Stories from the Italian Poets: With Lives of the Writers, Volume 1 - Leigh Hunt
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Really, if Sir Philip Sidney and other serious and exquisite gentlemen
had not sometimes taken a positively grave interest in the like pastimes
of paronomasia, one should hardly conceive it possible to meet with
them even in tragi-comedy. Did Pulci find these also in his
ballad-authorities? If his Greek-loving critics made objections here,
they had the advantage of him: unless indeed they too, in their
Alexandrian predilections, had a sneaking regard for certain shapings
of verse into altars and hatchets, such as have been charged upon
Theocritus himself, and which might be supposed to warrant any other
conceit on occasion.]
[Footnote 10: See, in the original, the story of Meridiana, canto vii.
King Manfredonio has come in loving hostility against her to endeavour
to win her affection by his prowess. He finds her assisted by the
Paladins, and engaged by her own heart to Uliviero; and in he despair of
his discomfiture, expresses a wish to die by her hand. Meridiana, with
graceful pity, begs his acceptance of a jewel, and recommends him to
go home with his army; to which he grievingly consents. This indeed is
beautiful; and perhaps I ought to have given an abstract of it, as a
specimen of what Pulci could have done in this way, had he chosen.]
[Footnote 11: "Perhaps it was from that same politic drift that the
devil whipt St. Jerome in a lenten dream for reading Cicero; or else it
was a fantasm bred by the fever which had then seized him. For had an
angel been his discipliner, unless it were for dwelling too much upon
Ciceronianisms, and had chastised the reading and not the vanity, it had
been plainly partial; first to correct him for grave Cicero, and not
for scurrile Plautus, whom he confesses to have been reading not long
before; next, to correct him only, and let so many more ancient fathers
wax old in those pleasant and florid studies without the lash of such a
tutoring apparition; insomuch that Basil teaches how some good use may
be made of Margites, a sportful poem, not now extant, writ by Homer;
and why not then of Morgante, an Italian romance much to the same
purpose?"--_Areopagitica, a Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed
Printing_, Prose Works, folio, 1697, p. 378. I quote the passage
as extracted by Mr. Merivale in the preface to his "Orlando in
Roncesvalles,"--_Poems_, vol. ii. p. 41.]
[Footnote 12: Ut sup. p. 222. Foscolo's remark is to be found in his
admirable article on the _Narrative and Romantic Poems of the Italians_,
in the _Quarterly Review_, vol. xxi. p. 525.]
* * * * *
HUMOURS OF GIANTS
Twelve Paladins had the Emperor Charlemagne in his court; and the most
wise and famous of them was Orlando. It is of him I am about to speak,
and of his friend Morgante, and of Gan the traitor, who beguiled him to
his death in Roncesvalles, where he sounded his horn so mightily after
the dolorous rout.
It was Easter, and Charles had all his court with him in Paris, making
high feast and triumph. There was Orlando, the first among them, and
Ogier the Dane, and Astolfo the Englishman, and Ansuigi; and there came
Angiolin of Bayonne, and Uliviero, and the gentle Berlinghieri; and
there was also Avolio and Avino, and Otho of Normandy, and Richard, and
the wise Namo, and the aged Salamon, and Walter of Monlione, and Baldwin
who was the son of the wretched Gan. The good emperor was too happy, and
oftentimes fairly groaned for joy at seeing all his Paladins together.
Now Morgante, the only surviving brother, had a palace made, after
giant's fashion, of earth, and boughs, and shingles, in which he shut
himself up at night. Orlando knocked, and disturbed him from his sleep,
so that he came staring to the door like a madman, for he had had a
bewildering dream.
"Who knocks there?" quoth he.
"You will know too soon," answered Orlando; "I am come to make you do
penance for your sins, like your brothers. Divine Providence has sent me
to avenge the wrongs of the monks upon the whole set of you. Doubt it
not; for Passamonte and Alabastro are already as cold as a couple of
pilasters.".
"Noble knight," said Morgante, "do me no ill; but if you are a
Christian, tell me in courtesy who you are."
"I will satisfy you of my faith," replied Orlando; "I adore Christ; and
if you please, you may adore him also."
"I have had a strange vision," replied Morgante, with a low voice was
assailed by a dreadful serpent, and called upon Mahomet in vain; then I
called upon your God who was crucified, and he succoured me, and I was
delivered from the serpent; so I am disposed to become a Christian."
"If you keep in this mind," returned Orlando, "you shall worship the
true God, and come with me and be my companion, and I will love you with
perfect love. Your idols are false and vain; the true God is the God of
the Christians. Deny the unjust and villanous worship of your Mahomet,
and be baptised in the name of my God, who alone is worthy."
"I am content," said Morgante.
Then Orlando embraced him, and said, "I will lead you to the abbey."
"Let us go quickly," replied Morgante, for he was impatient to make his
peace with the monks.
Orlando rejoiced, saying, "My good brother, and devout withal, you must
ask pardon of the abbot; for God has enlightened you, and accepted you,
and he would have you practise humility."
"Yes," said Morgante, "thanks to you, your God shall henceforth be my
God. Tell me your name, and afterwards dispose of me as you will." And
he told him that he was Orlando.
But Fortune stands watching in secret to baffle our designs. While
Charles was thus hugging himself with delight, Orlando governed every
thing at court, and this made Gan burst with envy; so that he began one
day talking with Charles after the following manner--"Are we always to
have Orlando for our master? I have thought of speaking to you about it
a thousand times. Orlando has a great deal too much presumption. Here
are we, counts, dukes, and kings, at your service, but not at his; and
we have resolved not to be governed any longer by one so much younger
than ourselves. You began in Aspramont to give him to understand how
valiant he was, and that he did great things at that fountain; whereas,
if it had not been for the good Gerard, I know very well where the
victory would have been. The truth is, he has an eye upon the crown.
This, Charles, is the worthy who has deserved so much! All your generals
are afflicted at it. As for me, I shall repass those mountains over
which I came to you with seventy-two counts. Do you take him for a
Mars?"
Orlando happened to hear these words as he sat apart, and it displeased
him with the lord of Pontiers that he should speak so, but much more
that Charles should believe him. He would have killed Gan, if Uliviero
had not prevented him and taken his sword out of his hand; nay, he would
have killed Charlemagne; but at last he went from Paris by himself,
raging with scorn and grief. He borrowed, as he went, of Ermillina
the wife of Ogier, the Dane's sword Cortana and his horse Rondel, and
proceeded on his way to Brava. His wife, Alda the Fair, hastened to
embrace him; but while she was saying, "Welcome, my Orlando," he was
going to strike her with his sword, for his head was bewildered, and he
took her for the traitor. The fair Alda marvelled greatly, but Orlando
recollected himself, and she took hold of the bridle, and he leaped from
his horse, and told her all that had passed, and rested himself with her
for some days.
He then took his leave, being still carried away by his disdain, and
resolved to pass over into Heathendom; and as he rode, he thought, every
step of the way, of the traitor Gan; and so, riding on wherever the road
took him, he reached the confines between the Christian countries and
the Pagan, and came upon an abbey, situate in a dark place in a desert.
Now above the abbey was a great mountain, inhabited by three fierce
giants, one of whom was named Passamonte, another Alabastro, and the
third Morgante; and these giants used to disturb the abbey by throwing
things down upon it from the mountain with slings, so that the poor
little monks could not go out to fetch wood or water. Orlando knocked,
but nobody would open till the abbot was spoken to. At last the abbot
came himself, and opening the door bade him welcome. The good man told
him the reason of the delay, and said that since the arrival of the
giants they had been so perplexed that they did not know what to do.
"Our ancient fathers in the desert," quoth he, "were rewarded according
to their holiness. It is not to be supposed that they lived only upon
locusts; doubtless, it also rained manna upon them from heaven; but
here one is regaled with stones, which the giants pour on us from the
mountain. These are our nice bits and relishes. The fiercest of the
three, Morgante, plucks up pines and other great trees by the roots, and
casts them on us." While they were talking thus in the cemetery, there
came a stone which seemed as if it would break Rondel's back.
"For God's sake, cavalier," said the abbot, "come in, for the manna is
falling."
"My dear abbot," answered Orlando, "this fellow, methinks, does not wish
to let my horse feed; he wants to cure him of being restive; the stone
seems as if it came from a good arm." "Yes," replied the holy father,
"I did not deceive you. I think, some day or other, they will cast the
mountain itself on us."
Orlando quieted his horse, and then sat down to a meal; after which he
said, "Abbot, I must go and return the present that has been made to my
horse." The abbot with great tenderness endeavoured to dissuade him, but
in vain; upon which he crossed him on the forehead, and said, "Go, then;
and the blessing of God be with you."
Orlando scaled the mountain, and came where Passamonte was, who, seeing
him alone, measured him with his eyes, and asked him if he would
stay with him for a page, promising to make him comfortable. "Stupid
Saracen," said Orlando, "I come to you, according to the will of God, to
be your death, and not your foot-boy. You have displeased his servants
here, and are no longer to be endured, dog that you are!"
The giant, finding himself thus insulted, ran in a fury to his weapons;
and returning to Orlando, slung at him a large stone, which struck him
on the head with such force, as not only made his helmet ring again, but
felled him to the earth. Passamonte thought he was dead. "What could
have brought that paltry fellow here?" said he, as he turned away. But
Christ never forsakes his followers. While Passamonte was going away,
Orlando recovered, and cried aloud, "How now, giant? do you fancy you
have killed me? Turn back, for unless you have wings, your escape is
out of the question, dog of a renegade!" The giant, greatly marvelling,
turned back; and stooping to pick up a stone, Orlando, who had Cortana
naked in his hand, cleft his skull; upon which, cursing Mahomet, the
monster tumbled, dying and blaspheming, to the ground. Blaspheming fell
the sour-hearted and cruel wretch; but Orlando, in the mean while,
thanked the Father and the Word.
The Paladin went on, seeking for Alabastro, the second giant; who, when
he saw him, endeavoured to pluck up a great piece of stony earth by the
roots. "Ho, ho!" cried Orlando, "you too are for throwing stones,
are you?" Then Alabastro took his sling, and flung at him so large a
fragment as forced Orlando to defend himself, for if it had struck him,
he would no more have needed a surgeon;[1] but collecting his strength,
he thrust his sword into the giant's breast, and the loggerhead fell
dead.
"Blessed Jesus be thanked," said the giant, "for I have always heard you
called a perfect knight; and as I said, I will follow you all my life
long."
And so conversing, they went together towards the abbey; and by the way
Orlando talked with Morgante of the dead giants, and sought to comfort
him, saying they had done the monks a thousand injuries, and "our
Scripture says the good shall be rewarded and the evil punished, and we
must submit to the will of God. The doctors of our Church," continued
he, "are all agreed, that if those who are glorified in heaven were to
feel pity for their miserable kindred who lie in such horrible confusion
in hell, their beatitude would come to nothing; and this, you see, would
plainly be unjust on the part of God. But such is the firmness of their
faith, that what appears good to him appears good to them. Do what he
may, they hold it to be done well, and that it is impossible for him to
err; so that if their very fathers and mothers are suffering everlasting
punishment, it does not disturb them an atom. This is the custom, I
assure you, in the choirs above."[2]
"A word to the wise," said Morgante; "you shall see if I grieve for my
brethren, and whether or no I submit to the will of God, and behave
myself like an angel. So dust to dust; and now let us enjoy ourselves. I
will cut off their hands, all four of them, and take them to these holy
monks, that they may be sure they are dead, and not fear to go out
alone into the desert. They will then be certain also that the Lord has
purified me, and taken me out of darkness, and assured to me the kingdom
of heaven." So saying, the giant cut off the hands of his brethren, and
left their bodies to the beasts and birds.
They went to the abbey, where the abbot was expecting Orlando in great
anxiety; but the monks not knowing what had happened, ran to the abbot
in great haste and alarm, saying, "Will you suffer this giant to come
in?" And when the abbot saw the giant, he changed countenance. Orlando,
perceiving him thus disturbed, made haste and said, "Abbot, peace be
with you! The giant is a Christian; he believes in Christ, and has
renounced his false prophet, Mahomet." And Morgante shewing the hands in
proof of his faith, the abbot thanked Heaven with great contentment of
mind.
The abbot did much honour to Morgante, comparing him with St. Paul; and
they rested there many days. One day, wandering over the house, they
entered a room where the abbot kept a quantity of armour; and Morgante
saw a bow which pleased him, and he fastened it on. Now there was in
the place a great scarcity of water; and Orlando said, like his good
brother, "Morgante, I wish you would fetch us some water." "Command me
as you please," said he; and placing a great tub on his shoulders, he
went towards a spring at which he had been accustomed to drink, at the
foot of the mountain. Having reached the spring, he suddenly heard a
great noise in the forest. He took an arrow from the quiver, placed it
in the bow, and raising his head, saw a great herd of swine rushing
towards the spring where he stood. Morgante shot one of them clean
through the head, and laid him sprawling. Another, as if in revenge, ran
towards the giant, without giving him time to use a second arrow; so he
lent him a cuff on the head which broke the bone, and killed him also;
which stroke the rest seeing fled in haste through the valley. Morgante
then placed the tub full of water upon one of his shoulders, and the
two porkers on the other, and returned to the abbey which was at some
distance, without spilling a drop.
The monks were delighted to see the fresh water, but still more the
pork; for there is no animal to whom food comes amiss. They let their
breviaries therefore go to sleep a while, and fell heartily to work, so
that the cats and dogs had reason to lament the polish of the bones.
"But why do we stay here doing nothing?" said Orlando one day to
Morgante; and he shook hands with the abbot, and told him he must take
his leave. "I must go," said he, "and make up for lost time. I ought to
have gone long ago, my good father; but I cannot tell you what I feel
within me, at the content I have enjoyed here in your company. I shall
bear in mind and in heart with me for ever the abbot, the abbey, and
this desert, so great is the love they have raised in me in so short a
time. The great God, who reigns above, must thank you for me, in his
own abode. Bestow on us your benediction, and do not forget us in your
prayers."
When the abbot heard the County Orlando talk thus, his heart melted
within him for tenderness, and he said, "Knight, if we have failed in
any courtesy due to your prowess and great gentleness (and indeed what
we have done has been but little), pray put it to the account of our
ignorance, and of the place which we inhabit. We are but poor men of
the cloister, better able to regale you with masses and orisons and
paternosters, than with dinners and suppers. You have so taken this
heart of mine by the many noble qualities I have seen in you, that I
shall be with you still wherever you go; and, on the other hand, you
will always be present here with me. This seems a contradiction; but you
are wise, and will take my meaning discreetly. You have saved the very
life and spirit within us; for so much perplexity had those giants cast
about our place, that the way to the Lord among us was blocked up. May
He who sent you into these woods reward the justice and piety by which
we are delivered from our trouble. Thanks be to him and to you. We shall
all be disconsolate at your departure. We shall grieve that we cannot
detain you among us for months and years; but you do not wear these
weeds; you bear arms and armour; and you may possibly merit as well in
carrying those, as in wearing this cap. You read your Bible, and your
virtue has been the means of shewing the giant the way to heaven. Go in
peace then, and prosper, whoever you may be. I do not seek your name;
but if ever I am asked who it was that came among us, I shall say that
it was an angel from God. If there is any armour or other thing that you
would have, go into the room where it is, and take it."
"If you have any armour that would suit my companion," replied Orlando,
"that I will accept with pleasure."
"Come and see," said the abbot; and they went to a room that was full of
armour. Morgante looked all about, but could find nothing large enough,
except a rusty breast-plate, which fitted him marvellously. It had
belonged to an enormous giant, who was killed there of old by Orlando's
father, Milo of Angrante. There was a painting on the wall which told
the whole story: how the giant had laid cruel and long siege to the
abbey; and how he had been overthrown at last by the great Milo. Orlando
seeing this, said within himself: "O God, unto whom all things are
known, how came Milo here, who destroyed this giant?" And reading
certain inscriptions which were there, he could no longer keep a firm
countenance, but the tears ran down his cheeks.
When the abbot saw Orlando weep, and his brow redden, and the light of
his eyes become child-like for sweetness, he asked him the reason; but,
finding him still dumb with emotion, he said, "I do not know whether you
are overpowered by admiration of what is painted in this chamber. You
must know that I am of high descent, though not through lawful wedlock.
I believe I may say I am nephew or sister's son to no less a man than
that Rinaldo, who was so great a Paladin in the world, though my own
father was not of a lawful mother. Ansuigi was his name; my own, out in
the world, was Chiaramonte; and this Milo was my father's brother. Ah,
gentle baron, for blessed Jesus' sake, tell me what name is yours!"
Orlando, all glowing with affection, and bathed in tears, replied, "My
dear abbot and cousin, he before you is your Orlando." Upon this, they
ran for tenderness into each other's arms, weeping on both sides with
a sovereign affection, too high to be expressed. The abbot was so
over-joyed, that he seemed as if he would never have done embracing
Orlando. "By what fortune," said the knight, "do I find you in this
obscure place? Tell me, my dear abbot, how was it you became a monk, and
did not follow arms, like myself and the rest of us?"
"It is the will of God," replied the abbot, hastening to give his
feelings utterance. "Many and divers are the paths he points out for us
by which to arrive at his city; some walk it with the sword--some with
pastoral staff. Nature makes the inclination different, and therefore
there are different ways for us to take: enough if we all arrive safely
at one and the same place, the last as well as the first. We are all
pilgrims through many kingdoms. We all wish to go to Rome, Orlando;
but we go picking out our journey through different roads. Such is the
trouble in body and soul brought upon us by that sin of the old apple.
Day and night am I here with my book in hand--day and night do you ride
about, holding your sword, and sweating oft both in sun and shadow; and
all to get round at last to the home from which we departed--I say, all
out of anxiety and hope to get back to our home of old." And the giant
hearing them talk of these things, shed tears also.
The Paladin and the giant quitted the abbey, the one on horseback and
the other on foot, and journeyed through the desert till they came to
a magnificent castle, the door of which stood open. They entered, and
found rooms furnished in the most splendid manner--beds covered with
cloth of gold, and floors rejoicing in variegated marbles. There was
even a feast prepared in the saloon, but nobody to eat it, or to speak
to them.
Orlando suspected some trap, and did not quite like it; but Morgante
thought nothing worth considering but the feast. "Who cares for the
host," said he, "when there's such a dinner? Let us eat as much as we
can, and bear off the rest. I always do that when I have the picking of
castles."
They accordingly sat down, and being very hungry with their day's
journey, devoured heaps of the good things before them, eating with all
the vigour of health, and drinking to a pitch of weakness.[3] They sat
late in this manner enjoying themselves, and then retired for the night
into rich beds.
But what was their astonishment in the morning at finding that they
could not get out of the place! There was no door. All the entrances had
vanished, even to any feasible window.
"We must be dreaming," said Orlando.
"My dinner was no dream, I'll swear," said the giant. "As for the rest,
let it be a dream if it pleases."
Continuing to search up and down, they at length found a vault with
a tomb in it; and out of the tomb came a voice, saying, "You must
encounter with me, or stay here for ever. Lift, therefore, the stone
that covers me."
"Do you hear that?" said Morgante; "I'll have him out, if it's the devil
himself. Perhaps it's two devils, Filthy-dog and Foul-mouth, or Itching
and Evil-tail."[4]
"Have him out," said Orlando, "whoever he is, even were it as many
devils as were rained out of heaven into the centre."
Morgante lifted up the stone, and out leaped, surely enough, a devil in
the likeness of a dried-up dead body, black as a coal. Orlando seized
him, and the devil grappled with Orlando. Morgante was for joining him,
but the Paladin bade him keep back. It was a hard struggle, and
the devil grinned and laughed, till the giant, who was a master of
wrestling, could bear it no longer: so he doubled him up, and, in spite
of all his efforts, thrust him back into the tomb.
"You'll never get out," said the devil, "if you leave me shut up."
"Why not?" inquired the Paladin.
"Because your giant's baptism and my deliverance must go together,"
answered the devil. "If he is not baptised, you can have no deliverance;
and if I am not delivered, I can prevent it still, take my word for it."
Orlando baptised the giant. The two companions then issued forth,
and hearing a mighty noise in the house, looked back, and saw it all
vanished.
"I could find it in my heart," said Morgante, "to go down to those same
regions below, and make all the devils disappear in like manner. Why
shouldn't we do it? We'd set free all the poor souls there. Egad, I'd
cut off Minos's tail--I'd pull out Charon's beard by the roots--make a
sop of Phlegyas, and a sup of Phlegethon--unseat Pluto,--kill Cerberus
and the Furies with a punch of the face a-piece--and set Beelzebub
scampering like a dromedary."
"You might find more trouble than you wot of," quoth Orlando, "and get
worsted besides. Better keep the straight path, than thrust your head
into out-of-the-way places."
Morgante took his lord's advice, and went straightforward with him
through many great adventures, helping him with loving good-will as
often as he was permitted, sometimes as his pioneer, and sometimes as
his finisher of troublesome work, such as a slaughter of some thousands
of infidels. Now he chucked a spy into a river--now felled a rude
ambassador to the earth (for he didn't stand upon ceremony)--now cleared
a space round him in battle with the clapper of an old bell which he had
found at the monastery--now doubled up a king in his tent, and bore him
away, tent and all, and a Paladin with him, because he would not let the
Paladin go.
In the course of these services, the giant was left to take care of a
lady, and lost his master for a time; but the office being at an end, he
set out to rejoin him, and, arriving at a cross-road, met with a very
extraordinary personage.