of variety of incident or of detailed description. The Triumphs are dreary lists of names. Perhaps Boileau was thinking especially of these compositions when he wrote

"Un sonnet sans défaut vaut un long poëme."

Petrarch has written many sonnets of the sort-quite worth his long poem.

High breeding.

It is entirely in accord with what we have already seen of Petrarch's character that he should affect to despise his Italian rhymes. He calls them nugo and nugellæ, and intimates that, had he known they would be so popular, he would have taken more trouble with them. No wonder Villemain exclaims, "Hypocrisie de poëte, Messieurs!" Petrarch's MSS. are full of corrections, but, correct as he might, he could never bring his verse to that condition of flawlessness for which his artistic instincts perpetually craved. And it is just this which offends us. This sparkling smoothness as of a diamond, this eternal worship of form, this determination to risk nothing—such things are bound to pall. We admire his high breeding, we almost envy his unfailing distinction of manner, and yet—and yet we soon tire of the company of this poetical fine gentleman. Coleridge has said of the Italian poets of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, "They placed the essence of poetry in the art. The excellence at which they aimed consisted in the exquisite polish of the diction combined with the avoidance of every word which a gentleman would not use in dignified conversation,

and of every word and phrase which none but a learned man could use." Who introduced this ideal, and, in other respects, set the fashion for many generations to come? Well, it was not Dante.

Petrarch was the first of moderns to realise the potentialities of style. The beauty of Dante's phrase A master of is inseparable from the beauty of his idea. style. It is the soul expressing itself in the face. With Petrarch style is distinct from, independent of, even antagonistic to, natural charm. It is a thing to study, to take pains with, to improve. As your milliner might define it, it is the Muse's parure and coiffure. Melody and grace-these are the objects of Petrarch's solicitude and toil. His verse is as unsubstantial as gossamer; and that is why the Triumphs fail. For an epic, even an allegorical epic, you must have a solid foundation. As regards the lesser and better poems, Petrarch chooses his themes at random. His sentimental temperament can turn to account the most trivial incident, the most fleeting impression. Like the chameleon, he can extract nutriment out of the very air. He does not startle you with much originality. He soliloquises simply, and you are tempted to say that there is nothing new, that somewhere, at some time, you have heard most of it before. But never, believe me, in that magical form. rhythm, the order of the words, are imperative; and hence it is that Petrarch is practically untranslatable. Take them out of their setting, rob them of the accompaniment of their music, and his thoughts seem commonplace. For Petrarch was not, like Dante, an

The

observer of outward things. He did not fill a notebook with prospective metaphors and similes, as Tennyson is said to have done, and as Scartazzini suggests was the practice of the great Florentine in his travels. In fact, Petrarch has nothing of the botanist. He is the high priest of egoism, of introspection, the prophet of the individual heart.

Let no one suppose, however, that Petrarch was only a dreamer, that he had no robuster qualities. Patriot and He was genuinely attached to his country, moralist. and in one sense a better patriot than even Dante, whose love for Italy, always less than his love for Florence, was almost suffocated in his desire for the accomplishment of an impossible dream. Petrarch, the guest of France, involved in no civil broils and blinded by no theoretical prejudices, thought much more of the Italian nationality, of Italy as a whole, and, in so far as he had any unselfish aim, it was for the reconciliation of his quarrelsome and misguided countrymen. He prayed, and to all appearance prayed earnestly, for the surcease of strife between the different commonwealths, for the peace of Italy. At the close of his eloquent and impassioned ode, Italia mia, benchè 'l parlar sia indarno, he observes, addressing his poem

"Proverai tua ventura

Fra magnanimi pochi a chi 'l ben piace.

Di' lor: Chi m' assicura ?

I'vo gridando: Pace, pace, pace."

In this same ode he puts his finger on one of the worst features in contemporary politics-namely, the

growing employment of mercenary troops, who, as he says, "play with death," surrendering instead of fighting whenever it suits their purpose. That this poem possesses both force and feeling was shown very clearly five centuries later, when it was enthusiastically cheered by the Italian revolutionists, and its recitation prohibited by the Austrian Government. As for force, I do not know where in literature to look for a more scathing denunciation of Papal corruption than Petrarch's sonnet on the court at Avignon. Commencing "Flame from the sky upon thy tresses rains," it speaks of chambers where

"thy girls and old men go

Wantoning, and with bellows, fire, and glass,
Beelzebub moves nimbly to and fro.”

It concludes by pointing a contrast between all this luxury and the privations of the Early Church; and the last line is also the strongest

"Now liv'st thou so, that the stink reaches God."

With regard to technique, Petrarch is the reverse of an innovator. He follows the rules laid down by Dante in the De Vulgari Eloquentia; and Technique. his sonnets are all of the simplest type. Variations occur principally in the tercets, and concern the order of the rhymes. It is worthy of remark, however, that Petrarch was one of the first to employ the madrigal. This was a literary adaptation of pastoral song, and consists of from two to four triplets, with a concluding couplet. The couplets might be increased from one to three; and a form of madrigal

was found having no couplets, and composed of three triplets. Later, madrigal - writing became a craze with Italian rhymers, and was parodied in madrigalesse.1

His disciples.

And so we come to the subject of Petrarch's influence on the Italian lyric. I cannot dwell at length on this topic, but it is expedient to offer some remarks by way of warning. "Petrarchism" was not immediately fatal to the dolce stil nuovo, echoes of which are audible in certain, presumably youthful, songs of Fazio degli Uberti. Nor were these the only jarring notes. Already I have touched on the moralising tone of one of Petrarch's disciples - Antonio Beccari. Others of the school thought less of love and more of politics. All, however - and this it is that stamps them as true "Petrarchists"-unite in paying close attention to form. In striving to be correct, they necessarily lost some of that energy and freedom which in its highest manifestation we term genius; and tended to sink, as in the time of the Renaissance they did sink, into mere formalism and pedantry. Among "Petrarchising" versifiers of the fourteenth century the Cinquecentists, better critics than poets, were perhaps right in assigning the palm to Buonaccorso da Montemagno; but nowadays it is more interesting to recall the effect of Petrarch's example on writers of the calibre of Giovanni Boccaccio and Francesco Sacchetti, who,

1 There is still perhaps no more generally serviceable edition of the Canzoniere than that of Leopardi, with the additions of Ambrosoli (Florence, 1870) or Camerini (Milan, 1876).