Little as it became him, Guarini chose to adopt the attitude of a guardian of morals, and Bellarmino’s words clearly possessed a special sting. This pose was in truth but a part of the general attitude he assumed towards the author of the Aminta. His superficial propriety authorized him, in his own eyes, to utter a formal censure upon the amorous dream of the ideal poet. He paid the price of his unwarranted conceit. Those passages in which he was at most pains to contrast his ethical philosophy with Tasso’s imaginative Utopia are those in which he most clearly betrayed his own insufferable pedantry; while critics even in his own day saw through the unexceptionable morality of his frigid declamations and ruthlessly exposed the sentimental corruption that lay beneath. When we compare his parody in the fourth chorus of the Pastor fido with Tasso’s great ode; his sententious ‘Piaccia se lice’ with Tasso’s ‘S’ ei piace, ei lice’; his utterly banal
Speriam: che ’l
sol cadente anco rinasce;
E ’l ciel,
quando men luce,
L’ aspettato
seren spesso n’ adduce,
with Tasso’s superb, even though borrowed, paganism:
Amiam: che ’l sol
si muore, e poi rinasce;
A noi sua breve
luce
S’ asconde,
e ’l sonno eterna notte adduce—
when we make this comparison we have the spiritual measure of the man. A similar comparison will give us his measure as a poet. Take the graceful but over-elaborated picture:
Quell’ augellin che
canta
Si dolcemente, e lascivetto
vola
Or dall’ abete al faggio,
Ed or dal faggio al mirto,
S’ avesse umano spirto
Direbbe: ‘Ardo
d’ amore, ardo d’ amore!’
Compare with this the spontaneous sketch of Tasso:
Odi quell’ usignuolo
Che va di ramo in ramo
Cantando: ’Io amo,
io amo!’[191]
Or again, with the irresistible slyness of the final chorus of the Aminta already quoted compare the sententious lines with which Guarini closed his play:
O fortunata coppia,
Che pianto ha seminato, e
riso accoglie!
Con quante amare doglie
Hai raddolciti tu gli affetti
tuoi!
Quinci imparate voi,
O ciechi e troppo teneri mortali,
I sinceri diletti, e i veri
mali.
Non e sana ogni gioia,
Ne mal cio che v’ annoia.
Quello e vero gioire,
Che nasce da virtu dopo il
soffrire.