The Improvisatore

Front Cover
Hurd and Houghton, 1869 - 341 pages
0 Reviews
Reviews aren't verified, but Google checks for and removes fake content when it's identified

From inside the book

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 123 - ... that which he formed in marble. What giant forms are those which seize upon our eye and our thoughts as we enter ! But, when intoxicated with this view, let us turn our eyes to the background of the chapel, whose whole wall is a high altar of art and thought. The great chaotic picture, from the floor to the roof, shows itself there like a jewel, of which all the rest is only the setting.
Page 36 - While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; 'When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; 'And when Rome falls — the World.
Page 254 - I had too much imagination, and too little reflection; the pedant, that 1 had not sufficiently occupied myself with the Latin language. The politician always asked me, in the social circle, about the political news, in which I was not at home, and inquired only to show my want of knowledge. A young nobleman, who only lived for his stud, lamented over my small experience in horseflesh, and united with others in a Miserere over me, because I had more interest in myself than in, his horse. . . . The...
Page 11 - I felt that his hand was ice-cold, and that he trembled. On this I grew more uneasy, and called my mother : but now he seized me firmly by the shoulder, and, shaking me violently, said, " I will beat thee if thou art not quiet ! " Then he bound his pocket-handkerchief round my arm, and held me fast, but bent himself down to me the next moment, kissed me vehemently, called me his dear little Antonio, and whispered, " Do thou also pray to the Madonna ! " ' " Is the string lost ?
Page 122 - Angelo has breathed forth in colors upon the ceiling and the walls. I contemplated his mighty sibyls and wondrously glorious prophets, every one of them a subject for a painting. My eyes drank in the magnificent processions, the beautiful groups of angels; they were not to me painted pictures; all stood living before me. The rich tree of knowledge from which Eve gave the fruit to Adam; the Almighty God, who floated over the waters, not borne up by angels, as the old masters represented him - no,...
Page 255 - I felt that it must either bleed, or become callous ' No beast is, however, so cruel as man ! Had I been rich and independent, the colours of everything would soon have changed. Every one of them was more prudent, more deeply grounded, more rational than I. I learned to smile obligingly where I could have wept ; bowed to those whom I lightly esteemed, and listened attentively to the empty gossip of fools. - Dissimulation, bitterness...
Page 28 - Cardinals, in their mantles woven with silver, advanced under canopies adorned with flowers ; monks of various orders followed, all bearing burning tapers. When the procession came out of the church an immense crowd followed. We were carried along with it, — my mother held me firmly by the shoulder, that I might not be separated from her. Thus I went on, shut in by the crowd ; I could see nothing but the blue sky above my head. All at once there was sent forth a piercing cry — it rang forth on...
Page 43 - ... life; they fell upon us in myriads with their poison-stings ; the buffaloes often looked as if they were covered over with this buzzing swarm, which beset them as if they were carrion, until, tormented to madness, they betook themselves to the Tiber, and rolled themselves in the yellow water. The Roman who, in the hot summer days, groans in the almost expiring streets, and crawls along by the house-sides, as if he would drink up the shadow which is cast down from the walls, has still no idea...
Page 262 - ... and I had expected attention and rapture, they seemed indifferent, and made only cold and every-day remarks. I broke off at the conclusion of the second canto; it was impossible for me to read any more. My poem, which had seemed to me so beautiful and so spiritual, now lay like a deformed doll, a puppet with glass eyes and twisted features ; it was as if they had breathed poison over my image of beauty ' They had mistaken both it and me, but my soul could not bear it. I went out into the great...

Bibliographic information