This, at first, I thought
to be a somewhat inconsistent; but on consideration I found I was wrong.
to be a somewhat inconsistent; but on consideration I found I was wrong.
Stories from the Italian Poets
The lover at last fell ill;
he fairly wasted away; and was so unhappy, that he gave up all his
feastings and entertainments. The only pleasure he took was in a solitary
wood, in which he used to plunge himself in order to give way to his
grief and lamentations.
It happened one day, early in the morning, while he was thus occupied,
that Iroldo came into the wood to amuse himself with bird-catching. He
had Tisbina with him; and as they were coming along, they overheard their
neighbour during one of his paroxysms, and stopped to listen to what he
said.
"Hear me," exclaimed he, "ye flowers and ye woods. Hear to what a pass of
wretchedness I am come, since that cruel one will hear me not. Hear, O
sun that hast taken away the night from the heavens, and you, ye stars,
and thou the departing moon, hear the voice of my grief for the last
time, for exist I can no longer; my death is the only way left me to
gratify that proud beauty, to whom it has pleased Heaven to give a
cruel heart with a merciful countenance. Fain would I have died in her
presence. It would have comforted me to see her pleased even with that
proof of my love. But I pray, nevertheless, that she may never know it;
since, cruel as she is, she might blame herself for having shewn a scorn
so extreme; and I love her so, I would not have her pained for all her
cruelty. Surely I shall love her even in my grave. "
With these words, turning pale with his own mortal resolution, Prasildo
drew his sword, and pronouncing the name of Tisbina more than once with a
loving voice, as though its very sound would be sufficient to waft him
to Paradise, was about to plunge the steel into his bosom, when the lady
herself, by leave of her husband, whose manly visage was all in tears for
pity, stood suddenly before him.
"Prasildo," said she, "if you love me, listen to me. You have often told
me that you do so. Now prove it. I happen to be threatened with nothing
less than the loss of life and honour. Nothing short of such a calamity
could have induced me to beg of you the service I am going to request;
since there is no greater shame in the world than to ask favours from
those to whom we have refused them. But I now promise you, that if you do
what I desire, your love shall be returned. I give you my word for it. I
give you my honour. On the other side of the wilds of Barbary is a garden
which has a wall of iron. It has four gates. Life itself keeps one; Death
another; Poverty the third; the fairy of Riches the fourth. He who goes
in at one gate must go out at the other opposite; and in the midst of the
garden is a tree, tall as the reach of an arrow, which produces pearls
for blossoms. It is called the Tree of Wealth, and has fruit of emeralds
and boughs of gold. I must have a bough of that tree, or suffer the most
painful consequences. Now, then, if you love me, I say, prove it. Prove
it, and most assuredly I shall love you in turn, better than ever you
loved myself. "
What need of saying that Prasildo, with haste and joy, undertook to do
all that she required? If she had asked the sun and stars, and the whole
universe, he would have promised them. Quitting her in spite of his love,
he set out on the journey without delay, only dressing himself before he
left the city in the habit of a pilgrim.
Now you must know, that Iroldo and his lady had set Prasildo on that
adventure, in the hope that the great distance which he would have to
travel, and the change which it might assist time to produce, would
deliver him from his passion. At all events, in case this good end was
not effected before he arrived at the garden, they counted to a certainty
on his getting rid of it when he did; because the fairy of that garden,
which was called the Garden of Medusa, was of such a nature, that
whosoever did but look on her countenance forgot the reason for his going
thither; and whoever saluted, touched, and sat down to converse by her
side, forgot all that had ever occurred in his lifetime.
Away, however, on his steed went our bold lover; all alone, or rather
with Love for his companion; and so, riding hard till he came to the Red
Sea, he took ship, and journeyed through Egypt, and came to the mountains
of Barca, where he overtook an old grey-headed palmer.
Prasildo told the palmer the reason of his coming, and the palmer told
him what the reader has heard about the garden; adding, that he must
enter by the gate of Poverty, and take no arms or armour with him,
excepting a looking-glass for a shield, in which the fairy might behold
her beauty. The old man gave him other directions necessary for his
passing out of the gate of Riches; and Prasildo, thanking him, went on,
and in thirty days found himself entering the garden with the greatest
ease, by the gate of Poverty.
The garden looked like a Paradise, it was so full of beautiful trees, and
flowers, and fresh grass. Prasildo took care to hold the shield over his
eyes, that he might avoid seeing the fairy Medusa; and in this manner,
guarding his approach, he arrived at the Golden Tree. The fairy, who was
reclining against the trunk of it, looked up, and saw herself in the
glass. Wonderful was the effect on her. Instead of her own white-and-red
blooming face, she beheld that of a dreadful serpent. The spectacle made
her take to flight in terror; and the lover, finding his object so far
gained, looked freely at the tree, and climbed it, and bore away a
bough[2].
With this he proceeded to the gate of Riches. It was all of loadstone,
and opened with a great noise. But he passed through it happily, for he
made the fairy who kept it a present of half the bough; and so he issued
forth out of the garden, with indescribable joy.
Behold our loving adventurer now on his road home. Every step of the way
appeared to him a thousand. He took the road of Nubia to shorten the
journey; crossed the Arabian Gulf with a breeze in his favour; and
travelling by night as well as by day, arrived one fine morning in
Babylon.
No sooner was he there, than he sent to tell the object of his passion
how fortunate he had been. He begged her to name her own place and time
for receiving the bough at his hands, taking care to remind her of her
promise; and he could not help adding, that he should die if she broke it.
Terrible was the grief of Tisbina at this unlooked-for news. She threw
herself on her couch in despair, and bewailed the hour she was born.
"What on earth am I to do? " cried the wretched lady; "death itself is no
remedy for a case like this, since it is only another mode of breaking my
word. To think that Prasildo should return from the garden of Medusa! who
could have supposed it possible? And yet, in truth, what a fool I was to
suppose any thing impossible to love! O my husband! little didst thou
think what thou thyself advisedst me to promise! "
The husband was coming that moment towards the room; and overhearing his
wife grieving in this distracted manner, he entered and clasped her in
his arms. On learning the cause of her affliction, he felt as though he
should have died with her on the spot.
"Alas! " cried he, "that it should be possible for me to be miserable
while I am so dear to your heart. But you know, O my soul! that when love
and jealousy come together, the torment is the greatest in the world.
Myself--myself, alas! caused the mischief, and myself alone ought to
suffer for it. You must keep your promise. You must abide by the word you
have given, especially to one who has undergone so much to perform what
you asked him. Sweet face, you must. But oh! see him not till after I am
dead. Let Fortune do with me what she pleases, so that I be saved from a
disgrace like that. It will be a comfort to me in death to think that
I alone, while I was on earth, enjoyed the fond looking of that lovely
face. Nay," concluded the wretched husband, "I feel as though I should
die over again, if I could call to mind in my grave how you were taken
from me. "
Iroldo became dumb for anguish. It seemed to him as if his very heart had
been taken out of his breast. Nor was Tisbina less miserable. She was as
pale as death, and could hardly speak to him, or bear to look at him. At
length turning her eyes upon him, she said, "And do you believe I could
make my poor sorry case out in this world without Iroldo? Can he bear,
himself, to think of leaving his Tisbina? he who has so often said, that
if he possessed heaven itself, he should not think it heaven without her?
O dearest husband, there is a way to make death not bitter to either of
us. It is to die together. I must only exist long enough to see Prasildo!
Death, alas! is in that thought; but the same death will release us. It
need not even be a hard death, saving our misery. There are poisons so
gentle in their deadliness, that we need but faint away into sleep, and
so, in the course of a few hours, be delivered. Our misery and our folly
will then alike be ended. "
Iroldo assenting, clasped his wife in distraction; and for a long time
they remained in the same posture, half stifled with grief, and bathing
one another's cheeks with their tears. Afterwards they sent quietly for
the poison; and the apothecary made up a preparation in a cup, without
asking any questions; and so the husband and wife took it. Iroldo drank
first, and then endeavoured to give the cup to his wife, uttering not a
word, and trembling in every limb; not because he was afraid of death,
but because he could not bear to ask her to share it. At length, turning
away his face and looking down, he held the cup towards her, and she took
it with a chilled heart and trembling hand, and drank the remainder to
the dregs. Iroldo then covered his face and head, not daring to see her
depart for the house of Prasildo; and Tisbina, with pangs bitterer than
death, left him in solitude.
Tisbina, accompanied by a servant, went to Prasildo, who could scarcely
believe his ears when he heard that she was at the door requesting to
speak with him. He hastened down to shew her all honour, leading her
from the door into a room by themselves; and when he found her in tears,
addressed her in the most considerate and subdued, yet still not unhappy
manner, taking her confusion for bashfulness, and never dreaming what a
tragedy had been meditated.
Finding at length that her grief was not to be done away, he conjured
her by what she held dearest on earth to let him know the cause of it;
adding, that he could still die for her sake, if his death would do her
any service. Tisbina spoke at these words; and Prasildo then heard what
he did not wish to hear. "I am in your hands," answered she, "while I
am yet alive. I am bound to my word, but I cannot survive the dishonour
which it costs me, nor, above all, the loss of the husband of my heart.
You also, to whose eyes I have been so welcome, must be prepared for my
disappearance from the earth. Had my affections not belonged to another,
ungentle would have been my heart not to have loved yourself, who are so
capable of loving; but (as you must well know) to love two at once is
neither fitting nor in one's power. It was for that reason I never loved
you, baron; I was only touched with compassion for you; and hence the
miseries of us all. Before this day closes, I shall have learnt the taste
of death. " And without further preface she disclosed to him how she and
her husband had taken poison.
Prasildo was struck dumb with horror. He had thought his felicity at
hand, and was at the same instant to behold it gone for ever. She who was
rooted in his heart, she who carried his life in her sweet looks, even
she was sitting there before him, already, so to speak, dead.
"It has pleased neither Heaven nor you, Tisbina," exclaimed the unhappy
young man, "to put my best feelings to the proof. Often have two lovers
perished for love; the world will now behold a sacrifice of three. Oh,
why did you not make a request to me in your turn, and ask me to free you
from your promise? You say you took pity on me! Alas, cruel one, confess
that you have killed yourself, in order to kill me. Yet why? Never did I
think of giving you displeasure; and I now do what I would have done at
any time to prevent it, I absolve you from your oath. Stay, or go this
instant, as it seems best to you. "
A stronger feeling than compassion moved the heart of Tisbina at these
words. "This indeed," replied she, "I feel to be noble; and truly could
I also now die to save you. But life is flitting; and how may I prove my
regard? "
Prasildo, who had in good earnest resolved that three instead of two
should perish, experienced such anguish at the extraordinary position in
which he found all three, that even her sweet words came but dimly to his
ears. He stood like a man stupified; then begged of her to give him but
one kiss, and so took his leave without further ado, only intimating that
her way out of the house lay before her. As he spake, he removed himself
from her sight.
Tisbina reached home. She found her husband with his head covered up as
she left him; but when she recounted what had passed, and the courtesy of
Prasildo, and how he had exacted from her but a single kiss, Iroldo got
up, and removed the covering from his face, and then clasping his hands,
and raising it to heaven, he knelt with grateful humility, and prayed God
to give pardon to himself, and reward to his neighbour. But before he had
ended, Tisbina sunk on the floor in a swoon. Her weaker frame was the
first to undergo the effects of what she had taken. Iroldo felt icy chill
to see her, albeit she seemed to sleep sweetly. Her aspect was not at all
like death. He taxed Heaven with cruelty for treating two loving hearts
so hardly, and cried out against Fortune, and life, and Love itself.
Nor was Prasildo happier in his chamber. He also exclaimed against the
bitter tyrant "whom men call Love;" and protested, that he would gladly
encounter any fate, to be delivered from the worse evils of his false and
cruel ascendency.
But his lamentations were interrupted. The apothecary who sold the potion
to the husband and wife was at the door below, requesting to speak with
him. The servants at first had refused to carry the message; but the old
man persisting, and saying it was a matter of life and death, entrance
for him into his master's chamber was obtained. "Noble sir," said the
apothecary, "I have always held you in love and reverence. I have
unfortunately reason to fear that somebody is desiring your death. This
morning a handmaiden of the lady Tisbina applied to me for a secret
poison; and just now it was told me, that the lady herself had been at
this house. I am old, sir, and you are young; and I warn you against the
violence and jealousies of womankind. Talk of their flames of love! Satan
himself burn them, say I, for they are fit for nothing better. Do not be
too much alarmed, however, this time: for in truth I gave the young woman
nothing of the sort that she asked for, but only a draught so innocent,
that if you have taken it, it will cost you but four or five hours'
sleep. So, in God's name, give up the whole foolish sex; for you may
depend on it, that in this city of ours there are ninety-nine wicked ones
among them to one good. "
You may guess how Prasildo's heart revived at these words. Truly might he
be compared to flowers in sunshine after rain; he rejoiced through all
his being, and displayed again a cheerful countenance. Hastily thanking
the old man, he lost no time in repairing to the house of his neighbours,
and telling them of their safety: and you may guess how the like joy was
theirs. But behold a wonder! Iroldo was so struck with the generosity
of his neighbour's conduct throughout the whole of this extraordinary
affair, that nothing would content his grateful though ever-grieving
heart, but he must fairly give up Tisbina after all. Prasildo, to do him
justice, resisted the proposition as stoutly as he could; but a man's
powers are ill seconded by an unwilling heart; and though the contest was
long and handsome, as is customary between generous natures, the husband
adhered firmly to his intention. In short, he abruptly quitted the city,
declaring that he would never again see it, and so left his wife to the
lover. And I must add (concluded the fair lady who was telling the story
to Rinaldo), that although Tisbina took his departure greatly to heart,
and sometimes felt as if she should die at the thoughts of it, yet since
he persisted in staying away, and there appeared no chance of his ever
doing otherwise, she did, as in that case we should all do, we at least
that are young and kind, and took the handsome Prasildo for second
spouse. [3]
PART THE SECOND
The conclusion of this part of the history of Iroldo and Prasildo was
scarcely out of the lady's mouth, when a tremendous voice was heard among
the trees, and Rinaldo found himself confronting a giant of a frightful
aspect, who with a griffin on each side of him was guarding a cavern
that contained the enchanted horse which had belonged to the brother of
Angelica. A combat ensued; and after winning the horse, and subsequently
losing the company of the lady, the Paladin, in the course of his
adventures, came upon a knight who lay lamenting in a green place by a
fountain. The knight heeding nothing but his grief, did not perceive the
new comer, who for some time remained looking at him in silence, till,
desirous to know the cause of his sorrow, he dismounted from his horse,
and courteously begged to be informed of it. The stranger in his turn
looked a little while in silence at Rinaldo, and then told him he had
resolved to die, in order to be rid of a life of misery. And yet, he
added, it was not his own lot which grieved him, so much as that of a
noble friend who would die at the same time, and who had nobody to help
him.
The knight, who was no other than Tisbina's husband Iroldo, then briefly
related the events which the reader has heard, and proceeded to state how
he lead traversed the world ever since for two years, when it was his
misfortune to arrive in the territories of the enchantress Falerina,
whose custom it was to detain foreigners in prison, and daily give a
couple of them (a lady and a cavalier) for food to a serpent which kept
the entrance of her enchanted garden. To this serpent he himself was
destined to be sacrificed, when Prasildo, the possessor of his wife
Tisbina, hearing of his peril, set out instantly from Babylon, and rode
night and day till he came to the abode of the enchantress, determined
that nothing should hinder him from doing his utmost to save the life of
a friend so generous. Save it he did, and that by a generosity no less
devoted; for having attempted in vain to bribe the keeper of the prison,
he succeeded in prevailing on the man to let him substitute himself for
his friend; and he was that very day, perhaps that very moment, preparing
for the dreadful death to which he would speedily be brought.
"I will not survive such a friend," concluded Iroldo. "I know I shall
contend with his warders to no purpose; but let the wretches come, if
they will, by thousands; I shall fight them to the last gasp. One comfort
in death, one joy I shall at all events experience. I shall be with
Prasildo in the other world. And yet when I think what sort of death he
must endure, even the release from my own miseries afflicts me, since it
will not prevent him from undergoing that horror. "
The Paladin shed tears to hear of a case so piteous and affectionate, and
in a tone of encouragement offered his services towards the rescue of his
friend. Iroldo looked at him in astonishment, but sighed and said, "Ah,
Sir, I thank you with all my heart, and you are doubtless a most noble
cavalier, to be so fearless and good-hearted; but what right have I to
bring you to destruction for no reason and to no purpose? There is not
a man on earth but Orlando himself, or his cousin Rinaldo, who could
possibly do us any good; and so I beg you to accept my thanks and depart
in safety, and may God reward you. "
"It is true," replied the Paladin, "I am not Orlando; and yet, for all
that, I doubt not to be able to effect what I propose. Nor do I offer my
assistance out of desire of glory, or of thanks, or return of any kind;
except indeed, that if two such unparalleled friends could admit me to be
a third, I should hold myself a happy man. What! you have given up the
woman of your heart, and deprived yourself of all joy and comfort; and
your friend, on the other hand, has become a prisoner and devoted to
death, for your sake; and can I be expected to leave two such friends in
a jeopardy so monstrous, and not do all in my power to save them? I would
rather die first myself, and on your own principle; I mean, in order to
go with you into a better world. "
While they were talking in this manner, a great ill-looking rabble,
upwards of a thousand strong, made their appearance, carrying a banner,
and bringing forth two prisoners to die. The wretches were armed after
their disorderly fashion; and the prisoners each tied upon a horse. One
of these hapless persons too surely was Prasildo; and the other turned
out to be the damsel who had told Rinaldo the story of the friends.
Having been deprived of the Paladin's assistance, her subsequent
misadventures had brought her to this terrible pass. The moment Rinaldo
beheld her, he leaped on his horse, and dashed among the villains. The
sight of such an onset was enough for their cowardly hearts. The whole
posse fled before him with precipitation, all except the leader, who was
a villain of gigantic strength; and him the Paladin, at one blow, clove
through the middle. Iroldo could not speak for joy, as he hastened to
release Prasildo. He was forced to give him tears instead of words. But
when speech at length became possible, the two friends, fervently and
with a religious awe, declared that their deliverer must have been divine
and not human, so tremendous was the death-blow he had given the ruffian,
and such winged and contemptuous slaughter he had dealt among the
fugitives. By the time he returned from the pursuit, their astonishment
had risen to such a pitch, that they fell on their knees and worshipped
him for the Prophet of the Saracens, not believing such prowess possible
to humanity, and devoutly thanking him for the mercy he had shewn them in
coming thus visibly from heaven. Rinaldo for the moment was not a little
disturbed at this sally of enthusiasm; but the singular good faith and
simplicity of it restored him to himself; and with a smile between
lovingness and humility he begged them to lay aside all such fancies, and
know him for a man like themselves. He then disclosed himself for the
Rinaldo of whom they had spoken, and made such an impression on them with
his piety, and his attributing what had appeared a superhuman valour to
nothing but his belief in the Christian religion, that the transported
friends became converts on the spot, and accompanied him thenceforth as
the most faithful of his knights.
* * * * *
The story tells us nothing further of Tisbina, though there can be no
doubt that Boiardo meant to give us the conclusion of her share in it;
for the two knights take an active part in the adventures of their new
friend Rinaldo. Perhaps, however, the discontinuance of the poem itself
was lucky for the author, as far as this episode was concerned; for it
is difficult to conceive in what manner he would have wound it up to the
satisfaction of the reader.
[Footnote 1: The hero and heroine of the famous romance of _Tristan de
Leonois_. ]
[Footnote 2: "Mr. Rose observes, that Medusa may be designed by Boiardo
as the 'type of conscience;' and he is confirmed in his opinion by the
circumstance mentioned in this canto (12, lib. i. stan. 39) of Medusa not
being able to contemplate the reflection of her own hideous appearance,
though beautiful in the sight of others. I fully agree with
him. "--PANIZZI, _ut sup_. Vol. iii p. 333. ]
[Footnote 3: "Tisbina," says Panizzi, in a note on this passage, "very
wisely acted like Emilia (in Chaucer), who, when she saw she could not
marry Arcita, because he was killed, thought of marrying Palemone, rather
than 'be a mayden all hire lyf. ' It is to be observed, that although she
regretted very much what had happened, and even fainted away, she did
not, however, stand on ceremonies, as the poet says in the next stanza,
but yielded immediately, and married Prasildo.
This, at first, I thought
to be a somewhat inconsistent; but on consideration I found I was wrong.
Tisbina was wrong; because, having lost Iroldo, she did not know what
Prasildo would do; but so soon as the latter offered to fill up the
place, she nobly and magnanimously resigned herself to her fate. "--_Ut
sup_. vol. iii. p. 336.
It might be thought inconsistent in Tisbina, notwithstanding Mr.
Panizzi's pleasantry, to be so willing to take another husband, after
having poisoned herself for the first; but she seems intended by the poet
to exhibit a character of impulse in contradistinction to permanency of
sentiment. She cannot help shewing pity for Prasildo; she cannot help
poisoning herself for her husband; and she cannot help taking his friend,
when she has lost him. Nor must it be forgotten, that the husband was the
first to break the tie. We respect him more than we do her, because he
was capable of greater self-denial; but if he himself preferred his
friend to his love, we can hardly blame her (custom apart) for following
the example. ]
SEEING AND BELIEVING.
ARGUMENT
A lady has two suitors, a young and an old one, the latter of whom wins
her against her inclinations by practising the artifice of Hippomanes in
his race with Atalanta. Being very jealous, he locks her up in a tower;
and the youth, who continued to be her lover, makes a subterraneous
passage to it; and pretending to have married her sister, invites the old
man to his house, and introduces his own wife to him as the bride. The
husband, deceived, but still jealous, facilitates their departure out of
the country, and returns to his tower to find himself deserted.
This story, like that of the _Saracen Friends_, is told by a damsel to a
knight while riding in his company; with this difference, that she is the
heroine of it herself. She is a damsel of a nature still lighter than the
former; and the reader's sympathy with the trouble she brings on herself,
and the way she gets out of it, will be modified accordingly. On the
other hand, nobody can respect the foolish old man with his unwarrantable
marriage; and the moral of Boiardo's story is still useful for these
"enlightened times," though conveyed with an air of levity.
In addition to the classics, the poet has been to the Norman fablers for
his story. The subterranean passage has been more than once repeated in
romance; and the closing incident, the assistance given by the husband
to his wife's elopement, has been imitated in the farce of _Lionel and
Clarissa. _
SEEING AND BELIEVING.
My father (said the damsel) is King of the Distant Islands, where the
treasure of the earth is collected. Never was greater wealth known, and I
was heiress of it all.
But it is impossible to foresee what is most to be desired for us in this
world. I was a king's daughter, I was rich, I was handsome, I was lively;
and yet to all those advantages I owed my ill-fortune.
Among other suitors for my hand there came two on the same day, one of
whom was a youth named Ordauro, handsome from head to foot; the other an
old man of seventy, whose name was Folderico. Both were rich and of noble
birth; but the greybeard was counted extremely wise, and of a foresight
more than human. As I did not feel in want of his foresight, the youth
was far more to my taste; and accordingly I listened to him with perfect
good-will, and gave the wise man no sort of encouragement. I was not at
liberty, however, to determine the matter; my father had a voice in it;
so, fearing what he would advise, I thought to secure a good result by
cunning and management. It is an old observation, that the craft of a
woman exceeds all other craft. Indeed, it is Solomon's own saying. But
now-a-days people laugh at it; and I found to my cost that the laugh is
just. I requested my father to proclaim, first, that nobody should have
me in marriage who did not surpass me in swiftness (for I was a damsel of
a mighty agility); and secondly, that he who did surpass me should be my
husband. He consented, and I thought my happiness secure. You must know,
I have run down a bird, and caught it with my own hand.
Well, both my suitors came to the race; the youth on a large war-horse,
trapped with gold, which curvetted in a prodigious manner, and seemed
impatient for a gallop; the old roan on a mule, carrying a great bag at
his side, and looking already tired out. They dismounted on the place
chosen for the trial, which was a meadow. It was encircled by a world of
spectators; and the greybeard and myself (for his age gave him the first
chance) only waited for the sound of the trumpet to set off.
I held my competitor in such contempt, that I let him get the start of
me, on purpose to make him ridiculous; but I was not prepared for his
pulling a golden apple out of his bag, and throwing it as far as he could
in a direction different from that of the goal. The sight of a curiosity
so tempting was too much for my prudence; and it rolled away so roundly,
and to such a distance, that I lost more time in reaching it than I
looked for. Before I overtook the old gentleman, he threw another apple,
and this again led me a chase after it. In short, I blush to say, that,
resolved as I was to be tempted no further, seeing that the end of our
course was now at hand, and my marriage with an old man instead of a
young man was out of the question, he seduced me to give chase to a
third apple, and fairly reached the goal before me. I wept for rage and
disgust, and meditated every species of unconjugal treatment of the old
fox. What right had he to marry such a child as I was? I asked myself the
question at the time; I asked it a thousand times afterwards; and I must
confess, that the more I have tormented him, the more the retaliation
delights me.
However, it was of no use at the moment. The old wretch bore me off
to his domains with an ostentatious triumph; and then, his jealousy
misgiving him, he shut me up in a castle on a rock, where he endeavoured
from that day forth to keep me from the sight of living being. You may
judge what sort of castle it was by its name--_Altamura_ (lofty wall). It
overlooked a desert on three sides, and the sea on the fourth; and a man
might as well have flown as endeavoured to scale it. There was but one
path up to the entrance, very steep and difficult; and when you were
there, you must have pierced outwork after outwork, and picked the lock
of gate after gate. So there sat I in this delicious retreat, hopeless,
and bursting with rage. I called upon death day and night, as my only
refuge. I had no comfort but in seeing my keeper mad with jealousy, even
in that desolate spot. I think he was jealous of the very flies.
My handsome youth, Ordauro, however, had not forgotten me; no, nor even
given me up. Luckily he was not only very clever, but rich besides;
without which, to be sure, his brains would not have availed him a pin.
What does he do, therefore, but take a house in the neighbourhood on the
sea-shore; and while my tormentor, in alarm and horror, watches every
movement, and thinks him coming if he sees a cloud or a bird, Ordauro
sets people secretly to work night and day, and makes a subterraneous
passage up to the very tower! Guess what I felt when I saw him enter!
Assuredly I did not show him the face which I shewed Folderico. I
die with joy this moment to think of my delight. As soon as we could
discourse of any thing but our meeting, Ordauro concerted measures for my
escape; and the greatest difficulty being surmounted by the subterraneous
passage, they at last succeeded. But our enemy gave us a frightful degree
of trouble.
There was no end of the old man's pryings, peepings, and precautions.
He left me as little as possible by myself; and he had all the coast
thereabouts at his command, together with the few boats that ever touched
it.
Ordauro, however, did a thing at once the most bold and the most
ingenious. He gave out that he was married; and inviting my husband to
dinner, who had heard the news with transport, presented me, to his
astonished eyes, for the bride. The old man looked as if he would have
died for rage and misery.
"Horrible villain! " cried he," what is this? "
Ordauro professed astonishment in his turn.
"What! " asked he; "do you not know that the princess, your lady's sister,
is wonderfully like her, and that she has done me the honour of becoming
my wife? I invited you in order to do honour to yourself, and so bring
the good families together. "
"Detestable falsehood! " cried Folderico. "Do you think I'm blind, or a
born idiot? But I'll see to this business directly; and terrible shall be
my revenge. "
So saying, he flung out, and hastened, as fast as age would let him, to
the room in the tower, where he expected to find me not. But there he did
find me:--there was I, sitting as if nothing had happened, with my hand
on my cheek, and full of my old melancholy.
"God preserve me! " exclaimed he; "this is astonishing indeed! Never could
I have dreamt that one sister could be so like another! But is it so, or
is it not? I have terrible suspicions. It is impossible to believe it.
Tell me truly," he continued; "answer me on the faith of a daring woman,
and you shall get no hurt by it. Has any one opened the portals for you
to-day? Who was it? How did you get out? Tell me the truth, and you shall
not suffer for it; but deceive me, and there is no punishment that you
may not look for. "
It is needless to say how I vowed and protested that I had never stirred;
that it was quite impossible; that I could not have done it if I would,
&c. I took all the saints to witness to my veracity, and swore I had
never seen the outside of his tremendous castle.
The monster had nothing to say to this; but I saw what he meant to do--I
saw that he would return instantly to the house of Ordauro, and ascertain
if the bride was there. Accordingly, the moment he turned the key on me,
I flew down the subterraneous passage, tossed on my new clothes like
lightning, and sat in my lover's house as before, waiting the arrival of
the panting old gentleman.
"Well," exclaimed he, as soon as he set eyes upon me, "never in all my
life--no--I must allow it to be impossible--never can my wife at home be
the lady sitting here. "
From that day forth the old man, whenever he saw me in Ordauro's house,
treated me as if I were indeed his sister-in-law, though he never had the
heart to bring the two wives together, for fear of old recollections.
Nevertheless, this state of things was still very perilous; and my new
husband and myself lost no time in considering how we should put an end
to it by leaving the country. Ordauro resorted, as before, to a bold
expedient. He told Folderico that the air of the sea-coast disagreed
with him; and the old man, whose delight at getting rid of his neighbour
helped to blind him to the deceit, not only expedited the movement, but
offered to see him part of the way on his journey!
The offer was accepted. Six miles he rode forth with us, the stupid old
man; and then, taking his leave, to return home, we pushed our horses
like lightning, and so left him to tear his hair and his old beard with
cries and curses, as soon as he opened the door of his tower.
ARIOSTO:
Critical Notice of his Life and Genius.
CRITICAL NOTICE
OF
ARIOSTO'S LIFE AND GENIUS. [1]
The congenial spirits of Pulci and Boiardo may be said to have attained
to their height in the person of Ariosto, upon the principle of a
transmigration of souls, or after the fashion of that hero in romance,
who was heir to the bodily strengths of all whom he conquered.
Lodovico Giovanni Ariosto was born on the 8th of September, 1474, in the
fortress at Reggio, in Lombardy, and was the son of Niccolò Ariosto,
captain of that citadel (as Boiardo had been), and Daria Maleguzzi,
whose family still exists. The race was transplanted from Bologna in the
century previous, when Obizzo the Third of Este, Marquess of Ferrara,
married a lady belonging to it, whose Christian name was Lippa. Niccolò
Ariosto, besides holding the same office as Boiardo had done, at Modena
as well as at Reggio, was master of the household to his two successive
patrons, the Dukes Borso and Ercole. He was also employed, like him,
in diplomacy; and was made a count by the Emperor Frederick the Third,
though not, it seems, with remainder to his heirs.
Lodovico was the eldest of ten children, five sons and five daughters.
During his boyhood, theatrical entertainments were in great vogue at
court, as we have seen in the life of Boiardo; and at the age of twelve,
a year after the decease of that poet (who must have been well known to
him, and probably encouraged his attempts), his successor is understood
to have dramatised, after his infant fashion, the story of Pyramus and
Thisbe, and to have got his brothers and sisters to perform it. Panizzi
doubts the possibility of these precocious private theatricals; but
considering what is called "writing" on the part of children, and that
only one other performer was required in the piece, or at best a third
for the lion (which some little brother might have "roared like any
sucking-dove"), I cannot see good reason for disbelieving the story. Pope
was not twelve years old when he turned the siege of Troy into a play,
and got his school-fellows to perform it, the part of Ajax being given to
the gardener. Man is a theatrical animal ([Greek: zoon mimaetikon]), and
the instinct is developed at a very early period, as almost every family
can witness that has taken its children to the "playhouse. "
At fifteen the young poet, like so many others of his class, was
consigned to the study of the law, and took a great dislike to it. The
extreme mobility of his nature, and the wish to please his father, appear
to have made him enter on it willingly enough in the first instance;[2]
but as soon as he betrayed symptoms of disgust, Niccolò, whose affairs
were in a bad way, drove him back to it with a vehemence which must have
made bad worse. [3] At the expiration of five years he was allowed to give
it up.
There is reason to believe that Ariosto was "theatricalising" during
no little portion of this time; for, in his nineteenth year, he is
understood to have been taken by Duke Ercole to Pavia and to Milan,
either as a writer or performer of comedies, probably both, since the
courtiers and ducal family themselves occasionally appeared on the stage;
and one of the poet's brothers mentions his having frequently seen him
dressed in character. [4]
On being delivered from the study of the law, the young poet appears
to have led a cheerful and unrestrained life for the next four or five
years.
He wrote, or began to write, the comedy of the _Cassaria_; probably
meditated some poem in the style of Boiardo, then in the height of his
fame; and he cultivated the Latin language, and intended to learn Greek,
but delayed, and unfortunately missed it in consequence of losing his
tutor. Some of his happiest days were passed at a villa, still possessed
by the Maleguzzi family, called La Mauriziana, two miles from Reggio.
Twenty-five years afterwards he called to mind, with sighs, the pleasant
spots there which used to invite him to write verses; the garden, the
little river, the mill, the trees by the water-side, and all the other
shady places in which he enjoyed himself during that sweet season of his
life "betwixt April and May. "[5] To complete his happiness, he had a
friend and cousin, Pandolfo Ariosto, who loved every thing that he loved,
and for whom he augured a brilliant reputation.
But a dismal cloud was approaching. In his twenty-first year he lost
his father, and found a large family left on his hands in narrow
circumstances. The charge was at first so heavy, especially when
aggravated by the death of Pandolfo, that he tells us he wished to die.
He took to it manfully, however, in spite of these fits of gloom; and he
lived to see his admirable efforts rewarded; his brothers enabled to seek
their fortunes, and his sisters properly taken care of. Two of them, it
seems, had become nuns. A third married; and a fourth remained long in
his house. It is not known what became of the fifth.
In these family-matters the anxious son and brother was occupied for
three or four years, not, however, without recreating himself with his
verses, Latin and Italian, and recording his admiration of a number of
goddesses of his youth. He mentions, in particular, one of the name of
Lydia, who kept him often from "his dear mother and household," and
who is probably represented by the princess of the same name in the
_Orlando_, punished in the smoke of Tartarus for being a jilt and
coquette. [6] His friend Bembo, afterwards the celebrated cardinal,
recommended him to be blind to such little immaterial points as ladies'
infidelities. But he is shocked at the advice. He was far more of
Othello's opinion than Congreve's in such matters; and declared, that he
would not have shared his mistress' good-will with Jupiter himself. [7]
Towards the year 1504, the poet entered the service of the unworthy
prince, Cardinal Ippolito of Este, brother of the new Duke of Ferrara,
Alfonso the First. His eminence, who had been made a prince of the church
at thirteen years of age by the infamous Alexander the Sixth (Borgia),
was at this period little more than one-and-twenty; but he took an active
part in the duke's affairs, both civil and military, and is said to
have made himself conspicuous in his father's lifetime for his vices and
brutality. He is charged with having ordered a papal messenger to be
severely beaten for bringing him some unpleasant despatches: which so
exasperated his unfortunate parent, that he was exiled to Mantua; and the
marquess of that city, his brother-in-law, was obliged to come to Ferrara
to obtain his pardon. But this was a trifle compared with what he
is accused of having done to one of his brothers. A female of their
acquaintance, in answer to a speech made her by the reverend gallant, had
been so unlucky as to say that she preferred his brother Giulio's eyes
to his eminence's whole body: upon which the monstrous villain hired two
ruffians to put out his brother's eyes; some say, was present at the
attempt. Attempt only it fortunately turned out to be, at least in part;
the opinion being, that the sight of one of the eyes was preserved. [8]
Party-spirit has so much to do with stories of princes, and princes are
so little in a condition to notice them, that, on the principle of
not condemning a man till he has been heard in his defence, an honest
biographer would be loath to credit these horrors of Cardinal Ippolito,
did not the violent nature of the times, and the general character of the
man, even with his defenders, incline him to do so. His being a soldier
rather than a churchman was a fault of the age, perhaps a credit to the
man, for he appears to have had abilities for war, and it was no crime of
his if he was put into the church when a boy. But his conduct to Ariosto
shewed him coarse and selfish; and those who say all they can for him
admit that he was proud and revengeful, and that nobody regretted him
when he died. He is said to have had a taste for mathematics, as his
brother had for mechanics. The truth seems to be, that he and the duke,
who lived in troubled times, and had to exert all their strength to
hinder Ferrara from becoming a prey to the court of Rome, were clever,
harsh men, of no grace or elevation of character, and with no taste but
for war; and if it had not been for their connexion with Ariosto, nobody
would have heard of them, except while perusing the annals of the time.
Ippolito might have been, and probably was, the ruffian which the
anecdote of his brother Giulio represents him; but the world would have
heard little of the villany, had he not treated a poet with contempt.
The admirers of our author may wonder how he could become the servant of
such a man, much more how he could praise him as he did in the great work
which he was soon to begin writing. But Ariosto was the son of a man who
had passed his life in the service of the family; he had probably been
taught a loyal blindness to its defects; gratuitous panegyrics of princes
had been the fashion of men of letters since the time of Augustus; and
the poet wanted help for his relatives, and was of a nature to take
the least show of favour for a virtue, till he had learnt, as he
unfortunately did, to be disappointed in the substance. It is not known
what his appointment was under the cardinal. Probably he was a kind of
gentleman of all work; an officer in his guards, a companion to amuse,
and a confidential agent for the transaction of business. The employment
in which he is chiefly seen is that of an envoy, but he is said also to
have been in the field of battle; and he intimates in his _Satires_,
that household attentions were expected of him which he was not quick
to offer, such as pulling off his eminence's boots, and putting on
his spurs. [9] It is certain that he was employed in very delicate
negotiations, sometimes to the risk of his life from the perils of roads
and torrents. Ippolito, who was a man of no delicacy, probably made use
of him on every occasion that required address, the smallest as well
as greatest,--an interview with a pope one day, and a despatch to a
dog-fancier the next.
His great poem, however, proceeded. It was probably begun before he
entered the cardinal's service; certainly was in progress during the
early part of his engagement. This appears from a letter written to
Ippolito by his sister the Marchioness of Mantua, to whom he had sent
Ariosto at the beginning of the year 1509 to congratulate her on the
birth of a child. She gives her brother special thanks for sending his
message to her by "Messer Ludovico Ariosto," who had made her, she says,
pass two delightful days, with giving her an account of the poem he was
writing. [10] Isabella was the name of this princess; and the grateful
poet did not forget to embalm it in his verse. [11]
Ariosto's latest biographer, Panizzi, thinks he never served under any
other leader than the cardinal; but I cannot help being of opinion with a
former one, whom he quotes, that he once took arms under a captain of the
name of Pio, probably a kinsman of his friend Alberto Pio, to whom he
addresses a Latin poem. It was probably on occasion of some early disgust
with the cardinal; but I am at a loss to discover at what period of time.
Perhaps, indeed, he had the cardinal's permission, both to quit his
service, and return to it. Possibly he was not to quit it at all, except
according to events; but merely had leave given him to join a party in
arms, who were furthering Ippolito's own objects. Italy was full of
captains in arms and conflicting interests. The poet might even, at some
period of his life, have headed a troop under another cardinal, his
friend Giovanni de' Medici, afterwards Leo the Tenth. He had certainly
been with him in various parts of Italy; and might have taken part in
some of his bloodless, if not his most military, equitations.
Be this as it may, it is understood that Ariosto was present at the
repulse given to the Venetians by Ippolito, when they came up the river
Po against Ferrara towards the close of the year 1509; though he was away
from the scene of action at his subsequent capture of their flotilla, the
poet having been despatched between the two events to Pope Julius the
Second on the delicate business of at once appeasing his anger with the
duke for resisting his allies, and requesting his help to a feudatary of
the church. Julius was in one of his towering passions at first, but
gave way before the address of the envoy, and did what he desired. But
Ariosto's success in this mission was nearly being the death of him in
another; for Alfonso having accompanied the French the year following
in their attack on Vicenza, where they committed cruelties of the same
horrible kind as have shocked Europe within a few months past,[12] the
poet's tongue, it was thought, might be equally efficacious a second
time; but Julius, worn out of patience with his too independent vassal,
who maintained an alliance with the French when the pope had ceased to
desire it, was to be appeased no longer. He excommunicated Alfonso, and
threatened to pitch his envoy into the Tiber; so that the poet was fain
to run for it, as the duke himself was afterwards, when he visited Rome
to be absolved. Would Julius have thus treated Ariosto, could he have
foreseen his renown? Probably he would. The greater the opposition to the
will, the greater the will itself. To chuck an accomplished envoy into
the river would have been much; but to chuck the immortal poet there,
laurels and all, in the teeth of the amazement of posterity, would have
been a temptation irresistible.
It was on this occasion that Ariosto, probably from inability to choose
his times or anodes of returning home, contracted a cough, which is
understood to have shortened his existence; so that Julius may have
killed him after all. But the pope had a worse enemy in his own
bosom--his violence--which killed himself in a much shorter period. He
died in little more than two years afterwards; and the poet's prospects
were all now of a very different sort--at least he thought so; for in
March 1513, his friend Giovanni de' Medici succeeded to the papacy, under
the title of Leo the Tenth.
Ariosto hastened to Rome, among a shoal of visitants, to congratulate the
new pope, perhaps not without a commission from Alfonso to see what he
could do for his native country, on which the rival Medici family never
ceased to have designs. The poet was full of hope, for he had known Leo
under various fortunes; had been styled by him not only a friend, but a
brother; and promised all sorts of participations of his prosperity. Not
one of them came. The visitor was cordially received. Leo stooped from
his throne, squeezed his hand, and kissed him on both his cheeks; but "at
night," says Ariosto, "I went all the way to the Sheep to get my supper,
wet through. " All that Leo gave him was a "bull," probably the one
securing to him the profits of his _Orlando;_ and the poet's friend
Bibbiena--wit, cardinal, and kinsman of Berni--facilitated the bull, but
the receiver discharged the fees. He did not get one penny by promise,
pope, or friend. [13] He complains a little, but all in good humour; and
good-naturedly asks what he was to expect, when so many hungry kinsmen
and partisans were to be served first. Well and wisely asked too, and
with a superiority to his fortunes which Leo and Bibbiena might have
envied.
It is thought probable, however, that if the poet had been less a friend
to the house of Este, Leo would have kept his word with him, for their
intimacy had undoubtedly been of the most cordial description. But it is
supposed that Leo was afraid he should have a Ferrarese envoy constantly
about him, had he detained Ariosto in Rome. The poet, however, it is
admitted, was not a good hunter of preferment. He could not play the
assenter, and bow and importune: and sovereigns, however friendly they
may have been before their elevation, go the way of most princely flesh
when they have attained it. They like to take out a man's gratitude
beforehand, perhaps because they feel little security in it afterwards.
The elevation to the papacy of the cheerful and indulgent son of Lorenzo
de' Medici, after the troublous reign of Julius, was hailed with delight
by all Christendom, and nowhere more so than in the pope's native place,
Florence. Ariosto went there to see the spectacles; and there, in the
midst of them, he found himself robbed of his heart by the lady whom he
afterwards married. Her name was Alessandra Benucci. She was the widow of
one of the Strozzi family, whom he had known in Ferrara, and he had long
admired her. The poet, who, like Petrarch and Boccaccio, has recorded the
day on which he fell in love, which was that of St. John the Baptist (the
showy saint-days of the south offer special temptations to that effect),
dwells with minute fondness on the particulars of the lady's appearance.
Her dress was black silk, embroidered with two grape-bearing vines
intertwisted; and "between her serene forehead and the path that went
dividing in two her rich and golden tresses," was a sprig of laurel in
bud. Her observer, probably her welcome if not yet accepted lover, beheld
something very significant in this attire; and a mysterious poem, in
which he records a device of a black pen feathered with gold, which he
wore embroidered on a gown of his own, has been supposed to allude to it.
As every body is tempted to make his guess on such occasions, I take the
pen to have been the black-haired poet himself, and the golden feather
the tresses of the lady. Beautiful as he describes her, with a face full
of sweetness, and manners noble and engaging, he speaks most of the
charms of her golden locks.
he fairly wasted away; and was so unhappy, that he gave up all his
feastings and entertainments. The only pleasure he took was in a solitary
wood, in which he used to plunge himself in order to give way to his
grief and lamentations.
It happened one day, early in the morning, while he was thus occupied,
that Iroldo came into the wood to amuse himself with bird-catching. He
had Tisbina with him; and as they were coming along, they overheard their
neighbour during one of his paroxysms, and stopped to listen to what he
said.
"Hear me," exclaimed he, "ye flowers and ye woods. Hear to what a pass of
wretchedness I am come, since that cruel one will hear me not. Hear, O
sun that hast taken away the night from the heavens, and you, ye stars,
and thou the departing moon, hear the voice of my grief for the last
time, for exist I can no longer; my death is the only way left me to
gratify that proud beauty, to whom it has pleased Heaven to give a
cruel heart with a merciful countenance. Fain would I have died in her
presence. It would have comforted me to see her pleased even with that
proof of my love. But I pray, nevertheless, that she may never know it;
since, cruel as she is, she might blame herself for having shewn a scorn
so extreme; and I love her so, I would not have her pained for all her
cruelty. Surely I shall love her even in my grave. "
With these words, turning pale with his own mortal resolution, Prasildo
drew his sword, and pronouncing the name of Tisbina more than once with a
loving voice, as though its very sound would be sufficient to waft him
to Paradise, was about to plunge the steel into his bosom, when the lady
herself, by leave of her husband, whose manly visage was all in tears for
pity, stood suddenly before him.
"Prasildo," said she, "if you love me, listen to me. You have often told
me that you do so. Now prove it. I happen to be threatened with nothing
less than the loss of life and honour. Nothing short of such a calamity
could have induced me to beg of you the service I am going to request;
since there is no greater shame in the world than to ask favours from
those to whom we have refused them. But I now promise you, that if you do
what I desire, your love shall be returned. I give you my word for it. I
give you my honour. On the other side of the wilds of Barbary is a garden
which has a wall of iron. It has four gates. Life itself keeps one; Death
another; Poverty the third; the fairy of Riches the fourth. He who goes
in at one gate must go out at the other opposite; and in the midst of the
garden is a tree, tall as the reach of an arrow, which produces pearls
for blossoms. It is called the Tree of Wealth, and has fruit of emeralds
and boughs of gold. I must have a bough of that tree, or suffer the most
painful consequences. Now, then, if you love me, I say, prove it. Prove
it, and most assuredly I shall love you in turn, better than ever you
loved myself. "
What need of saying that Prasildo, with haste and joy, undertook to do
all that she required? If she had asked the sun and stars, and the whole
universe, he would have promised them. Quitting her in spite of his love,
he set out on the journey without delay, only dressing himself before he
left the city in the habit of a pilgrim.
Now you must know, that Iroldo and his lady had set Prasildo on that
adventure, in the hope that the great distance which he would have to
travel, and the change which it might assist time to produce, would
deliver him from his passion. At all events, in case this good end was
not effected before he arrived at the garden, they counted to a certainty
on his getting rid of it when he did; because the fairy of that garden,
which was called the Garden of Medusa, was of such a nature, that
whosoever did but look on her countenance forgot the reason for his going
thither; and whoever saluted, touched, and sat down to converse by her
side, forgot all that had ever occurred in his lifetime.
Away, however, on his steed went our bold lover; all alone, or rather
with Love for his companion; and so, riding hard till he came to the Red
Sea, he took ship, and journeyed through Egypt, and came to the mountains
of Barca, where he overtook an old grey-headed palmer.
Prasildo told the palmer the reason of his coming, and the palmer told
him what the reader has heard about the garden; adding, that he must
enter by the gate of Poverty, and take no arms or armour with him,
excepting a looking-glass for a shield, in which the fairy might behold
her beauty. The old man gave him other directions necessary for his
passing out of the gate of Riches; and Prasildo, thanking him, went on,
and in thirty days found himself entering the garden with the greatest
ease, by the gate of Poverty.
The garden looked like a Paradise, it was so full of beautiful trees, and
flowers, and fresh grass. Prasildo took care to hold the shield over his
eyes, that he might avoid seeing the fairy Medusa; and in this manner,
guarding his approach, he arrived at the Golden Tree. The fairy, who was
reclining against the trunk of it, looked up, and saw herself in the
glass. Wonderful was the effect on her. Instead of her own white-and-red
blooming face, she beheld that of a dreadful serpent. The spectacle made
her take to flight in terror; and the lover, finding his object so far
gained, looked freely at the tree, and climbed it, and bore away a
bough[2].
With this he proceeded to the gate of Riches. It was all of loadstone,
and opened with a great noise. But he passed through it happily, for he
made the fairy who kept it a present of half the bough; and so he issued
forth out of the garden, with indescribable joy.
Behold our loving adventurer now on his road home. Every step of the way
appeared to him a thousand. He took the road of Nubia to shorten the
journey; crossed the Arabian Gulf with a breeze in his favour; and
travelling by night as well as by day, arrived one fine morning in
Babylon.
No sooner was he there, than he sent to tell the object of his passion
how fortunate he had been. He begged her to name her own place and time
for receiving the bough at his hands, taking care to remind her of her
promise; and he could not help adding, that he should die if she broke it.
Terrible was the grief of Tisbina at this unlooked-for news. She threw
herself on her couch in despair, and bewailed the hour she was born.
"What on earth am I to do? " cried the wretched lady; "death itself is no
remedy for a case like this, since it is only another mode of breaking my
word. To think that Prasildo should return from the garden of Medusa! who
could have supposed it possible? And yet, in truth, what a fool I was to
suppose any thing impossible to love! O my husband! little didst thou
think what thou thyself advisedst me to promise! "
The husband was coming that moment towards the room; and overhearing his
wife grieving in this distracted manner, he entered and clasped her in
his arms. On learning the cause of her affliction, he felt as though he
should have died with her on the spot.
"Alas! " cried he, "that it should be possible for me to be miserable
while I am so dear to your heart. But you know, O my soul! that when love
and jealousy come together, the torment is the greatest in the world.
Myself--myself, alas! caused the mischief, and myself alone ought to
suffer for it. You must keep your promise. You must abide by the word you
have given, especially to one who has undergone so much to perform what
you asked him. Sweet face, you must. But oh! see him not till after I am
dead. Let Fortune do with me what she pleases, so that I be saved from a
disgrace like that. It will be a comfort to me in death to think that
I alone, while I was on earth, enjoyed the fond looking of that lovely
face. Nay," concluded the wretched husband, "I feel as though I should
die over again, if I could call to mind in my grave how you were taken
from me. "
Iroldo became dumb for anguish. It seemed to him as if his very heart had
been taken out of his breast. Nor was Tisbina less miserable. She was as
pale as death, and could hardly speak to him, or bear to look at him. At
length turning her eyes upon him, she said, "And do you believe I could
make my poor sorry case out in this world without Iroldo? Can he bear,
himself, to think of leaving his Tisbina? he who has so often said, that
if he possessed heaven itself, he should not think it heaven without her?
O dearest husband, there is a way to make death not bitter to either of
us. It is to die together. I must only exist long enough to see Prasildo!
Death, alas! is in that thought; but the same death will release us. It
need not even be a hard death, saving our misery. There are poisons so
gentle in their deadliness, that we need but faint away into sleep, and
so, in the course of a few hours, be delivered. Our misery and our folly
will then alike be ended. "
Iroldo assenting, clasped his wife in distraction; and for a long time
they remained in the same posture, half stifled with grief, and bathing
one another's cheeks with their tears. Afterwards they sent quietly for
the poison; and the apothecary made up a preparation in a cup, without
asking any questions; and so the husband and wife took it. Iroldo drank
first, and then endeavoured to give the cup to his wife, uttering not a
word, and trembling in every limb; not because he was afraid of death,
but because he could not bear to ask her to share it. At length, turning
away his face and looking down, he held the cup towards her, and she took
it with a chilled heart and trembling hand, and drank the remainder to
the dregs. Iroldo then covered his face and head, not daring to see her
depart for the house of Prasildo; and Tisbina, with pangs bitterer than
death, left him in solitude.
Tisbina, accompanied by a servant, went to Prasildo, who could scarcely
believe his ears when he heard that she was at the door requesting to
speak with him. He hastened down to shew her all honour, leading her
from the door into a room by themselves; and when he found her in tears,
addressed her in the most considerate and subdued, yet still not unhappy
manner, taking her confusion for bashfulness, and never dreaming what a
tragedy had been meditated.
Finding at length that her grief was not to be done away, he conjured
her by what she held dearest on earth to let him know the cause of it;
adding, that he could still die for her sake, if his death would do her
any service. Tisbina spoke at these words; and Prasildo then heard what
he did not wish to hear. "I am in your hands," answered she, "while I
am yet alive. I am bound to my word, but I cannot survive the dishonour
which it costs me, nor, above all, the loss of the husband of my heart.
You also, to whose eyes I have been so welcome, must be prepared for my
disappearance from the earth. Had my affections not belonged to another,
ungentle would have been my heart not to have loved yourself, who are so
capable of loving; but (as you must well know) to love two at once is
neither fitting nor in one's power. It was for that reason I never loved
you, baron; I was only touched with compassion for you; and hence the
miseries of us all. Before this day closes, I shall have learnt the taste
of death. " And without further preface she disclosed to him how she and
her husband had taken poison.
Prasildo was struck dumb with horror. He had thought his felicity at
hand, and was at the same instant to behold it gone for ever. She who was
rooted in his heart, she who carried his life in her sweet looks, even
she was sitting there before him, already, so to speak, dead.
"It has pleased neither Heaven nor you, Tisbina," exclaimed the unhappy
young man, "to put my best feelings to the proof. Often have two lovers
perished for love; the world will now behold a sacrifice of three. Oh,
why did you not make a request to me in your turn, and ask me to free you
from your promise? You say you took pity on me! Alas, cruel one, confess
that you have killed yourself, in order to kill me. Yet why? Never did I
think of giving you displeasure; and I now do what I would have done at
any time to prevent it, I absolve you from your oath. Stay, or go this
instant, as it seems best to you. "
A stronger feeling than compassion moved the heart of Tisbina at these
words. "This indeed," replied she, "I feel to be noble; and truly could
I also now die to save you. But life is flitting; and how may I prove my
regard? "
Prasildo, who had in good earnest resolved that three instead of two
should perish, experienced such anguish at the extraordinary position in
which he found all three, that even her sweet words came but dimly to his
ears. He stood like a man stupified; then begged of her to give him but
one kiss, and so took his leave without further ado, only intimating that
her way out of the house lay before her. As he spake, he removed himself
from her sight.
Tisbina reached home. She found her husband with his head covered up as
she left him; but when she recounted what had passed, and the courtesy of
Prasildo, and how he had exacted from her but a single kiss, Iroldo got
up, and removed the covering from his face, and then clasping his hands,
and raising it to heaven, he knelt with grateful humility, and prayed God
to give pardon to himself, and reward to his neighbour. But before he had
ended, Tisbina sunk on the floor in a swoon. Her weaker frame was the
first to undergo the effects of what she had taken. Iroldo felt icy chill
to see her, albeit she seemed to sleep sweetly. Her aspect was not at all
like death. He taxed Heaven with cruelty for treating two loving hearts
so hardly, and cried out against Fortune, and life, and Love itself.
Nor was Prasildo happier in his chamber. He also exclaimed against the
bitter tyrant "whom men call Love;" and protested, that he would gladly
encounter any fate, to be delivered from the worse evils of his false and
cruel ascendency.
But his lamentations were interrupted. The apothecary who sold the potion
to the husband and wife was at the door below, requesting to speak with
him. The servants at first had refused to carry the message; but the old
man persisting, and saying it was a matter of life and death, entrance
for him into his master's chamber was obtained. "Noble sir," said the
apothecary, "I have always held you in love and reverence. I have
unfortunately reason to fear that somebody is desiring your death. This
morning a handmaiden of the lady Tisbina applied to me for a secret
poison; and just now it was told me, that the lady herself had been at
this house. I am old, sir, and you are young; and I warn you against the
violence and jealousies of womankind. Talk of their flames of love! Satan
himself burn them, say I, for they are fit for nothing better. Do not be
too much alarmed, however, this time: for in truth I gave the young woman
nothing of the sort that she asked for, but only a draught so innocent,
that if you have taken it, it will cost you but four or five hours'
sleep. So, in God's name, give up the whole foolish sex; for you may
depend on it, that in this city of ours there are ninety-nine wicked ones
among them to one good. "
You may guess how Prasildo's heart revived at these words. Truly might he
be compared to flowers in sunshine after rain; he rejoiced through all
his being, and displayed again a cheerful countenance. Hastily thanking
the old man, he lost no time in repairing to the house of his neighbours,
and telling them of their safety: and you may guess how the like joy was
theirs. But behold a wonder! Iroldo was so struck with the generosity
of his neighbour's conduct throughout the whole of this extraordinary
affair, that nothing would content his grateful though ever-grieving
heart, but he must fairly give up Tisbina after all. Prasildo, to do him
justice, resisted the proposition as stoutly as he could; but a man's
powers are ill seconded by an unwilling heart; and though the contest was
long and handsome, as is customary between generous natures, the husband
adhered firmly to his intention. In short, he abruptly quitted the city,
declaring that he would never again see it, and so left his wife to the
lover. And I must add (concluded the fair lady who was telling the story
to Rinaldo), that although Tisbina took his departure greatly to heart,
and sometimes felt as if she should die at the thoughts of it, yet since
he persisted in staying away, and there appeared no chance of his ever
doing otherwise, she did, as in that case we should all do, we at least
that are young and kind, and took the handsome Prasildo for second
spouse. [3]
PART THE SECOND
The conclusion of this part of the history of Iroldo and Prasildo was
scarcely out of the lady's mouth, when a tremendous voice was heard among
the trees, and Rinaldo found himself confronting a giant of a frightful
aspect, who with a griffin on each side of him was guarding a cavern
that contained the enchanted horse which had belonged to the brother of
Angelica. A combat ensued; and after winning the horse, and subsequently
losing the company of the lady, the Paladin, in the course of his
adventures, came upon a knight who lay lamenting in a green place by a
fountain. The knight heeding nothing but his grief, did not perceive the
new comer, who for some time remained looking at him in silence, till,
desirous to know the cause of his sorrow, he dismounted from his horse,
and courteously begged to be informed of it. The stranger in his turn
looked a little while in silence at Rinaldo, and then told him he had
resolved to die, in order to be rid of a life of misery. And yet, he
added, it was not his own lot which grieved him, so much as that of a
noble friend who would die at the same time, and who had nobody to help
him.
The knight, who was no other than Tisbina's husband Iroldo, then briefly
related the events which the reader has heard, and proceeded to state how
he lead traversed the world ever since for two years, when it was his
misfortune to arrive in the territories of the enchantress Falerina,
whose custom it was to detain foreigners in prison, and daily give a
couple of them (a lady and a cavalier) for food to a serpent which kept
the entrance of her enchanted garden. To this serpent he himself was
destined to be sacrificed, when Prasildo, the possessor of his wife
Tisbina, hearing of his peril, set out instantly from Babylon, and rode
night and day till he came to the abode of the enchantress, determined
that nothing should hinder him from doing his utmost to save the life of
a friend so generous. Save it he did, and that by a generosity no less
devoted; for having attempted in vain to bribe the keeper of the prison,
he succeeded in prevailing on the man to let him substitute himself for
his friend; and he was that very day, perhaps that very moment, preparing
for the dreadful death to which he would speedily be brought.
"I will not survive such a friend," concluded Iroldo. "I know I shall
contend with his warders to no purpose; but let the wretches come, if
they will, by thousands; I shall fight them to the last gasp. One comfort
in death, one joy I shall at all events experience. I shall be with
Prasildo in the other world. And yet when I think what sort of death he
must endure, even the release from my own miseries afflicts me, since it
will not prevent him from undergoing that horror. "
The Paladin shed tears to hear of a case so piteous and affectionate, and
in a tone of encouragement offered his services towards the rescue of his
friend. Iroldo looked at him in astonishment, but sighed and said, "Ah,
Sir, I thank you with all my heart, and you are doubtless a most noble
cavalier, to be so fearless and good-hearted; but what right have I to
bring you to destruction for no reason and to no purpose? There is not
a man on earth but Orlando himself, or his cousin Rinaldo, who could
possibly do us any good; and so I beg you to accept my thanks and depart
in safety, and may God reward you. "
"It is true," replied the Paladin, "I am not Orlando; and yet, for all
that, I doubt not to be able to effect what I propose. Nor do I offer my
assistance out of desire of glory, or of thanks, or return of any kind;
except indeed, that if two such unparalleled friends could admit me to be
a third, I should hold myself a happy man. What! you have given up the
woman of your heart, and deprived yourself of all joy and comfort; and
your friend, on the other hand, has become a prisoner and devoted to
death, for your sake; and can I be expected to leave two such friends in
a jeopardy so monstrous, and not do all in my power to save them? I would
rather die first myself, and on your own principle; I mean, in order to
go with you into a better world. "
While they were talking in this manner, a great ill-looking rabble,
upwards of a thousand strong, made their appearance, carrying a banner,
and bringing forth two prisoners to die. The wretches were armed after
their disorderly fashion; and the prisoners each tied upon a horse. One
of these hapless persons too surely was Prasildo; and the other turned
out to be the damsel who had told Rinaldo the story of the friends.
Having been deprived of the Paladin's assistance, her subsequent
misadventures had brought her to this terrible pass. The moment Rinaldo
beheld her, he leaped on his horse, and dashed among the villains. The
sight of such an onset was enough for their cowardly hearts. The whole
posse fled before him with precipitation, all except the leader, who was
a villain of gigantic strength; and him the Paladin, at one blow, clove
through the middle. Iroldo could not speak for joy, as he hastened to
release Prasildo. He was forced to give him tears instead of words. But
when speech at length became possible, the two friends, fervently and
with a religious awe, declared that their deliverer must have been divine
and not human, so tremendous was the death-blow he had given the ruffian,
and such winged and contemptuous slaughter he had dealt among the
fugitives. By the time he returned from the pursuit, their astonishment
had risen to such a pitch, that they fell on their knees and worshipped
him for the Prophet of the Saracens, not believing such prowess possible
to humanity, and devoutly thanking him for the mercy he had shewn them in
coming thus visibly from heaven. Rinaldo for the moment was not a little
disturbed at this sally of enthusiasm; but the singular good faith and
simplicity of it restored him to himself; and with a smile between
lovingness and humility he begged them to lay aside all such fancies, and
know him for a man like themselves. He then disclosed himself for the
Rinaldo of whom they had spoken, and made such an impression on them with
his piety, and his attributing what had appeared a superhuman valour to
nothing but his belief in the Christian religion, that the transported
friends became converts on the spot, and accompanied him thenceforth as
the most faithful of his knights.
* * * * *
The story tells us nothing further of Tisbina, though there can be no
doubt that Boiardo meant to give us the conclusion of her share in it;
for the two knights take an active part in the adventures of their new
friend Rinaldo. Perhaps, however, the discontinuance of the poem itself
was lucky for the author, as far as this episode was concerned; for it
is difficult to conceive in what manner he would have wound it up to the
satisfaction of the reader.
[Footnote 1: The hero and heroine of the famous romance of _Tristan de
Leonois_. ]
[Footnote 2: "Mr. Rose observes, that Medusa may be designed by Boiardo
as the 'type of conscience;' and he is confirmed in his opinion by the
circumstance mentioned in this canto (12, lib. i. stan. 39) of Medusa not
being able to contemplate the reflection of her own hideous appearance,
though beautiful in the sight of others. I fully agree with
him. "--PANIZZI, _ut sup_. Vol. iii p. 333. ]
[Footnote 3: "Tisbina," says Panizzi, in a note on this passage, "very
wisely acted like Emilia (in Chaucer), who, when she saw she could not
marry Arcita, because he was killed, thought of marrying Palemone, rather
than 'be a mayden all hire lyf. ' It is to be observed, that although she
regretted very much what had happened, and even fainted away, she did
not, however, stand on ceremonies, as the poet says in the next stanza,
but yielded immediately, and married Prasildo.
This, at first, I thought
to be a somewhat inconsistent; but on consideration I found I was wrong.
Tisbina was wrong; because, having lost Iroldo, she did not know what
Prasildo would do; but so soon as the latter offered to fill up the
place, she nobly and magnanimously resigned herself to her fate. "--_Ut
sup_. vol. iii. p. 336.
It might be thought inconsistent in Tisbina, notwithstanding Mr.
Panizzi's pleasantry, to be so willing to take another husband, after
having poisoned herself for the first; but she seems intended by the poet
to exhibit a character of impulse in contradistinction to permanency of
sentiment. She cannot help shewing pity for Prasildo; she cannot help
poisoning herself for her husband; and she cannot help taking his friend,
when she has lost him. Nor must it be forgotten, that the husband was the
first to break the tie. We respect him more than we do her, because he
was capable of greater self-denial; but if he himself preferred his
friend to his love, we can hardly blame her (custom apart) for following
the example. ]
SEEING AND BELIEVING.
ARGUMENT
A lady has two suitors, a young and an old one, the latter of whom wins
her against her inclinations by practising the artifice of Hippomanes in
his race with Atalanta. Being very jealous, he locks her up in a tower;
and the youth, who continued to be her lover, makes a subterraneous
passage to it; and pretending to have married her sister, invites the old
man to his house, and introduces his own wife to him as the bride. The
husband, deceived, but still jealous, facilitates their departure out of
the country, and returns to his tower to find himself deserted.
This story, like that of the _Saracen Friends_, is told by a damsel to a
knight while riding in his company; with this difference, that she is the
heroine of it herself. She is a damsel of a nature still lighter than the
former; and the reader's sympathy with the trouble she brings on herself,
and the way she gets out of it, will be modified accordingly. On the
other hand, nobody can respect the foolish old man with his unwarrantable
marriage; and the moral of Boiardo's story is still useful for these
"enlightened times," though conveyed with an air of levity.
In addition to the classics, the poet has been to the Norman fablers for
his story. The subterranean passage has been more than once repeated in
romance; and the closing incident, the assistance given by the husband
to his wife's elopement, has been imitated in the farce of _Lionel and
Clarissa. _
SEEING AND BELIEVING.
My father (said the damsel) is King of the Distant Islands, where the
treasure of the earth is collected. Never was greater wealth known, and I
was heiress of it all.
But it is impossible to foresee what is most to be desired for us in this
world. I was a king's daughter, I was rich, I was handsome, I was lively;
and yet to all those advantages I owed my ill-fortune.
Among other suitors for my hand there came two on the same day, one of
whom was a youth named Ordauro, handsome from head to foot; the other an
old man of seventy, whose name was Folderico. Both were rich and of noble
birth; but the greybeard was counted extremely wise, and of a foresight
more than human. As I did not feel in want of his foresight, the youth
was far more to my taste; and accordingly I listened to him with perfect
good-will, and gave the wise man no sort of encouragement. I was not at
liberty, however, to determine the matter; my father had a voice in it;
so, fearing what he would advise, I thought to secure a good result by
cunning and management. It is an old observation, that the craft of a
woman exceeds all other craft. Indeed, it is Solomon's own saying. But
now-a-days people laugh at it; and I found to my cost that the laugh is
just. I requested my father to proclaim, first, that nobody should have
me in marriage who did not surpass me in swiftness (for I was a damsel of
a mighty agility); and secondly, that he who did surpass me should be my
husband. He consented, and I thought my happiness secure. You must know,
I have run down a bird, and caught it with my own hand.
Well, both my suitors came to the race; the youth on a large war-horse,
trapped with gold, which curvetted in a prodigious manner, and seemed
impatient for a gallop; the old roan on a mule, carrying a great bag at
his side, and looking already tired out. They dismounted on the place
chosen for the trial, which was a meadow. It was encircled by a world of
spectators; and the greybeard and myself (for his age gave him the first
chance) only waited for the sound of the trumpet to set off.
I held my competitor in such contempt, that I let him get the start of
me, on purpose to make him ridiculous; but I was not prepared for his
pulling a golden apple out of his bag, and throwing it as far as he could
in a direction different from that of the goal. The sight of a curiosity
so tempting was too much for my prudence; and it rolled away so roundly,
and to such a distance, that I lost more time in reaching it than I
looked for. Before I overtook the old gentleman, he threw another apple,
and this again led me a chase after it. In short, I blush to say, that,
resolved as I was to be tempted no further, seeing that the end of our
course was now at hand, and my marriage with an old man instead of a
young man was out of the question, he seduced me to give chase to a
third apple, and fairly reached the goal before me. I wept for rage and
disgust, and meditated every species of unconjugal treatment of the old
fox. What right had he to marry such a child as I was? I asked myself the
question at the time; I asked it a thousand times afterwards; and I must
confess, that the more I have tormented him, the more the retaliation
delights me.
However, it was of no use at the moment. The old wretch bore me off
to his domains with an ostentatious triumph; and then, his jealousy
misgiving him, he shut me up in a castle on a rock, where he endeavoured
from that day forth to keep me from the sight of living being. You may
judge what sort of castle it was by its name--_Altamura_ (lofty wall). It
overlooked a desert on three sides, and the sea on the fourth; and a man
might as well have flown as endeavoured to scale it. There was but one
path up to the entrance, very steep and difficult; and when you were
there, you must have pierced outwork after outwork, and picked the lock
of gate after gate. So there sat I in this delicious retreat, hopeless,
and bursting with rage. I called upon death day and night, as my only
refuge. I had no comfort but in seeing my keeper mad with jealousy, even
in that desolate spot. I think he was jealous of the very flies.
My handsome youth, Ordauro, however, had not forgotten me; no, nor even
given me up. Luckily he was not only very clever, but rich besides;
without which, to be sure, his brains would not have availed him a pin.
What does he do, therefore, but take a house in the neighbourhood on the
sea-shore; and while my tormentor, in alarm and horror, watches every
movement, and thinks him coming if he sees a cloud or a bird, Ordauro
sets people secretly to work night and day, and makes a subterraneous
passage up to the very tower! Guess what I felt when I saw him enter!
Assuredly I did not show him the face which I shewed Folderico. I
die with joy this moment to think of my delight. As soon as we could
discourse of any thing but our meeting, Ordauro concerted measures for my
escape; and the greatest difficulty being surmounted by the subterraneous
passage, they at last succeeded. But our enemy gave us a frightful degree
of trouble.
There was no end of the old man's pryings, peepings, and precautions.
He left me as little as possible by myself; and he had all the coast
thereabouts at his command, together with the few boats that ever touched
it.
Ordauro, however, did a thing at once the most bold and the most
ingenious. He gave out that he was married; and inviting my husband to
dinner, who had heard the news with transport, presented me, to his
astonished eyes, for the bride. The old man looked as if he would have
died for rage and misery.
"Horrible villain! " cried he," what is this? "
Ordauro professed astonishment in his turn.
"What! " asked he; "do you not know that the princess, your lady's sister,
is wonderfully like her, and that she has done me the honour of becoming
my wife? I invited you in order to do honour to yourself, and so bring
the good families together. "
"Detestable falsehood! " cried Folderico. "Do you think I'm blind, or a
born idiot? But I'll see to this business directly; and terrible shall be
my revenge. "
So saying, he flung out, and hastened, as fast as age would let him, to
the room in the tower, where he expected to find me not. But there he did
find me:--there was I, sitting as if nothing had happened, with my hand
on my cheek, and full of my old melancholy.
"God preserve me! " exclaimed he; "this is astonishing indeed! Never could
I have dreamt that one sister could be so like another! But is it so, or
is it not? I have terrible suspicions. It is impossible to believe it.
Tell me truly," he continued; "answer me on the faith of a daring woman,
and you shall get no hurt by it. Has any one opened the portals for you
to-day? Who was it? How did you get out? Tell me the truth, and you shall
not suffer for it; but deceive me, and there is no punishment that you
may not look for. "
It is needless to say how I vowed and protested that I had never stirred;
that it was quite impossible; that I could not have done it if I would,
&c. I took all the saints to witness to my veracity, and swore I had
never seen the outside of his tremendous castle.
The monster had nothing to say to this; but I saw what he meant to do--I
saw that he would return instantly to the house of Ordauro, and ascertain
if the bride was there. Accordingly, the moment he turned the key on me,
I flew down the subterraneous passage, tossed on my new clothes like
lightning, and sat in my lover's house as before, waiting the arrival of
the panting old gentleman.
"Well," exclaimed he, as soon as he set eyes upon me, "never in all my
life--no--I must allow it to be impossible--never can my wife at home be
the lady sitting here. "
From that day forth the old man, whenever he saw me in Ordauro's house,
treated me as if I were indeed his sister-in-law, though he never had the
heart to bring the two wives together, for fear of old recollections.
Nevertheless, this state of things was still very perilous; and my new
husband and myself lost no time in considering how we should put an end
to it by leaving the country. Ordauro resorted, as before, to a bold
expedient. He told Folderico that the air of the sea-coast disagreed
with him; and the old man, whose delight at getting rid of his neighbour
helped to blind him to the deceit, not only expedited the movement, but
offered to see him part of the way on his journey!
The offer was accepted. Six miles he rode forth with us, the stupid old
man; and then, taking his leave, to return home, we pushed our horses
like lightning, and so left him to tear his hair and his old beard with
cries and curses, as soon as he opened the door of his tower.
ARIOSTO:
Critical Notice of his Life and Genius.
CRITICAL NOTICE
OF
ARIOSTO'S LIFE AND GENIUS. [1]
The congenial spirits of Pulci and Boiardo may be said to have attained
to their height in the person of Ariosto, upon the principle of a
transmigration of souls, or after the fashion of that hero in romance,
who was heir to the bodily strengths of all whom he conquered.
Lodovico Giovanni Ariosto was born on the 8th of September, 1474, in the
fortress at Reggio, in Lombardy, and was the son of Niccolò Ariosto,
captain of that citadel (as Boiardo had been), and Daria Maleguzzi,
whose family still exists. The race was transplanted from Bologna in the
century previous, when Obizzo the Third of Este, Marquess of Ferrara,
married a lady belonging to it, whose Christian name was Lippa. Niccolò
Ariosto, besides holding the same office as Boiardo had done, at Modena
as well as at Reggio, was master of the household to his two successive
patrons, the Dukes Borso and Ercole. He was also employed, like him,
in diplomacy; and was made a count by the Emperor Frederick the Third,
though not, it seems, with remainder to his heirs.
Lodovico was the eldest of ten children, five sons and five daughters.
During his boyhood, theatrical entertainments were in great vogue at
court, as we have seen in the life of Boiardo; and at the age of twelve,
a year after the decease of that poet (who must have been well known to
him, and probably encouraged his attempts), his successor is understood
to have dramatised, after his infant fashion, the story of Pyramus and
Thisbe, and to have got his brothers and sisters to perform it. Panizzi
doubts the possibility of these precocious private theatricals; but
considering what is called "writing" on the part of children, and that
only one other performer was required in the piece, or at best a third
for the lion (which some little brother might have "roared like any
sucking-dove"), I cannot see good reason for disbelieving the story. Pope
was not twelve years old when he turned the siege of Troy into a play,
and got his school-fellows to perform it, the part of Ajax being given to
the gardener. Man is a theatrical animal ([Greek: zoon mimaetikon]), and
the instinct is developed at a very early period, as almost every family
can witness that has taken its children to the "playhouse. "
At fifteen the young poet, like so many others of his class, was
consigned to the study of the law, and took a great dislike to it. The
extreme mobility of his nature, and the wish to please his father, appear
to have made him enter on it willingly enough in the first instance;[2]
but as soon as he betrayed symptoms of disgust, Niccolò, whose affairs
were in a bad way, drove him back to it with a vehemence which must have
made bad worse. [3] At the expiration of five years he was allowed to give
it up.
There is reason to believe that Ariosto was "theatricalising" during
no little portion of this time; for, in his nineteenth year, he is
understood to have been taken by Duke Ercole to Pavia and to Milan,
either as a writer or performer of comedies, probably both, since the
courtiers and ducal family themselves occasionally appeared on the stage;
and one of the poet's brothers mentions his having frequently seen him
dressed in character. [4]
On being delivered from the study of the law, the young poet appears
to have led a cheerful and unrestrained life for the next four or five
years.
He wrote, or began to write, the comedy of the _Cassaria_; probably
meditated some poem in the style of Boiardo, then in the height of his
fame; and he cultivated the Latin language, and intended to learn Greek,
but delayed, and unfortunately missed it in consequence of losing his
tutor. Some of his happiest days were passed at a villa, still possessed
by the Maleguzzi family, called La Mauriziana, two miles from Reggio.
Twenty-five years afterwards he called to mind, with sighs, the pleasant
spots there which used to invite him to write verses; the garden, the
little river, the mill, the trees by the water-side, and all the other
shady places in which he enjoyed himself during that sweet season of his
life "betwixt April and May. "[5] To complete his happiness, he had a
friend and cousin, Pandolfo Ariosto, who loved every thing that he loved,
and for whom he augured a brilliant reputation.
But a dismal cloud was approaching. In his twenty-first year he lost
his father, and found a large family left on his hands in narrow
circumstances. The charge was at first so heavy, especially when
aggravated by the death of Pandolfo, that he tells us he wished to die.
He took to it manfully, however, in spite of these fits of gloom; and he
lived to see his admirable efforts rewarded; his brothers enabled to seek
their fortunes, and his sisters properly taken care of. Two of them, it
seems, had become nuns. A third married; and a fourth remained long in
his house. It is not known what became of the fifth.
In these family-matters the anxious son and brother was occupied for
three or four years, not, however, without recreating himself with his
verses, Latin and Italian, and recording his admiration of a number of
goddesses of his youth. He mentions, in particular, one of the name of
Lydia, who kept him often from "his dear mother and household," and
who is probably represented by the princess of the same name in the
_Orlando_, punished in the smoke of Tartarus for being a jilt and
coquette. [6] His friend Bembo, afterwards the celebrated cardinal,
recommended him to be blind to such little immaterial points as ladies'
infidelities. But he is shocked at the advice. He was far more of
Othello's opinion than Congreve's in such matters; and declared, that he
would not have shared his mistress' good-will with Jupiter himself. [7]
Towards the year 1504, the poet entered the service of the unworthy
prince, Cardinal Ippolito of Este, brother of the new Duke of Ferrara,
Alfonso the First. His eminence, who had been made a prince of the church
at thirteen years of age by the infamous Alexander the Sixth (Borgia),
was at this period little more than one-and-twenty; but he took an active
part in the duke's affairs, both civil and military, and is said to
have made himself conspicuous in his father's lifetime for his vices and
brutality. He is charged with having ordered a papal messenger to be
severely beaten for bringing him some unpleasant despatches: which so
exasperated his unfortunate parent, that he was exiled to Mantua; and the
marquess of that city, his brother-in-law, was obliged to come to Ferrara
to obtain his pardon. But this was a trifle compared with what he
is accused of having done to one of his brothers. A female of their
acquaintance, in answer to a speech made her by the reverend gallant, had
been so unlucky as to say that she preferred his brother Giulio's eyes
to his eminence's whole body: upon which the monstrous villain hired two
ruffians to put out his brother's eyes; some say, was present at the
attempt. Attempt only it fortunately turned out to be, at least in part;
the opinion being, that the sight of one of the eyes was preserved. [8]
Party-spirit has so much to do with stories of princes, and princes are
so little in a condition to notice them, that, on the principle of
not condemning a man till he has been heard in his defence, an honest
biographer would be loath to credit these horrors of Cardinal Ippolito,
did not the violent nature of the times, and the general character of the
man, even with his defenders, incline him to do so. His being a soldier
rather than a churchman was a fault of the age, perhaps a credit to the
man, for he appears to have had abilities for war, and it was no crime of
his if he was put into the church when a boy. But his conduct to Ariosto
shewed him coarse and selfish; and those who say all they can for him
admit that he was proud and revengeful, and that nobody regretted him
when he died. He is said to have had a taste for mathematics, as his
brother had for mechanics. The truth seems to be, that he and the duke,
who lived in troubled times, and had to exert all their strength to
hinder Ferrara from becoming a prey to the court of Rome, were clever,
harsh men, of no grace or elevation of character, and with no taste but
for war; and if it had not been for their connexion with Ariosto, nobody
would have heard of them, except while perusing the annals of the time.
Ippolito might have been, and probably was, the ruffian which the
anecdote of his brother Giulio represents him; but the world would have
heard little of the villany, had he not treated a poet with contempt.
The admirers of our author may wonder how he could become the servant of
such a man, much more how he could praise him as he did in the great work
which he was soon to begin writing. But Ariosto was the son of a man who
had passed his life in the service of the family; he had probably been
taught a loyal blindness to its defects; gratuitous panegyrics of princes
had been the fashion of men of letters since the time of Augustus; and
the poet wanted help for his relatives, and was of a nature to take
the least show of favour for a virtue, till he had learnt, as he
unfortunately did, to be disappointed in the substance. It is not known
what his appointment was under the cardinal. Probably he was a kind of
gentleman of all work; an officer in his guards, a companion to amuse,
and a confidential agent for the transaction of business. The employment
in which he is chiefly seen is that of an envoy, but he is said also to
have been in the field of battle; and he intimates in his _Satires_,
that household attentions were expected of him which he was not quick
to offer, such as pulling off his eminence's boots, and putting on
his spurs. [9] It is certain that he was employed in very delicate
negotiations, sometimes to the risk of his life from the perils of roads
and torrents. Ippolito, who was a man of no delicacy, probably made use
of him on every occasion that required address, the smallest as well
as greatest,--an interview with a pope one day, and a despatch to a
dog-fancier the next.
His great poem, however, proceeded. It was probably begun before he
entered the cardinal's service; certainly was in progress during the
early part of his engagement. This appears from a letter written to
Ippolito by his sister the Marchioness of Mantua, to whom he had sent
Ariosto at the beginning of the year 1509 to congratulate her on the
birth of a child. She gives her brother special thanks for sending his
message to her by "Messer Ludovico Ariosto," who had made her, she says,
pass two delightful days, with giving her an account of the poem he was
writing. [10] Isabella was the name of this princess; and the grateful
poet did not forget to embalm it in his verse. [11]
Ariosto's latest biographer, Panizzi, thinks he never served under any
other leader than the cardinal; but I cannot help being of opinion with a
former one, whom he quotes, that he once took arms under a captain of the
name of Pio, probably a kinsman of his friend Alberto Pio, to whom he
addresses a Latin poem. It was probably on occasion of some early disgust
with the cardinal; but I am at a loss to discover at what period of time.
Perhaps, indeed, he had the cardinal's permission, both to quit his
service, and return to it. Possibly he was not to quit it at all, except
according to events; but merely had leave given him to join a party in
arms, who were furthering Ippolito's own objects. Italy was full of
captains in arms and conflicting interests. The poet might even, at some
period of his life, have headed a troop under another cardinal, his
friend Giovanni de' Medici, afterwards Leo the Tenth. He had certainly
been with him in various parts of Italy; and might have taken part in
some of his bloodless, if not his most military, equitations.
Be this as it may, it is understood that Ariosto was present at the
repulse given to the Venetians by Ippolito, when they came up the river
Po against Ferrara towards the close of the year 1509; though he was away
from the scene of action at his subsequent capture of their flotilla, the
poet having been despatched between the two events to Pope Julius the
Second on the delicate business of at once appeasing his anger with the
duke for resisting his allies, and requesting his help to a feudatary of
the church. Julius was in one of his towering passions at first, but
gave way before the address of the envoy, and did what he desired. But
Ariosto's success in this mission was nearly being the death of him in
another; for Alfonso having accompanied the French the year following
in their attack on Vicenza, where they committed cruelties of the same
horrible kind as have shocked Europe within a few months past,[12] the
poet's tongue, it was thought, might be equally efficacious a second
time; but Julius, worn out of patience with his too independent vassal,
who maintained an alliance with the French when the pope had ceased to
desire it, was to be appeased no longer. He excommunicated Alfonso, and
threatened to pitch his envoy into the Tiber; so that the poet was fain
to run for it, as the duke himself was afterwards, when he visited Rome
to be absolved. Would Julius have thus treated Ariosto, could he have
foreseen his renown? Probably he would. The greater the opposition to the
will, the greater the will itself. To chuck an accomplished envoy into
the river would have been much; but to chuck the immortal poet there,
laurels and all, in the teeth of the amazement of posterity, would have
been a temptation irresistible.
It was on this occasion that Ariosto, probably from inability to choose
his times or anodes of returning home, contracted a cough, which is
understood to have shortened his existence; so that Julius may have
killed him after all. But the pope had a worse enemy in his own
bosom--his violence--which killed himself in a much shorter period. He
died in little more than two years afterwards; and the poet's prospects
were all now of a very different sort--at least he thought so; for in
March 1513, his friend Giovanni de' Medici succeeded to the papacy, under
the title of Leo the Tenth.
Ariosto hastened to Rome, among a shoal of visitants, to congratulate the
new pope, perhaps not without a commission from Alfonso to see what he
could do for his native country, on which the rival Medici family never
ceased to have designs. The poet was full of hope, for he had known Leo
under various fortunes; had been styled by him not only a friend, but a
brother; and promised all sorts of participations of his prosperity. Not
one of them came. The visitor was cordially received. Leo stooped from
his throne, squeezed his hand, and kissed him on both his cheeks; but "at
night," says Ariosto, "I went all the way to the Sheep to get my supper,
wet through. " All that Leo gave him was a "bull," probably the one
securing to him the profits of his _Orlando;_ and the poet's friend
Bibbiena--wit, cardinal, and kinsman of Berni--facilitated the bull, but
the receiver discharged the fees. He did not get one penny by promise,
pope, or friend. [13] He complains a little, but all in good humour; and
good-naturedly asks what he was to expect, when so many hungry kinsmen
and partisans were to be served first. Well and wisely asked too, and
with a superiority to his fortunes which Leo and Bibbiena might have
envied.
It is thought probable, however, that if the poet had been less a friend
to the house of Este, Leo would have kept his word with him, for their
intimacy had undoubtedly been of the most cordial description. But it is
supposed that Leo was afraid he should have a Ferrarese envoy constantly
about him, had he detained Ariosto in Rome. The poet, however, it is
admitted, was not a good hunter of preferment. He could not play the
assenter, and bow and importune: and sovereigns, however friendly they
may have been before their elevation, go the way of most princely flesh
when they have attained it. They like to take out a man's gratitude
beforehand, perhaps because they feel little security in it afterwards.
The elevation to the papacy of the cheerful and indulgent son of Lorenzo
de' Medici, after the troublous reign of Julius, was hailed with delight
by all Christendom, and nowhere more so than in the pope's native place,
Florence. Ariosto went there to see the spectacles; and there, in the
midst of them, he found himself robbed of his heart by the lady whom he
afterwards married. Her name was Alessandra Benucci. She was the widow of
one of the Strozzi family, whom he had known in Ferrara, and he had long
admired her. The poet, who, like Petrarch and Boccaccio, has recorded the
day on which he fell in love, which was that of St. John the Baptist (the
showy saint-days of the south offer special temptations to that effect),
dwells with minute fondness on the particulars of the lady's appearance.
Her dress was black silk, embroidered with two grape-bearing vines
intertwisted; and "between her serene forehead and the path that went
dividing in two her rich and golden tresses," was a sprig of laurel in
bud. Her observer, probably her welcome if not yet accepted lover, beheld
something very significant in this attire; and a mysterious poem, in
which he records a device of a black pen feathered with gold, which he
wore embroidered on a gown of his own, has been supposed to allude to it.
As every body is tempted to make his guess on such occasions, I take the
pen to have been the black-haired poet himself, and the golden feather
the tresses of the lady. Beautiful as he describes her, with a face full
of sweetness, and manners noble and engaging, he speaks most of the
charms of her golden locks.
