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It came deep out of the author's heart of hearts; and it goes deep, and through long generations, into ours. The people of Verona, when they saw him on the streets, used to say, "Eccovi l' uom ch' e stato all' Inferno, See, there is the man that was in Hell!" Ah yes, he had been in Hell; in Hell enough, in long severe sorrow and struggle; as the like of him is pretty sure to have been.
Vassi in Sanleo, e discendesi in Noli, Montasi su Bismantova in cacume Con esso i piè; ma qui convien ch' uom voli. Of a truth, our horses seemed rather to fly than scramble up and down these rugged precipices; Visconti cheerily animating them with the brave spirit that was in him, and lending them his wary driver's help of hand and voice at need.
But Alfieri knew that there was something very wrong about himself, he felt a deficiency, a jar in his own soul; he felt, as he describes in the famous sonnet at the back of Fabre's portrait of him, that he did not know whether he was noble or base, whether he was Achilles or Thersites. "Uom, sei tu grande o vile? Mori, il saprai." Mean and great; both, I think, at once.
The best account I know of this state of being rapt in a mysterious sense of reality is the one that Dante gives: "O immaginativa, che ne rube tal volta sì di fuor, ch' uom non s'accorge perchè d'intorno suonin mille tube; chi move te, se il senso non ti porge? Moveti lume, che nel ciel s'informa, per sè, o per voler che giù lo scorge.
Un uom ti si prosterna Innamorato al suolo Volgi ver me la cruna Di tua pupilla bruna, Vaga come la luna, Ardente come il sole. "Here," says Boito, "is a myth both beautiful and deep.
Se al passato v'e rimedio, essa lo prescrive, lo somministra, presta lume e vigore per metterlo in opera a qualunque costo; se non v'e, essa da il, modo di fare realmento e in effeto, cio che 1' uom dice in proverbio, della necessita virtu.
"Io son colui che tenni ambo le chiavi Del cuor di Federigo e che le volsi Serrando e disserando sì soavi Che dal segreto suo quasi ogni uom tolsi." It is but four miles down the hillside and through the valley along Via Pisana to Empoli in the plain.
It will be said that the same is true of all the very greatest artists, and so it is in a measure. But as to the others, that truth comes as an afterthought and an admission. As to Michael Angelo, it is primary and overwhelming impression. "We are not sure that we comprehend him," say the centuries as they pass, "but of this we are sure: Simil ne maggior uom non nacque mai."
Something indefinable had happened and made a difference. The soft warm rain of blossoms which had fallen just where she was did it really come because she was there? What spirit was there among the boughs? "Questa montagna e tale, Che sempre al cominciar di sotto a grave. E quanto uom piu va su e men fa male." DANTE: Il Purgatorio.
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