World Lit Part 2

The Decameron It had been usual, as it now is, for the women who were friends and neighbours to the deceased, to meet togeth- er at his house, and to lament with his relations; at the same time the men would get together at the door, with a number of clergy, according to the person’s circumstances; and the corpse was carried by people of his own rank, with the solemnity of tapers and singing, to that church where the deceased had desired to be buried. This custom was now laid aside, and, so far from having a crowd of women to lament over them, great numbers passed out of the world without a witness. Few were they who had the tears of their friends at their departure; those friends were laughing and making themselves merry the while; for even the women had learned to postpone every other concern to that of their own lives. Nor was a corpse attended by more than ten or a dozen, nor those citizens of credit, but fellows hired for the purpose; who would put themselves under the bier, and carry it with all possible haste to the nearest church; and the corpse was interred, without any great ceremony, where they could find room. With regard to the lower sort, and many of a middling rank, the scene was still more affecting; for they staying at home either through poverty or hopes of succour in distress, fell sick daily by thousands, and, having nobody to attend them, generally died: some breathed their last in the streets, and others shut up in their own houses, where the stench that came from them made the first discovery of their deaths to the neighbourhood. And, indeed, every place was filled with the dead. Hence it became a general practice, as well out of regard for the living as pity for the dead, for the neighbours, assisted by what porters they could meet with, to clear all the houses, and lay the bodies at the doors; and every morning great numbers might be seen brought out in this manner, to be carried away on biers, or tables, two or three at a time; and sometimes it has happened that a wife and her husband, two or three brothers, and a father and son, have been laid on together. It has been observed also, whilst two or three priests have walked before a corpse with their crucifix, that two or three sets of porters have fallen in with them; and where they knew but of one dead body, they have buried six, eight, or more : nor was there any to follow, and shed a few tears over them ; for things were come to that pass, that men’s lives were no more regarded than the lives of so many beasts. Thus it plainly appeared, that what the wisest in the ordinary course of things, and by a common train of calami- ties, could never be taught, namely, to bear them patiently, this, by the excess of calamity, was now grown a familiar lesson to the most simple and unthinking. The consecrated ground no longer containing the numbers which were continually brought thither, especially as they were desirous of laying every one in the parts allotted to their fami- lies, they were forced to dig trenches, and to put them in by hundreds, piling them up in rows, as goods are stowed in a ship, and throwing in a little earth till they were filled to the top. Not to dwell upon every particular of our misery, I shall observe, that it fared no better with the adjacent country; for, to omit the different boroughs about us, which presented the same view in miniature with the city, you might see the poor distressed labourers, with their families, without either the aid of physicians, or help of servants, languishing on the highways, in the fields, and in their own houses, and dying rather like cattle than human crea- tures. The consequence was that, growing dissolute in their manners like the citizens, and careless of everything, as supposing every day to be their last, their thoughts were not so much employed how to improve, as how to use their substance for their present support. The oxen, asses, sheep, goats, swine, and the dogs themselves, ever faithful to their masters, being driven from their own homes, were left to roam at will about the fields, and among the stand- ing corn, which no one cared to gather, or even to reap ; and many times, after they had filled themselves in the day, the animals would return of their own accord like rational creatures at night. What can I say more, if I return to the city? Unless that such was the cruelty of Heaven, and perhaps of men, that between March and July following, according to authentic reckonings, upwards of a hundred thousand souls perished in the city only; whereas, before that calamity, it was not supposed to have contained so many inhabi- tants. What magnificent dwellings, what noble palaces were then depopulated to the last inhabitant! What families became extinct! What riches and vast possessions were left, and no known heir to inherit them! What numbers of both sexes, in the prime and vigour of youth, whom in the morning neither Galen, Hippocrates, nor Æsculapius himself, would have denied to be in perfect health, breakfasted in the morning with their living friends, and supped at night with their departed friends in the other world or else to show by our habits the greatness of our distress. And if we go hence, it is either to see multitudes of the dead and sick carried along the streets; or persons who had been outlawed for their villanies, now facing it out publicly, in safe defiance of the laws; or the scum of the city, enriched with the public calamity, and insulting us with ribald ballads. Nor is anything now talked of, but that such a one is dead, or dying; and, were any left to mourn, we should hear nothing but lamentations. Or if we go home — I know not whether it fares with you as with myself—when I find out of a numerous family not one left besides a maidservant, I am frightened out of my senses; and go where I will, the ghosts of the departed seem always before me; not like the persons whilst they were living, but assuming a ghastly and dreadful aspect. Therefore the case is the same, whether we stay here, depart hence, or go home; especially as there are few left but ourselves who are able to go, and have a place to go to. Those few too, I am told, fall into all sorts of debauchery; and even cloistered ladies, supposing themselves entitled to equal liberties with others, are as bad as the worst. Now if this be so (as you see plainly it is), what do we here? What are we dreaming of? Why are we less regardful of our lives than other people 47

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 of theirs? Are we of less value to ourselves, or are our souls and bodies more firmly united, and so in less danger of dissolution? It is monstrous to think in such a manner; so many of both sexes dying of this distemper in the very prime of their youth afford us an undeniable argument to the contrary. Wherefore, lest through our own willful- ness or neglect, this calamity, which might have been prevented, should befall us, I should think it best (and I hope you will join with me,) for us to quit the town, and avoiding, as we would death itself, the bad example of others, to choose some place of retirement, of which every one of us has more than one, where we may make ourselves innocently merry, without offering the least violence to the dictates of reason and our own consciences. There will our ears be entertained with the warbling of the birds, and our eyes with the verdure of the hills and valleys; with the waving of cornfields like the sea itself; with trees of a thousand different kinds, and a more open and serene sky; which, however overcast, yet affords a far more agreeable prospect than these desolate walls. The air also is pleas- anter, and there is greater plenty of everything, attended with few inconveniences: for, though people die there as well as here, yet we shall have fewer such objects before us, as the inhabitants are less in number; and on the other part, if I judge right, we desert nobody, but are rather ourselves forsaken. For all our friends, either by death, or endeavouring to avoid it, have left us, as if we in no way belonged to them. As no blame then can ensue from fol- lowing this advice, and perhaps sickness and death from not doing so, I would have us take our maids, and every- thing we may be supposed to want, and enjoy all the diversions which the season will permit, to-day in one place, to-morrow in another; and so continue to do, unless death should interpose, until we see what end Providence designs for these things. And of this too let me remind you, that our characters will stand as fair by our going away reputably, as those of others will do who stay at home with discredit.” The ladies having heard what Pampinea had to offer, not only approved of it, but had actually began to concert measures for their instant departure, when Filomena, who was a most discreet person, remarked: “Though Pam- pinea has spoken well, yet there is no occasion to run headlong into the affair, as you are about to do. We are but women, nor is any of us so ignorant as not to know how little able we shall be to conduct such an affair, without some man to help us. We are naturally fickle, obstinate, suspicious, and fearful; and I doubt much, unless we take somebody into our scheme to manage it for us, lest it soon be at an end; and perhaps, little to our reputation. Let us provide against this, therefore, before we begin.” Eliza then replied: “It is true, man is our sex’s chief or head, and without his management, it seldom happens that any undertaking of ours succeeds well. But how are these men to be come at? We all know that the greater part of our male acquaintance are dead, and the rest all dispersed abroad, avoiding what we seek to avoid, and without our knowing where to find them. To take strangers with us, would not be altogether so proper: for, whilst we have regard to our health, we should so contrive matters, that, wherever we go to repose and divert ourselves, no scandal may ensue from it.” Whilst this matter was in debate, behold, three gentlemen came into the church, the youngest not less than twenty-five years of age, and in whom neither the adversity of the times, the loss of relations and friends, nor even fear for themselves, could stifle, or indeed cool, the passion of love. One was called Pamfilo, the second Filostrato, and the third Dioneo, all of them well bred, and pleasant companions; and who, to divert themselves in this time of affliction, were then in pursuit of their mistresses, who as it chanced were three of these seven ladies, the other four being all related to one or other of them. These gentlemen were no sooner within view, than the ladies had immedi- ately their eyes upon them, and Pampinea said, with a smile, “See, fortune is with us, and has thrown in our way three prudent and worthy gentlemen, who will conduct and wait upon us, if we think fit to accept of their service.” Neifile, with a blush, because she was one that had an admirer, answered: “Take care what you say, I know them all indeed to be persons of character, and fit to be trusted, even in affairs of more consequence, and in better company; but, as some of them are enamoured of certain ladies here, I am only concerned lest we be drawn into some scrape or scandal, without either our fault or theirs.” Filomena replied: “Never tell me what other people may think, so long as I know myself to be virtuous; God and the truth will be my defence; and if they be willing to go, we will say with Pampinea, that fortune is with us.” The rest hearing her speak in this manner, gave consent that the gentlemen should be invited to partake in this expedition. Without more words, Pampinea, who was related to one of the three rose up, and made towards them, as they stood watching at a distance. Then, after a cheerful salutation, she acquainted them with the design in hand, and entreated that they would, out of pure friendship, oblige them with their company. The gentlemen at first took it all for a jest, but, being assured to the contrary, immediately answered that they were ready; and, to lose no time, gave the necessary orders for what they wished to have done. Every thing being thus prepared, and a messenger dis- patched before, whither they intended to go, the next morning, which was Wednesday, by break of day, the ladies, with some of their women, and the gentlemen, with every one his servant, set out from the city, and, after they had travelled two short miles, came to the place appointed. It was a little eminence, remote from any great road, covered with trees and shrubs of an agreeable verdure; and on the top was a stately palace, with a grand and beautiful court in the middle: within were galleries, and fine apartments elegantly fitted up, and adorned with most curious paintings; around it were fine meadows, and most 48

The Decameron delightful gardens, with fountains of the purest and best water. The vaults also were stored with the richest wines, suited rather to the taste of copious topers, than of modest and virtuous ladies. This palace they found cleared out, and everything set in order for their reception, with the rooms all graced with the flowers of the season, to their great satisfaction. The party being seated, Dioneo, who was the pleasantest of them all, and full of words, began “Your wisdom it is, ladies, rather than any foresight of ours, which has brought us hither. I know not how you have disposed of your cares; as for mine, I left them all behind me when I came from home. Either prepare, then, to be as merry as myself (I mean with decency), or give me leave to go back again, and resume my cares where I left them.” Pampinea made answer, as if she had disposed of hers in like manner: “You say right, sir, we will be merry; we fled from our troubles for no other reason. But, as extremes are never likely to last, I, who first proposed the means by which such an agreeable company is now met together, being desirous to make our mirth of some continuance, do find there is a necessity for our appointing a principal, whom we shall honour and obey in all things as our head; and whose province it shall be to regulate our diversions. And that every one may make trial of the burthen which attends care, as well as the pleasure which there is in superiority, nor therefore envy what he has not yet tried, I hold it best that every one should experience both the trouble and the honour for one day. The first, I propose, shall be elected by us all, and, on the approach of evening, hall name a person to succeed for the following day: and each one, during the time of his or her government, shall give orders concerning the place where, and the manner how, we are to live.” These words were received with the highest satisfaction, and the speaker was, with one consent, appointed president for the first day: whilst Filomena, running to a laurel-tree, (for she had often heard how much that tree has always been esteemed, and what honour was conferred on those who were deservedly crowned with it,) made a garland, and put it upon Pampinea’s head. That garland, whilst the company continued together, was ever after to be the ensign of sovereignty. Pampinea, being thus elected queen, enjoined silence, and having summoned to her presence the gentlemen’s servants, and their own women, who were four in number: “To give you the first example,” said she, “how, by pro- ceeding from good to better, we may live orderly and pleasantly, and continue together, without the least reproach, as long as we please, in the first place I declare Parmeno, Dioneo’s servant, master of my household, and to him I commit the care of my family, and everything relating to my hall. Sirisco, Pamfilo’s servant, I appoint my treasurer, and to be under the direction of Parmeno; and Tindaro I command to wait on Filostrato and the other two gentle- men, whilst their servants are thus employed. Mysia, my woman, and Licisca, Filomena’s, I order into the kitchen, there to get ready what shall be provided by Parmeno. To Lauretta’s Chimera, and Fiammetta’s Stratilia, I give the care of the ladies’ chambers, and to keep the room clean where we sit. And I will and command you all, on pain of my displeasure, that wherever you go, or whatever you hear and see, you bring no news here but what is good.” These orders were approved by all; and the queen, rising from her seat, with a good deal of gaiety, added: “Here are gardens and meadows, where you may divert yourselves till nine o’clock, when I shall expect you back, that we may dine in the cool of the day.” The company were now at liberty, and the gentlemen and ladies took a pleasant walk in the garden, talking over a thousand merry things by the way, and diverting themselves by singing love songs, and weaving garlands of flowers. Returning at the time appointed, they found Parmeno busy in the execution of his office: for in a saloon below was the table set forth, covered with the neatest linen, with glasses reflecting a lustre like silver: and water having been presented to them to wash their hands, by the queen’s order, Parmeno desired them to sit down. The dishes were now served up in the most elegant manner, and the best wines brought in, the servants waiting all the time with the most profound silence; and being well pleased with their entertainment, they dined with all the facetiousness and mirth imaginable. When dinner was over, as they could all dance, and some both play and sing well, the queen ordered in the musical instruments. Dioneo took a lute, and Fiammetta a viol, in obedience to the royal command; a dance was struck up, and the queen, with the rest of the company, took an agreeable turn or two, whilst the servants were sent to dinner; and when the dance was ended, they began to sing, and continued till the queen thought it time to break up. Her permission being given, the gentlemen retired to their chambers, remote from the ladies’ lodging rooms, and the ladies did the same, and undressed themselves for bed. It was little more than three, when the queen rose, and ordered all to be called, alleging that much sleep in the daytime was unwholesome. Then they went into a meadow of deep grass, where the sun had little power; and having the benefit of a pleasant breeze, they sat down in a circle, as the queen had commanded, and she addressed them in this manner:—“As the sun is high, and the heat excessive, and nothing is to be heard but the chirping of the cicalas among the olives, it would be madness for us to think of moving yet: this is an airy place, and here are chess-boards and backgammon tables to divert yourselves with; but if you will be ruled by me, you will not play at all, since it often makes the one party uneasy, without any great pleasure to the other, or to the lookers-on; but let us begin and tell stories, and in this manner one person will entertain the whole company ; and by the time it has gone round, the worst part of the day will be over, and then we can divert ourselves as we like best. If this be agreeable to 49

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 you, then (for I wait to know your pleasure) let us begin; if not, you are at your own disposal till the evening.” This motion being approved by all, the queen continued, “Let every one for this first day take what subject he fancies most:” and turning to Pamfilo, who sat on her right hand, she bade him begin. He readily obeyed, and spoke to this effect, so as to be distinctly heard by the whole company. Day the Third The Ninth Story Gillette de narbonne recovereth the king of france of a fistula and demandeth for her husband bertrand de roussillon, who marrieth her against his will and betaketh him for despite to florence, where, he paying court to a young lady, gillette, in the person of the latter, lieth with him and hath by him two sons; wherefore after, holding her dear, he enter- taineth her for his wife. Lauretta’s story being now ended, it rested but with the queen to tell, an she would not infringe upon Dioneo’s privilege; wherefore, without waiting to be solicited by her companions, she began all blithesomely to speak thus: “Who shall tell a story that may appear goodly, now we have heard that of Lauretta? Certes, it was well for us that hers was not the first, for that few of the others would have pleased after it, as I misdoubt me will betide of those which are yet to tell this day. Natheless, be that as it may, I will e’en recount to you that which occurreth to me upon the proposed theme. There was in the kingdom of France a gentleman called Isnard, Count of Roussillon, who, for that he was scant of health, still entertained about his person a physician, by name Master Gerard de Narbonne. The said count had one little son, and no more, hight Bertrand, who was exceeding handsome and agreeable, and with him other children of his own age were brought up. Among these latter was a daughter of the aforesaid physician, by name Gillette, who vowed to the said Bertrand an infinite love and fervent more than pertained unto her tender years. The count dying and leaving his son in the hands of the king, it behoved him betake himself to Paris, whereof the damsel abode sore disconsolate, and her own father dying no great while after, she would fain, an she might have had a seemly occasion, have gone to Paris to see Bertrand: but, being straitly guarded, for that she was left rich and alone, she saw no honourable way thereto; and being now of age for a husband and having never been able to forget Bertrand, she had, without reason assigned, refused many to whom her kinsfolk would have married her. Now it befell that, what while she burned more than ever for love of Bertrand, for that she heard he was grown a very goodly gentleman, news came to her how the King of France, by an imposthume which he had had in his breast and which had been ill tended, had gotten a fistula, which occasioned him the utmost anguish and annoy, nor had he yet been able to find a physician who might avail to recover him thereof, albeit many had essayed it, but all had aggravated the ill; wherefore the king, despairing of cure, would have no more counsel nor aid of any. Hereof the young lady was beyond measure content and bethought herself that not only would this furnish her with a legit- imate occasion of going to Paris, but that, should the king’s ailment be such as she believed, she might lightly avail to have Bertrand to husband. Accordingly, having aforetime learned many things of her father, she made a powder of certain simples useful for such an infirmity as she conceived the king’s to be and taking horse, repaired to Paris. Before aught else she studied to see Bertrand and next, presenting herself before the king, she prayed him of his favour to show her his ailment. The king, seeing her a fair and engaging damsel, knew not how to deny her and showed her that which ailed him. Whenas she saw it, she was certified incontinent that she could heal it and accordingly said, ‘My lord, an it please you, I hope in God to make you whole of this your infirmity in eight days’ time, without annoy or fatigue on your part.’ The king scoffed in himself at her words, saying, ‘That which the best physicians in the world have availed not neither known to do, how shall a young woman know?’ Accordingly, he thanked her for her good will and answered that he was resolved no more to follow the counsel of physicians. Whereupon quoth the damsel, ‘My lord, you make light of my skill, for that I am young and a woman; but I would have you bear in mind that I medicine not of mine own science, but with the aid of God and the science of Master Gerard de Narbonne, who was my father and a famous physician whilst he lived.’ The king, hearing this, said in himself, ‘It may be this woman is sent me of God; why should I not make proof of her knowledge, since she saith she will, without annoy of mine, cure me in little time?’ Accordingly, being resolved to essay her, he said, ‘Damsel, and if you cure us not, after causing us break our resolution, what will you have ensue to you therefor?’ ‘My lord,’ answered she, ‘set a guard upon me and if I cure you not within eight days, let burn me alive; but, if I cure you, what reward shall I have?’ Quoth the king, ‘You seem as yet unhusbanded; if you do this, we will marry you well and worshipfully.’ ‘My lord,’ replied the young lady, ‘I am well pleased that you should marry me, but I will have a husband such as I shall ask of you, excepting always any one of your sons or of the royal house.’ He readily promised her that which she sought, whereupon she began her cure and in brief, before the term limited, she brought him back to health. 50

The Decameron The king, feeling himself healed, said, ‘Damsel, you have well earned your husband’; whereto she answered, ‘Then, my lord, I have earned Bertrand de Roussillon, whom I began to love even in the days of my childhood and have ever since loved over all.’ The king deemed it a grave matter to give him to her; nevertheless, having promised her and un- willing to fail of his faith, he let call the count to himself and bespoke him thus: ‘Bertrand, you are now of age and accomplished [in all that behoveth unto man’s estate]; wherefore it is our pleasure that you return to govern your county and carry with you a damsel, whom we have given you to wife.’ ‘And who is the damsel, my lord?’ asked Bertrand; to which the king answered, ‘It is she who hath with her medicines restored to us our health.’ Bertrand, who had seen and recognized Gillette, knowing her (albeit she seemed to him very fair) to be of no such lineage as sort- ed with his quality, said all disdainfully, ‘My lord, will you then marry me to a she-leach? Now God forbid I should ever take such an one to wife!’ ‘Then,’ said the king, ‘will you have us fail of our faith, the which, to have our health again, we pledged to the damsel, Image 5.7: Giovanni Boccaccio and Florentines Who Have Fled who in guerdon thereof demanded you to from the Plague | In this introduction to The Decameron, the author is husband?’ ‘My lord,’ answered Bertrand, ‘you shown alongside his ten characters (three men and seven women) who left may, an you will, take from me whatsoever I Florence to escape the plague. possess or, as your liegeman, bestow me upon Author: Master of 1482 and follower (illuminators) whoso pleaseth you; but of this I certify you, Source: Wikimedia Commons that I will never be a consenting party unto License: Public Domain such a marriage.’ ‘Nay,’ rejoined the king, ‘but you shall, for that the damsel is fair and wise and loveth you dear; wherefore we doubt not but you will have a far happier life with her than with a lady of higher lineage.’ Bertrand held his peace and the king let make great preparations for the celebration of the marriage. The appointed day being come, Bertrand, sore against his will, in the presence of the king, espoused the damsel, who loved him more than herself. This done, having already determined in himself what he should do, he sought leave of the king to depart, saying he would fain return to his county and there consummate the marriage; then, taking horse, he repaired not thither, but betook himself into Tuscany, where, hearing that the Florentines were at war with those of Sienna, he determined to join himself to the former, by whom he was joyfully received and made captain over a certain number of men-at-arms; and there, being well provided of them, he abode a pretty while in their service. The newly-made wife, ill content with such a lot, but hoping by her fair dealing to recall him to his county, be- took herself to Roussillon, where she was received of all as their liege lady. There, finding everything waste and dis- ordered for the long time that the land had been without a lord, with great diligence and solicitude, like a discreet lady as she was, she set all in order again, whereof the count’s vassals were mightily content and held her exceeding dear, vowing her a great love and blaming the count sore for that he accepted not of her. The lady, having thorough- ly ordered the county, notified the count thereof by two knights, whom she despatched to him, praying him that, an it were on her account he forbore to come to his county, he should signify it to her and she, to pleasure him, would depart thence; but he answered them very harshly, saying, ‘For that, let her do her pleasure; I, for my part, will return thither to abide with her, whenas she shall have this my ring on her finger and in her arms a son by me begotten.’ Now the ring in question he held very dear and never parted with it, by reason of a certain virtue which it had been given him to understand that it had. The knights understood the hardship of the condition implied in these two well nigh impossible requirements, but, seeing that they might not by their words avail to move him from his purpose, they returned to the lady and 51

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 reported to her his reply; whereat she was sore afflicted and determined, after long consideration, to seek to learn if and where the two things aforesaid might be compassed, to the intent that she might, in consequence, have her hus- band again. Accordingly, having bethought herself what she should do, she assembled certain of the best and chief- est men of the county and with plaintive speech very orderly recounted to them that which she had already done for love of the count and showed them what had ensued thereof, adding that it was not her intent that, through her sojourn there, the count should abide in perpetual exile; nay, rather she purposed to spend the rest of her life in pilgrimages and works of mercy and charity for her soul’s health; wherefore she prayed them take the ward and governance of the county and notify the count that she had left him free and vacant possession and had departed the country, intending nevermore to return to Roussillon. Many were the tears shed by the good folk, whilst she spoke, and many the prayers addressed to her that it would please her change counsel and abide there; but they availed nought. Then, commending them to God, she set out upon her way, without telling any whither she was bound, well furnished with monies and jewels of price and accompanied by a cousin of hers and a chamberwoman, all in pilgrims’ habits, and stayed not till she came to Florence, where, chancing upon a little inn, kept by a decent widow woman, she there took up her abode and lived quietly, after the fashion of a poor pilgrim, impatient to hear news of her lord. It befell, then, that on the morrow of her arrival she saw Bertrand pass before her lodging, a-horseback with his company, and albeit she knew him full well, natheless she asked the good woman of the inn who he was. The hostess answered, ‘That is a stranger gentleman, who calleth himself Count Bertrand, a pleasant man and a courte- ous and much loved in this city; and he is the most enamoured man in the world of a she-neighbour of ours, who is a gentlewoman, but poor. Sooth to say, she is a very virtuous damsel and abideth, being yet unmarried for poverty, with her mother, a very good and discreet lady, but for whom, maybe, she had already done the count’s pleasure.’ The countess took good note of what she heard and having more closely enquired into every particular and appre- hended all aright, determined in herself how she should do. Accordingly, having learned the house and name of the lady whose daughter the count loved, she one day repaired privily thither in her pilgrim’s habit and finding the mother and daughter in very poor case, saluted them and told the former that, an it pleased her, she would fain speak with her alone. The gentlewoman, rising, replied that she was ready to hearken to her and accordingly carried her into a chamber of hers, where they seated them- selves and the countess began thus, ‘Madam, meseemeth you are of the enemies of Fortune, even as I am; but, an you will, belike you may be able to relieve both yourself and me.’ The lady answered that she desired nothing better than to relieve herself by any honest means; and the countess went on, ‘Needs must you pledge me your faith, whereto an I commit myself and you deceive me, you will mar your own affairs and mine.’ ‘Tell me anything you will in all assurance,’ replied the gentlewoman; ‘for never shall you find yourself deceived of me.’ Thereupon the countess, beginning with her first enamourment, recounted to her who she was and all that had betided her to that day after such a fashion that the gentlewoman, putting faith in her words and having, indeed, already in part heard her story from others, began to have compassion of her. The countess, having related her adventures, went on to say, ‘You have now, amongst my other troubles, heard what are the two things which it behoveth me have, an I would have my husband, and to which I know none who can help me, save only yourself, if that be true which I hear, to wit, that the count my husband is passionately enamoured of your daughter.’ ‘Madam,’ answered the gentlewoman, ‘if the count love my daughter I know not; indeed he maketh a great show thereof. But, an it be so, what can I do in this that you desire?’ ‘Madam,’ rejoined the countess, ‘I will tell you; but first I will e’en show you what I purpose shall ensue thereof to you, an you serve me. I see your daughter fair and of age for a husband and according to what I have heard, meseemeth I understand the lack of good to marry her withal it is that causeth you keep her at home. Now I purpose, in requital of the service you shall do me, to give her forthright of mine own monies such a dowry as you yourself shall deem necessary to marry her honorably.’ The mother, being needy, was pleased with the offer; algates, having the spirit of a gentlewoman, she said, ‘Madam, tell me what I can do for you; if it consist with my honour, I will willingly do it, and you shall after do that which shall please you.’ Then said the countess, ‘It behoveth me that you let tell the count my husband by some one in whom you trust, that your daughter is ready to do his every pleasure, so she may but be certified that he loveth her as he pretendeth, the which she will never believe, except he send her the ring which he carrieth on his finger and by which she hath heard he setteth such store. An he send you the ring, you must give it to me and after send to him to say that your daughter is ready do his pleasure; then bring him hither in secret and privily put me to bed to him in the stead of your daughter. It may be God will vouchsafe me to conceive and on this wise, having his ring on my finger and a child in mine arms of him begotten, I shall presently regain him and abide with him, as a wife should abide with her husband, and you will have been the cause thereof.’ This seemed a grave matter to the gentlewoman, who feared lest blame should haply ensue thereof to her daughter; nevertheless, bethinking her it were honourably done to help the poor lady recover her husband and that she went about to do this to a worthy end and trusting in the good and honest intention of the countess, she not only promised her to do it, but, before many days, dealing with prudence and secrecy, in accordance with the latter’s 52

The Decameron instructions, she both got the ring (albeit this seemed somewhat grievous to the count) and adroitly put her to bed with her husband, in the place of her own daughter. In these first embracements, most ardently sought of the count, the lady, by God’s pleasure, became with child of two sons, as her delivery in due time made manifest. Nor once only, but many times, did the gentlewoman gratify the countess with her husband’s embraces, contriving so secretly that never was a word known of the matter, whilst the count still believed himself to have been, not with his wife, but with her whom he loved; and whenas he came to take leave of a morning, he gave her, at one time and another, divers goodly and precious jewels, which the countess laid up with all diligence. Then, feeling herself with child and unwilling to burden the gentlewoman farther with such an office, she said to her, ‘Madam, thanks to God and you, I have gotten that which I desired, wherefore it is time that I do that which shall content you and after get me gone hence.’ The gentlewoman answered that, if she had gotten that which contented her, she was well pleased, but that she had not done this of any hope of reward, nay, for that herseemed it behoved her to do it, an she would do well. ‘Madam,’ rejoined the countess, ‘that which you say liketh me well and so on my part I purpose not to give you that which you shall ask of me by way of reward, but to do well, for that meseemeth behoveful so to do.’ The gentlewoman, then, constrained by necessity, with the utmost shamefastness, asked her an hundred pounds to marry her daughter withal; but the countess, seeing her confusion and hearing her modest demand, gave her five hundred and so many rare and precious jewels as were worth maybe as much more. With this the gentlewoman was far more than satisfied and rendered the countess the best thanks in her power; whereupon the latter, taking leave of her, returned to the inn, whilst the other, to deprive Bertrand of all farther occasion of coming or sending to her house, removed with her daughter into the country to the house of one of her kinsfolk, and he, being a little after recalled by his vassals and hearing that the countess had departed the country, returned to his own house. The countess, hearing that he had departed Florence and returned to his county, was mightily rejoiced and abode at Florence till her time came to be delivered, when she gave birth to two male children, most like their father, and let rear them with all diligence. Whenas it seemed to her time, she set out and came, without being known of any, to Montpellier, where having rested some days and made enquiry of the count and where he was, she learned that he was to hold a great entertainment of knights and ladies at Roussillon on All Saints’ Day and betook herself thither, still in her pilgrim’s habit that she was wont to wear. Finding the knights and ladies assembled in the count’s palace and about to sit down to table, she went up, with her children in her arms and without changing her dress, into the banqueting hall and making her way between man and man whereas she saw the count, cast herself at his feet and said, weeping, Image 5.8: Boccaccio by Morgh- ‘I am thine unhappy wife, who, to let thee return and abide in thy house, have en | Engraved portrait of Boccaccio, long gone wandering miserably about the world. I conjure thee, in the name of by the artist Raffaello Sanzio Morghen. God, to accomplish unto me thy promise upon the condition appointed me by Author: Raffaello Sanzio Morghen the two knights I sent thee; for, behold, here in mine arms is not only one son of Source: Wikimedia Commons thine, but two, and here is thy ring. It is time, then, that I be received of thee as a License: Public Domain wife, according to thy promise.’ The count, hearing this, was all confounded and recognized the ring and the children also, so like were they to him; but yet he said, ‘How can this have come to pass?’ The countess, then, to his exceeding wonderment and that of all others who were present, orderly recounted that which had passed and how it had happened; whereupon the count, feeling that she spoke sooth and seeing her constancy and wit and moreover two such goodly children, as well for the observance of his promise as to pleasure all his liegemen and the ladies, who all besought him thenceforth to receive and honour her as his lawful wife, put off his obstinate despite and raising the countess to her feet, embraced her and kissing her, acknowledged her for his lawful wife and those for his children. Then, letting clothe her in apparel such as beseemed her quality, to the exceeding joyance of as many as were there and of all other his vassals who heard the news, he held high festival, not only all that day, but sundry others, and from that day forth still honoured her as his bride and his wife and loved and tendered her over all.” Day the Fourth The Second Story Fra alberto giveth a lady to believe that the angel gabriel is enamoured of her and in his shape lieth with her sundry times; after which, for fear of her kinsmen, he casteth himself forth of her window into the canal and taketh refuge 53

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 in the house of a poor man, who on the morrow carrieth him, in the guise of a wild man of the woods, to the piazza, where, being recognized, he is taken by his brethren and put in prison. The story told by Fiammetta had more than once brought the tears to the eyes of the ladies her companions; but, it being now finished, the king with a stern countenance said, “My life would seem to me a little price to give for half the delight that Guiscardo had with Ghismonda, nor should any of you ladies marvel thereat, seeing that every hour of my life I suffer a thousand deaths, nor for all that is a single particle of delight vouchsafed me. But, leaving be my affairs for the present, it is my pleasure that Pampinea follow on the order of the discourse with some story of woe- ful chances and fortunes in part like to mine own; which if she ensue like as Fiammetta hath begun, I shall doubt- less begin to feel some dew fallen upon my fire.” Pampinea, hearing the order laid upon her, more by her affection apprehended the mind of the ladies her companions than that of Filostrato by his words, wherefore, being more disposed to give them some diversion than to content the king, farther than in the mere letter of his command- ment, she bethought herself to tell a story, that should, without departing from the proposed theme, give occasion for laughter, and accordingly began as follows: “The vulgar have a proverb to the effect that he who is naught and is held good may do ill and it is not believed of him; the which affordeth me ample matter for discourse upon that which hath been proposed to me and at the same time to show what and how great is the hypocrisy of the clergy, who, with garments long and wide and faces paled by art and voices humble and meek to solicit the folk, but exceeding loud and fierce to rebuke in others their own vices, pretend that themselves by taking and others by giving to them come to salvation, and to boot, not as men who have, like ourselves, to purchase paradise, but as in a manner they were possessors and lords thereof, as- sign unto each who dieth, according to the sum of the monies left them by him, a more or less excellent place there, studying thus to deceive first themselves, an they believe as they say, and after those who put faith for that matter in their words. Anent whom, were it permitted me to discover as much as it behoved, I would quickly make clear to many simple folk that which they keep hidden under those huge wide gowns of theirs. But would God it might betide them all of their cozening tricks, as it betided a certain minor friar, and he no youngling, but held one of the first casuists in Venice; of whom it especially pleaseth me to tell you, so as peradventure somewhat to cheer your hearts, that are full of compassion for the death of Ghismonda, with laughter and pleasance. There was, then, noble ladies, in Imola, a man of wicked and corrupt life, who was called Berto della Massa and whose lewd fashions, being well known of the Imolese, had brought him into such ill savour with them that there was none in the town who would credit him, even when he said sooth; wherefore, seeing that his shifts might no longer stand him in stead there, he removed in desperation to Venice, the receptacle of every kind of trash, thinking to find there new means of carrying on his wicked practices. There, as if conscience-stricken for the evil deeds done by him in the past, feigning himself overcome with the utmost humility and waxing devouter than any man alive, he went and turned Minor Friar and styled himself Fra Alberta da Imola; in which habit he proceeded to lead, to all appearance, a very austere life, greatly commending abstinence and mortification and never eating flesh nor drinking wine, whenas he had not thereof that which was to his liking. In short, scarce was any ware of him when from a thief, a pimp, a forger, a manslayer, he suddenly became a great preacher, without having for all that for- sworn the vices aforesaid, whenas he might secretly put them in practice. Moreover, becoming a priest, he would still, whenas he celebrated mass at the altar, an he were seen of many, beweep our Saviour’s passion, as one whom tears cost little, whenas he willed it. Brief, what with his preachings and his tears, he contrived on such wise to inveigle the Venetians that he was trustee and depository of well nigh every will made in the town and guardian of folk’s monies, besides being confessor and counsellor of the most part of the men and women of the place; and doing thus, from wolf he was become shepherd and the fame of his sanctity was far greater in those parts than ever was that of St. Francis at Assisi. It chanced one day that a vain simple young lady, by name Madam Lisetta da Ca Quirino, wife of a great merchant who was gone with the galleys into Flanders, came with other ladies to confess to this same holy fri- ar, at whose feet kneeling and having, like a true daughter of Venice as she was (where the women are all feath- er-brained), told him part of her affairs, she was asked of him if she had a lover. Whereto she answered, with an offended air, ‘Good lack, sir friar, have you no eyes in your head? Seem my charms to you such as those of yonder others? I might have lovers and to spare, an I would; but my beauties are not for this one nor that. How many women do you see whose charms are such as mine, who would be fair in Paradise?’ Brief, she said so many things of this beauty of hers that it was a weariness to hear. Fra Alberto incontinent perceived that she savoured of folly and himseeming she was a fit soil for his tools, he fell suddenly and beyond measure in love with her; but, reserving blandishments for a more convenient season, he proceeded, for the nonce, so he might show himself a holy man, to rebuke her and tell her that this was vainglory and so forth. The lady told him he was an ass and knew not what one beauty was more than another, whereupon he, unwilling to vex her overmuch, took her confession and let her go away with the others. 54

The Decameron Image 5.9: A Tale from the Decameron | An oil painting by John William Waterhouse, showing the characters of The Decameron sitting together as they tell their stories. Author: Unknown Source: Wikimedia Commons License: Public Domain He let some days pass, then, taking with him a trusty companion of his, he repaired to Madam Lisetta’s house and withdrawing with her into a room apart, where none might see him, he fell on his knees before her and said, ‘Madam, I pray you for God’s sake pardon me that which I said to you last Sunday, whenas you bespoke me of your beauty, for that the following night I was so cruelly chastised there that I have not since been able to rise from my bed till to-day.’ Quoth Mistress Featherbrain, ‘And who chastised you thus?’ ‘I will tell you,’ replied the monk. ‘Being that night at my orisons, as I still use to be, I saw of a sudden a great light in my cell and ere I could turn me to see what it might be, I beheld over against me a very fair youth with a stout cudgel in his hand, who took me by the gown and dragging me to my feet, gave me such a drubbing that he broke every bone in my body. I asked him why he used me thus and he answered, “For that thou presumedst to-day, to disparage the celestial charms of Madam Lisetta, whom I love over all things, save only God.” “Who, then, are you?” asked I; and he replied that he was the angel Gabriel. “O my lord,” said I, “I pray you pardon me”; and he, “So be it; I pardon thee on condition that thou go to her, as first thou mayst, and get her pardon; but if she pardons thee not, I will return to thee and give thee such a bout of it that I will make thee a woeful man for all the time thou shalt live here below.” That which he said to me after I dare not tell you, except you first pardon me.’ My Lady Addlepate, who was somewhat scant of wit, was overjoyed to hear this, taking it all for gospel, and said, after a little, ‘I told you, Fra Alberto, that my charms were celestial, but, so God be mine aid, it irketh me for you and I will pardon you forthright, so you may come to no more harm, provided you tell me truly that which the angel said to you after.’ ‘Madam,’ replied Fra Alberto, ‘since you pardon me, I will gladly tell it you; but I must warn you of one thing, to wit, that whatever I tell you, you must have a care not to repeat it to any one alive, an you would not mar your affairs, for that you are the luckiest lady in the world. The angel Gabriel bade me tell you that you pleased him so much that he had many a time come to pass the night with you, but that he feared to affright you. Now he sendeth to tell you by me that he hath a mind to come to you one night and abide awhile with you and (for that he is an angel and that, if he came in angel-form, you might not avail to touch him,) he purposeth, for your delectation, to come in guise of a man, wherefore he biddeth you send to tell him when you would have him come and in whose form, and he will come hither; whereof you may hold yourself blest over any other lady alive.’ 55

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 My Lady Conceit answered that it liked her well that the angel Gabriel loved her, seeing she loved him well nor ever failed to light a candle of a groat before him, whereas she saw him depictured, and that what time soever he chose to come to her, he should be dearly welcome and would find her all alone in her chamber, but on this condi- tion, that he should not leave her for the Virgin Mary, whose great well-wisher it was said he was, as indeed ap- peareth, inasmuch as in every place where she saw him [limned], he was on his knees before her. Moreover, she said it must rest with him to come in whatsoever form he pleased, so but she was not affrighted. Then said Fra Alberto, ‘Madam, you speak sagely and I will without fail take order with him of that which you tell me. But you may do me a great favour, which will cost you nothing; it is this, that you will him come with this my body. And I will tell you in what you will do me a favour; you must know that he will take my soul forth of my body and put it in Paradise, whilst he himself will enter into me; and what while he abideth with you, so long will my soul abide in Paradise.’ ‘With all my heart,’ answered Dame Littlewit. ‘I will well that you have this consolation, in requital of the buffets he gave you on my account.’ Then said Fra Alberto, ‘Look that he find the door of your house open to-night, so he may come in thereat, for that, coming in human form, as he will, he might not enter save by the door.’ The lady replied that it should be done, whereupon the monk took his leave and she abode in such a transport of exultation that her breech touched not her shift and herseemed a thousand years till the angel Gabriel should come to her. Meanwhile, Fra Alberto, bethinking him that it behoved him play the cavalier, not the angel, that night pro- ceeded to fortify himself with confections and other good things, so he might not lightly be unhorsed; then, getting leave, as soon as it was night, he repaired with one of his comrades to the house of a woman, a friend of his, whence he was used whiles to take his start what time he went to course the fillies; and thence, whenas it seemed to him time, having disguised himself, he betook him to the lady’s house. There he tricked himself out as an angel with the trappings he had brought with him and going up, entered the chamber of the lady, who, seeing this creature all in white, fell on her knees before him. The angel blessed her and raising her to her feet, signed to her to go to bed, which she, studious to obey, promptly did, and the angel after lay down with his devotee. Now Fra Alberto was a personable man of his body and a lusty and excellent well set up on his legs; wherefore, finding himself in bed with Madam Lisetta, who was young and dainty, he showed himself another guess bedfellow than her husband and many a time that night took flight without wings, whereof she avowed herself exceeding content; and eke he told her many things of the glories of heaven. Then, the day drawing near, after taking order for his return, he made off with his trappings and returned to his comrade, whom the good woman of the house had meanwhile borne amicable company, lest he should get a fright, lying alone. As for the lady, no sooner had she dined than, taking her waiting-woman with her, she betook herself to Fra Alberto and gave him news of the angel Gabriel, telling him that which she had heard from him of the glories of life eternal and how he was made and adding to boot, marvellous stories of her own invention. ‘Madam,’ said he, ‘I know not how you fared with him; I only know that yesternight, whenas he came to me and I did your message to him, he suddenly transported my soul amongst such a multitude of roses and other flowers that never was the like thereof seen here below, and I abode in one of the most delightsome places that was aye until the morning; but what became of my body meanwhile I know not.’ ‘Do I not tell you?’ answered the lady. ‘Your body lay all night in mine arms with the angel Gabriel. If you believe me not, look under your left pap, whereas I gave the angel such a kiss that the marks of it will stay by you for some days to come.’ Quoth the friar, ‘Say you so? Then will I do to-day a thing I have not done this great while; I will strip myself, to see if you tell truth.’ Then, after much prating, the lady returned home and Fra Alberto paid her many visits in angel-form, without suffering any hindrance. However, it chanced one day that Madam Lisetta, being in dispute with a gossip of hers upon the question of female charms, to set her own above all others, said, like a woman who had little wit in her noddle, ‘An you but knew whom my beauty pleaseth, in truth you would hold your peace of other women.’ The other, longing to hear, said, as one who knew her well, ‘Madam, maybe you say sooth; but knowing not who this may be, one cannot turn about so lightly.’ Thereupon quoth Lisetta, who was eath enough to draw, ‘Gossip, it must go no farther; but he I mean is the angel Gabriel, who loveth me more than himself, as the fairest lady (for that which he telleth me) who is in the world or the Maremma.’ The other had a mind to laugh, but contained herself, so she might make Lisetta speak farther, and said, ‘Faith, madam, an the angel Gabriel be your lover and tell you this, needs must it be so; but methought not the angels did these things.’ ‘Gossip,’ answered the lady, ‘you are mistaken; zounds, he doth what you wot of better than my husband and telleth me they do it also up yonder; but, for that I seem to him fairer than any she in heaven, he hath fallen in love with me and cometh full oft to lie with me; seestow now?’ The gossip, to whom it seemed a thousand years till she should be whereas she might repeat these things, took her leave of Madam Lisetta and foregathering at an entertainment with a great company of ladies, orderly recounted to them the whole story. They told it again to their husbands and other ladies, and these to yet others, and so in less than two days Venice was all full of it. Among others to whose ears the thing came were Lisetta’s brothers-in-law, who, without saying aught to her, bethought themselves to find the angel in question and see if he knew how to fly, and to this end they lay several nights in wait for him. As chance would have it, some inkling of the matter came to 56

The Decameron the ears of Fra Alberto, who accordingly repaired one night to the lady’s house, to reprove her, but hardly had he put off his clothes ere her brothers-in-law, who had seen him come, were at the door of her chamber to open it. Fra Alberto, hearing this and guessing what was to do, started up and having no other resource, opened a window, which gave upon the Grand Canal, and cast himself thence into the water. The canal was deep there and he could swim well, so that he did himself no hurt, but made his way to the opposite bank and hastily entering a house that stood open there, besought a poor man, whom he found within, to save his life for the love of God, telling him a tale of his own fashion, to explain how he came there at that hour and naked. The good man was moved to pity and it behov- ing him to go do his occasions, he put him in his own bed and bade him abide there against his return; then, locking him in, he went about his affairs. Meanwhile, the lady’s brothers-in-law entered her chamber and found that the angel Gabriel had flown, leaving his wings there; whereupon, seeing themselves baffled, they gave her all manner hard words and ultimately made off to their own house with the angel’s trappings, leaving her disconsolate. Broad day come, the good man with whom Fra Alberto had taken refuge, being on the Rialto, heard how the angel Gabriel had gone that night to lie with Madam Lisetta and being surprised by her kinsmen, had cast himself for fear into the canal, nor was it known what was come of him, and concluded forthright that this was he whom he had at home. Accordingly, he returned thither and recognizing the monk, found means after much parley, to make him fetch him fifty ducats, an he would not have him give him up to the lady’s kinsmen. Having gotten the money and Fra Alberto offering to depart thence, the good man said to him, ‘There is no way of escape for you, an it be not one that I will tell you. We hold to-day a festival, wherein one bringeth a man clad bear-fashion and another one accoutred as a wild man of the woods and what not else, some one thing and some another, and there is a hunt held in St. Mark’s Place, which finished, the festival is at an end and after each goeth whither it pleaseth him with him whom he hath brought. An you will have me lead you thither, after one or other of these fashions, I can after carry you whither you please, ere it be spied out that you are here; else I know not how you are to get away, without being recognized, for the lady’s kinsmen, concluding that you must be somewhere hereabout, have set a watch for you on all sides.’ Hard as it seemed to Fra Alberto to go on such wise, nevertheless, of the fear he had of the lady’s kinsmen, he resigned himself thereto and told his host whither he would be carried, leaving the manner to him. Accordingly, the other, having smeared him all over with honey and covered him with down, clapped a chain about his neck and a mask on his face; then giving him a great staff in on hand and in the other two great dogs which he had fetched from the shambles he despatched one to the Rialto to make public proclamation that whoso would see the angel Gabriel should repair to St. Mark’s Place; and this was Venetian loyalty! This done, after a while, he brought him forth and setting him before himself, went holding him by the chain behind, to the no small clamour of the folk, who said all, ‘What be this? What be this?’ till he came to the place, where, what with those who had followed after them and those who, hearing the proclamation, were come thither from the Rialto, were folk without end. There he tied his wild man to a column in a raised and high place, making a show of awaiting the hunt, whilst the flies and gads gave the monk exceeding annoy, for that he was besmeared with honey. But, when he saw the place well filled, making as he would unchain his wild man, he pulled off Fra Alberto’s mask and said, ‘Gentlemen, since the bear cometh not and there is no hunt toward, I purpose, so you may not be come in vain, that you shall see the angel Gabriel, who cometh down from heaven to earth anights, to comfort the Venetian ladies.’ No sooner was the mask off than Fra Alberto was incontinent recognized of all, who raised a general outcry against him, giving him the scurviest words and the soundest rating was ever given a canting knave; moreover, they cast in his face, one this kind of filth and another that, and so they baited him a great while, till the news came by chance to his brethren, whereupon half a dozen of them sallied forth and coming thither, unchained him and threw a gown over him; then, with a general hue and cry behind them, they carried him off to the convent, where it is believed he died in prison, after a wretched life. Thus then did this fellow, held good and doing ill, without it being believed, dare to feign himself the angel Gabriel, and after being turned into a wild man of the woods and put to shame, as he deserved, bewailed, when too late, the sins he had committed. God grant it happen thus to all other knaves of his fashion!” Day the Fifth The Ninth Story Federigo degli alberighi loveth and is not loved. He wasteth his substance in prodigal hospitality till there is left him but one sole falcon, which, having nought else, he giveth his mistress to eat, on her coming to his house; and she, learning this, changeth her mind and taking him to husband, maketh him rich again. Filomena having ceased speaking, the queen, seeing that none remained to tell save only herself and Dioneo, whose privilege entitled him to speak last, said, with blithe aspect, “It pertaineth now to me to tell and I, dearest ladies, will willingly do it, relating a story like in part to the foregoing, to the intent that not only may you know how much the love of you can avail in gentle hearts, but that you may learn to be yourselves, whenas it behoveth, bestowers of your 57

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 guerdons, without always suffering fortune to be your guide, which most times, as it chanceth, giveth not discreetly, but out of all measure. You must know, then, that Coppo di Borghese Domenichi, who was of our days and maybe is yet a man of great worship and authority in our city and illustrious and worthy of eternal renown, much more for his fashions and his merit than for the nobility of his blood, being grown full of years, delighted oftentimes to discourse with his neigh- bours and others of things past, the which he knew how to do better and more orderly and with more memory and elegance of speech than any other man. Amongst other fine things of his, he was used to tell that there was once in Florence a young man called Federigo, son of Messer Filippo Alberighi and renowned for deeds of arms and cour- tesy over every other bachelor in Tuscany, who, as betideth most gentlemen, became enamoured of a gentlewoman named Madam Giovanna, in her day held one of the fairest and sprightliest ladies that were in Florence; and to win her love, he held jousts and tourneyings and made entertainments and gave gifts and spent his substance without any stint; but she, being no less virtuous than fair, recked nought of these things done for her nor of him who did them. Federigo spending thus far beyond his means and gaining nought, his wealth, as lightly happeneth, in course of time came to an end and he abode poor, nor was aught left him but a poor little farm, on whose returns he lived very meagrely, and to boot a falcon he had, one of the best in the world. Wherefore, being more in love than ever and him- seeming he might no longer make such a figure in the city as he would fain do, he took up his abode at Campi, where his farm was, and there bore his poverty with patience, hawking whenas he might and asking of no one. Federigo being thus come to extremity, it befell one day that Madam Giovanna’s husband fell sick and seeing himself nigh upon death, made his will, wherein, being very rich, he left a son of his, now well grown, his heir, after which, having much loved Madam Giovanna, he substituted her to his heir, in case his son should die without lawful issue, and died. Madam Giovanna, being thus left a widow, betook herself that summer, as is the usance of our ladies, into the country with her son to an estate of hers very near that of Federigo; wherefore it befell that the lad made acquaintance with the latter and began to take delight in hawks and hounds, and having many a time seen his falcon flown and being strangely taken therewith, longed sore to have it, but dared not ask it of him, seeing it so dear to him. The thing standing thus, it came to pass that the lad fell sick, whereat his mother was sore concerned, as one who had none but him and loved him with all her might, and abode about him all day, comforting him without cease; and many a time she asked him if there were aught he desired, beseeching him tell it her, for an it might be gotten, she would contrive that he should have it. The lad, having heard these offers many times repeated, said, ‘Mother mine, an you could procure me to have Federigo’s falcon, methinketh I should soon be whole.’ The lady hearing this, bethought herself awhile and began to consider how she should do. She knew that Fed- erigo had long loved her and had never gotten of her so much as a glance of the eye; wherefore quoth she in herself, ‘How shall I send or go to him to seek of him this falcon, which is, by all I hear, the best that ever flew and which, to boot, maintaineth him in the world? And how can I be so graceless as to offer to take this from a gentleman who hath none other pleasure left?’ Perplexed with this thought and knowing not what to say, for all she was very certain of getting the bird, if she asked for it, she made no reply to her son, but abode silent. However, at last, the love of her son so got the better of her that she resolved in herself to satisfy him, come what might, and not to send, but to go herself for the falcon and fetch it to him. Accordingly she said to him, ‘My son, take comfort and bethink thyself to grow well again, for I promise thee that the first thing I do to-morrow morning I will go for it and fetch it to thee.’ The boy was rejoiced at this and showed some amendment that same day. Next morning, the lady, taking another lady to bear her company, repaired, by way of diversion, to Federigo’s little house and enquired for the latter, who, for that it was no weather for hawking nor had been for some days past, was then in a garden he had, overlooking the doing of certain little matters of his, and hearing that Madam Giovanna asked for him at the door, ran thither, rejoicing and marvelling exceedingly. She, seeing him come, rose and going with womanly graciousness to meet him, answered his respectful salutation with ‘Give you good day, Federigo!’ then went on to say, ‘I am come to make thee amends for that which thou hast suffered through me, in loving me more than should have behooved thee; and the amends in question is this that I purpose to dine with thee this morning familiarly, I and this lady my companion.’ ‘Madam,’ answered Federigo humbly, ‘I remember me not to have ever received any ill at your hands, but on the contrary so much good that, if ever I was worth aught, it came about through your worth and the love I bore you; and assuredly, albeit you have come to a poor host, this your gracious visit is far more precious to me than it would be an it were given me to spend over again as much as that which I have spent aforetime.’ So saying, he shamefastly received her into his house and thence brought her into his garden, where, having none else to bear her company, he said to her, ‘Madam, since there is none else here, this good woman, wife of yonder husbandman, will bear you company, whilst I go see the table laid.’ Never till that moment, extreme as was his poverty, had he been so dolorously sensible of the straits to which he had brought himself for the lack of those riches he had spent on such disorderly wise. But that morning, finding he had nothing wherewithal he might honourably entertain the lady, for love of whom he had aforetime entertained folk without number, he was made perforce aware of his default and ran hither and thither, perplexed beyond measure, 58

The Decameron Image 5.10: Decameron | An image from The Decameron, illustrated by Taddeo Crivelli, depicting the seven women and three men from Boccaccio’s manuscript. Author: User “Cassmus” Source: Wikimedia Commons License: Public Domain like a man beside himself, inwardly cursing his ill fortune, but found neither money nor aught he might pawn. It was now growing late and he having a great desire to entertain the gentle lady with somewhat, yet choosing not to have recourse to his own labourer, much less any one else, his eye fell on his good falcon, which he saw on his perch in his little saloon; whereupon, having no other resource, he took the bird and finding him fat, deemed him a dish worthy of such a lady. Accordingly, without more ado, he wrung the hawk’s neck and hastily caused a little maid of his pluck it and truss it and after put it on the spit and roast it diligently. Then, the table laid and covered with very white cloths, whereof he had yet some store, he returned with a blithe countenance to the lady in the garden and told her that din- ner was ready, such as it was in his power to provide. Accordingly, the lady and her friend, arising, betook themselves to table and in company with Federigo, who served them with the utmost diligence, ate the good falcon, unknowing what they did. Presently, after they had risen from table and had abidden with him awhile in cheerful discourse, the lady, thinking it time to tell that wherefor she was come, turned to Federigo and courteously bespoke him, saying, ‘Federigo, I doubt not a jot but that, when thou hearest that which is the especial occasion of my coming hither, thou wilt marvel at my presumption, remembering thee of thy past life and of my virtue, which latter belike thou reputedst cruelty and hardness of heart; but, if thou hadst or hadst had children, by whom thou mightest know how potent is the love one beareth them, meseemeth certain that thou wouldst in part hold me excused. But, although thou hast none, I, who have one child, cannot therefore escape the common laws to which other mothers are subject and whose enforcements it behoveth me ensue, need must I, against my will and contrary to all right and seemliness, ask of thee a boon, which I know is supremely dear to thee (and that with good reason, for that thy sorry fortune hath left thee none other delight, none other diversion, none other solace), to wit, thy falcon, whereof my boy is so sore enamoured that, an I carry it not to him, I fear me his present disorder will be so aggravated that there may presently ensue thereof somewhat whereby I shall lose him. Wherefore I conjure thee,—not by the love thou bearest me and whereto thou art nowise beholden, but by thine own nobility, which in doing courtesy hath approved itself greater than in any other,—that it please thee give it to me, so by the gift I may say I have kept my son alive and thus made him for ever thy debtor.’ Federigo, hearing what the lady asked and knowing that he could not oblige her, for that he had given her the falcon to eat, fell a-weeping in her presence, ere he could answer a word. The lady at first believed that his tears 59

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 arose from grief at having to part from his good falcon and was like to say that she would not have it. However, she contained herself and awaited what Federigo should reply, who, after weeping awhile, made answer thus: ‘Mad- am, since it pleased God that I should set my love on you, I have in many things reputed fortune contrary to me and have complained of her; but all the ill turns she hath done me have been a light matter in comparison with that which she doth me at this present and for which I can never more be reconciled to her, considering that you are come hither to my poor house, whereas you deigned not to come what while I was rich, and seek of me a little boon, the which she hath so wrought that I cannot grant you; and why this cannot be I will tell you briefly. When I heard that you, of your favour, were minded to dine with me, I deemed it a light thing and a seemly, having regard to your worth and the nobility of your station, to honour you, as far as in me lay, with some choicer victual than that which is commonly set before other folk; wherefore, remembering me of the falcon which you ask of me and of his excellence, I judged him a dish worthy of you. This very morning, then, you have had him roasted upon the trencher, and indeed I had accounted him excellently well bestowed; but now, seeing that you would fain have had him on other wise, it is so great a grief to me that I cannot oblige you therein that methinketh I shall never forgive myself therefor.’ So saying, in witness of this, he let cast before her the falcon’s feathers and feet and beak. The lady, seeing and hearing this, first blamed him for having, to give a woman to eat, slain such a falcon, and after inwardly much commended the greatness of his soul, which poverty had not availed nor might anywise avail to abate. Then, being put out of all hope of having the falcon and fallen therefore in doubt of her son’s recovery, she took her leave and returned, all disconsolate, to the latter, who, before many days had passed, whether for chagrin that he could not have the bird or for that his disorder was e’en fated to bring him to that pass, departed this life, to the inexpressible grief of his mother. After she had abidden awhile full of tears and affliction, being left very rich and yet young, she was more than once urged by her brothers to marry again, and albeit she would fain not have done so, yet, finding herself importuned and calling to mind Federigo’s worth and his last magnificence, to wit, the having slain such a falcon for her entertainment, she said to them, ‘I would gladly, an it liked you, abide as I am; but, since it is your pleasure that I take a [second] husband, certes I will never take any other, an I have not Federigo degli Alberighi.’ Whereupon her brothers, making mock of her, said ‘Silly woman that thou art, what is this thou sayest? How canst thou choose him, seeing he hath nothing in the world?’ ‘Brothers mine,’ answered she, ‘I know very well that it is as you say; but I would liefer have a man that lacketh of riches than riches that lack of a man.’ Her brethren, hearing her mind and knowing Federigo for a man of great merit, poor though he was, gave her, with all her wealth, to him, even as she would; and he, seeing himself married to a lady of such worth and one whom he had loved so dear and exceeding rich, to boot, became a better husband of his substance and ended his days with her in joy and solace.” The Divine Comedy Dante Alighieri (1265-1321 C.E.) Composed between 1308- 1321 C.E. Italy Durante degli Alighieri, known to us as Dante, called his masterpiece simply La Commedia (The Comedy), not because it is funny, but because it begins sadly and ends happily. It is a deceptively simple title for such a complex and detailed work; as an example, Dante intended the first three lines to be read with four levels of mean- Image 5.11: Portrait of ing (literal, allegorical, moral, and anagogical/mystical). Boccaccio, author of The Dante Alighieri | In this Decameron, added the word “Divine” to the title, both for the subject matter and depiction, Dante wears a laurel the quality of the work. In the story, Dante appears as the main character, although wreath and a rather angry scowl. this “pilgrim” should not be confused with the author himself: The character has Author: Gustave Doré no clue about what is happening, while the author controls all. The Divine Comedy Source: WikiArt exists because Dante made the switch from writing love lyrics (with the focus on License: Public Domain earthly love) to writing about spiritual love after his muse, Beatrice, died during one of the plagues in Florence. Just as Beatrice inspired Dante from afar during life (the two never had a romantic relationship), she becomes after death the angelic inspiration to turn his attention to God. Dante plays with several traditions in his work: It is a Christian epic, where the epic hero does not need to be brave (in fact, he faints several times) as long as he has divine intervention; it is a pro-Trojan work, following Virgil’s lead in the Aeneid; and it uses classical imagery and mythology to represent ideas (literally, Cerberus is a three-headed dog from Greek mytholo- gy, but he appears on the level of the Gluttonous to represent the concept of gulping down food). Virgil’s influence manifests itself in several other ways: not only as the epic poet who was, according to Dante, his great master, but 60

The Divine Comedy: Inferno also as the poet who wrote of the foundation of the Roman Empire. Dante believed that a strong Holy Roman Empire (based in what is now Germany) would lead to the Second Coming of Christ, whose birth came during the original pax Romana (peace of Rome). It makes perfect sense, therefore, that Beatrice would task Virgil with being Dante’s guide until she assumes that duty before the ascent through Heaven. It also would explain the urgency of Dante’s prose; Dante believes that little time is left before the end of the world, so his work attempts to persuade its audience to change their ways now. In the first book, Inferno (Hell), Dante finds ways to represent how the punish- ment is the crime, often with astonishing creativity; in Purgatorio (Purgatory), Dante describes the way that sins are purged; and in Paradiso (Heaven), Dante displays his knowledge of the arts and sciences of his day. Geographically, Hell is described as a downward funnel, while the island of Purgatory is a funnel leading upward. Earth exists (for Dante) as a globe around which all other heavenly bodies move; Heaven exists in those circles that form around the Earth, with God in the space beyond. Heaven is therefore described both as a rose (with the petals forming the circles) and as a type of stadium, where everyone sits facing out, rather than in. Dante’s goal at the end of the epic is to be granted a vision of God as he looks out into the empyrean. [We have included “Inferno” from Dante’s The Divine Comedy. Visit http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/ epub/1004/pg1004-images.html to read The Divine Comedy in its entirety.] Written by Laura J. Getty Inferno License: Public Domain Dante Alighieri, translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow  CANTO I The Dark Forest. The Hill Of Difficulty. The Panther, the Lion, and the Wolf. Virgil. Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost. Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say What was this forest savage, rough, and stern, Which in the very thought renews the fear. So bitter is it, death is little more; But of the good to treat, which there I found, Speak will I of the other things I saw there. I cannot well repeat how there I entered, So full was I of slumber at the moment In which I had abandoned the true way. But after I had reached a mountain’s foot, Image 5.12: Inferno: Canto One | Dante At that point where the valley terminated, flees through a dark forest, pursued by three Which had with consternation pierced my heart, dangerous animals, a lion, a leopard, and a wolf. Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders, Author: Teodolinda Barolini Vested already with that planet’s rays Source: Digital Dante Which leadeth others right by every road. License: Public Domain Then was the fear a little quieted That in my heart’s lake had endured throughout The night, which I had passed so piteously. And even as he, who, with distressful breath, Forth issued from the sea upon the shore, Turns to the water perilous and gazes; 61

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward, Turn itself back to re-behold the pass Which never yet a living person left. After my weary body I had rested, The way resumed I on the desert slope, So that the firm foot ever was the lower. And lo! almost where the ascent began, A panther light and swift exceedingly, Which with a spotted skin was covered o’er! And never moved she from before my face, Nay, rather did impede so much my way, That many times I to return had turned. The time was the beginning of the morning, And up the sun was mounting with those stars That with him were, what time the Love Divine At first in motion set those beauteous things; So were to me occasion of good hope, The variegated skin of that wild beast, The hour of time, and the delicious season; But not so much, that did not give me fear A lion’s aspect which appeared to me. He seemed as if against me he were coming With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger, So that it seemed the air was afraid of him; And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings Seemed to be laden in her meagreness, And many folk has caused to live forlorn! She brought upon me so much heaviness, With the affright that from her aspect came, That I the hope relinquished of the height. And as he is who willingly acquires, And the time comes that causes him to lose, Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent, E’en such made me that beast withouten peace, Which, coming on against me by degrees Thrust me back thither where the sun is silent. While I was rushing downward to the lowland, Before mine eyes did one present himself, Who seemed from long continued silence hoarse When I beheld him in the desert vast, “Have pity on me,” unto him I cried, “Whiche’er thou art, or shade or real man!” 62

The Divine Comedy: Inferno He answered me: “Not man; man once I was, And both my parents were of Lombardy, And Mantuans by country both of them. ‘Sub Julio’ was I born, though it was late, And lived at Rome under the good Augustus, During the time of false and lying gods. A poet was I, and I sang that just Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy, After that Ilion the superb was burned. But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance? Why climb’st thou not the Mount Delectable, Which is the source and cause of every joy?” “Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?” I made response to him with bashful forehead. “O, of the other poets honour and light, Avail me the long study and great love That have impelled me to explore thy volume! Thou art my master, and my author thou, Thou art alone the one from whom I took The beautiful style that has done honour to me. Behold the beast, for which I have turned back; Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage, For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.” “Thee it behoves to take another road,” Responded he, when he beheld me weeping, “If from this savage place thou wouldst escape; Because this beast, at which thou criest out, Suffers not any one to pass her way, But so doth harass him, that she destroys him; And has a nature so malign and ruthless, That never doth she glut her greedy will, And after food is hungrier than before. Many the animals with whom she weds, And more they shall be still, until the Greyhound Comes, who shall make her perish in her pain. He shall not feed on either earth or pelf, But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue; ‘Twixt Feltro and Feltro shall his nation be; Of that low Italy shall he be the saviour, On whose account the maid Camilla died, Euryalus, Turnus, Nisus, of their wounds; 63

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 Through every city shall he hunt her down, Until he shall have driven her back to Hell, There from whence envy first did let her loose. Therefore I think and judge it for thy best Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide, And lead thee hence through the eternal place, Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations, Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate, Who cry out each one for the second death; And thou shalt see those who contented are Within the fire, because they hope to come, Whene’er it may be, to the blessed people; To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend, A soul shall be for that than I more worthy; With her at my departure I will leave thee; Because that Emperor, who reigns above, In that I was rebellious to his law, Wills that through me none come into his city. He governs everywhere, and there he reigns; There is his city and his lofty throne; O happy he whom thereto he elects!” And I to him: “Poet, I thee entreat, By that same God whom thou didst never know, So that I may escape this woe and worse, Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said, That I may see the portal of Saint Peter, And those thou makest so disconsolate.” Then he moved on, and I behind him followed. CANTO II The Descent. Dante’s Protest and Virgil’s Appeal. The Intercession of the Three Ladies Benedight. Day was departing, and the embrowned air Released the animals that are on earth From their fatigues; and I the only one Made myself ready to sustain the war, Both of the way and likewise of the woe, Which memory that errs not shall retrace. O Muses, O high genius, now assist me! O memory, that didst write down what I saw, Here thy nobility shall be manifest! And I began: “Poet, who guidest me, Regard my manhood, if it be sufficient, Ere to the arduous pass thou dost confide me. 64

The Divine Comedy: Inferno Image 5.13: Inferno: Canto Two | The Ro- man poet Virgil explains that he has been sent Thou sayest, that of Silvius the parent, to guide Dante through the underworld. While yet corruptible, unto the world Author: Teodolinda Barolini Immortal went, and was there bodily. Source: Digital Dante But if the adversary of all evil License: Public Domain Was courteous, thinking of the high effect That issue would from him, and who, and what, To men of intellect unmeet it seems not; For he was of great Rome, and of her empire In the empyreal heaven as father chosen; The which and what, wishing to speak the truth, Were stablished as the holy place, wherein Sits the successor of the greatest Peter. Upon this journey, whence thou givest him vaunt, Things did he hear, which the occasion were Both of his victory and the papal mantle. Thither went afterwards the Chosen Vessel, To bring back comfort thence unto that Faith, Which of salvation’s way is the beginning. But I, why thither come, or who concedes it? I not Aeneas am, I am not Paul, Nor I, nor others, think me worthy of it. Therefore, if I resign myself to come, I fear the coming may be ill-advised; Thou’rt wise, and knowest better than I speak.” And as he is, who unwills what he willed, And by new thoughts doth his intention change, So that from his design he quite withdraws, Such I became, upon that dark hillside, Because, in thinking, I consumed the emprise, Which was so very prompt in the beginning. “If I have well thy language understood,” Replied that shade of the Magnanimous, “Thy soul attainted is with cowardice, Which many times a man encumbers so, It turns him back from honoured enterprise, As false sight doth a beast, when he is shy. That thou mayst free thee from this apprehension, I’ll tell thee why I came, and what I heard At the first moment when I grieved for thee. Among those was I who are in suspense, And a fair, saintly Lady called to me In such wise, I besought her to command me. 65

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 Her eyes where shining brighter than the Star; Image 5.14: Inferno: Canto Twenty-Six | And she began to say, gentle and low, Dante and Virgil travel through the eighth circle With voice angelical, in her own language: of Hell, where sinners are punished for fraud by ‘O spirit courteous of Mantua, being turned into tongues of fire. Of whom the fame still in the world endures, Author: Teodolinda Barolini And shall endure, long-lasting as the world; Source: Digital Dante A friend of mine, and not the friend of fortune, License: Public Domain Upon the desert slope is so impeded Upon his way, that he has turned through terror, And may, I fear, already be so lost, That I too late have risen to his succour, From that which I have heard of him in Heaven. Bestir thee now, and with thy speech ornate, And with what needful is for his release, Assist him so, that I may be consoled. Beatrice am I, who do bid thee go; I come from there, where I would fain return; Love moved me, which compelleth me to speak. When I shall be in presence of my Lord, Full often will I praise thee unto him.’ Then paused she, and thereafter I began: ‘O Lady of virtue, thou alone through whom The human race exceedeth all contained Within the heaven that has the lesser circles, So grateful unto me is thy commandment, To obey, if ‘twere already done, were late; No farther need’st thou ope to me thy wish. But the cause tell me why thou dost not shun The here descending down into this centre, From the vast place thou burnest to return to.’ ‘Since thou wouldst fain so inwardly discern, Briefly will I relate,’ she answered me, ‘Why I am not afraid to enter here. Of those things only should one be afraid Which have the power of doing others harm; Of the rest, no; because they are not fearful. God in his mercy such created me That misery of yours attains me not, Nor any flame assails me of this burning. A gentle Lady is in Heaven, who grieves At this impediment, to which I send thee, So that stern judgment there above is broken. 66

The Divine Comedy: Inferno In her entreaty she besought Lucia, And said, “Thy faithful one now stands in need Of thee, and unto thee I recommend him.” Lucia, foe of all that cruel is, Hastened away, and came unto the place Where I was sitting with the ancient Rachel. “Beatrice” said she, “the true praise of God, Why succourest thou not him, who loved thee so, For thee he issued from the vulgar herd? Dost thou not hear the pity of his plaint? Dost thou not see the death that combats him Beside that flood, where ocean has no vaunt?” Never were persons in the world so swift To work their weal and to escape their woe, As I, after such words as these were uttered, Came hither downward from my blessed seat, Confiding in thy dignified discourse, Which honours thee, and those who’ve listened to it.’ After she thus had spoken unto me, Weeping, her shining eyes she turned away; Whereby she made me swifter in my coming; And unto thee I came, as she desired; I have delivered thee from that wild beast, Which barred the beautiful mountain’s short ascent. What is it, then? Why, why dost thou delay? Why is such baseness bedded in thy heart? Daring and hardihood why hast thou not, Seeing that three such Ladies benedight Are caring for thee in the court of Heaven, And so much good my speech doth promise thee?” Even as the flowerets, by nocturnal chill, Bowed down and closed, when the sun whitens them, Uplift themselves all open on their stems; Such I became with my exhausted strength, And such good courage to my heart there coursed, That I began, like an intrepid person: “O she compassionate, who succoured me, And courteous thou, who hast obeyed so soon The words of truth which she addressed to thee! Thou hast my heart so with desire disposed To the adventure, with these words of thine, That to my first intent I have returned. 67

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 Now go, for one sole will is in us both, Thou Leader, and thou Lord, and Master thou.” Thus said I to him; and when he had moved, I entered on the deep and savage way. CANTO III The Gate of Hell. The Inefficient or Indifferent. Pope Celestine V. The Shores of Acheron.1Charon.2The Earth- quake and the Swoon. “Through me the way is to the city dolent; Through me the way is to eternal dole; Through me the way among the people lost. Justice incited my sublime Creator; Created me divine Omnipotence, The highest Wisdom and the primal Love. Before me there were no created things, Only eterne, and I eternal last. All hope abandon, ye who enter in!” These words in sombre colour I beheld Written upon the summit of a gate; Whence I: “Their sense is, Master, hard to me!” And he to me, as one experienced: “Here all suspicion needs must be abandoned, All cowardice must needs be here extinct. We to the place have come, where I have told thee Thou shalt behold the people dolorous Who have foregone the good of intellect.” And after he had laid his hand on mine With joyful mien, whence I was comforted, He led me in among the secret things. There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud Resounded through the air without a star, Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat. Languages diverse, horrible dialects, Accents of anger, words of agony, And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands, Made up a tumult that goes whirling on For ever in that air for ever black, Even as the sand doth, when the whirlwind breathes. And I, who had my head with horror bound, Said: “Master, what is this which now I hear? What folk is this, which seems by pain so vanquished?” 1 Acheron (The River of Woe) is one of the five rivers of the Greco-Roman Underworld. The others are Styx (The River of Hate), Phlegethon (The River of Wrath), Lethe (The River of Forgetfulness), and Cocytus (The River of Wailing). 2 The ferryman of the Underworld. 68

The Divine Comedy: Inferno Image 5.15: Purgatorio: Canto One | After leaving Hell, Dante and Virgil encounter And he to me: “This miserable mode Cato the Younger, who says that Dante must Maintain the melancholy souls of those clean himself before he can enter Purgatory. Who lived withouten infamy or praise. Author: Teodolinda Barolini Commingled are they with that caitiff choir Source: Digital Dante Of Angels, who have not rebellious been, License: Public Domain Nor faithful were to God, but were for self. The heavens expelled them, not to be less fair; Nor them the nethermore abyss receives, For glory none the damned would have from them.” And I: “O Master, what so grievous is To these, that maketh them lament so sore?” He answered: “I will tell thee very briefly. These have no longer any hope of death; And this blind life of theirs is so debased, They envious are of every other fate. No fame of them the world permits to be; Misericord and Justice both disdain them. Let us not speak of them, but look, and pass.” And I, who looked again, beheld a banner, Which, whirling round, ran on so rapidly, That of all pause it seemed to me indignant; And after it there came so long a train Of people, that I ne’er would have believed That ever Death so many had undone. When some among them I had recognised, I looked, and I beheld the shade of him Who made through cowardice the great refusal. Forthwith I comprehended, and was certain, That this the sect was of the caitiff wretches Hateful to God and to his enemies. These miscreants, who never were alive, Were naked, and were stung exceedingly By gadflies and by hornets that were there. These did their faces irrigate with blood, Which, with their tears commingled, at their feet By the disgusting worms was gathered up. And when to gazing farther I betook me. People I saw on a great river’s bank; Whence said I: “Master, now vouchsafe to me, That I may know who these are, and what law Makes them appear so ready to pass over, As I discern athwart the dusky light.” 69

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 And he to me: “These things shall all be known Image 5.16: Purgatorio: Canto Twen- To thee, as soon as we our footsteps stay ty-Two | Dante passes through the sixth layer Upon the dismal shore of Acheron.” of Purgatory, where gluttony transforms to Then with mine eyes ashamed and downward cast, temperance. Fearing my words might irksome be to him, Author: Teodolinda Barolini From speech refrained I till we reached the river. Source: Digital Dante And lo! towards us coming in a boat License: Public Domain An old man, hoary with the hair of eld, Crying: “Woe unto you, ye souls depraved! Hope nevermore to look upon the heavens; I come to lead you to the other shore, To the eternal shades in heat and frost. And thou, that yonder standest, living soul, Withdraw thee from these people, who are dead!” But when he saw that I did not withdraw, He said: “By other ways, by other ports Thou to the shore shalt come, not here, for passage; A lighter vessel needs must carry thee.” And unto him the Guide: “Vex thee not, Charon; It is so willed there where is power to do That which is willed; and farther question not.” Thereat were quieted the fleecy cheeks Of him the ferryman of the livid fen, Who round about his eyes had wheels of flame. But all those souls who weary were and naked Their colour changed and gnashed their teeth together, As soon as they had heard those cruel words. God they blasphemed and their progenitors, The human race, the place, the time, the seed Of their engendering and of their birth! Thereafter all together they drew back, Bitterly weeping, to the accursed shore, Which waiteth every man who fears not God. Charon the demon, with the eyes of glede, Beckoning to them, collects them all together, Beats with his oar whoever lags behind. As in the autumn-time the leaves fall off, First one and then another, till the branch Unto the earth surrenders all its spoils; In similar wise the evil seed of Adam Throw themselves from that margin one by one, At signals, as a bird unto its lure. 70

The Divine Comedy: Inferno So they depart across the dusky wave, And ere upon the other side they land, Again on this side a new troop assembles. “My son,” the courteous Master said to me, “All those who perish in the wrath of God Here meet together out of every land; And ready are they to pass o’er the river, Because celestial Justice spurs them on, So that their fear is turned into desire. This way there never passes a good soul; And hence if Charon doth complain of thee, Well mayst thou know now what his speech imports.” This being finished, all the dusk champaign Trembled so violently, that of that terror The recollection bathes me still with sweat. The land of tears gave forth a blast of wind, And fulminated a vermilion light, Which overmastered in me every sense, And as a man whom sleep hath seized I fell. CANTO IV The First Circle, Limbo: Virtuous Pagans and the Unbaptized. The Four Poets, Homer, Horace, Ovid, and Lucan. The Noble Castle Of Philosophy. Broke the deep lethargy within my head A heavy thunder, so that I upstarted, Like to a person who by force is wakened; And round about I moved my rested eyes, Uprisen erect, and steadfastly I gazed, To recognise the place wherein I was. True is it, that upon the verge I found me Of the abysmal valley dolorous, That gathers thunder of infinite ululations. Obscure, profound it was, and nebulous, So that by fixing on its depths my sight Nothing whatever I discerned therein. “Let us descend now into the blind world,” Began the Poet, pallid utterly; “I will be first, and thou shalt second be.” And I, who of his colour was aware, Said: “How shall I come, if thou art afraid, Who’rt wont to be a comfort to my fears?” And he to me: “The anguish of the people Who are below here in my face depicts That pity which for terror thou hast taken. 71

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 Let us go on, for the long way impels us.” Thus he went in, and thus he made me enter The foremost circle that surrounds the abyss. There, as it seemed to me from listening, Were lamentations none, but only sighs, That tremble made the everlasting air. And this arose from sorrow without torment, Which the crowds had, that many were and great, Of infants and of women and of men. To me the Master good: “Thou dost not ask What spirits these, which thou beholdest, are? Now will I have thee know, ere thou go farther, That they sinned not; and if they merit had, ‘Tis not enough, because they had not baptism Which is the portal of the Faith thou holdest; And if they were before Christianity, In the right manner they adored not God; And among such as these am I myself. For such defects, and not for other guilt, Lost are we and are only so far punished, That without hope we live on in desire.” Great grief seized on my heart when this I heard, Because some people of much worthiness I knew, who in that Limbo were suspended. “Tell me, my Master, tell me, thou my Lord,” Began I, with desire of being certain Of that Faith which o’ercometh every error, “Came any one by his own merit hence, Or by another’s, who was blessed thereafter?” And he, who understood my covert speech, Replied: “I was a novice in this state, When I saw hither come a Mighty One, With sign of victory incoronate. Hence he drew forth the shade of the First Parent, And that of his son Abel, and of Noah, Of Moses the lawgiver, and the obedient Abraham, patriarch, and David, king, Israel with his father and his children, And Rachel, for whose sake he did so much, And others many, and he made them blessed; And thou must know, that earlier than these Never were any human spirits saved.” 72

The Divine Comedy: Inferno Image 5.17: Purgatorio: Canto Thirty | In this illustration, Dante is criticized by Beatrice We ceased not to advance because he spake, for loving other women after her death, and they But still were passing onward through the forest, both observe the griffin. The forest, say I, of thick-crowded ghosts. Author: Teodolinda Barolini Not very far as yet our way had gone Source: Digital Dante This side the summit, when I saw a fire License: Public Domain That overcame a hemisphere of darkness. We were a little distant from it still, But not so far that I in part discerned not That honourable people held that place. “O thou who honourest every art and science, Who may these be, which such great honour have, That from the fashion of the rest it parts them?” And he to me: “The honourable name, That sounds of them above there in thy life, Wins grace in Heaven, that so advances them.” In the mean time a voice was heard by me: “All honour be to the pre-eminent Poet; His shade returns again, that was departed.” After the voice had ceased and quiet was, Four mighty shades I saw approaching us; Semblance had they nor sorrowful nor glad. To say to me began my gracious Master: “Him with that falchion in his hand behold, Who comes before the three, even as their lord. That one is Homer, Poet sovereign; He who comes next is Horace, the satirist; The third is Ovid, and the last is Lucan. Because to each of these with me applies The name that solitary voice proclaimed, They do me honour, and in that do well.” Thus I beheld assemble the fair school Of that lord of the song pre-eminent, Who o’er the others like an eagle soars. When they together had discoursed somewhat, They turned to me with signs of salutation, And on beholding this, my Master smiled; And more of honour still, much more, they did me, In that they made me one of their own band; So that the sixth was I, ‘mid so much wit. Thus we went on as far as to the light, Things saying ‘tis becoming to keep silent, As was the saying of them where I was. 73

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 We came unto a noble castle’s foot, Image 5.18: Paradiso: Canto Four | Be- Seven times encompassed with lofty walls, atrice and Dante face one another and discuss Defended round by a fair rivulet; free will. This we passed over even as firm ground; Author: Teodolinda Barolini Through portals seven I entered with these Sages; Source: Digital Dante We came into a meadow of fresh verdure. License: Public Domain People were there with solemn eyes and slow, Of great authority in their countenance; They spake but seldom, and with gentle voices. Thus we withdrew ourselves upon one side Into an opening luminous and lofty, So that they all of them were visible. There opposite, upon the green enamel, Were pointed out to me the mighty spirits, Whom to have seen I feel myself exalted. I saw Electra with companions many, ‘Mongst whom I knew both Hector and Aeneas, Caesar in armour with gerfalcon eyes; I saw Camilla and Penthesilea On the other side, and saw the King Latinus, Who with Lavinia his daughter sat; I saw that Brutus who drove Tarquin forth, Lucretia, Julia, Marcia, and Cornelia, And saw alone, apart, the Saladin. When I had lifted up my brows a little, The Master I beheld of those who know, Sit with his philosophic family. All gaze upon him, and all do him honour. There I beheld both Socrates and Plato, Who nearer him before the others stand; Democritus, who puts the world on chance, Diogenes, Anaxagoras, and Thales, Zeno, Empedocles, and Heraclitus; Of qualities I saw the good collector, Hight Dioscorides; and Orpheus saw I, Tully and Livy, and moral Seneca, Euclid, geometrician, and Ptolemy, Galen, Hippocrates, and Avicenna, Averroes, who the great Comment made. I cannot all of them pourtray in full, Because so drives me onward the long theme, That many times the word comes short of fact. 74

The Divine Comedy: Inferno The sixfold company in two divides; Another way my sapient Guide conducts me Forth from the quiet to the air that trembles; And to a place I come where nothing shines. CANTO V The Second Circle: the Wanton. Minos. The Infernal Hurricane. Francesca Da Rimini. Thus I descended out of the first circle Down to the second, that less space begirds, And so much greater dole, that goads to wailing. There standeth Minos horribly, and snarls; Examines the transgressions at the entrance; Judges, and sends according as he girds him. I say, that when the spirit evil-born Cometh before him, wholly it confesses; And this discriminator of transgressions Seeth what place in Hell is meet for it; Girds himself with his tail as many times As grades he wishes it should be thrust down. Always before him many of them stand; They go by turns each one unto the judgment; They speak, and hear, and then are downward hurled. “O thou, that to this dolorous hostelry Comest,” said Minos to me, when he saw me, Leaving the practice of so great an office, “Look how thou enterest, and in whom thou trustest; Let not the portal’s amplitude deceive thee.” And unto him my Guide: “Why criest thou too? Do not impede his journey fate-ordained; It is so willed there where is power to do That which is willed; and ask no further question.” And now begin the dolesome notes to grow Audible unto me; now am I come There where much lamentation strikes upon me. I came into a place mute of all light, Which bellows as the sea does in a tempest, If by opposing winds ‘t is combated. The infernal hurricane that never rests Hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine; Whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them. When they arrive before the precipice, There are the shrieks, the plaints, and the laments, There they blaspheme the puissance divine. 75

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 I understood that unto such a torment The carnal malefactors were condemned, Who reason subjugate to appetite. And as the wings of starlings bear them on In the cold season in large band and full, So doth that blast the spirits maledict; It hither, thither, downward, upward, drives them; No hope doth comfort them for evermore, Not of repose, but even of lesser pain. And as the cranes go chanting forth their lays, Making in air a long line of themselves, So saw I coming, uttering lamentations, Shadows borne onward by the aforesaid stress. Whereupon said I: “Master, who are those People, whom the black air so castigates?” “The first of those, of whom intelligence Thou fain wouldst have,” then said he unto me, “The empress was of many languages. To sensual vices she was so abandoned, That lustful she made licit in her law, To remove the blame to which she had been led. She is Semiramis, of whom we read That she succeeded Ninus, and was his spouse; She held the land which now the Sultan rules. The next is she who killed herself for love, And broke faith with the ashes of Sichaeus; Then Cleopatra the voluptuous.” Helen I saw, for whom so many ruthless Seasons revolved; and saw the great Achilles, Who at the last hour combated with Love. Paris I saw, Tristan; and more than a thousand Shades did he name and point out with his finger, Whom Love had separated from our life. After that I had listened to my Teacher, Naming the dames of eld and cavaliers, Pity prevailed, and I was nigh bewildered. And I began: “O Poet, willingly Speak would I to those two, who go together, And seem upon the wind to be so light.” And, he to me: “Thou’lt mark, when they shall be Nearer to us; and then do thou implore them By love which leadeth them, and they will come.” 76

The Divine Comedy: Inferno Soon as the wind in our direction sways them, My voice uplift I: “O ye weary souls! Come speak to us, if no one interdicts it.” As turtle-doves, called onward by desire, With open and steady wings to the sweet nest Fly through the air by their volition borne, So came they from the band where Dido is, Approaching us athwart the air malign, So strong was the affectionate appeal. “O living creature gracious and benignant, Who visiting goest through the purple air Us, who have stained the world incarnadine, If were the King of the Universe our friend, We would pray unto him to give thee peace, Since thou hast pity on our woe perverse. Of what it pleases thee to hear and speak, That will we hear, and we will speak to you, While silent is the wind, as it is now. Sitteth the city, wherein I was born, Upon the sea-shore where the Po descends To rest in peace with all his retinue. Love, that on gentle heart doth swiftly seize, Seized this man for the person beautiful That was ta’en from me, and still the mode offends me. Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving, Seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly, That, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me; Love has conducted us unto one death; Caina waiteth him who quenched our life!” These words were borne along from them to us. As soon as I had heard those souls tormented, I bowed my face, and so long held it down Until the Poet said to me: “What thinkest?” When I made answer, I began: “Alas! How many pleasant thoughts, how much desire, Conducted these unto the dolorous pass!” Then unto them I turned me, and I spake, And I began: “Thine agonies, Francesca, Sad and compassionate to weeping make me. But tell me, at the time of those sweet sighs, By what and in what manner Love conceded, That you should know your dubious desires?” 77

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 And she to me: “There is no greater sorrow Than to be mindful of the happy time In misery, and that thy Teacher knows. But, if to recognise the earliest root Of love in us thou hast so great desire, I will do even as he who weeps and speaks. One day we reading were for our delight Of Launcelot, how Love did him enthral. Alone we were and without any fear. Full many a time our eyes together drew That reading, and drove the colour from our faces; But one point only was it that o’ercame us. When as we read of the much-longed-for smile Being by such a noble lover kissed, This one, who ne’er from me shall be divided, Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating. Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it. That day no farther did we read therein.” And all the while one spirit uttered this, The other one did weep so, that, for pity, I swooned away as if I had been dying, And fell, even as a dead body falls. CANTO XII The Minotaur. The Seventh Circle: The Violent. The River Phlegethon.3 The Violent Against Their Neighbours. The Centaurs. Tyrants. The place where to descend the bank we came Was alpine, and from what was there, moreover, Of such a kind that every eye would shun it. Such as that ruin is which in the flank Smote, on this side of Trent, the Adige, Either by earthquake or by failing stay, For from the mountain’s top, from which it moved, Unto the plain the cliff is shattered so, Some path ‘twould give to him who was above; Even such was the descent of that ravine, And on the border of the broken chasm The infamy of Crete was stretched along, Who was conceived in the fictitious cow; And when he us beheld, he bit himself, Even as one whom anger racks within. 3 “Phlegethon” means “flaming”. 78

The Divine Comedy: Inferno My Sage towards him shouted: “Peradventure Thou think’st that here may be the Duke of Athens, Who in the world above brought death to thee? Get thee gone, beast, for this one cometh not Instructed by thy sister, but he comes In order to behold your punishments.” As is that bull who breaks loose at the moment In which he has received the mortal blow, Who cannot walk, but staggers here and there, The Minotaur beheld I do the like; And he, the wary, cried: “Run to the passage; While he wroth, ‘tis well thou shouldst descend.” Thus down we took our way o’er that discharge Of stones, which oftentimes did move themselves Beneath my feet, from the unwonted burden. Thoughtful I went; and he said: “Thou art thinking Perhaps upon this ruin, which is guarded By that brute anger which just now I quenched. Now will I have thee know, the other time I here descended to the nether Hell, This precipice had not yet fallen down. But truly, if I well discern, a little Before His coming who the mighty spoil Bore off from Dis, in the supernal circle, Upon all sides the deep and loathsome valley Trembled so, that I thought the Universe Was thrilled with love, by which there are who think The world ofttimes converted into chaos; And at that moment this primeval crag Both here and elsewhere made such overthrow. But fix thine eyes below; for draweth near The river of blood, within which boiling is Whoe’er by violence doth injure others.” O blind cupidity, O wrath insane, That spurs us onward so in our short life, And in the eternal then so badly steeps us! I saw an ample moat bent like a bow, As one which all the plain encompasses, Conformable to what my Guide had said. And between this and the embankment’s foot Centaurs in file were running, armed with arrows, As in the world they used the chase to follow. 79

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 Beholding us descend, each one stood still, And from the squadron three detached themselves, With bows and arrows in advance selected; And from afar one cried: “Unto what torment Come ye, who down the hillside are descending? Tell us from there; if not, I draw the bow.” My Master said: “Our answer will we make To Chiron, near you there; in evil hour, That will of thine was evermore so hasty.” Then touched he me, and said: “This one is Nessus, Who perished for the lovely Dejanira, And for himself, himself did vengeance take. And he in the midst, who at his breast is gazing, Is the great Chiron, who brought up Achilles; That other Pholus is, who was so wrathful. Thousands and thousands go about the moat Shooting with shafts whatever soul emerges Out of the blood, more than his crime allots.” Near we approached unto those monsters fleet; Chiron an arrow took, and with the notch Backward upon his jaws he put his beard. After he had uncovered his great mouth, He said to his companions: “Are you ware That he behind moveth whate’er he touches? Thus are not wont to do the feet of dead men.” And my good Guide, who now was at his breast, Where the two natures are together joined, Replied: “Indeed he lives, and thus alone Me it behoves to show him the dark valley; Necessity, and not delight, impels us. Some one withdrew from singing Halleluja, Who unto me committed this new office; No thief is he, nor I a thievish spirit. But by that virtue through which I am moving My steps along this savage thoroughfare, Give us some one of thine, to be with us, And who may show us where to pass the ford, And who may carry this one on his back; For ‘tis no spirit that can walk the air.” Upon his right breast Chiron wheeled about, And said to Nessus: “Turn and do thou guide them, And warn aside, if other band may meet you.” 80

The Divine Comedy: Inferno Image 5.19: Paradiso: Canto Twenty | Heavenly souls form shapes with their bodies, We with our faithful escort onward moved eventually transforming into an eagle, one of Along the brink of the vermilion boiling, the symbols of ancient Rome. Wherein the boiled were uttering loud laments. Author: Teodolinda Barolini People I saw within up to the eyebrows, Source: Digital Dante And the great Centaur said: “Tyrants are these, License: Public Domain Who dealt in bloodshed and in pillaging. Here they lament their pitiless mischiefs; here Is Alexander, and fierce Dionysius Who upon Sicily brought dolorous years. That forehead there which has the hair so black Is Azzolin; and the other who is blond, Obizzo is of Esti, who, in truth, Up in the world was by his stepson slain.” Then turned I to the Poet; and he said, “Now he be first to thee, and second I.” A little farther on the Centaur stopped Above a folk, who far down as the throat Seemed from that boiling stream to issue forth. A shade he showed us on one side alone, Saying: “He cleft asunder in God’s bosom The heart that still upon the Thames is honoured.” Then people saw I, who from out the river Lifted their heads and also all the chest; And many among these I recognised. Thus ever more and more grew shallower That blood, so that the feet alone it covered; And there across the moat our passage was. “Even as thou here upon this side beholdest The boiling stream, that aye diminishes,” The Centaur said, “I wish thee to believe That on this other more and more declines Its bed, until it reunites itself Where it behoveth tyranny to groan. Justice divine, upon this side, is goading That Attila, who was a scourge on earth, And Pyrrhus, and Sextus; and for ever milks The tears which with the boiling it unseals In Rinier da Corneto and Rinier Pazzo, Who made upon the highways so much war.” Then back he turned, and passed again the ford. 81

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 CANTO XIII The Wood of Thorns. The Harpies. The Violent Against Themselves. Suicides. Pier Della Vigna. Lano and Jacopo Da Sant’ Andrea. Not yet had Nessus reached the other side, When we had put ourselves within a wood, That was not marked by any path whatever. Not foliage green, but of a dusky colour, Not branches smooth, but gnarled and intertangled, Not apple-trees were there, but thorns with poison. Such tangled thickets have not, nor so dense, Those savage wild beasts, that in hatred hold ‘Twixt Cecina and Corneto the tilled places. There do the hideous Harpies make their nests, Who chased the Trojans from the Strophades, With sad announcement of impending doom; Broad wings have they, and necks and faces human, And feet with claws, and their great bellies fledged; They make laments upon the wondrous trees. And the good Master: “Ere thou enter farther, Know that thou art within the second round,” Thus he began to say, “and shalt be, till Thou comest out upon the horrible sand; Therefore look well around, and thou shalt see Things that will credence give unto my speech.” I heard on all sides lamentations uttered, And person none beheld I who might make them, Whence, utterly bewildered, I stood still. I think he thought that I perhaps might think So many voices issued through those trunks From people who concealed themselves from us; Therefore the Master said: “If thou break off Some little spray from any of these trees, The thoughts thou hast will wholly be made vain.” Then stretched I forth my hand a little forward, And plucked a branchlet off from a great thorn; And the trunk cried, “Why dost thou mangle me?” After it had become embrowned with blood, It recommenced its cry: “Why dost thou rend me? Hast thou no spirit of pity whatsoever? Men once we were, and now are changed to trees; Indeed, thy hand should be more pitiful, Even if the souls of serpents we had been.” 82

The Divine Comedy: Inferno As out of a green brand, that is on fire At one of the ends, and from the other drips And hisses with the wind that is escaping; So from that splinter issued forth together Both words and blood; whereat I let the tip Fall, and stood like a man who is afraid. “Had he been able sooner to believe,” My Sage made answer, “O thou wounded soul, What only in my verses he has seen, Not upon thee had he stretched forth his hand; Whereas the thing incredible has caused me To put him to an act which grieveth me. But tell him who thou wast, so that by way Of some amends thy fame he may refresh Up in the world, to which he can return.” And the trunk said: “So thy sweet words allure me, I cannot silent be; and you be vexed not, That I a little to discourse am tempted. I am the one who both keys had in keeping Of Frederick’s heart, and turned them to and fro So softly in unlocking and in locking, That from his secrets most men I withheld; Fidelity I bore the glorious office So great, I lost thereby my sleep and pulses. The courtesan who never from the dwelling Of Caesar turned aside her strumpet eyes, Death universal and the vice of courts, Inflamed against me all the other minds, And they, inflamed, did so inflame Augustus, That my glad honours turned to dismal mournings. My spirit, in disdainful exultation, Thinking by dying to escape disdain, Made me unjust against myself, the just. I, by the roots unwonted of this wood, Do swear to you that never broke I faith Unto my lord, who was so worthy of honour; And to the world if one of you return, Let him my memory comfort, which is lying Still prostrate from the blow that envy dealt it.” Waited awhile, and then: “Since he is silent,” The Poet said to me, “lose not the time, But speak, and question him, if more may please thee.” 83

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 Whence I to him: “Do thou again inquire Concerning what thou thinks’t will satisfy me; For I cannot, such pity is in my heart.” Therefore he recommenced: “So may the man Do for thee freely what thy speech implores, Spirit incarcerate, again be pleased To tell us in what way the soul is bound Within these knots; and tell us, if thou canst, If any from such members e’er is freed.” Then blew the trunk amain, and afterward The wind was into such a voice converted: “With brevity shall be replied to you. When the exasperated soul abandons The body whence it rent itself away, Minos consigns it to the seventh abyss. It falls into the forest, and no part Is chosen for it; but where Fortune hurls it, There like a grain of spelt it germinates. It springs a sapling, and a forest tree; The Harpies, feeding then upon its leaves, Do pain create, and for the pain an outlet. Like others for our spoils shall we return; But not that any one may them revest, For ‘tis not just to have what one casts off. Here we shall drag them, and along the dismal Forest our bodies shall suspended be, Each to the thorn of his molested shade.” We were attentive still unto the trunk, Thinking that more it yet might wish to tell us, When by a tumult we were overtaken, In the same way as he is who perceives The boar and chase approaching to his stand, Who hears the crashing of the beasts and branches; And two behold! upon our left-hand side, Naked and scratched, fleeing so furiously, That of the forest, every fan they broke. He who was in advance: “Now help, Death, help!” And the other one, who seemed to lag too much, Was shouting: “Lano, were not so alert Those legs of thine at joustings of the Toppo!” And then, perchance because his breath was failing, He grouped himself together with a bush. 84

The Divine Comedy: Inferno Behind them was the forest full of black She-mastiffs, ravenous, and swift of foot As greyhounds, who are issuing from the chain. On him who had crouched down they set their teeth, And him they lacerated piece by piece, Thereafter bore away those aching members. Thereat my Escort took me by the hand, And led me to the bush, that all in vain Was weeping from its bloody lacerations. “O Jacopo,” it said, “of Sant’ Andrea, What helped it thee of me to make a screen? What blame have I in thy nefarious life?” When near him had the Master stayed his steps, He said: “Who wast thou, that through wounds so many Art blowing out with blood thy dolorous speech?” And he to us: “O souls, that hither come To look upon the shameful massacre That has so rent away from me my leaves, Gather them up beneath the dismal bush; I of that city was which to the Baptist Changed its first patron, wherefore he for this Forever with his art will make it sad. And were it not that on the pass of Arno Some glimpses of him are remaining still, Those citizens, who afterwards rebuilt it Upon the ashes left by Attila, In vain had caused their labour to be done. Of my own house I made myself a gibbet.” CANTO XV The Violent Against Nature. Brunetto Latini. Now bears us onward one of the hard margins, And so the brooklet’s mist o’ershadows it, From fire it saves the water and the dikes. Even as the Flemings, ‘twixt Cadsand and Bruges, Fearing the flood that tow’rds them hurls itself, Their bulwarks build to put the sea to flight; And as the Paduans along the Brenta, To guard their villas and their villages, Or ever Chiarentana feel the heat; In such similitude had those been made, Albeit not so lofty nor so thick, Whoever he might be, the master made them. 85

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 Now were we from the forest so remote, Image 5.20: Paradiso: Canto Thirty- I could not have discovered where it was, Three | Dante witnesses the Virgil Mary, and Even if backward I had turned myself, Saint Bernard offers her a prayer on Dante’s When we a company of souls encountered, behalf. Who came beside the dike, and every one Author: Teodolinda Barolini Gazed at us, as at evening we are wont Source: Digital Dante To eye each other under a new moon, License: Public Domain And so towards us sharpened they their brows As an old tailor at the needle’s eye. Thus scrutinised by such a family, By some one I was recognised, who seized My garment’s hem, and cried out, “What a marvel!” And I, when he stretched forth his arm to me, On his baked aspect fastened so mine eyes, That the scorched countenance prevented not His recognition by my intellect; And bowing down my face unto his own, I made reply, “Are you here, Ser Brunetto?” And he: “May’t not displease thee, O my son, If a brief space with thee Brunetto Latini Backward return and let the trail go on.” I said to him: “With all my power I ask it; And if you wish me to sit down with you, I will, if he please, for I go with him.” “O son,” he said, “whoever of this herd A moment stops, lies then a hundred years, Nor fans himself when smiteth him the fire. Therefore go on; I at thy skirts will come, And afterward will I rejoin my band, Which goes lamenting its eternal doom.” I did not dare to go down from the road Level to walk with him; but my head bowed I held as one who goeth reverently. And he began: “What fortune or what fate Before the last day leadeth thee down here? And who is this that showeth thee the way?” “Up there above us in the life serene,” I answered him, “I lost me in a valley, Or ever yet my age had been completed. But yestermorn I turned my back upon it; This one appeared to me, returning thither, And homeward leadeth me along this road.” 86

The Divine Comedy: Inferno And he to me: “If thou thy star do follow, Thou canst not fail thee of a glorious port, If well I judged in the life beautiful. And if I had not died so prematurely, Seeing Heaven thus benignant unto thee, I would have given thee comfort in the work. But that ungrateful and malignant people, Which of old time from Fesole descended, And smacks still of the mountain and the granite, Will make itself, for thy good deeds, thy foe; And it is right; for among crabbed sorbs It ill befits the sweet fig to bear fruit. Old rumour in the world proclaims them blind; A people avaricious, envious, proud; Take heed that of their customs thou do cleanse thee. Thy fortune so much honour doth reserve thee, One party and the other shall be hungry For thee; but far from goat shall be the grass. Their litter let the beasts of Fesole Make of themselves, nor let them touch the plant, If any still upon their dunghill rise, In which may yet revive the consecrated Seed of those Romans, who remained there when The nest of such great malice it became.” “If my entreaty wholly were fulfilled,” Replied I to him, “not yet would you be In banishment from human nature placed; For in my mind is fixed, and touches now My heart the dear and good paternal image Of you, when in the world from hour to hour You taught me how a man becomes eternal; And how much I am grateful, while I live Behoves that in my language be discerned. What you narrate of my career I write, And keep it to be glossed with other text By a Lady who can do it, if I reach her. This much will I have manifest to you; Provided that my conscience do not chide me, For whatsoever Fortune I am ready. Such handsel is not new unto mine ears; Therefore let Fortune turn her wheel around As it may please her, and the churl his mattock.” 87

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 My Master thereupon on his right cheek Did backward turn himself, and looked at me; Then said: “He listeneth well who noteth it.” Nor speaking less on that account, I go With Ser Brunetto, and I ask who are His most known and most eminent companions. And he to me: “To know of some is well; Of others it were laudable to be silent, For short would be the time for so much speech. Know them in sum, that all of them were clerks, And men of letters great and of great fame, In the world tainted with the selfsame sin. Priscian goes yonder with that wretched crowd, And Francis of Accorso; and thou hadst seen there If thou hadst had a hankering for such scurf, That one, who by the Servant of the Servants From Arno was transferred to Bacchiglione, Where he has left his sin-excited nerves. More would I say, but coming and discoursing Can be no longer; for that I behold New smoke uprising yonder from the sand. A people comes with whom I may not be; Commended unto thee be my Tesoro, In which I still live, and no more I ask.” Then he turned round, and seemed to be of those Who at Verona run for the Green Mantle Across the plain; and seemed to be among them The one who wins, and not the one who loses. CANTO XXXIV Fourth Division of the Ninth Circle, the Judecca: Traitors to their Lords and Benefactors. Lucifer, Judas Iscari- ot, Brutus, and Cassius. The Chasm of Lethe. The Ascent. “‘Vexilla Regis prodeunt Inferni’ Towards us; therefore look in front of thee,” My Master said, “if thou discernest him.” As, when there breathes a heavy fog, or when Our hemisphere is darkening into night, Appears far off a mill the wind is turning, Methought that such a building then I saw; And, for the wind, I drew myself behind My Guide, because there was no other shelter. Now was I, and with fear in verse I put it, There where the shades were wholly covered up, And glimmered through like unto straws in glass. 88

The Divine Comedy: Inferno Some prone are lying, others stand erect, This with the head, and that one with the soles; Another, bow-like, face to feet inverts. When in advance so far we had proceeded, That it my Master pleased to show to me The creature who once had the beauteous semblance,  He from before me moved and made me stop, Saying: “Behold Dis, and behold the place Where thou with fortitude must arm thyself.” How frozen I became and powerless then, Ask it not, Reader, for I write it not, Because all language would be insufficient. I did not die, and I alive remained not; Think for thyself now, hast thou aught of wit, What I became, being of both deprived. The Emperor of the kingdom dolorous From his mid-breast forth issued from the ice; And better with a giant I compare Than do the giants with those arms of his; Consider now how great must be that whole, Which unto such a part conforms itself. Were he as fair once, as he now is foul, And lifted up his brow against his Maker, Well may proceed from him all tribulation. O, what a marvel it appeared to me, When I beheld three faces on his head! The one in front, and that vermilion was; Two were the others, that were joined with this Above the middle part of either shoulder, And they were joined together at the crest; And the right-hand one seemed ‘twixt white and yellow; The left was such to look upon as those Who come from where the Nile falls valley-ward. Underneath each came forth two mighty wings, Such as befitting were so great a bird; Sails of the sea I never saw so large. No feathers had they, but as of a bat Their fashion was; and he was waving them, So that three winds proceeded forth therefrom. Thereby Cocytus wholly was congealed. With six eyes did he weep, and down three chins Trickled the tear-drops and the bloody drivel. 89

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 At every mouth he with his teeth was crunching A sinner, in the manner of a brake, So that he three of them tormented thus. To him in front the biting was as naught Unto the clawing, for sometimes the spine Utterly stripped of all the skin remained. “That soul up there which has the greatest pain,” The Master said, “is Judas Iscariot; With head inside, he plies his legs without. Of the two others, who head downward are, The one who hangs from the black jowl is Brutus; See how he writhes himself, and speaks no word. And the other, who so stalwart seems, is Cassius. But night is reascending, and ‘tis time That we depart, for we have seen the whole.” As seemed him good, I clasped him round the neck, And he the vantage seized of time and place, And when the wings were opened wide apart, He laid fast hold upon the shaggy sides; From fell to fell descended downward then Between the thick hair and the frozen crust. When we were come to where the thigh revolves Exactly on the thickness of the haunch, The Guide, with labour and with hard-drawn breath, Turned round his head where he had had his legs, And grappled to the hair, as one who mounts, So that to Hell I thought we were returning. “Keep fast thy hold, for by such stairs as these,” The Master said, panting as one fatigued, “Must we perforce depart from so much evil.” Then through the opening of a rock he issued, And down upon the margin seated me; Then tow’rds me he outstretched his wary step. I lifted up mine eyes and thought to see Lucifer in the same way I had left him; And I beheld him upward hold his legs. And if I then became disquieted, Let stolid people think who do not see What the point is beyond which I had passed. “Rise up,” the Master said, “upon thy feet; The way is long, and difficult the road, And now the sun to middle-tierce returns.” 90

The Divine Comedy: Inferno It was not any palace corridor There where we were, but dungeon natural, With floor uneven and unease of light. “Ere from the abyss I tear myself away, My Master,” said I when I had arisen, “To draw me from an error speak a little; Where is the ice? and how is this one fixed Thus upside down? and how in such short time From eve to morn has the sun made his transit?” And he to me: “Thou still imaginest Thou art beyond the centre, where I grasped The hair of the fell worm, who mines the world. That side thou wast, so long as I descended; When round I turned me, thou didst pass the point To which things heavy draw from every side, And now beneath the hemisphere art come Opposite that which overhangs the vast Dry-land, and ‘neath whose cope was put to death The Man who without sin was born and lived. Thou hast thy feet upon the little sphere Which makes the other face of the Judecca. Here it is morn when it is evening there; And he who with his hair a stairway made us Still fixed remaineth as he was before. Upon this side he fell down out of heaven; And all the land, that whilom here emerged, For fear of him made of the sea a veil, And came to our hemisphere; and peradventure To flee from him, what on this side appears Left the place vacant here, and back recoiled.” A place there is below, from Beelzebub As far receding as the tomb extends, Which not by sight is known, but by the sound Of a small rivulet, that there descendeth Through chasm within the stone, which it has gnawed With course that winds about and slightly falls. The Guide and I into that hidden road Now entered, to return to the bright world; And without care of having any rest We mounted up, he first and I the second, Till I beheld through a round aperture Some of the beauteous things that Heaven doth bear; Thence we came forth to rebehold the stars.  91

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 [NOTE: Our selection omits a number of cantos depicting various sins of fraud. The final third of the Inferno (Cantos XVIII-XXXIV) catalogs two different kinds of fraud: the first section (cantos XVIII-XXX) depicts “simple” fraud, deceiving others who have no special trust in the sinner (for example fortune-telling); the second and more damnable (XXXI-XXXIV), complex fraud or treachery, involves deceiving people who have a trusted relationship with the sinner (for example betraying one’s family or country). We have included just two cantos from “simple” fraud (XXVI and XXVII); these relate the stories of how Ulysses (Latin for Odysseus) and Guido da Montefeltro, two powerful and gifted individuals, come to be damned. After their stories, we conclude with the sins of complex fraud (XXXII-XXXIV), which take us to the end of the Inferno.] THE SONG OF ROLAND Anonymous or possibly composed by a poet named Turold Floruit or fl 1075-1100 Composed ca. eleventh century CE French The Song of Roland is actually founded upon an historical event, the Battle of Roncevaux Pass (778 CE), in which Roland, commander of the rear guard of Charlemagne’s army, was defeated by the Basques. This chanson de geste (“song of mighty deeds”) provides a powerful fusion of Germanic warrior and Christian cultures. The Song briskly moves its source material into a mythic dimension, with a 200 year old, semi-divine Charlemagne assigning his twelve peers and their troops to guard a high mountain pass in the Pyrenees against attack by 400,000 Sara- cen Muslims (an obvious epic inflation). In the figure of Ganelon, stepfather of Roland who betrays him, the epic depicts the qualities most abhorred by a warrior culture, deceit and disloyalty. In the figure of the martyred and brave—even to a point of rashness—Roland, the epic creates an ideal of the masculine fighting hero, despite the fact that he would have done well to listen to the advice of his wise friend Oliver. Composed of various threads from the oral tradition and written down sometime in the eleventh century, the Song of Roland served as an inspiration for the Crusaders. As such, it offers a particularly scurrilous portrait of Muslim warriors as cowards and villains who worship pagan deities. One of the first works in the French literary tradition, the Song of Roland memorializes its militant Christian culture through vivid description and dramatic action, especially in its set-pieces of hand-to- hand combat. In proclaiming that “pagans are wrong and the Christians are right,” the epic offers a world of moral absolutes with little room for shadings. Written by Doug Thomson Questions to consider while reading this selection: 1. How are the Muslims (Saracens) depicted in the epic? 2. What are the characteristics of the ideal masculine hero as can be gathered from depictions of the epic’s various characters? How does this ideal hero compare and contrast with other epic heroes ? 3. In Laisse XCIV, Roland asserts that “We [the French] have the right, these gluttons [the Saracens] have the wrong!” What do you make of the moral absolutes that govern the poem (Christians right, pagans wrong. period)? 4. Archbishop Turpin is the leading religious figure in the epic. What do you make of his brand of Christianity? La Chanson de Roland License: CC BY-SA 4.0 Translated from the Seventh Edition of Leon Gautier by Léonce Rabillon Edited, annotated, and compiled by Rhonda L. Kelley Charlemagne in Spain I. Carle our most noble Emperor and King,4 Hath tarried now full seven years in Spain,5 4 Charlemagne (aka Charles the Great, Charles I), King of the Franks and Lombards, Emperor of Europe (742-814). 5 Charlemagne was on a mission to Christianize Muslim Spain. 92

The Song of Roland Conqu’ring the highland regions to the sea; No fortress stands before him unsubdued, Nor wall, nor city left, to be destroyed, Save Sarraguce,6 high on a mountain set. There rules the King Marsile who loves not God, Apollo7 worships and Mohammed serves; Nor can he from his evil doom escape. Aoi. 8 Ganelon’s Treason (summary) At the end of his seven-year campaign against Spain, Charlemagne finds he cannot penetrate the walls of King Marsile’s Saragossa. Fearful of a siege, Marsile promises through a messenger that if Charlemagne will leave Spain, then Marsile will present himself with a ransom at Charlemagne’s court to be converted to Christianity. Charlem- agne accepts the offer and sends an ambassador to convey same. On the advice of Roland, Charlemagne’s nephew and leader of his rear-guard, the Franks send Ganelon, Roland’s stepfather, to deliver the message. Because all of the previous ambassadors to Marsile had died horrible deaths, Ganelon assumes that Roland is setting him up for a similar fate. In retaliation to the perceived insult, Gan- elon betrays Roland and Charlemagne to King Marsile. Knowing that Roland would lead several other Paladins and the rear-guard, Ganelon tells Marsile how to ambush the rear-guard at the narrow mountain pass of Ronceval. Prelude to the Great Battle.9 LXXXI. Olivier10 from the summit of a hill11 On his right hand looks o’er a grassy vale, And views the Pagans’12 onward marching hordes; Then straight he called his faithful friend Rollánd: “From Spain a distant rumbling noise I hear, So many hauberks white and flashing helms I see!—This will inflame our French men’s hearts. The treason is the work of Ganelon Who named us for this post before the King.” “Hush! Olivier!”—the Count Rollánd replies, “’Tis my step-father, speak no other word.” Aoi. LXXXII. Count Olivier is posted on a hill From whence Spain’s Kingdom he descries,13 and all The swarming host of Saracens; their helms So bright bedecked with gold, and their great shields, Their ‘broidered hauberks, and their waving flags, He cannot count the squadrons; in such crowds They come, his sight reached not unto their end. 6 Saragossa. 7 Apollyon (aka Abaddon, an angel of destruction); medieval Christians believed that Muslims worshipped the unholy trinity of Muhammad, Abaddon, and Termagant. As Termagant is a fiction created by medieval Christians, it is, of course, untrue. 8 “The word “Aoi,” which is placed at the end of every stanza, and found in no other ancient French poems, is interpreted differently by the commentators. M. Francisque Michel assimilated it at first to the termination of an ecclesiastical chant—Preface, xxvii.—and later to the Saxon Abeg, or the English Away, as a sort of refrain which the “jongleur” repeated at the end of the couplets. M. Génin explains it by ad viam, a vei, avoie, away! it is done, let us go on! M. Gautier, with his skeptical honesty, declares the word unexplained. See Note 9, p. 4, of his seventh edition.” (Léonce Rabillon, trans. La Chanson de Roland. Leon Gautier, 7th ed. New York: Holt and Company [1885]: x.) 9 The Battle of Ronceval Pass. 10 Roland’s best friend and fellow-Paladin. Roland is engaged to Olivier’s sister, Aude. 11 At Ronceval Pass, the rear-guard is about to be cut off from the rest of the army. 12 The Saracens or Muslim army. 13 Sees. 93

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 Then all bewildered he descends the hill, Rejoins the French, and all to them relates. Aoi. LXXXIII. Said Olivier: “I have seen Pagans more Than eyes e’er saw upon the earth; at least One hundred thousand warriors armed with shields, In their white hauberks clad, with helmets laced, Lances in rest, and burnished brazen spears. Battle ye will have, such as ne’er was before. French Lords, may God inspire you with his strength! Stand firm your ground, that we may not succumb.” The French say: “Cursed be those who fly the field! Ready to die, not one shall fail you here.” Aoi. Roland’s Pride. LXXXIV. Olivier said: “So strong the Pagan host; Our French, methinks, in number are too few; Companion Rollánd, sound your horn,14 that Carle15 May hear and send his army back to help.” Rollánd replies:—”Great folly would be mine, And all my glory in sweet France be lost. No, I shall strike great blows with Durendal;16 To the golden hilt the blade shall reek with blood. In evil hour the felon17 Pagans came Unto the Pass, for all are doomed to die!” Aoi. LXXXV. “Rollànd, companion, sound your olifant,18 That Carle may hear and soon bring back the host. With all his Baronage19 the king will give Us help!”—Replied Rollánd:—”May God fore-fend That for my cause my kindred e’er20 be blamed, Or that dishonor fall upon sweet France. Nay, I will deal hard blows with Durendal, This my good sword now girt unto my side Whose blade you’ll see all reeking with red blood. Those felon Pagans have for their ill fate Together met—yea, death awaits them all.” Aoi. LXXXVI. “Companion Rollánd, sound your olifant! If Carle who passes through the mounts shall hear, To you I pledge my word, the French return.” Answered Rollánd:—”May God forbid!—Ne’er be 14 An ivory battle horn. 15 Charlemagne. 16 Roland’s sword. 17 Criminal, unlawful. 18 The battle horn is made of ivory and called an olifant for the animal whence it came (elephant). 19 That is the Barons or French nobility. 20 Ever. 94

The Song of Roland It said by living man that Pagans could Cause me to blow my horn, to bring disgrace Upon my kin!—When on the battle field, I’ll strike one thousand seven hundred blows, And Durendal all bleeding shall you see. [The French are brave and bravely will they strike.] Those Spanish Moors are doomed to certain death.” Aoi. LXXXVII. Olivier said:—”To me there seems no shame; I have beheld the Moors21 of Spain; they swarm O’er mountains, vales and lands, hide all the plains; Great is this stranger host; our number small.” Rollánd replies:—”The more my ardor grows. God and his [blessed] angels grant that France Lose naught of her renown through my default. Better to die than in dishonor [live.] The more we strike the more Carle’s love we gain!” Aoi. LXXXVIII. Rollánd is brave and Olivier is wise; Both knights of wond’rous courage—and in arms And mounted on their steeds, they both will die Ere 22 they will shun the fight. Good are the Counts23 And proud their words.—The Pagan felons ride In fury on!—”Rollánd,” said Olivier, “One moment, look! Our foes so close, and Carle Afar from us—you have not deigned to blow Your horn! If came the king, no hurt were ours. Cast your eyes toward the great defiles24 of Aspre;25 There see this most unhappy rear-guard. [Those Who here fight, ne’er shall fight on other fields.”] Rollànd retorts:—”Speak not such shameful words. Woe unto him who bears a coward’s heart Within his breast. There firm shall we remain; The combat and the blows from us shall come.” Aoi. LXXXIX. Now when Rollánd the battle sees at hand, More than a leopard’s or a lion’s pride He shows. He calls the French and Olivier: “Companion, friend, pray, speak of this no more. The Emperor who left his French in trust To us, has chos’n those twenty thousand men. Right well he knows none has a coward’s soul. A man should suffer hurt for his good lord, Endure great cold or scorching heat, and give Even to his flesh and blood—Strike with your lance, And I with Durendal, my trusty sword, Carle’s gift. If here I die, may he who wins 21 Muslims; also dark-skinned men. 22 Before. 23 The French noblemen. 24 A passage so narrow men must march single-file. 25 Aspre is another defile in the Pyrenees. 95

World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 It, say:—’Twas once the sword of a brave knight.” Aoi. XC. Turpin the Archbishop from another side, Spurring his courser, mounts a hill and calls The French around. This sermon to them speaks: “Seigneurs Barons, Carle left us here: for him, Our King, our duty is to die, to aid In saving Christendom, the Faith of Christ Uphold. There, battle will ye have, for there Before your eyes behold the Saracens. Confess your sins, and for God’s mercy pray! For your soul’s cure I absolution give.... If you should die, as holy martyrs ye Will fall, and places find in Paradise!” The French alight and fall upon their knees; The Godly Archbishop grants them benison, Giving for penance his command to strike. Aoi. XCI. The French arise. They stand assoiled and quit Of all sins, blessed by Turpin in God’s name. On swift destriers26 they mount, armed cap-a-pie27 Calls Olivier:—”Companion, sire, full well You know, it is Count Ganelon who has Betrayed us all, and guerdon28 rich received In gold and silver; well the Emp’ror should Avenge us! King Marsile a bargain made Of us, but swords will make the reck’ning good.” Aoi. XCII. Through the defiles of Spain hath passed Rollánd Mounted on Veillantif,29 his charger swift And strong, bearing his bright and glitt’ring arms. On goes the brave Rollánd, his lance borne up Skyward, beneath its point a pennon bound, Snow-white, whose fringes flap his hand. Fair is his form, his visage bright with smiles. Behind him follows Olivier his friend; The French with joy, him as their champion, hail. He on the Heathens throws a haughty glance, But casts a sweet and humble look upon His French, and to them speaks with courteous tone: “Seigneurs Barons, march steadily and close. These Pagans hither came to find a grave; We here shall conquer such great spoil to-day As never yet was gained by Kings of France.” Even as he spoke the word, the armies met. Aoi. 26 War-horses. 27 Head to toe. 28 Reward. 29 Roland’s war-horse. 96