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At court they spoke the language of the country; and Isabella who with her friends sang boleros and danced the cachuca; with her brother, read Racine and Corneille was equally happy while she hung enraptured upon the strains of Pergolese's music, or gazed entranced upon the pictures of Correggio and the Veronese.
On the topmost twig of the tallest tree a mocking-bird poised himself, and sympathetically poured out his vesper canticle, a song of condolence to the prostrate figure who, just then, would have preferred the echo of a man's deep voice to all Pergolese's strains.
Anima pellegrina seems to be Italian of no later date than Pergolese's airs, and suits the time as the familiar phrase of the more modern love-song suited the day of Bellini. But it is only Italian, bygone Italian, and not a part of the sweet past of any other European nation, but only of this. To the same local boundaries and enclosed skies belongs the charm of those buoyant words:
Anima pellegrina seems to be Italian of no later date than Pergolese's airs, and suits the time as the familiar phrase of the more modern love-song suited the day of Bellini. But it is only Italian, bygone Italian, and not a part of the sweet past of any other European nation, but only of this. To the same local boundaries and enclosed skies belongs the charm of those buoyant words:
We draw the line variously, but every one draws it somewhere. . . . Magdalen, hey? If I mistake not, the foundationers of Magdalen including, perhaps, some who were undergraduates with you are assembled in the college hall at this moment to celebrate Christmas, and hear the choir sing Pergolese's "Gloria." 'The reminder hurts me, said I 'if that be any gratification to you.
The "Martyrdom of S. Catherine" and the fresco of Christ after the Flagellation are two masterpieces, wherein the depths of pathos have been sounded, and not a single note of discord is struck. All harsh and disagreeable details are either eliminated, or so softened that the general impression, as in Pergolese's music, is one of profoundest and yet sweetest sorrow. Luini's genius was not tragic.
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