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Tchaikovsky and S. Michele St. Nationalist Identity in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Dickinson College. Scarcely a year passes, and the same vine-owner appears before the purchaser of his land and offers him the trees for sale. Now he becomes farmer for his master, inhabits the vineyard with his family, and continues to cultivate it, receiving a portion of the produce.
This may equal or even exceed that of the present proprietor, but yet he will find himself more and more in debt, and have to make over to his master no small proportion of his gains in advance. The simple religious faith which exists amongst the mountain peasantry is most touching and instructive. The sound of the angelus bell will collect the whole population of one of the small Abruzzi towns in its churches, and the priests, unlike the spectres which haunt ultra-Protestant story-books, are more frequently simple gentle fathers of their people, consulted by them in every anxiety, and trusted in every difficulty.
The open-air life in many ot these villages, where all the spinning, lace-making, and other avocations are carried on in the street, brings the people wonderfully together, and unites their interests and associations as those of one great family, and if a poor person dies, it is not unusual to see the whole town attend the funeral, while orphans who have been born in the place, become regarded as universal property, and receive a share of the attentions and care of all.
On a summer's evening, when crowds of the inhabitants of a mountain town are sitting out in the shady street at their work, it is not unusual for one of them to take up one of the long melancholy neverending songs which are handed down here for generations, and for the whole people to join in the choruses. These songs are inexhaustible, varying from the -short lively catches.
A curious collection of the latter, giving their variations according to the different towns and patois in which they are sung, are being published, under the name of "Canti e Racconti del Popolo Italiano," collected by D. Comparetti and A. But no more complete picture of the manners and characteristics of the lower classes in Rome and its neighbourhood can be found than that which is given in the two thousand three hundred sonnets of Belli —I , who, himself one of "the people," wrote with the very essence of their feeling. There is a charming volume on "The Folklore of Rome," by R.
Riding is the best means of seeing the Campagna immediately around Rome; indeed there are many interesting places, such as Rustica on the Anio, which cannot be reached in a carriage. But for the longer excursions it is far best to adopt whatever is the usual means of locomotion in the district, generally some high-slung Baroccino.
In the Abruzzi, diligences are universally used, and, where the distances are so great between one town and another, they are quite a necessity. In some places these are of the most primitive construction, and in mountainous districts are always drawn by oxen placed in front of the horses, while the harness of the latter, thickly adorned with bells, feathers, and little brass figures of saints, is quite an artistic study.
Diligence life is a phase of Italian existence which no one should omit trying at least once, or rather that of the public carriages which ply slowly between the different surrounding towns and the capital. In a vehicle of this kind one cannot fail to be thrown into the closest juxtaposition with VOL. Suppose you are at Tivoli and wish to go to Rome. The diligence starts in the middle of the day. You walk to it from your inn, with a porter carrying your portmanteau. You find it under a dark archway; a lumbering vehicle, something like a heavy though very dilapidated fly, with three lean unkempt horses attached to it by ropes.
The company is already assembled and greet you as if you were an old acquaintance. There is a fat monk in a brown habit which does not smell very good, a woman in panzlo and large gold ear-rings, a young office clerk, a girl of sixteen, and a little child of two. The young man sits by the driver, all the rest go inside.
There is endless delay in starting, for when you are just going off, the rope-harness gives way and has to be mended. You begin to feel impatient, but find nobody cares in the least, so you think it is not worth while. You get in, and find the interior very mouldy, with tattered sides, and dirty straw on the floor. The most unimaginable baggage is being packed on the roof. The gossippy condultore leans against the portico smoking cigarettes, and regaling Tivoli with the scandal of Rome. An important stalliere in rags stands by and demands his fee of one soldo.
At last the company are desired to mount. The diligence is moving: it is an immense excitement: there is quite a rush of children down the street to see it. The vehicle creaks and groans. Surely the ropes are going to break again; but no, they actually hold firm this time and the carriage starts, rocking from side to side of the rugged pavement, amid the remonstrances of the woman in the earrings, whose daughter has not been able to embrace her,.
The child squeals.
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Then the monk gives it a lollypop and begins a long story about an image in his convent which winked twice-ringraziamo Dio -actually twice, on the eve of Ascension Day. You can hardly hear, for you are going down a hill and the carriage rocks so, and the bells make such a noise. Suddenly there is a regular outcry, " Oh, Madonna Santissima!
All is perfect good humour, the invalid recovers, you mount once more, the driver sings stornelzi in a loud ringing voice: the monk hands round his snuff-box: you sneeze, and all the company say " Felicita "-and so on, till, when you reach the walls of Rome, you are all the greatest friends in the world, and you shake hands all round when you part, amid a chorus of " a rivederla Signore!
Of course it is just within the bounds of possibility that a casualty might occur, but, except perhaps in the neighbourhood of Palestrina or the Pontine Marshes, the chances are exceedingly remote, and as a general rule the more distant places are the safest. Those who stay amongst the cordial, frank, friendly people of most of the mountain towns, or wlho visit the beautiful prosperous valley of the Liris, would smile. Tourists who are content to travel simply to live with and like the people they are amongst, and especially who can sign "piftore" to the description of their profession required in strangers' books at the inns, are not only likely to be unmolested, but cordially welcomed and kindly treated, however savage the aspect of nature may be in the country in which they are wandering.
The times are quite passed when picturesque groups surrounded every carriage which appeared in a remote place, and commanded its occupants to "saltar fuora," as the expression was. The brigand stories of the last century are preserved in English country houses, and served up for the benefit of any member of the family who may be travelling south, as if they were events of to-day. But those who entertain these fears do not realize how very small the proportion of robberies and murders is in Italy compared to that of their own country-and do not know that no well-authenticated case can be ascertained of a foreigner having been either murdered or carried off by brigands, north of the old Neapolitan states, since the time of railways.
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Events which would curdle the blood of every Italian throughout the country pass almost unnoticed in England. For instance, what detail of old Italian brigandage was ever half so horrible as the sentence which was appended to the account of the dreadful railway accident at Merthyr Tydvil May, I in the Times:-" We regret to say that the poor women most injured were robbed of their purses even before they could be extricated from the ruins of the carriages! Even from brigands, if they are Italian, a woman would be almost certain to meet with nothing but personal kindness and respect, and a suffering woman could not be sufficiently commiserated or assisted.
An equally false impression exists in England as to middle and upper classes in Central Italy, who are generally represented and believed to be little better than well-dressed clowns, selfish, egotistical, frivolous, uneducated, ground down by superstition, devoid of all the habits of cleanly and civilized life.
Such misconceptions will soon vanish from the minds of those who are at the pains to furnish themselves with introductions to the resident gentry on their mountain excursions, and who enjoy the friendly cordial hospitality of the many happy family homes, in which generation after generation have lived honoured and beloved, while in the sons and daughters of the country-houses, as well as in those of many of the Roman palaces, the same cultivation and accomplishments will be found which exist in a similar class in England, illuminated by that native grace and natural quickness and brilliancy which is seldom seen out of Italy.
Let us not judge the Roman harshly. His history has been strangely chequered, and his energies may have varied with his fortunes. Sometimes, like. Rienzi, he may still mistake memories for hopes, idle visions of past greatness for that inspiration which is the earnest of future glory:'At non omnia perdidit, neque omnes. With regard to the best seasons for the excursions from Rome, those who reach Central Italy in October will find that month far the best for a tour in the Abruzzi, before the winter snows have set in. Subiaco and its surroundings are gloriously beautiful in November, and are greatly enhanced by the tints of the decaying vegetation, the absence of which is much felt in spring when the valley between Subiaco and Tivoli looks bare and colourless.
I uring the winter months many of the shorter excursions may be pleasantly made from Rome in a carriage or on horseback, and a tramontana, if not too severe, will be found most agreeable by pedestrians in the valleys of Veii, or on the heights of Tusculum. The railway to Frascati opens many delightful and short excursions, and may always give a perfect country change of a few hours. In March, Alatri, Anagni, Cori, and Segni may be visited, with many other places in that district, but March is an uncertain month because " Marzo e pazzo," for it is the time, say Italians, "when men did kill God.
But April is the pleasantest month of all, and then should be made the enchanting excursion to Soracte, Caprarola, and the Ciminian Hills-which may be extended to Orvieto, whence those who do not wish to return to Rome may continue their. This excursion can easily be managed in the day. Provisions must be taken, as there is no inn at Ostia, and visitors to Castel Fusano must provide themselves the day before with an order given on presenting a card with a request, at the Chigi Palace in the Corso to put up their horses there.
Two hours suffice to see Ostia, but as much time as possible should be given to Castel Fusano. I T was in the freshness of an early morning of most brilliant sunshine, that we drove out of the old crumbling Ostian gate now called Porta San Paolo, which Belisarius built, and where Totila and Genseric entered Rome, and passed beneath the Pyramid of Caius Cestius, which for nineteen hundred years has cast its pointed shadow over the turfy slopes, where foreign Christians, gathered from so many distant lands, now sleep in Christ.
This pyramid St. Paul looked upon as he was led out to execution beyond the city walls, and it may be considered as " the sole surviving witness of his martyrdom. Peter, and is adorned with a bas-relief of the two aged martyrs embracing for the last time, and inscriptions of the words they are reported to have spoken to one another. Then we reach the great basilica, once surrounded by the flourishing fortified village of Joanopolis, but now standing alone in.
Outside, the restored church has no features of age or grandeur, but within, as the eye passes down its unbroken lines of grey columns, surmounted by a complete series of papal portraits, it may rest upon the magnificent mosaics of the tribune, and the grand triumphal arch of Galla Placidia, relics of the venerable basilica which perished by fire on the night of the T1th of July,.
I, on which Pius VII. Beyond San Paolo, and indeed all the way from thence to Ostia, the road was once bordered with villas, but now there are only three cottages in the whole distance, which is bare or solemn as the feelings of those who visit it. It leads through the monotonous valley of the Tiber, where buffaloes and grand slow-moving bovi feed amid the rank pastures which are white with narcissus. Here and there a bit of tufa rock crops up crested with ilex and laurestinus.
A small Roman bridge called Ponte della Refolta is passed. At length, on mounting a slight hill, we come upon a wide view over the pale-blue death-bearing marshes of the Maremma, here called Campo-morto, to the dazzling sea, and almost immediately enter a forest of brushwood, chiefly myrtle and phillyrea, from which we only emerge as we reach the narrow singular causeway leading to Ostia itself.
It is a strange scene, not unlike the approach to Mantua. On either side stretch the still waters of the pestiferous lagoon, called the Stagno, waving with tall reeds which rustle mournfully in the wind, and white with floating ranunculus. To the left, a serrated outline of huge pine-tops marks the forest of Fusano; to the right we see the grey towers of Porto, the cathedral of Hippolytus, and the tall campanile which watches over the Isola Sacra, where, with a feeling fitting the mysterious sadness of the place, Dante makes souls wait to be ferried over into purgatory.
Large sea-birds swoop over the reedy expanse. In front the mediaeval castle rises massive and grey against the sky-line. As we approach, it increases in grandeur, and its huge machicolations and massive bastions become visible. The desolate causeway is now peopled with marble figures; heroes standing armless by the wayside, ladies reposing headless amid the luxuriant thistle-growth.
Across the gleaming water we see the faint snowy peaks of the Leonessa. On each sandbank, rising above the Stagno, are works connected with the salt mines founded by King Ancus Martius, twenty-five centuries ago, and working still. They have always been important, as is evidenced by the name of one of the gates of Rome, the Porta Salara, through which the inhabitants of the Sabina passed with their purchases of Ostian salt. Every artist will sketch the Castle of Ostia, and will remember as he works, that Raphael sketched it long ago, and that, from his sketch, Giovanni da Udine painted it in the background of his grand fresco of the victory over the Saracens, in the Stanza of the Incendio del Borgo in the Vatican, for here the enemy who had totally destroyed the ancient town in the fifth century, were as totally defeated in.
Procopius in the sixth century wrote of Ostia as " a city nearly overthrown. It was strengthened by Nicholas I. In the fifteenth century Cardinal d'Estouteville employed Sangallo, who lived here for two years, in building the castle, and Giuliano della Rovere, afterwards Pope Julius II.
Here he took refuge astle of Ostia. Castle of Ostia. Afterwards he imprisoned Caesar Borgia here in 5 I3, whose escape was connived at by Cardinal Carbajal, to whose care he was intrusted.
Nothing remains of the internal decorations but some mouldering frescoes executed by Baldassare Peruzzi and Cesare da Sesto for Cardinal della Rovere, but the outer walls are so covered with the escutcheons of their different papal owners as " to form a veritable chapter of pontifical heraldry. On the battlements above, masses of the bluegreen wormwood, which is a lover of salt air and scanty soil, wave in the wind. Artists will all regret the destruction of the tall pine, so well known till lately in pictures of Ostia, which stood beside the tower, till it died in The tiny town, huddled into the narrow fortified space, which forms as it were an outer bastion of the castle, contains the small semi-Gothic cathedral, a work of Baccio Pintelli, with a rose-window, but scarcely larger than a chapel, and seeming out of keeping with the historical recollections which we have of many mighty cardinal bishops.
Some accounts state that this most ancient see was founded by the apostles themselves; others consider that Pope Urban I. Ciriacus as its first bishop. It is the bishop of Ostia who has always been called upon to ordain a pope who has not been in priests' orders at the time of his election, and he bears the title of " Dean of the Sacred College. It is like Pompeii. The long entrance street, now quite unearthed, is paved with great blocks of lava closely dovetailed into one another, and is lined with the low ruins of small houses and shops, chiefly built of brick, set in opus reticulatum.
Here and there a tall grey sarcophagus stands erect; but no building remains perfect in the whole of the great town, which once contained eighty thousand inhabitants. Thistles flourish everywhere, and snakes and lizards abound, and glide in and out of the hot unshaded stones. A temple of Mithras, supposed to be of the date of the Antonines, has been identified by the inscription on its pavement, " Soli Invict.
Agrius Calendio. Baths, richly decorated with mosaics, have also been discovered. In the streets, the marks, the deep ruts of the chariotwheels-obliged by the narrow space to run always in the same groove, remain in the pavement. The ground is littered with pieces of coloured marble, and of ancient glass tinted with all the hues of a peacock's tail by its long interment.
The banks are filled with fragments of pottery, and here and there of human bones. The whole scene is melancholy and strange beyond description. Emerging from the narrow, almost oppressive confinement of the ruined streets, upon higher ground still unexcavated, which stretches away in ashy reaches to the mouths of the Tiber and the sea, we find a massive quadrangular building of brick, which is more stately and perfect than anything else, and is supposed to have been a temple of Jupiter.
It contains its ancient altar. Ancus Martius was the original founder of Ostia, which then stood upon the sea-shore, and for hundreds of years it was the place where the great Roman expeditions were embarked for the subjugation of the provinces. It was in the time of Claudius that the town obtained its chief importance.
He dearly loved his sea-port, often stayed here, and it was from hence that he was summoned to Rome by the news of the. In his time the sand was already beginning to accumulate at the mouth of the Tiber, and Ostia was soon after ruined, paling before the prosperity of Porto. In consequence of the changes in the mouth of the Tiber, which has no longer the graceful course and the woody banks described by Virgil, it is diffi cult to ascertain the site of the ancient harbour. It is even disputed through how many channels the river entered the sea; Dionysius, in his "Periegesis," declares that it had only one; Ovid alludes to two.
But from these classical recollections the Christian pilgrim will turn with enthusiasm to later memories, as precious and beautiful as any that the Campagna of Rome can afford, and he will see Augustine, with his holy mother, Monica, sitting, as in Ary Scheffer's picture, at "a curtain window," discoursing alone, together, very sweetly, and, "forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forth to those things which are before," inquiring in the presence of the Truth of what sort the eternal life of the saints was to be, and " gasping with the mouths of their hearts" after the heavenly streams of the fountain of life.
Then, as the world and all its delights become contemptible in the nearness into which their converse draws them to the unseen, he will hear the calm voice of Monica in the twilight telling her son that her earthly hopes and mission are fulfilled, and that she is only waiting to depart, "since that is accomplished for which she had desired to linger awhile in this life, that she. The peasants do all their field labour here in gangs, men and women together, and most picturesque they look, for the costumes which are dying out in Rome are universally worn here, and all the women have their heads shaded by white jainni, and are dressed in bright pink and blue petticoats and laced bodices.
Thiey have hard work to fight against the deep-rooted asphodels, which overrun whole pastures and destroy the grass, and they have also the constantly recurring malaria to struggle against, borne up every night by the poisonous vapours of the marsh, which renders Ostia almost uninhabitable even to the natives in summer, and death to the stranger who attempts to pass the night there.
Approach to Castel Fusano. A bridge, decorated with the arms of the Chigis, takes us across the last arm of the Stagno, with a huge avenue of pines ending or a green lawn, in the midst of which stands the mysterious, desolate Chigi palace, occupying the site of the beloved Laurentine villa of Pliny. No road, no path. Round the house, at intervals, stand gigantic red vases, like Morgiana's oil-jars, filled with yuccas and aloes. Over the parapet wall stone figures look down, set there to scare away the Saracens, it is said, but for centuries they have seen nothing but a few stranger tourists or sportsmen, and the wains of beautiful meek-eyed oxen drawing timber from the forest.
All beyond is a vast expanse of wood, huge pines stretching out their immense green umbrellas over the lower trees; stupendous ilexes contorted by time into a thousand strange vagaries; bay-trees bowed with age, and cork-trees grey with lichenpatriarchs even in this patriarchal forest. And beneath these greater potentates such a wealth of beautiful shrubs as is almost indescribable-arbutus, lentisc, phillyrea; tall Mediterranean heath, waving vast plumes of white blossom far overhead, sweet daphne, scenting all around with its pale pink blossoms; myrtle growing in thickets of its own; smilax and honeysuckle, leaping from tree to tree, and forming themselves into a thousand lovely wreaths, and, beneath all, such a carpet of pink cyclamen, that the air is heavy with its perfume, and we may sit down and fill our hands and baskets with the flowers without moving from a single spot.
A road, a mile long, paved with blocks of lava plundered from the Via Severiana, leads from the back of the palace to the sea, and we must follow it, partly to see the famous rosemary which Pliny describes, and which still grows close to the shore in such abundance, and partly for the sake of a glimpse of the grand Mediterranean itself so. But all the forest is delightful, and one cannot wander enough into its deep recesses, where some giant of the wood is reflected in a solitary pool, or where the trees reach overhead into long aisles like a vast cathedral of Nature.
If time can be given, it is well worth while to follow on horseback the heavy road which leads continuously through the forest to Porto d'Anzio, by Ardea and Pratica; but in this case it will be necessary to have permission to sleep at Castel Fusano. Such an excursion will give leisure to dwell upon the beauties which are generally seen so hurriedly. The Hotel lie Paris occupying an old palace at Albano, is perhaps the best, and is comfortable. The Albergo della Posta, belonging to the same landlord, is an old-established inn in the Italian style, and has a few pleasant rooms towards the Campagna.
The Hotel de Rome, on the other side of the street, nearer Lariccia and the country, is comfortable and well-furnished: the upper floor is very cold in winter. The Hotel de Russie, near the Roman gate and the Villa Doria, is an oldfashioned inn, with less pretensions. At all the hotels at Albano the charges are very high in comparison with other places near Rome, and quite unreasonably so.
It is necessary on arriving to make a fixed bargain at all of them, and for everything. The charges for carriages are most extortionate and ought to be universally resisted. If no bargain is made at the railway-station, travellers are liable to a charge of Io or even I5 francs for a carriage to take them to their hotel.
Places in the open omnibus, without luggage, cost one franc each. It is far more economical as well as pleasanter for a party of people to take a carriage from Rome to Albano costing 20 francs , than to go by the railway and be at the mercy of the Albano carriages on arriving. Those who stay long in the place will find it much less expensive to walk across the viaduct to Lariccia and take a carriage from thence, or even to order one from Genzano.
Donkeys cost four francs by the day, the donkeyman four francs, and the guide seven francs: these prices include the whole excursion by Monte Cavo and Nemi. Paolo, the horizon is bounded by a chain of hills, or rather very low mountains, so varied in out. Where they break away from the plain, the buttresses of the hills are clothed with woods of olives or with fruit-trees, then great purple hollows vary their slopes, and towns and villages on the projecting heights gleam and glitter in the sun, towns, each with a name so historical as to awaken a thousand associations.
And these centre most of all round the white building on the highest and steepest crest of the chain, which marks the summit of the Alban Mount, and the site of the great temple of Jupiter Latiaris -the famous-the beloved sanctuary of the Latin tribes.
John Lateran, after a slightly undulating plain of eleven miles, unbroken by any tree, but only by tombs and broken aqueducts, there rises in the mist of beautiful days, a line of blue hills of noble forms, which, leaving the Sabine country, go leaping on in various and graceful shapes, till they reach the highest point of all, called the Monte Cavo. Hence the chain descends afresh, and with moderate declension, and a line long drawn out, reaches the plain, and is lost there not very far from the sea.
Beautiful can I not call thee, and yet thou hast power to o'ermaster, Power of mere beauty; in dreams, Alba, thou hauntest me still. Pedestrians will do well to take tne old Appian Way in. Giovanni, and after crossing the Via Latina Walks in Rome, i. Claudian Aqueduct. Going forward thence, with the aqueducts to your left, and the old Appian Way, lined with crumbling sepulchres, reaching for miles in one unswerving line on your far right, you soon leave Rome behind.
Faint patches of vegetation gleam here and there, like streaks of light; and nameless ruins lie scattered broadcast over the bleak slopes of this most desolate region. Sometimes you come upon a primitive bullock-waggon, or a peasant driving an ass laden with green boughs; but these signs of life are rare. Presently you pass the remains of a square temple, with Corinthian pilasters-then a drove of shaggy ponies-then a little truck with a tiny pent-house reared on one side of the seat, to keep the driver from the sun-then a flock of rusty sheep-a stagnant pool-a clump of stunted trees-a conical thatched hut-a round sepulchre, half buried in the soil of ages-a fragment of broken arch; and so on, for miles and miles across the barren plain.
By and by you see a drove of buffaloes scouring along towards the aqueducts, followed by a mounted herdsman, buskined and brown, with his lance in his hand, his blue cloak. The view from hence, looking down the avenue of mouldering sepulchres, is most desolate and striking. The use of the popular term Strada del Diavolo, which we constantly meet with here as applied to the Via Appia, will call to mind the name of the Devil's Dyke as applied to a well-known Roman work in England. We started at halfpast seven in the morning, and within an hour or so were out upon the open Campagna.
For twelve miles we went climbing on, over an unbroken succession of mounds, and heaps, and hills, of ruin. Tombs and temples, overthrown and prostrate; small fragments of columns, friezes, pediments; great blocks of granite and marble; mouldering arches, grass-grown and decayed; ruin enough to build a spacious city from. Sometimes loose walls, built up from these fragments by the shepherds, came across our path; sometimes a ditch, between two mounds of broken stones, obstructed our progress; sometimes the fragments themselves, rolling from beneath our feet, made it a toilsome matter to advance; but it was always ruin.
Now, we tracked a piece of the old road above the ground; now traced it underneath a grassy covering, as if that were its grave; but all the way was ruin. In the distance, ruined aqueducts went stalking on their giant course along the plain; and every breath of wind that swept towards us stirred early flowers and grasses, springing up, spontaneously, on miles of ruin. The unseen larks above us, who alone disturbed the awful silence, had their nests in ruin; and the fierce herdsmen, clad in sheepskins, who now and then scowled upon us from their sleeping nooks, were housed in ruin.
The aspect of the desolate Campagna in one direction, where it was most level, reminded me of an American prairie; but what is the solitude of a region where men have never dwelt, to that of a Desert where a mighty race have left their foot-prints in the earth from which they have vanished; where the resting-places of their Dead have fallen like their Dead; and the broken hour-glass of Time is but a heap of idle dust!
Returning, by the road, at sunset; and looking, from the distance, on the course we had taken in the morning, I almost felt as if the sun would never rise again, but look its last, that night, upon a ruined world. Le Frattocchie itself was the scene of the fatal meeting Jan. Le lendemain, il s'etait arrete dans sa villa, voisine du mont Albain, ou il devait coucher.
La nouvelle de la mort de son architecte le fit partir assez tard. A peine avait-il commence a suivre la voie Appienne, qu'il se croisa pres de Boville avec Milon; Milon se rendait a Lanuvium, d'oui il etait originaire, pour y installer dans sa charge un pretre de la deesse du lieu, Junon Sospita. Milon etait en voiture avec sa femme; escorte par ses esclaves, parmi lesquels se trouvaient deux gladiateurs renommes.
Dans la situation oui ii se trouvait vis-a-vis de Clodius, cette escorte n'avait rien d'extraordinaire. Les deux ennemis s'etaient depasses sans se rien dire. Une querelle s'engagea entre ceux qui formaient leur suite. Son cocher fut tue. Milon sauta a terre pour se defendre; les gens de Clodius coururent vers la voiture pour attaquer Milon, et commencerent a frapper ses esclaves a coups d'epee. Ce fut alors que le gladiateur Birra, attaquant Clodius par derriere, lui perga l'epaule. Clodius, arrache de cet asile, fut ramene sur la route, et la perce de coups.
Milon ne fit rien pour l'empecher. On dit plus tard qu'apres le meurtre il etait alle dans la villa de son ennemi, qui etait tout proche, pour chercher son enfant et l'egorger; que, ne le trouvant pas, il avait torture ses esclaves; mais ces accusations n'ont aucune vraisemblance. Un senateur qui passait par la trouva son corps gisant sur la route et le fit reporter dans sa maison du Palatin. Some ruins at a short distance to the left are supposed tc.
EAVE March News 2012
A little to the right are the ruins of Bovillce, whose foundation is attributed to Latinus Silvius of Alba. The remains consist of insignificant fragments of the circus and theatre. The title of Suburbanae distinguished it from another town of the same name: " Orta suburbanis quaedam fuit Anna Bovillis, Pauper, sed multze sedulitatis, anus. Florus speaks of Boville as one of the first towns subdued by the Romans: Plutarch tells how it was taken and plundered by Marcus Coriolanus.
In the time of Cicero, who speaks of it as a "municipium," it was already almost deserted.
Here the body of the Emperor Augustus rested for a month as it was being brought from Nola, and here the knights assembled to conduct it to the city. The position of Boville receives an additional identification from the description which Cicero gives of the circumstances which led to the murder of Clodius, when he speaks of it as " Pugna Bovillana. Low lines of white-washed wall border the road on either side, enclosing fields of fascine, orchards, olive-yards, and gloomy plantations of cypresses and pines. The earliest play in which the vernacular of Poitou competes with Latin is Sponsus c.
Finally, French ousted Latin, and as the audience and actors became more numerous the play passed from the church into the public street or square. The actors, who at first were priests supported by laymen, became later almost exclusively laymen. Secular drama played outside the church by profane actors is fully established in the 12th century. The verse is octosyllabic, and the play is made up of three juxtaposed parts: the fall of Adam and Eve, the death of Abel, and a procession of Messi- anic prophets who announce the coming of the Redeemer.
The style is simple but vigorous, and the coaxing of Eve by the devil shows considerable psychological insight. Of the 13th century only two religious plays remain. The first, the Jeu de S, Nicolas, was composed by Jean Bodel of Arras, and played there, no doubt by a puy on the occasion of that saint's day. It consists of a mixture of tragic and comic scenes — a handful of Christians in combat against the Saracens, and tavern scenes teeming with life and realism. The second is a so-called miracle play, or the recital of some miraculous event attributed to the Virgin or the saints.
Of the 14th century forty-three Miracles de Notre Dame have been preserved. They formed the repertoire of some literary guild. Their literary value is not great, and they are only interesting for their strange blending of mysticism and realism. The authors of these Miracles drew on very varied sources: the apocryphal gospels, legends of saints, chansons de geste, and romances.
One of these, UHistoire de Griselidis, a dramatized fableau, is entirely profane, and much more like a morality than a miracle. A mystery can be defined as the exposition in dialogue of an historical event drawn from the Scriptures or the life of the saints. They were object-lessons intended to teach the masses the essential truths of religion.
According to subject, they can be divided into three large cycles : a The Cycle af the Old Testament. The first group is a kind of biblical encyclopedia, which, under the name of Mystkre du Fieux Testament, includes a fusion of mysteries originally distinct. OriginaUy the term mysUre was applied to tableaux vivants. But Greban, in alliance with his brother Simon this time, was not to be beaten, and composed the Ades des ApdtreSy comprising 61, verses, and for which actors were requisitioned.
It was played with great success at Bourges in , the perfor- mance extending over forty days. In the Middle Ages the performance of a mystery set a whole city in motion. The costs were defrayed by the clergy, the town, or sometimes by a guild. On the day preceding the first day of performance the personages in their different costumes paraded the streets la montre.
We have already mentioned the large number of actors and the extraordinary length of time that some of these plays required. In them time and place were treated with the utmost freedom. The vast stage represented simultaneously all the places in which the action was supposed to take place — paradise, Nazareth, Jerusalem, the sea, hell, as the case might be — and none of the actors quitted the stage. Nothing that could appeal to the eyes or senses was neglected; devils shot in and out of trap-doors, manikins were burnt or wracked, flames darted from the jaws of a dragon figuring the mouth of hell, while, when the case required it, an infernal din was kept up by the "master of the secrets" and his myrmidons in the invisible depths below the stage.
In it received state recognition and the sole right to play sacred plays in Paris. This guild first gave its performances in the large hall of the Hospital of the Trinity, but in it migrated to the H6tel de Flandres, and thence to the Hfitel de Bourgogne. On the model of this association similar ones were formed in the provinces.
The repertoire of the Confrhie de la Passion was at first composed exclusively of mysteries, but farces were ultimately introduced, and the Christian drama stifled under the growing abundance of popular and burlesque scenes, which had been introduced partly because the solemnity of the matter de- manded relief, but still more because the actors found it pleased the audience better. The Parliament of Paris took fright; the Protestants were scandalized, as were also the lovers of classical art. In consequence that assembly decreed on the 17th of November, , that the Confririe de la PiissiMt should be forbidden in future to play sacred dramas, though they were allowed to perform mysteries on profane subjects.
About the emfrhes ceased to play, and yielded their hall to other actors; the opposition to classical titigedy became weaker and weaker, and at the end of the century the medi- eval tragic drama was as good as dead. Both these plays were written by Adam de la Halle of Arras. The Jeu de la FemlUe, so called because it was played under a bower, probably by some piy, is a kind of review of the year in verses. Adam himself, his father and his wife appear, while his neighbours, friends, and enemies are also pi-esented to us in a series of pictures, in which obscene realism and grace- ful fancy alternate.
The Jeu de Robin el de Marion is a kind of comic opera, a paslowelle in dialogue. The shepherdess Marion sings of her love for Robin while watching over her sheep; a knight appears 26 MIDDLE AGES and tries to win her love ; she escapes from him, rejoins her companions, and after a series of rural diversions all join hands and execute a dance.
Of comedy in the 14th centuiy only two dialogued pieces by Eustache Deschamps occur, which were not intended for the stage. It was at this period that two societies were organized which were destined to play much the same part with regard to comedy as the Canfrine de la Passion did in the serious drama. Thus during the 15th century Purees, moralities, and sotties were the kinds cultivated. The moralite, as its title implies, was meant to inculcate certain moral truths. The sottie is much like the farce, except that its satire is more aggressive. The comic drama of the Middle Ages did not disappear entirely on the advent of the Renaissance; it had crea 1 a tradition which was continued in the 16th century and which has penetrated into modem comedy.
Noble the lion, and their wives; Brum the bear, Bruyant the ball, Brichemer the stag, Tibert the cat, Couard the hare, Chantedair the cock, Pinte the hen, and many others. The primitive form of the Boman de Benardy in which these scat- tered animal-stories were first grouped round one central hero, and which belongs to the early part of the 12th century, is lost, but it can in part be reconstructed from the Latin Isengrinus c , and from the German Beinhart FuchSy a rendering from the French by an Alsatian, Heinrich von Glichezare c.
The spirit is one of frank gaiety, untroubled by a didactic or satirical intention. Not so in the later branches. When it was perceived how easily the doings of the fox and his com- panions lent themselves to social and political satire, the beasts were more and more transfoinied into men; the whole became igo and often dull bourgeois parody of the church and nobil- ity, in which rascality and trickeiy Tenardie triumph over strength. It is nothing more than a, kind of encyclo- pedia woven into the story, which itself has received distinct additions. Far inferior in execution to the other branches, it owed its prodigious success to allegory, at a time when allegory had invaded the whole of literature.
About of these fabkavx have come down to us. Their average length ia from lines. The period of their greatest popularity extends from the close of the 12th to the beginning of the 13th century, though they appear as early as and as Late as It may be that a few of these stories have come down to ua from India, but the great majority of them only call for an inventive effort that does not exceed the capacity of the most ordinary experience.
Their chief aim is to amuse, but too often amusement is sought in ribaldry and obscenity, llauy are satirical, but in this connection it should be noticed that the authors carefully avoid attacking powerful personages, and confine their attention to the peasant, the village priest, and, above all, to women in general. Tha fableaux are mostly by anonymous writers. Little is known of Rutebeuf, except that he lived a Bohemian life at Paris, in constant distress and misery, the result of lavish habits, a passion for gambling, and an unhappy marriage.
His poems, judging by the allusions which they contain, must have been written between and They are in the dialect of the Ile-de-France. His most striking qualities are force, spirit, and colour, and some of his best productions reveal a touching personal note that reminds one of Villon, although, unlike Villon, he is almost entirely lacking in pathos.
Consequent on considerable changes both in society and literature, the fableau disappeared as a branch of literature in the second half of the 14th century. In the 15th it is repre- sented by the prose conte and by the farce. The conte in verse belongs to a much later period. Other species of satirical poetry are the so-called Stats du monde, in which universal satire is expressed.
Other poems mocked at certain classes of society only, clerks, peasants, usurers, and more especially women. Of the last kind the wittiest is the Evangile des Femmes, recast and interpolated several times from the beginning of the 12th century onwards. It is divided into quatrains of twelve syl- lables, in the last line of which the praise accorded in the first three lines is sarcastically upset. Neither were our neighbours across the Channel leas sparing of satire in the filix avx Anglais , in La Charle avx Anglais, or in the Dit de la Rebellion.
Fapal and royal vices were also attacked. Half-way between satirical and allegorical poetry may be placed certain other pieces intended mainly to amuse. Such are the dils, short poems on events of daily life usually; the dibats, dilutes, and bataUles, generally between two allegorical personages; the amgis, the tesiammls, the falTOsies or nonsense verse, and the chastiemenls, counsels on education and conduct, in which the didactic element has a large share. When precious atones or birds served as a pretext to inculcate the lesson they were called lapidaires or vdueraires.
These fairy tales of science were borrowed from Latin versions, which themselves were derived from Greek and Eastern sources. The earliest versified besttaire is that of Philippe de Thaon before , dedicated to Queen Adis of Louvain. In its symbolic zoology the lion and the pelican are the emblems of Christ, the unicorn is God, the crocodile is the devil, and so on.
Philippe is also remembered as the author of the Comptil, a popular astronomy in verse, containing a calendar for the use of priests. The Romance of the Rose is not a homogeneous whole. It consists of two distinct parts, written at different periods by two different poets, the one representing the aristocratic spirit and the other the democratic spirit of the fdbleavx and of the Roman de Renard, The first part, of octosyllabic lines, was written in the first quarter of the 13th century by Ooillamne de Lorris, an inhabitant of the little town situated between Orleans and Montargis; the second part, of 18, octosyllabic lines, was composed forty years later about by Jean de Meung on the Loire.
Guillaume's poem is a scholarly allegorical code of courtly love, inspired by Ovid and Chretien de Troyes. The rose is the emblem of the beloved lady. To pluck the rose in the garden of Delight is to win the maiden, but to achieve this end is no easy matter: Wandering one May morning by the river banks, the dreamer — for all the incidents are placed in the setting of a dream — finds himself outside the waUs of the domain of the god of Love ; on the walls are painted figures of Hatred, Envy, Sadness, Old Age, Poverty, and other evil powers.
Introduced by Darne Oiseuse Idleness , he is attacked by Cupid, who, taking him at vantage, empties his quiver on him ; he yields himself a prisoner, and learns Cupid's commandments on the evils and gains of love. The poem ends with a lament of the lover. Such in brief is the outline of Guillaume's share of the Ro- mance of the Rose.
His share of the work is a vast satirical encyclopedia, which supplements the pictures of medieval life offered by the later branches of the Roman de Benard, Jean de Meung was the first popularizer of rationalism, of Nature as the guide of life, the true predecessor of Voltaire and more especially of Rabelais. The very contrast between the two parts of the Romance of the Rose contributed not a little to its enormous success, which spread far beyond France. In the following century it was severely censured, chiefly on account of its violent attacks against women, by Gerson and Christine de Pisan, but despite that, continued in favour right into the 16th century, thanks to Clement Marot's edition.
The Roman de la Rose did more than any other single poem to assure the final victory of allegory, which for a period of two hundred years pervaded the whole of literature. The first of these rimed chronicles is due to Oeffirei Gaimar, whose Histoire des Anglais, in octosyllabic verse, was written between and Soon after Wace, bom in Jersey about , and later Canon of Bayeux, composed his two large historical poems, the Roman de Brut , in 16, lines, and the Roman de Rou of the same length.
Before Wace could finish his history he was replaced by the more fashionable Benoit de Sainte-More, to whom we owe the Chronique des Dues de Normandie. To the 12th century also belongs the poem on Saint Thomas le Martyr by Gamier de Pont Sainte-Maxence, notable for the fine scene in which the murder of Becket is described. Still more remarkable is the newly-discovered Histoire de Guillaurae le Mardchal, Earl of Pembroke, of 20, lines or so, by an anonymous writer.
When it was found that verse was not conducive to accuracy in history, the rimed chronicles were replaced by prose nar- ratives. At the beginning of the 13th century a French nobleman, who had taken part in the fourth crusade, instead of entrusting the recital of his exploits to some clerk, took it into his head to give an account of them himself in French prose. His name was Oeoffiroy de ViUehardomn. He was bom in Champagne about , and died in on his fief at Messinopolis in Thessaly. There it was that he composed during the last years of his life the Chronique de la Conqidte de Constantinople c , the first great prose chronicle, than which no other single poem gives a better idea of chivalry and feudalism.
Jean de JoinviUe , the next of the great chroniclers, wrote at the beginning of the 14th century, but his work, both in style and spirit, belongs to the same century as that of Villehardouin. He was past eighty when Jeanne of Navarre, wife of Philippe le Bel, invited him to write the sainies paroles et les bons fails of Saint Louis, whose devoted companion he had been during his six years' crusade to His book, the Vie de Saint Louis, was only completed in , and as the queen had died in the meantime, it was dedicated to her son, after- wards Louis X.
Joinville is interesting chiefly on account of hia keen obser- vation and the colour of his style. Prose takes complete possession of the historical field with Jean Froissart, the last of the ehroniclera proper. Jean FioiBaart was bam at Valenciennes in Of his esriy jeuts we p09Sead no reliable informatioii. The folloning are the chief dates in hia later life. At the death of hia benefactrice he returned home; became curate of Lestines, and later canon of Chimai As his canon rf did not make reaidenoe obligatory, and as ha was in want of materials for hia Chronicle, he set out once more on hia travels, returning to England for a three months' Bta; in 13Sfi.
That same year be came back to France, and Beema to have died soon aStet The Chrffiiigues of Froiasart include the period , and deal mainly with the affairs of France, England, and Scotland, although they likewise supply information in regard to Germany, Italy, Spain, and even occasionally touch on Hungary and the Balkan peninsula. Froiesart's information, gathered during his wanderings in many lands, is often untrustworthy or partial.
His merit lies in the vivid pic- turcsqiieness of his descriptions and in his brilliant, sympa- thetic picture of chivalry. Next in order comes Philippe de CommineB, who forms a link between the 15th and the 16th centuries. On the king'a death he ineurred the displeasure of bU BUcceeaor, Charlea VIII, and for eight months he was imprisoned in an iron cage; but in ho was reatored to a meaaureof favoui; beaccom- pBoied Charles to Italy, and there met the fainous Machiavelli. Hia Mimokes H95 , which were not published till , are the earliest French example of history as distin- guished from the chronicle.
For the kiiight-ornintry of 36 MIDDLE AGES Froissart he substitutes a diplomatic shrewdness and a wide curiosity, applied not only to individuals but also to nations; he abandons brilliant descriptions for psychological observa- tions and searchings after the causes of events. In his politics he is aristocratic and monarchical, but not despotic; his ideal government is constitutional and pariiamentary; his ideal king one who knows how to listen to advice, and who leaves the decision of peace or war to the nation.
Commines, together with Villon in poetry, is the first of modem writers. Froissart and his predecessors ignore the mass of humanity ; not so Commmes, whose sympathy for the humble and the oppressed is quite a modem trait, as also is his curiosity and undogmatic religiosity. It was written about in the Picard dialect by an anonymous author. But by far the best conteur of the Middle Ages is Antoine de la Salle, who wrote in the 15th century at the court of Bur- gundy.
He is the author of the graceful Petit Jean de Saintri, in which he traces a mock portrait of the ideal knight; of the biting Quinze Joies de Mariage, a satire on women; and also of the bright Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles, wrongly attributed to Louis XI, drawn in part from old fohleavx and in part from Boccaccio.
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Of written sermons the first occur in the 12th century. Of these the best are those of Maurice de Sully, Archbishop of Paris, which do not offer sufficient literary merit to account for the extraordinary popularity which they enjoyed at the time. Their style is vivid, but often coarse.
Without being an epoch favourable to poetry or to literature in general, it is not the same dreary waste as the 14th century. It was in the 15th century that the medieval drama produced its masterpiece, the famous farce of Pathelin, that Commines wrote his Mdrrwires, and that two real poets appeared, Villon, a man of the people, and Charles d'Orleans, the last representative of the grace and refinements of chivalric society. In alliance with the infamous Bernard d'Arma- gnac he did his best to avenge his father. He commanded at Azincourt , and was taken prisoner and carried to England, where he spent twenty-five years in captivity, hunting, hawking, and composing light verse.
At the age of forty-nine he returned to France, and passed his last years in Epicurean ease at his little court of Blois, where he had gathered around him a small circle of poets. He was in no way an innovator in poetry; he made use of old forms, and, like his predecessors, he remained faithful to Dame Allegory, but he transformed the old material by an exquisite sense of art. His range is small, and his ideas lack depth, but the music and grace of his light verse, espe- cially of his rondels, has rarely been surpassed. His favourite subjects are the changing seasons, the songs of the birds, lovers' fancies, and counsels against melancholy and care; or, in his later years at Blois, when the springtide of love was past for him, the deceiving arts of the fair and the folly of those that place their tiiist in them.
His style is clearness itself, and he is almost as easy to read as a modern poet. He owes the name of Villon to an ecclesiast Guillaume de Villon, who took an interest in him and sent him to the University of Paris, where he took his M. Till Villon had steered a straight course, but having killed his adversary in a duel he was compelled to flee from justice.
Receiving letters of pardon six months afterwards, he returned to the capital. It was on the occasion of his first departure that he composed the Petit Testament, a collection of mock bequests to various friends and enemies with autobiographical details and aUusions. The consequences of his first crime no doubt threw Villon out of the straight path. Resourceless and ostracized he joined a band of thieves, and was condemned to be hanged for a burglary committed by his gang ; but the capital punishment was commuted to banishment.
His chief work, the Grand Testament, an amplification of the smaller one, alludes directly to these events in the two famous ballads Des Pendus and De I'Appel. We next come across Villon in at Meung-sur-Loire, in the cell of the local prison, where he had been confined by the Bishop of Orleans. Louis XI, passing through Meung after his recent consecration, to cele- brate the event set aU the prisoners at liberty, and among them our poet.
From that moment we lose all traces of the reckless vagabond. He was dead when the Orand Testament appeared in It consists of stanzas each containing eight octOByllabic lines, in which about a, score of minor pieces, chiefly ballads and rondeaus, some written previously, are in- Berted. The poet on the point of leaving this life casts a sorrowful glance over the past, confesses and laments the errors of his wild youth, and asks forgiveness of God. He thanks his friends and protectors, curses his enemies, and bequeaths to ea.
In this ballad of death, in which there is an antinomy of grim humour and of simple but infinite pathos, the skeletons of Villon and of his fellows are supposed to address the passer-by, who contemplates them dangling on the gibbet of Montfaucon. Most touching, too, is he in the expression of his repentance for his lawless and debauched life. A proof that this repen- tance was sincere is afforded by the Ballade que Vilhn feit h la Reqiiesle de sa Mire. Neither wjis he lacking in patriotic fervour and in accents of ingenuous faith. But his merit as a poet is not only intrinsic.
He is a past-master in the technique of verse; handling with extra- ordinary skill the most artificial forms of poetry, such as the rondeau and the hallade. In fact he has never been equalled in the latter. Villon represents popidar tradition. But more than that, he is the first modem French poet — modern in his abandonment of the traditional machinery of allegory and abstraction; in the complexity of his feelings, passing from mirth to despair, from beauty to horror — modern in that his poetry reflects his own personality.
Villon is the first great French poet, yet he cannot be classed among the greatest, his range being too narrow and limited. In fantastic, puerile, and inane metrical tricks they even went one better than their predecessors. Even a great poet like Clement Marot was unable to free himself from the shackles of these factmrs in poetry, as they most appropriately styled themselves. The Renaissance strove to revive antiquity in its ideas and in its art; the Reformation to return to a more primitive and purer form of Christianity.
In order to facilitate the study of the main currents that characterize the development of French literatiu'e during the 16th century, it is advantageous to make two main divisions. A third, extending from about to the first years of the 17 th, is a period of transition betokening new ideals. The Middle Ages had not ignored the Latin classics, and had even translated and imitated them, but only as a means of arriving at a better understanding of Christianity and of improving moral life.
The chief innovation effected by the Humanists of the 16th century was the desire to study and understand antiquity " for its own sake ", and by thus doing, to transform the very base of education and intellectual culture. More- over, though the Middle Ages were fairly well acquainted with Latin literature, they had almost wholly ignored Greek, which was looked upon as the language of the chief heresies. The Humanists were the first to give Greek an equal place with Latin. The contact with Italy acted as a kind of revelation upon the Frenchmen of those days.
To this must be added the peculiar charm of the Italian climate and manners. The Italy of the Renaissance, invaded, devastated and trampled under foot by these men of the north, took possession of its rude conquerors, as Greece of yore had done in the case of the inhabitants of Italy. They conceived the idea of a new life, freer, more ornate, more human in a word, than the one they had been leading for centuries.
The whole of Europe became italianized, almost unawares, and in less than fifty years the remnants of medieval tradition disap- peared. No doubt many of the tendencies peculiar to the Renaissance already existed out of Italy, but it was Italian genius which gave the decisive impulse. The primary characteristic of the new spirit is the develop- ment of individualism, than which we can imagine nothing more directly opposed to the Middle Ages.
It is for that reason that Villon and Commines may be considered as the first among modern writers. They are already somebody. With Clement Maxot this trait becomes more accentuated, his poems being filled with himself and himself alone. From this free exercise and development of the faculties another idea springs, which can be called the leading idea of the Renaissance, and of which Fran9oi8 Eabelais is justly looked upon as the living incarnation — the idea of the good- ness or of the divinity of nature, the contradiction and nega- tion of what the schoolmen and the theologians had taught for more than a thousand years.
Rabelais was the first, with the exception of Jean de Meung in the 13th century, among French writers, to teach that the great foes of man were custom, rule, authority, and restraint; that by every means in his power it is man's duty to attack and destroy these enemies; and finally, that the perfection of education is the liberation of the instincts. Having re- discovered nature and freed the individual, the Renaissance felt that the development of neither could be left absolutely to chance, and strove to make imitation of nature and indi- vidual development dependent on the realization of beauty.
The poets of the Fleiade, and especially Eonaard their leader, were the first to perceive the full force of this new sentiment, md to reveal it to their contemporaries. They aimed at pro- ducing " works of art ", and this ambition accounts for and explains their subsidiary efforts— their scorn for old literary forms, their imitatiou of classical rhythmical combinations, and their application of pagan mythology to French poetry.
What they tried to steal from antiquity was not its philosophy, but only its art.
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Thus they were the first to point to the importance in literature of form and style, which are among the essential factors of the French classicism. When men found out that a glorification of nature could lead to a justification of immorality, and that they were paying too dearly for the benefits of the Renaissance, the Beformation broke out. Nothing could be more erroneous than to represent the Reformation as analogous in its principles to the Renaissance.
It is precisely the contrary. The only point they have in common is that, for a short time, they fought for the emancipation of the individual, and consequently stood face to face with the same enemies — the schoolmen and the theologians. In preaching the Reformation Lnther and Calvin not only attacked Papacy and Catholicism; their object waa to destroy the Renaissance, which was a new biith of pagan antiquity, whereas the Reformation represented a return to primitive Christianity, as we have already said.
This explains the opposition which the Reformation encoun- tered at first in France. The country had not emancipated itaelf from the bonds of scholasticism and asceticism imme- diately to relapse into the tyranny of Protestant Puritanism. The race asserted itself, and each went its own way. The first effect of this transformation was what has been happily called the Latinization of Culture.
Towards , or thereabouts, in spite of the efforts of a few enthusiasts like Henri Etienne, the language of Homer more and more takes refuge in the seclusion of the colleges, and becomes once again the object of the attention of none but scholars and erudites. The dramatists of the 16th century no longer go to Sophocles or to Aristophanes for lessons in their art, but rather to Seneca and Plautus, and French writers in general, finding that Latin had qualities more in keeping with the genius of their race, returned to Latin tradition after the short poetic intoxi- cation evoked by Greece.
Firstly, fhe foundation of literature on psychological and moral observation announced by Amyot's translation of Plutarch, and carried out in the Essays of Michel de Montaigne. Nature, while remaining our guide, must be submitted to rule and discipline. Although the French people refused to accept the sombre and despairing morality of Calvin, they saw the necessity of reacting against the growing licentiousness of morals, and gradually fhe philosophy of reason took the place of that of nature.
Finally, fhe subordination of literature to social life, which was to prevail in French literature for a period of nearly two hundred years, appears clearly in the works of the last writers of the century, who felt that the development of self might lead to the ultimate destruction of society. This is the central idea of French classicism, and to see it fully at work we shall have to wait till the 17th century. In the Illustrations des Gavles et Singularitez de Troie he attempts to prove the Trojan origin of the French people, a favourite theme in the Middle Ages and 16th century.
It is a medley of crude erudition, in which turgidity and bom- bast alternate with graceful fancy. By far the greatest among the poets of the first half of the 16th century is Clement Marot. Clement Marot was born at Cahors alx ut In he followed the king, Francis I, to Italy, and was wounded and taken prisoner at the battle of Pavia. He was liberated in the following spring, thanks to the intervention of Margaret, his patroness ; but having made many enemies by his witty satires, aimed especially at the Sorbonne, and strongly suspected of leaning to Protestantism, he first fled to the court of the Queen of Navarre , whose sympathies were on the side of the Iteformers, and later to that of the Duchess of Ferrara.
He returned to France in , but only on condition of a formal abjuration. The great success of Marot's translation of the Psalms awakened the suspicions of the Sorbonne; they complained to the king, and Marot thought best once more to leave France. He made his way to Geneva, but his morals lacked the austerity required of a follower of Calvin, and he went on to Turin, where he died in Both by poetic inspiration and education Marot is closely connected with the preceding century. He changed practically nothing in the traditional medieval verse-forms and rhythmical com- binations,. Charming a poet as Marot ia, he cannot be ranked among the greatest; he was too much lacking in intensity of feeling, picturesqueness of vision, and vividness of style.
Except in the translation of the Psalms, where the subject lent him some dignity, his work is in the main pretty rather than beautiful, light rather than strong, graceful rather than grand. He never could rise to higher flights. This must be home in mind in order pro- perly to understand the reform attempted by Eonsard and his associates in the second half of the century.
He is one of the most famous representatives of the e. Of his verse the most characteristic are the epistles and epigrams. Some of his ballads, too, are delightful, and everyone has read the famous rondeau, Aa Bon Vieux Tempi un Train d'Amouf regvoii. In point of style and language he was a purist, as is proved by the fact that he is almost a-s easy to read as a modern writer. We have seen that in more than one respect Marot continues the Middle Ages, but in two points he is a real child of the Renaissance, namely, in his belief in the goodness of nature, and in the personal note which pervades his whole work.
Among Marot's imitators the most noticeable is Margaret of Navarre , sister of Francis I, his patroness. Her poetry presents a strange mixture of gallantry and mysticism. The greater part of her works were collected by a publisher of Lyons in , under the title of Marguerites de la Marguerite des Princesses. This collection includes, besides poems, four mysteries and two farces, thus showing how varied was the talent of this most gifted woman, who so admirably represents the genius of her time. She is also the author of a series of prose tales, which will be noticed elsewhere.
His fame was short-lived, being eclipsed by the appearance of the PUiade. He was the literary purv-eyor of courtB amusements in his rondeaux, qtiatrains, and poetical mascarades, n Like Marot and most of his followers, he affected much the biasoTi, which celebrates an eyebrow, a lip, a jewel, a flower, or a precious atone. The transition from Marot to Eonsard is to be traced chiefly through the so-called School of Lyons, at the head of wUicb stands Maurice Scfeve, and which includes also Louise Lab6, la belle arrdih'e, as she was called, besides several other lady poets, and Antoine Heroet U