DI MESSER LUIGI PULCI. 1822. ADVERTISEMENT. THE Morgante Maggiore, of the first canto of which this translation is offered, divides with the Orlando Innamorato the honour of having formed and suggested the style and story of Ariosto. The great defects of Boiardo were his treating too seriously the narratives of chivalry, and his harsh style. Ariosto, in his continuation, by a judicious mixture of the gaiety of Pulci, has avoided the one; and Berni in his reformation of Boiardo's poem, has corrected the other. Pulci may be considered as the precursor and model of Berni altogether, as he has partly been to Ariosto, however inferior to both his copyists. He is no less the founder of a new style of poetry very lately sprung up in England. I allude to that of the ingenious Whistlecraft. The serious poems on Roncesvalles in the same language, and more particularly the excellent one of Mr. Merivale, are to be traced to the same source. It has never yet been decided entirely whether Pulci's intention was or was not to deride the religion which is one of his favourite topics. It appears to me, that such an intention would have been no less hazardous to the poet than to the priest, particularly in that age and country; and the permission to publish the poem, and its reception among the classics of Italy, prove that it neither was nor is so interpreted. That he intended to ridicule the monastic life, and suffered his imagination to play with the simple dulness of his converted giant, seems evident enough; but surely it were as unjust to accuse him of irreligion on this account, as to denounce Fielding for his Parson Adams, Barnabas, Thwackum, Supple, and the Ordinary in Jonathan Wild,-or Scott, for the exquisite use of his Covenanters in the 'Tales of my Landlord.' In the following translation I have used the liberty of the original with the proper names: as Pulci uses Gan, Ganellon, or Ganellone; Carlo, Carlomagno, or Carlomano; Rondel, or Rondello, &c., as it suits his convenience; so has the translator. In other respects the version is faithful to the best of the translator's ability in combining his interpretation of the one language with the not very easy task of reducing it to the same versification in the other. The reader, on comparing it with the original, is requested to remember that the antiquated language of Pulci, however pure, is not easy to the generality of Italians themselves, from its great mixture of Tuscan proverbs; and he may therefore be more indulgent to the present attempt. How far the translator has succeeded, and whether or no he shall continue the work, are questions which the public will decide. He was induced to make the experiment partly by his love for, and partial intercourse with; the Italian language, of which it is so easy to acquire a slight knowledge, and with which it is so nearly impossible for a foreigner to become accurately conversant. The Italian language is like a capricious beauty, who accords her smiles to all, her favours to few, and sometimes least to those who have courted her longest. The translator wished also to present in an English dress a part at least of a poem never yet rendered into a northern language; at the same time that it has been the original of some of the most celebrated productions on this side of the Alps, as well as of those recent experiments in poetry in England which have been already mentioned. 292 IV. When I prepared my bark first to obey, V. Leonardo Aretino said already, That if, like Pepin, Charles had had a writer Of genius quick, and diligently steady, No hero would in history look brighter; He in the cabinet being always ready, And in the field a most victorious fighter, Who for the church and Christian faith had wrought, Certes, far more than yet is said or thought. VI. You still may see at Saint Liberatore, The abbey, no great way from Manopell, Erected in the Abruzzi to his glory, Because of the great battle in which fell A Pagan king, according to the story, And felon people whom Charles sent to hell: And there are bones so many, and so many, Near them Giusaffa's would seem few, if any. VII. But the world, blind and ignorant, don't prize And hast, and may have, if thou wilt allow, Whate'er thou hast acquired from then till now, With knightly courage, treasure, or the lance, Is sprung from out the noble blood of France. VIII. Twelve Paladins had Charles in court, of whom In Roncesvalles, as the villain plann'd too, IX. 'Twas Christmas-day; in Paris all his court The much-renown'd St. Dennis being the cause; Angiolin of Bayonne, and Oliver, And gentle Belinghieri too came there: X. Avolio, and Arino, and Othone Of Normandy, and Richard Paladin, Wise Hamo, and the ancient Salemone, Walter of Lion's Mount and Baldovin, Who was the son of the sad Ganellone, Were there, exciting too much gladness in The son of Pepin :-when his knights came hither, He groaned with joy to see them all together. XI. But watchful fortune, lurking, takes good heed To vent his spite, that thus with Charles the king One day he openly began to say, 'Orlando must we always then obey? XII. 'A thousand times I've been about to say, Each have to honour thee and to obey; But he has too much credit near the throne, Which we won't suffer, but are quite decided By such a boy to be no longer guided. XIII. 'And even at Aspramont thou didst begin The victory was Almonte's else; his sight He kept upon the standard, and the laurels In fact and fairness are his earning. Charles, XIV. 'If thou rememberest being in Gascony, When there advanced the nations out of Spain, The Christian cause had suffer'd shamefully, Had not his valour driven them back again. Best speak the truth when there's a reason why: Know then, oh Emperor! that all complain; As for myself, I shall repass the mounts O'er which I cross'd with two and sixty Counts. XV. "Tis fit thy grandeur should dispense relief, XVI. And with the sword he would have murder'd Gan, Wanted but little to have slain him there; And burst and madden'd with disdain and grief. XVII. From Ermellina, consort of the Danc. He took Cortana, and then took Rondell, And on towards Brara prick'd him o'er the plain; And when she saw him coming, Aldabelle Stretch'd forth her arms to clasp her lord again: Orlando, in whose brain all was not well, As 'Welcome, my Orlando, home,' she said, Raised up his sword to smite her on the head. XVIII. Like him a fury counsels; his revenge On Gan in that rash act he seem'd to take, Which Aldabella thought extremely strange; But soon Orlando found himself awake; And his spouse took his bridle on this change, And he dismounted from his horse, and spake Of everything which pass'd without demur, And then reposed himself some days with her. XIX. Then full of wrath departed from the place, -XX. The abbot was call'd Clermont, and by blood And Alabaster and Morgante hover ΧΧΙ. The monks could pass the convent gate no more, XXII. Said the abbot, 'You are welcome; what is mine The reason why our gate was barr'd to you: XXIII. 'When hither to inhabit first we came From savage brutes alone, too fierce to tame, 'Twas fit our quiet dwelling to secure ; But now, if here we'd stay, we needs must guard Against domestic beasts with watch and ward. XXIV. 'These make us stand, in fact, upon the watch; I know not what to do, till matters change. 'Our ancient fathers living the desert in, Our bounds, or taste the stones shower'd down for bread, From off yon mountain daily raining faster, XXVI. 'The third, Morgante's, savagest by far: he Plucks up pines, beeches, poplar-trees, and oaks And flings them, our community to bury; And all that I can do but more provokes.' While thus they parley in the cemetery, A stone from one of their gigantic strokes, Which nearly crush'd Rondell, came tumbling over, So that he took a long leap under cover. XXVII. 'For God's sake, cavalier, come in with speed; The manna's falling now,' the abbot cried. 'This fellow does not wish my horse should feed, Dear abbot,' Roland unto him replied. Of restiveness he'd cure him had he need; That stone seems with good will and aim applied.' The holy father said, 'I don't deceive; They'll one day fling the mountain, I believe.' XXVIII. Orlando bade them take care of Rondello, Who flung at my good horse yon corner-stone. Said the abbot, Let not my advice seem shallow; As to a brother dear I speak alone; I would dissuade you, baron, from this strife, XXIX. 'That Passamont has in his hand three dartsSuch slings, clubs, ballast-stones, that yield you must: You know that giants have much stouter hearts 294 XXX. The abbot sign'd the great cross on his front, Then go you with God's benison and mine:" Orlando, after he had scaled the mount, As the abbot had directed, kept the line Right to the usual haunt of Passamont; Who, seeing him alone in this design, Survey'd him fore and aft with eyes observant, Then ask'd him, If he wish'd to stay as servant?' XXXI. And promised him an office of great ease. But said Orlando, Saracen insane! I come to kill you, if it shall so please God, not to serve as footboy in your train; You with his monks so oft have broke the peaceVile dog! 'tis past his patience to sustain.' The giant ran to fetch his arms, quite furious, When he received an answer so injurious. XXXII. And being return'd to where Orlando stood, The cord, he hurl'd a stone with strength so rude, And head, and set both head and helmet ringing, Then Passamont, who thought him slain outright, But Christ his servants ne'er abandons long As to desert would almost be a wrong. While the giant goes to put off his defences, Orlando has recall'd his force and senses: XXXIV. And loud he shouted, 'Giant, where dost go!' Orlando had Cortaña bare in hand; To split the head in twain was what he schemed : Cortana clave the skull like a true brand, And pagan Passamont died unredeem'd, Yet harsh and haughty, as he lay he bann'd, And most devoutly Macon still blasphemed; But while his crude, rude blasphemies he heard, Orlando thank'd the Father and the Word, XXXVI. Saying, 'What grace to me thou'st this day given ! And I to thee, O Lord! am ever bound. I know my life was saved by thee from heaven, Since by the giant I was fairly down'd. |