hich the whole
valley of the Paglia was visible, holding lively conversations with the
cardinals. The courtiers, who ventured down from the heights on their
hunting expeditions, found the heat below intolerable, and the scorched
plains like a very hell, while the monastery, with its cool, shady
woods, seemed like an abode of the blessed.

All this is genuine modern enjoyment, not a reflection of antiquity. As
surely as the ancients themselves felt in the same manner, so surely,
nevertheless, were the scanty expressions of the writers whom Pius knew
insufficient to awaken in him such enthusiasm.

The second great age of Italian poetry, which now followed at the end of
the fifteenth century, as well as the Latin poetry of the same period,
is rich in proofs of the powerful effect of nature on the human mind.
The first glance at the lyric poets of that time will suffice to
convince us. Elaborate descriptions, it is true, of natural scenery are
very rare, for the reason that, in this energetic age, the novels and
the lyric or epic poetry had something else to deal with. Bojardo and
Ariosto paint nature vigorously, but as briefly as possible, and with no
effort to appeal by their descriptions to the feelings of the reader,
which they endeavor to reach solely by their narrative and characters.

Letter-writers and the authors of philosophical dialogues are, in fact,
better evidences of the growing love of nature than the poets. The
novelist Bandello, for example, observes rigorously the rules of his
department of literature; he gives us in his novels themselves not a
word more than is necessary on the natural scenery amid which the action
of his tales takes place, but in the dedications which always precede
them we meet with charming descriptions of nature as the setting for his
dialogues and social pictures. Among letter-writers, Aretino
unfortunately must be named as the first who has fully painted in words
the splendid effect of light and shadow in an Italian sunset.

We sometimes find the feeling of the poets, also, attaching itself with
tenderness to graceful scenes of country life. Tito Strozza, about the
year 1480, describes in a Latin elegy the dwelling of his mistress. We
are shown an old ivy-clad house, half hidden in trees, and adorned with
weather-stained frescoes of the saints, and near it a chapel, much
damaged by the violence of the river Po, which flowed hard by; not far
off, the priest ploughs his few barren