ompositions which distinguish
the period of his activity as an author in London. Lucian rather than
Plato or Cicero determined the form of his dialogue. An element of the
burlesque distinguishes his method of approaching religious and moral
problems in the _Spaccio della Bestia_, and the _Cavallo Pegaseo_. And
though he exchanged the manner of his model for more serious exposition
in the trio of metaphysical dialogues, named _La Cena delle Ceneri,
Della Causa_, and _Dell' Infinito Universo_, yet the irresistible
tendency to dramatic satire emerges even there in the description of
England and in the characters of the indispensable pedant buffoon. His
dialogue on the _Eroici Furori_ is sustained at a high pitch of aspiring
fervor. Mystical in its attempt to adumbrate the soul's thirst for truth
and beauty, it adopts the method of a running commentary upon poems, in
the manner of a discursive and fantastic _Vita Nuova_. In his Italian
style, Bruno owed much to the fashion set by Aretino. The study of
Aretino's comedies is apparent in _Il Candelajo_. The stringing together
of words and ideas in triplets, balanced by a second set of words and
ideas in antithetical triplets--this trick of rhetoric, which wearies a
modern reader of his prose, seems to have been copied straight from
Aretino. The coinage of fantastic titles, of which _Lo Spaccio della
Bestia Trionfante_ contributed in some appreciable degree to Bruno's
martyrdom, should be ascribed to the same influence. The source of these
literary affectations was a bad one. Aretino, Doni, and such folk were
no fit masters for Giordano Bruno even in so slight a matter as artistic
form. Yet, in this respect, he shared a corrupt taste which was common
to his generation, and proved how fully he represented the age in which
he lived. It is not improbable that the few contemporary readers of his
works, especially in euphuistic England, admired the gewgaws he so
plentifully scattered and rendered so brilliant by the coruscations of
his wit. When, however, the real divine oestrum descends upon him, he
discards those follies. Then his language, like his thought, is all his
own: sublime, impassioned, burning, turbid; instinct with a deep
volcanic fire of genuine enthusiasm. The thought is simple; the diction
direct; the attitude of mind and the turn of expression are singularly
living, surprisingly modern. We hear the man speak, as he spoke at Fulke
Greville's supper-party, as he spoke a