaps in any language for lucidity and rapidity of narration,
unity of plan, justness of proportion, and literary art. It is how-
ever written from the clerical point of view, and is not based on a
critical study of documentary sources. The political offenses for
which Cantù suffered persecution were his attempts to secure a federal
union of the Italian States under the hegemony of Austria and the
Papacy.
## p. 3200 (#170) ###########################################
3200
CESARE CANTÙ
THE EXECUTION
From Margherita Pusterla
HE beautiful sunshine which one sees in Lombardy only at
THE the season of vintage, spread its white light and gentle
warmth upon the sombre façades of Broletto. The Piazza
was packed with people; the balconies and belvideres were filled.
with motley groups.
Even ladies were contending for the best
places to see the horrible sight. One mother showed her little
boy all this preparation for death, and said to him:
"Do you see that man yonder with the long black beard and
rough skin? He devours bad boys in two mouthfuls: if you cry,
he will carry you off. "
The frightened child tightly clasped his mother's neck with
his small arms, and hid his face in her breast. Another, half
ashamed at being seen there, asked, "Who is the victim? "
"It is," replied a neighboring stranger, "the wife of the man
who was beheaded yesterday. "
―
"Ah, ah! " put in a third, "then it is the mother of the little
boy who was executed yesterday with Signor Pusterla? "
"How was that? resumed the first speaker; "did they behead
a child? "
"It is only too true," said a woman, joining in the conversa-
tion; "and such a pretty little boy! Two blue eyes, bluer than
the sky, and a face as gentle and sweet as that of the Christ-
child, and hair like threads of gold. I came here to show my
boy how the wicked are punished, and as I stood near the scaf-
fold, I heard and saw everything! "
"Tell us, tell us, Mother Radegonda. " And Radegonda,
enchanted at occupying the centre of attention, began.
"I will tell you," she said. "When he was there- but for
the love of charity, give me more room; you do not wish to
stifle my little Tanuccio? - Well, when he began to ascend the
ladder, ah, see, the child does not wish to go! He stamps his
foot, he weeps, he cries-»
"I believe you," interrupted a person named Pizzabrasa, " for
I heard all the way from the Loggia dei Mercanti, where I was
being crushed, his cries of 'Papa! Mamma! >»
"That was it," continued Radegonda; "and he recoiled with
horror before that savage figure," she said, pointing with her
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3201
forefinger to Mastro Impicca. "His father sobbed, and could not
speak; but his confessor whispered in his ear-
"I saw also," interrupted Pizzabrasa, determined to show that
he had been an eye-witness, and he continued: "the golden
hair of the child soon mingled with the black hair and beard of
the father. One would have said they were yellow flames on a
funeral pall. I also saw the child caress the priest who talked to
him, and the priest-"
"Who is the priest? " interrupted the first speaker. The
question was passed from lip to lip, until finally a man, dressed
somewhat after the ecclesiastical fashion and having a serene and
devout face, replied: -
"He is the one who preached at Lent last year at Santa-
Maria del Sacco. He could have converted Herod himself. But
the world is so wicked! He had no more success than if he had
preached in the desert. "
"His name? "
"Fra Buonvicino of the monastery Della Ricchezza de Brera.
But the riches that he covets are not those which one acquires in
sewing cloaks. Do you know him? Ah, what a man! question
him, talk to him, he knows everything, and—”
"But what did he say to the child? ". "And what did the
child say? ". "And the child's father, what did he do? " - It
was thus they interrupted the speaker, without listening to his
eulogy.
――
-――
Here Radegonda, regretting that she had been deposed from
her throne, took occasion to resume her speech, for no one was
able to give more details. She began again.
"Here, here," she said, "who is to talk, you or I? There are
some people who stick their noses everywhere and who—
Now do you want to know what the priest said? and how the
poor condemned creature walked with courage? and how in one
instant he was in heaven in the company of the angels? "
"And what did the child say? "
"The little child did not want to go along. He said: 'I
know that it is beautiful in Paradise, that the angels live there,
and the kind God, and there lives the good Madonna: but I
would rather stay here with Papa and Mamma; I would rather
stay with them! ' he repeated, and cried. "
"Sacred innocence! " exclaimed one of the listeners by an
instinctive compassion, and shed a few tears; but if any one had
VI-201
## p. 3202 (#172) ###########################################
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CESARE CANTÙ
questioned him regarding the justice of putting the child to
death, he would have unhesitatingly answered in the affirmative.
Our eloquent Radegonda continued:-
――――
"But the priest! Is there any one here who did not see his
face? Well, you know how it looks when it rains and shines at
the same time, when they say the Devil beats his wife, - that
was the face of the good monk. Tears large as the beads of a
rosary ran down his cheeks, and at the same time he had a
smile like an angel.
He said to the boy, 'Your father
goes with you to Paradise! ' The child looked at him with sad
eyes, and asked, 'But Mamma? ' 'Your mother,' replied the
priest, will come with us. '-'If I stay on earth,' said the child,
'I must then live without them? › The monk answered 'Yes';
and then the little one consented to kneel. "
—
Here sobs checked the course of the narrative; and the nar-
rator was half ashamed at being affected by the fate of the
condemned ones, just as a young lady is ashamed when she is
caught weeping at the theatre. Pizzabrasa concluded the recital:
"The child dropped upon his knees, and raised towards
heaven his little hands that were whiter than snow, and then
the executioner cut his hair and opened his great eyes to frighten
him. "
"How much I would have been willing to pay to have been
present," exclaimed one of the group; "such affecting scenes
delight me. "
"Then why didn't you come? " asked a neighbor.
The other replied, "What do you think? I had to take to
Saint-Victor a saddle and bridle which I had mended. "
And then with that indifference such compassionate souls
have for the sorrows of others which have affected them for a
moment, they turned the conversation on a thousand unrelated
topics.
On the balconies, on the platforms, and in the magistrates'
halls, conversation of another description was held. Ladies and
gentlemen of high degree discussed arms and battles, inconstant
favors of the court, passage of birds, and the scarcity of hares;
they demanded and related news; and read from the books of
this one and that one. Signora Theodora, the young wife of
Francesco dei Maggi, one of the most famous beauties, asked in
the most nonchalant way as she drew on her gloves, “Who is
this one about to be executed ? »
## p. 3203 (#173) ###########################################
CESAR CANTÙ
3203
« Margherita Visconti," replied Forestino, one of the sons of
Duke, who was playing the gallant with all the ladies
the
present.
« Visconti! " exclaimed the young woman. "She is then a
relative of Signor Vicario? "
"Yes, a distant relative," responded the young man.
But the jester Grillincervello interposed: -"She might have
been a nearer relative, but as she refused this, you see what has
happened. "
"She must regret her action," said another; "she is so young
and beautiful! "
«And then she is not accustomed to dying," put in the fool,
a reflection which caused peals of laughter around him.
Then he turned towards Forestino and his brother Bruzio,
around whom all had gathered in homage: "Serene Princes, it is
my opinion that if you wish to render attentions to the lady of
Signor Franciscolo dei Maggi, she will not imitate Margherita. »
At this moment the clock struck again. There was sullen
silence-then a second stroke- then a third, vibrating with a
moribund horror.
"She has arrived? >>>>
"No. "
"Why is she so late? " was the universal question; for the
spectators were impatient, and imbued with expectation and curi-
osity, as if they were in a theatre waiting for the curtain to
rise.
"Perhaps they have pardoned her? " said one.
"Well, for my part, I should be glad. " And the people seemed
to find as much pleasure in imagining a pardon as in watching
the execution: either way it gave them material for applause,
emotion, criticism, and discussion.
Soon all observations were interrupted, for upon the parlera,
which was covered with black cloth and velvet cushions, they saw
appear the magistrates, the podesta, his lieutenant, and finally
the captain Lucio. As I have told you, justice was then barbar-
ous but honest, and these men came to admire their work.
Through all the narrow streets, which terminated at this point,
ran a whisper; and the murmurs grew more excited towards the
large gate which gave entrance to the Pescheria Vecchia. Here
was seen the winding funeral procession, which made a long cir-
cuit to let the multitude profit by the lesson.
## p. 3204 (#174) ###########################################
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3204
"Here she is! Here she is! " they cried, and exactly like a
regiment of infantry in obedience to the commands of a sergeant,
the entire crowd stood on tiptoe, stretched their necks, and turned
heads and eyes to the scene.
Then appeared a yellow standard bordered with gold lace,
upon which was painted a skeleton, erect. In one hand it held
a scythe and in the other an hour-glass. At the right of the
skeleton there was painted a man with a cord around his neck,
and to the left a man carrying his head in his hands. Behind
this gonfalon advanced two by two the Brothers of the Consola-
tion. This was a pious fraternity founded in the chapel of Santa
Maria dei Disciplini; this chapel was afterwards changed into a
church, which yielded to none other in Milan for its beauty of
architecture. To-day it is a
To-day it is a common school. This fraternity,
which was transferred to San Giovanni alle Case rotte, had for
its one aim to succor the condemned and to prepare them for
death. The brothers advanced. They were attired in white
habits, fitting tightly around their figures, and their cowls were
sewn around their heads. Instead of a face, one saw a cross
embroidered in red, and at the arms of this cross tiny holes
were made for the eyes to peer forth. On their breasts they
wore a black medal representing the death of Christ, and at the
foot of the cross was engraved the head of Saint John the
Baptist. With their long unbelted robes, the chains on their
wrists, they resembled nocturnal phantoms.
The last ones bore a coffin, and sang in lugubrious tones the
doleful Miserere. ' Chanting a service and carrying the bier of
a person still in the flesh! Breaking through the crowd, they
arrived near the scaffold and placed the bier upon the ground.
Then they arranged themselves in two cordons around the block,
so that they could receive the victim among them, and also to
form a guard between the world and her who was to leave it.
Now a car came, moving slowly and drawn by two oxen capari-
soned in black. In this car was our poor Margherita.
In obedience to the curious sentiment which commands one
to adorn one's self for all occasions, even the melancholy ones,
Margherita had dressed herself in a rich robe of sombre hue.
With great pains she had arranged her black hair, which set off
to advantage the delicate pallor of the face revealing so much
suffering. Upon her neck, which had so often disputed white-
ness with pearls, she now wore her rosary, which seemed to
## p. 3205 (#175) ###########################################
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3205
outline the circle of the axe. In her hands she clasped the
crucifix attached to the chapelet, and from this she never
removed her eyes,-eyes which had always beamed with kind-
ness and sweetness, but which were now full of sorrow. They
could only look upon one object — the cross, the one hope of sal-
vation.
By her side was seated Buonvicino, even paler, if possible,
than she. In his hand he held an image of the Crucified God
who has suffered for us. From time to time he spoke some con-
soling words to the young victim,-a simple prayer such as our
mothers have taught us in infancy, and which come to us again
in the most critical moments of life: "Savior, unto thee I yield
my spirit. Maria, pray for me at the hour of death. Depart,
Christian soul, from this world, which is but a place of exile, and
return into that celestial country sanctified by thy suffering, so
that angels may bear thee to Paradise! "
When Margherita appeared, every one exclaimed: "Oh, how
beautiful she is! She is so young! "
-
Then tears flowed. Many a silken handkerchief hid the eyes
of fair ladies, and many a hand, accustomed to a sword, tried to
retard tears.
Every one looked towards Lucio to see if he would not wave
a white handkerchief-the signal of pardon.
Translated through the French by Esther Singleton, for the Library of the
World's Best Literature. '
## p. 3206 (#176) ###########################################
3206
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
(1836-)
BY FRANK SEWALL
PRS
ARELY in the history of ancient or modern literature has a
writer, while living, been so generally recognized by his
countrymen as their national prophet as has the Italian
poet and essayist Carducci. In January, 1896, he completed his thirty-
fifth year as Professor of Belles-Lettres in the University of Bologna;
and the solemn and brilliant festivities with which the event was
celebrated, extending over three days and including congratulatory
addresses from the king, from the municipality, from the students
and graduates, from foreign universities, and from distinguished
scholars at home and abroad, testified to the remarkable hold this
poet has gained on the affections and esteem of the Italian people,
and the deep impress his writing has made on the literature of our
time.
Born in northern Italy in the year 1836, and entering upon his lit-
erary career at a time coincident with the downfall of foreign power
in Tuscany, the history of his authorship is a fair reflection of the
growth of the new Italy of to-day. In an autobiographical sketch
with which he prefaces his volume of 'Poesie' (1871) he depicts with
the utmost sincerity and frankness the transition through which his
own mind has passed, in breaking from the old traditions in which
he had been nursed at his mother's knee, and in meeting the
dazzling radiance of modern thought and feeling; the thrill of
national liberty and independence, no longer a glory dreamed of,
as by Alfieri, nor sung in tones of despair, as by Leopardi, but as
a living experience of his own time. He felt the awakening to be
at once a literary, political, and religious one; and following his
deep Hellenic instincts, the religious rebound in him was rather to
the paganism of the ancient Latin forefathers than to the spiritual
worship that had come in with the infusion of foreign blood.
"This paganism," he says, "this cult of form, was naught else but
the love of that noble nature from which the solitary Semitic
estrangements had alienated hitherto the spirit of man in such bitter
opposition. My sentiment of opposition, at first feebly defined, thus
became confirmed conceit, reason, affirmation; the hymn to Apollo
became the hymn to Satan. Oh! the beautiful years from 1861 to
1865, passed in peaceful solitude and quiet study, in the midst of a
## p. 3207 (#177) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3207
home where the venerable mother, instead of fostering superstition,
taught us to read Alfieri. But as I read the codices of the fourteenth
century, the ideas of the Renaissance began to appear to me in the
gilded initial letters like the eyes of nymphs in the midst of flowers,
and between the lines of the spiritual laude I detected the Satanic
strophe. ”
So long had Italy lived in passive dependence on the fame of her
great writers of the times of Augustus and of the Medici, and in the
apathy of a long-abandoned hope of political independence and
achievement, that it required a man of powerful instinct and genius
to rouse the people to a sense of their actual possession of a national
life and of a literature that is not alone of the past, and so to throw
off both the "livery of the slave and the mask of the courtesan. "
Such was the mission of Carducci. As Howells in his 'Modern
Italian Poets' remarks of Leopardi :- "He seems to have been the
poet of the national mood: he was the final expression of that hope-
less apathy in which Italy lay bound for thirty years after the fall
of Napoleon and his governments. " So it may be said of Carducci
that in him speaks the hope and joy of a nation waking to new life,
and recalling her past glories, no longer with shame but a purpose
to prove herself worthy of such a heritage.
-
A distinguished literary contemporary, Enrico Panzacchi, says of
Carducci: —
"I believe that I do not exaggerate the importance of Carducci
when I say that to him and to his perseverance and steadfast work
we owe in great part the poetic revival in Italy. "
Cesar Lombroso, in the Paris Revue des Revues, says:— "Among
the stars of first magnitude shines one of greatest brilliance, Carducci,
the true representative of Italian literary genius. "
The poem that first attracted attention and caused no little flutter
of ecclesiastical gowns was the 'Hymn to Satan,' which appeared in
1865 in Pistoja, over the signature "Enotrio Romaho," and bore the
date "MMDCXVIII from the foundation of Rome.
" It is not indeed
the sacrilegious invective that might be imagined from the title, but
rather a hymn to Science and to Free Thought, liberated from the
ancient thraldom of dogma and superstition. It reveals the strong
Hellenic instinct which still survives in the Italian people beneath
the superimposed Christianity, and which here, as in many other of
Carducci's poems, stands out in bold contrast with the subjective and
spiritual elements in religion. It is this struggle of the pagan against
the Christian instinct that accounts for the commingled sentiment of
awe and of rebellion with which Carducci contemplates his great
master Dante; for while he must revere him as the founder of Italian
letters and the immortal poet of his race, he cannot but see both in
## p. 3208 (#178) ###########################################
3208
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
the spirituality of Dante's conception of the Church and in his abso-
lute loyalty to the Empire, motives wholly foreign to the ancient
national instinct. Referring again to his transition years, he writes:
"Meanwhile the shadow of Dante looked down reproachfully upon
me; but I might have answered:-'Father and Master, why didst thou
bring learning from the cloister to the piazza, from the Latin to the
vulgar tongue? Thou first, O great public accuser of the Middle
Ages, gavest the signal for the rebound of thought. That the alarm
was sounded from the bells of a Gothic campanile mattered but
little. '»
Without a formal coronation, Carducci may be regarded as the
actual poet laureate of Italy. He is still, at sixty years of age, an
active and hard-working professor at the University of Bologna,
where his popularity with his students in the lecture-room is equal
to that which his writings have gained throughout the land. A
favorite with the Court, and often invited to lecture before the
Queen, he is still a man of great simplicity, even to roughness, of
manners, and of a genial and cordial nature. Not only do the
Italians with one voice call him their greatest author, but many both
in Italy and elsewhere are fain to consider him the foremost living
poet in Europe.
The citations here given have been selected as illustrating the
prominent features of Carducci's genius. His joy in mental emanci-
pation from the thraldom of dogma and superstition is seen in the
'Roma' and in the 'Hymn to Satan. ’ His paganism and his "cult
of form," as also his Homeric power of description and of color, are
seen in The Ox' and in 'To Aurora. ' His veneration for the great
masters finds expression in the sonnets to Homer and Dante, and the
revulsion of the pagan before the spiritual religious feeling is shown
in the lines In a Gothic Church' and in the sonnet Dante. '
The poems of Carducci have appeared for the most part in the
following editions only:-'Poesie,' embracing the Juvenilia,' 'Levia
Gravia,' and the 'Decennali'; Nuove Poesie,' 'Odi Barbare,' 'Nuove
Rime. ' Zanichelli in Bologna publishes a complete edition of his
writings. His critical essays have appeared generally in the Nuova
Antologia, and embrace among the more recent a history and dis-
cussion of Tasso's 'Aminta. ' and the 'Ancient Pastoral Poetry': a
preface to the translation by Sanfelice of Shelley's 'Prometheus'; the
'Torrismondo' of Tasso: 'Italian Life in the Fifteenth Century,' etc.
Eight Odes' of Carducci have been translated into Latin by Adolfo
Gandiglo of Ravenna, and published by Calderini of that city in 1894.
Tank Swall
## p. 3209 (#179) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3209
:
1
I
G™
Translations from Frank Sewall's Giosue Carducci and the Hellenic
Reaction in Italy) and 'Carducci and the Classic Realism. ' By permission
of Dodd, Mead and Company, copyright 1892.
ROMA
From the Poesie
IVE to the wind thy locks; all glittering
Thy sea-blue eyes, and thy white bosom bared,
Mount to thy chariot, while in speechless roaring
Terror and Force before thee clear the way!
The shadow of thy helmet, like the flashing
Of brazen star, strikes through the trembling air.
The dust of broken empires, cloud-like rising,
Follows the awful rumbling of thy wheels.
So once, O Rome, beheld the conquered nations
Thy image, object of their ancient dread. *
To-day a mitre they would place upon
Thy head, and fold a rosary between
Thy hands. O name! again to terrors old
Awake the tired ages and the world!
HOMER
From the Levia Gravia
ND from the savage Urals to the plain
A
A new barbarian folk shall send alarms,
The coast of Agenorean Thebes again
Be waked with sound of chariots and of arms;
And Rome shall fall; and Tiber's current drain
The nameless lands of long deserted farms:
But thou like Hercules shalt still remain,
Untouched by fiery Etna's deadly charms;
And with thy youthful temples, laurel-crowned,
Shalt rise to the eternal Form's embrace
Whose unveiled smile all earliest was thine;
And till the Alps to gulfing sea give place,
By Latin shore or on Achæan ground,
Like heaven's sun shalt thou, O Homer, shine!
*The allusion is to the figure of Roma' as seen on ancient coins.
## p. 3210 (#180) ###########################################
3210
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
IN A GOTHIC CHURCH
From the Poesie'
TH
HEY rise aloft, marching in awful file,
The polished shafts immense of marble gray,
And in the sacred darkness seem to be
An army of giants
Who wage a war with the invisible;
The silent arches soar and spring apart
In distant flight, then re-embrace again
And droop on high.
So in the discord of unhappy men,
From out their barbarous tumult there go up
To God the sighs of solitary souls
In Him united.
Of you I ask no God, ye marble shafts,
Ye airy vaults! I tremble-but I watch
To hear a dainty well-known footstep waken
The solemn echoes.
'Tis Lidia, and she turns, and slowly turning,
Her tresses full of light reveal themselves,
And love is shining from a pale shy face
Behind the veil.
ON THE SIXTH CENTENARY OF DANTE
From the Levia Gravia
I
SAW him, from the uncovered tomb uplifting
His mighty form, the imperial prophet stand.
Then shook the Adrian shore, and all the land
Italia trembled as at an earthquake drifting.
Like morning mist from purest ether sifting,
It marched along the Apenninian strand,
Glancing adown the vales on either hand,
Then vanished like the dawn to daylight shifting.
Meanwhile in earthly hearts a fear did rise,
The awful presence of a god discerning,
## p. 3211 (#181) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3211
To which no mortal dared to lift the eyes.
But where beyond the gates the sun is burning,
The races dead of warlike men and wise
With joy saluted the great soul's returning.
THE OX
From the Poesie'
LOVE thee, pious ox; a gentle feeling
I
Of vigor and of peace thou giv'st my heart.
How solemn, like a monument, thou art!
Over wide fertile fields thy calm gaze stealing,
Unto the yoke with grave contentment kneeling,
To man's quick work thou dost thy strength impart.
He shouts and goads, and answering thy smart,
Thou turn'st on him thy patient eyes appealing.
From thy broad nostrils, black and wet, arise
Thy breath's soft fumes; and on the still air swells,
Like happy hymn, thy lowing's mellow strain.
In the grave sweetness of thy tranquil eyes
Of emerald, broad and still reflected dwells
All the divine green silence of the plain.
DANTE
From the Levia Gravia ›
DANTE, why is it that I adoring
O
Still lift my songs and vows to thy stern face,
And sunset to the morning gray gives place
To find me still thy restless verse exploring?
Lucia prays not for my poor soul's resting;
For me Matilda tends no sacred fount;
For me in vain the sacred lovers mount,
O'er star and star, to the eternal soaring.
I hate the Holy Empire, and the crown
And sword alike relentless would have riven
From thy good Frederic on Olona's plains.
Empire and Church to ruin have gone down,
And yet for them thy songs did scale high heaven.
Great Jove is dead. Only the song remains.
## p. 3212 (#182) ###########################################
3212
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
TO SATAN
From the 'Poesie'
T
THEE my verses,
Unbridled and daring,
Shall mount, O Satan,
King of the banquet!
Away with thy sprinkling,
O Priest, and thy droning,
For never shall Satan,
O Priest, stand behind thee.
See how the rust is
Gnawing the mystical
Sword of St. Michael;
And how the faithful
Wind-plucked archangel
Falls into emptiness;
Frozen the thunder in
Hand of Jehovah.
Like to pale meteors, or
Planets exhausted,
Out of the firmament
Rain down the angels.
Here in the matter
Which never sleeps,
King of phenomena,
King of all forms,
Thou, Satan, livest.
Thine is the empire
Felt in the dark eyes'
Tremulous flashing,
Whether their languishing
Glances resist, or
Glittering and tearful, they
Call and invite.
How shine the clusters
With happy blood,
So that the furious
Joy may not perish,
## p. 3213 (#183) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3213
So that the languishing
Love be restored,
And sorrow be banished
And love be increased.
Thy breath, O Satan!
My verse inspires,
When from my bosom
The gods I defy
Of kings pontifical,
Of kings inhuman.
Thine is the lightning that
Sets minds to shaking.
For thee Arimane,
Adonis, Astarte;
For thee lived the marbles,
The pictures, the parchments,
When the fair Venus
Anadyomene
Blessed the Ionian
Heavens serene.
For thee were roaring the
Forests of Lebanon,
Of the fair Cypri
Lover re-born;
For thee rose the chorus,
For thee raved the dances,
For thee the pure shining
Loves of the virgins,
Under the sweet-odored
Palms of Idume,
Where break in white foam
The Cyprian waves.
What if the barbarous
Nazarene fury,
Fed by the base rites
Of secret feastings,
Lights sacred torches
To burn down the temples,
## p. 3214 (#184) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3214
Scattering abroad
The scrolls hieroglyphic?
In thee find refuge
The humble-roofed plebs,
Who have not forgotten
The gods of their household.
Thence comes the power,
Fervid and loving, that,
Filling the quick-throbbing
Bosom of woman,
Turns to the succor
Of nature enfeebled;
A sorceress pallid,
With endless care laden.
Thou to the trance-holden
Eye of the alchemist,
Thou to the view of the
Bigoted mago,
Showest the lightning-flash
Of the new time
Shining behind the dark
Bars of the cloister.
Seeking to fly from thee,
Here in the world-life
Hides him the gloomy monk
In Theban deserts.
O soul that wanderest
Far from the straight way,
Satan is merciful. —
See Heloisa!
In vain you wear yourself
Thin in rough gown; I
Still murmur the verses
Of Maro and Flaccus
Amid the Davidic
Psalming and wailing.
And- Delphic figures
Close at thy side-
## p. 3215 (#185) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3215
Rosy, amid the dark
Cowls of the friars,
Enters Licorida,
Enters Glicera.
Then other images
Of days more fair
Come to dwell with thee
In thy secret cell.
Lo! from the pages of
Livy, the Tribunes
All ardent, the Consuls,
The crowds tumultuous,
Awake; and the fantastic
Pride of Italians
Drives them, O Monk,
Up to the Capitol;
And you whom the flaming
Fire never melted,
Conjuring voices,
Wickliffe and Huss,
Send to the broad breeze
The cry of the watchman:
"The age renews itself;
Full is the time. "
Already tremble
The mitres and crowns.
Forth from the cloister
Moves the rebellion.
Under his stole, see,
Fighting and preaching,
Brother Girolamo
Savonarola.
Off goes the tunic
Of Martin Luther;
-
Off go the fetters
That bound human thought.
It flashes and lightens,
Girdled with flame;
## p. 3216 (#186) ###########################################
3216
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
H
"
Matter, exalt thyself;
Satan has won!
A fair and terrible
Monster unchained
Courses the ocean,
Courses the earth.
Flashing and smoking,
Like the volcanoes, he
Climbs over mountains.
Ravages plains,
Skims the abysses;
Then he is lost
In unknown caverns
And ways profound,
Till lo! unconquered,
From shore to shore,
Like to the whirlwind,
He sends forth his cry.
Like to the whirlwind
Spreading his wings,
He passes, O people,
Satan the great!
Hail to thee, Satan;
Hail the rebellion!
Hail, of the reason the
Great Vindicator!
Sacred to thee shall rise
Incense and vows.
Thou hast the god
Of the priest disenthroned!
## p. 3217 (#187) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3217
TO AURORA
From the Odi Barbare ›
HOU risest and kissest, O Goddess, with thy rosy breath, the
THOU clouds,
Kissest the dusky pinnacles of marble temples.
The forests feel thee, and with a cool shiver awake;
Up soars the falcon, flashing in eager joy.
Meanwhile amid the wet leaves mutter the garrulous nests,
And far off the gray gull screams over the purple sea.
First to delight in thee, down in the laborious plain,
Are the streams which glisten amid the rustling poplars.
Daringly the sorrel colt breaks away from his feeding,
Runs to the brooks with high-lifted mane, neighing in the wind.
Wakeful answer from the huts the great pack of the hounds,
And the whole valley is filled with the noisy sound of their bark-
ing.
But the man whom thou awakest to life-consuming labor,
He, O ancient Youth, O Youth eternal,
Still thoughtful admires thee, even as on the mountain
The Aryan Fathers adored thee, standing amid their white oxen.
Again upon the wing of the fresh morning flies forth
The hymn which to thee they sang over their heaped-up spears:
"Shepherdess thou of heaven! from the stalls of thy jealous sister
Thou loosest the rosy kine, and leadest them back to the skies;
"Thou leadest the rosy kine, and the white herds, and the horses
With the blond flowing manes dear to the brothers Asvini. "
Like the youthful bride who goes from her bath to her spouse,
Reflecting in her eyes the love of him her lover,
So dost thou smiling let fall the light garments that veil thee,
And serene to the heavens thy virgin figure reveal.
Flushed thy cheeks, with white breast panting, thou runnest
To the sovereign of worlds, to the fair flaming Suria,
And he joins, and, in a bow, stretches around his mighty neck
Thy rosy arms; but at his terrible glances thou fleest.
VI-202
## p. 3218 (#188) ###########################################
3218
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
'Tis then the Asvinian Twins, the cavaliers of heaven,
Welcome thee rosily trembling in thy chariot of gold,
And thither thou turnest where, measured the road of glory,
Wearied, the god awaits thee in the dull gloaming of eve.
"Gracious thy flight be above us! so invoked thee the fathers;
Gracious the going of thy radiant car over our houses!
"Come from the coasts of the East with thy good fortune,
Come with thy flowering oats and thy foaming milk;
"And in the midst of the calves, dancing, with yellow locks,
All offspring shall adore thee, O Shepherdess of heaven! "
So sang the Aryans. But better pleased thee Hymettus,
Fresh with the twenty brooks whose banks smelt to heaven of
thyme;
Better pleased thee on Hymettus the nimble-limbed, mortal hunts-
man,
Who with the buskined foot pressed the first dews of the morn.
The heavens bent down. A sweet blush tinged the forest and the
hills
When thou, O Goddess, didst descend.
But thou descendedst not; rather did Cephalus, drawn by thy kiss,
Mount all alert through the air, fair as a beautiful god,—
Mount on the amorous winds and amid the sweet odors,
While all around were the nuptials of flowers and the marriage of
streams.
Wet lies upon his neck the heavy tress of gold, and the golden
quiver
Reaches above his white shoulder, held by the belt of vermilion.
O fragrant kisses of a goddess among the dews!
O ambrosia of love in the world's youth-time!
Dost thou also love, O Goddess? But ours is a wearied race;
Sad is thy face, O Aurora, when thou risest over our towers.
The dim street-lamps go out; and without even glancing at thee,
A pale-faced troop go home, imagining they have been happy.
Angrily at his door is pounding the ill-tempered laborer,
Cursing the dawn that only calls him back to his bondage.
## p. 3219 (#189) ###########################################
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
3219
Only the lover, perhaps, fresh from the dreams of the loved one,
His blood still warm from her kisses, salutes with joy,
Beholds with delight thy face, and feels thy cool breathing upon
him:
Then cries, "O bear me, Aurora, upon thy swift courser of flame;
"Bear me up into the fields of the stars, that there, looking down,
I may behold the earth beneath thy rosy light smiling;
"Behold my fair one, in the face of the rising day,
Let fall her black tresses down over her blushing bosom. "
RUIT HORA
O
GREEN and silent solitudes, far from the rumors of men
Hither come to meet us true friends divine, O Lidia,
Wine and love.
O tell me why the sea, far under the flaming Hesperus
Sends such mysterious moanings; and what songs are these, O Lidia,
The pines are chanting.
See with what longing the hills stretch their arms to the setting sun.
The shadow lengthens and holds them; they seem to be asking
A last kiss, O Lidia!
THE MOTHER
(A GROUP BY ADRIAN CECIONI)
SUR
URELY admired her the rosy day-dawn, when,
summoning the farmers to the still gray fields,
it saw her barefooted, with quick step passing
among the dewy odors of the hay.
Heard her at mid-day the elm-trees white with dust,
as, with broad shoulders bent o'er the yellow winrows,
she challenges in cheery song the grasshoppers,
whose hoarse chirping rings from the hot hillsides.
And when from her toil she lifted her turgid bosom,
her sun-browned face with glossy curls surrounded,
how then thy vesper fires, O Tuscany,
did richly tinge with color her bold figure!
## p. 3220 (#190) ###########################################
3220
GIOSUE CARDUCCI
'Tis then the strong mother plays at ball with her infant,
the lusty child whom her naked breasts have just sated;
tosses him on high and prattles sweetly with him,
while he, with eye fixed on the shining eyes of his mother,
His little body trembling all over with fear, holds out
his tiny fingers imploring; then loud laughs the mother,
and into the one great embrace of love
lets him fall, clasped close to her bosom.
Around her smiles the scene of homely labor;
tremulous nod the oats on the green hillsides;
one hears the distant mooing of the ox,
and on the barn-roof the gay plumed cock is crowing.
Nature has her brave ones, who for her despise
the masks of glory dear to the vulgar throng.
'Tis thus, O Adrian, with holy visions
thou comfortest the souls of fellow-men.
'Tis thus, O artist, with thy blows severe
thou putt'st in stone the ages' ancient hope,
the lofty hope that cries, "Oh, when shall labor
be happy, and faithful love secure from harm?
"When shall a mighty nation of freemen
say in the face of the sun, Shine no more
on the idle ease and the selfish wars of tyrants,
but on the pious justice of labor? >»
## p. 3221 (#191) ###########################################
3221
THOMAS CAREW
(1598? -1639)
HOMAS CAREW is deservedly placed among the most brilliant
representatives of a class of lyrists who were not only
courtiers but men of rank; who, varied in accomplishments,
possessing culture and taste, expressed their play of fancy with
elegance and ease. The lyre of these aristocratic poets had for its
notes only love and beauty, disdain, despair, and love's bounty,
sometimes frivolous in sound and sometimes serious; and their work
may be regarded as the ancestor of the vers de société, which has
reached its perfection in Locker and Austin Dobson. To Carew's
lyrics we may apply Izaak Walton's famous criticism: "They were
old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good. "
Thomas Carew, son of Sir Matthew Carew, was born in London
about 1598. He left Corpus Christi, Oxford, without a degree, and
early fell into wild habits. In 1613 his father wrote to Sir Dudley
Carleton that "one of his sons was roving after hounds and hawks,
and the other [Thomas] studying in the Middle Temple, but doing
little at law. " The result was that Carleton made Thomas his secre-
tary, and took him to Venice and Turin, returning in 1615. Carew
accompanied him to the Hague also, but resigned his post and again
returned to England. In 1619 he went with Lord Herbert of Cher-
bury to the French court. He became sewer in ordinary to Charles
I. , and a
gentleman of his privy chamber; and the King, who was
particularly fond of him, gave him the royal domain of Sunninghill
in Windsor Forest.
Carew was an intimate friend of Ben Jonson, Sir
John Suckling, John Selden, Sir Kenelm Digby, Davenant, Charles
Cotton, and also of Lord Clarendon; who writes:-"Carew was a
person of a pleasant and facetious wit, and made many poems
(especially in the amorous way) which for the sharpness of the
fancy and the elegance of the language in which that fancy was
spread, were at least equal, if not superior, to any of that time. "
work was
Four editions of Carew's poems appeared between 1640 and 1671,
and four have been printed within the present century, the best
being a quarto published by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt in 1870. His longest
a masque called 'Coelum Britannicum,' performed at
Whitehall, February 18th, 1633. Inigo Jones arranged the scenery,
Henry Lawes the music, and the King, the Duke of Lennox, and
other courtiers played the chief parts. Carew's death is supposed to
have occurred in 1639.
## p. 3222 (#192) ###########################################
THOMAS CAREW
3222
A SONG
A
SK me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither doth stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
These powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat,
She winters and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more where those stars light
That downward fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west
The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.
THE PROTESTATION
N°
O MORE shall meads be deckt with flowers,
Nor sweetness dwell in rosy bowers,
Nor greenest buds on branches spring,
Nor warbling birds delight to sing,
Nor April violets paint the grove,
If I forsake my Celia's love.
The fish shall in the ocean burn,
And fountains sweet shall bitter turn;
The humble oak no flood shall know,
When floods shall highest hills o'erflow;
Black Lethe shall oblivion leave,
If e'er my Celia I deceive.
Love shall his bow and shaft lay by,
And Venus's doves want wings to fly;
## p. 3223 (#193) ###########################################
THOMAS CAREW
3223
The Sun refuse to shew his light,
And day shall then be turned to
And in that night no star appear,
If once I leave my Celia dear.
Love shall no more inhabit earth,
Nor lovers more shall love for worth,
Nor joy above the heaven dwell,
Nor pain torment poor souls in hell;
Grim death no more shall horrid prove,
If I e'er leave bright Celia's love.
WOU
SONG
LD you know what's soft? I dare
Not bring you to the down, or air,
Nor to stars to shew what's bright,
Nor to snow to teach you white;
ht;
Nor, if you would music hear,
Call the orbs to take your ear;
Nor, to please your sense, bring forth
Bruised nard, or what's more worth;
Or on food were your thoughts placed,
Bring you nectar, for a taste:
Would you have all these in one,
Name my mistress, and 'tis done.
THE SPRING
NOV
ow that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes; and now no more the frost
Candies the grass or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream:
But the warm sun thaws the benumbèd earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful Spring:
The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array,
Welcome the coming of the longed-for May.
Now all things smile; only my love doth lower;
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
## p. 3224 (#194) ###########################################
3224
THOMAS CAREW
To melt that marble ice which still doth hold
Her heart congealed, and makes her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside; but, in the cooler shade,
Amyntas now doth with his Cloris sleep
Under a sycamore, and all things keep
Time with the season-only she doth carry
June in her eyes, in her heart January.
THE INQUIRY*
MONGST the myrtles as I walked,
Love and my sighs together talked;
Tell me (said I in deep distress)
Where I may find my shepherdess?
Α
Thou fool (said Love), know'st thou not this,-
In everything that's good she is:
In yonder tulip go and seek;
There thou mayst find her lip, her cheek.
In yonder enameled pansy by,
There thou shalt have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach, in rosy bud,
There wave the streamers of her blood;
In brightest lilies that there stands,
The emblems of her whiter hands;
In yonder rising hill there swells
Such sweets as in her bosom dwells.
'Tis true (said I), and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts a union;
But on a sudden all was gone.
With that I stopped. Said Love, These be
(Fond man) resemblances of thee;
And in these flowers thy joys shall die,
Even in the twinkling of an eye,
And all thy hopes of her shall wither,
Like these short sweets thus knit together.
*Attributed to Herrick in Drake's 'Literary Hours. '
## p. 3225 (#195) ###########################################
3225
EMILIA FLYGARE-CARLÉN
(1807-1892)
MILIA SMITH FLYGARE-CARLEN was born at Strömstad, Sweden
August 8th, 1807. She was the daughter of Rutger Smith,
a merchant of that place, and here her childhood was
passed, varied by frequent sea trips with her father, and excursions
to different parts of the coast. It was probably these early maritime
experiences that laid the foundation of her accurate knowledge of
the character and habits of the Swedish fisherfolk. In 1827 she was
married to Dr. Flygare, a physician of Kronbergslän, but after his
death in 1833 she returned to her native
place. As a child her talent for imagin-
ative literature was known among her
friends, but nothing of any permanent
value was
developed until after her thir-
tieth year, when her first novel, 'Waldemar
Klein,' was published anonymously (1838).
After this first successful literary attempt,
she went to Stockholm upon the advice of
her father (1839), and shortly after she was
married to a lawyer of that city, Johan
Gabriel Carlén, a Swedish poet and author.
Her novels appeared in quick succession;
she at once became popular, and her books
were widely read. Her productivity was
remarkable.
