Boccaccio in England: From Chaucer to Tennyson 9781472553980, 9781472507341, 9781472511041

Citation preview

To my Dear

Wife

but for whom this book would never have been completed

This page intentionally left blank

PREFACE

T

H I S s t u d y was c o m p l e t e d i n 1954 b u t o w i n g t o various causes its appearance has b e e n postponed. I t was b e g u n some t w e n t y - f i v e years ago i n t h e over-sanguine expectation t h a t i t w o u l d be c o m ­ p l e t e d i n t w o . T h e richness a n d c o m p l e x i t y o f t h e m a t e r i a l a n d t h e need f o r d e t a i l e d p r e l i m i n a r y i n v e s t i g a t i o n s account f o r t h e l o n g delay. M y object t h r o u g h o u t was to see Boccaccio, so far as was possible, i n r e l a t i o n t o t h e p e r s o n a l i t y o f t h e w r i t e r s to w h o m he appealed a n d s i m u l t a n e o u s l y t o observe t h e c h a n g i n g taste o f successive ages as i t was revealed b y t h e i r choice a m o n g Boccaccio's w r i t i n g s . I t also ap­ peared desirable to bear i n m i n d t h a t Boccaccio was a E u r o p e a n l i t e r a r y p h e n o m e n o n , a n d I a t t e m p t e d , w i t h i n t h e l i m i t s o f m y capacity, t o consider his fortunes o n t h e C o n t i n e n t . I h a v e p r o f i t e d b y t h e labours o f older w r i t e r s such as A t t i l i o H o r t i s , A . C. L e e , M a r y A . Scott, A r t u r o F a r i n e l l i , H e n r i H a u v e t t e a n d E m i l K o e p p e l , n o t t o speak o f a l a r g e n u m b e r o f scholars o f t h e present day. I h a v e n o t t h o u g h t i t necessary t o r e c o r d e v e r y single book or a r t i c l e o n l i t e r a r y indebtedness t o Boccaccio, sometimes r e a l , sometimes i m a g i n a r y , b u t h a v e r e s t r i c t e d m y s e l f to w h a t seemed t o m e t h e most r e l e v a n t to m y purpose. Chaucer offered a special p r o b l e m because so m u c h i m p o r t a n t w o r k h a d b e e n done o n h i m i n r e c e n t years, p a r t i c u l a r l y i n A m e r i c a . W h i l e t a k i n g a l l t h i s i n t o account, I have e x a m i n e d Chaucer's poems afresh i n t h e hope t h a t h e r e a n d t h e r e I m a y h a v e added a p o i n t or t w o . I n t h i s c o n n e x i o n I have s t u d i e d t h e I t a l i a n o r i g i n a l closely i n order t o ascer­ t a i n t h e precise n a t u r e o f t h e E n g l i s h adaptation or t r a n s f o r m a t i o n . I n e v i t a b l y t h i s has l e d t o a c e r t a i n fullness o f t r e a t m e n t w h i c h is per­ haps j u s t i f i e d i n a m o n o g r a p h o f t h i s k i n d . F o r t h e same reason various m i n o r figures i n t h e h i s t o r y o f E n g l i s h l i t e r a t u r e are dealt w i t h at some l e n g t h because i n t h e s u r v e y o f Boccaccio's i n f l u e n c e t h e i r i m p o r t a n c e is g r e a t e r t h a n t h e i r i n t r i n s i c m e r i t . T h e o r g a n i z a t i o n o f t h e s o m e w h a t r e c a l c i t r a n t m a t e r i a l was d i f f i c u l t . I n t h e e n d I t h o u g h t i t best t o i n v e s t i g a t e t h e f o r t u n e o f Boccaccio's w r i t i n g s one b y one. I was especially r e l u c t a n t t o apply t h i s m e t h o d t o Chaucer, f o r i t is obvious t h a t i n t h i s w a y justice is h a r d l y done t o his w o r k as a l i v i n g w h o l e . T r u l y , one m a y say ' W e m u r d e r t o dissect'. M o r e o v e r , t h e s t i m u l u s o f Boccaccio's e x a m p l e as a n artist is n o t

viii

PREFACE

sufficiently emphasized. H o w e v e r , w h i l e these disadvantages are recognized, t h e p l a n adopted does, I t r u s t , conduce t o l u c i d i t y i n t h e t r e a t m e n t o f t h e w h o l e subject. I w i s h t o t h a n k t h e E a r l y E n g l i s h T e x t Society for p e r m i s s i o n t o use m a t e r i a l i n t w o v o l u m e s w h i c h I p r e p a r e d for t h e i r series o f p u b l i c a ­ t i o n s , a n d Professor H . B . C h a r l t o n a n d t h e M a n c h e s t e r U n i v e r s i t y Press for leave t o d r a w o n t h e t e x t a n d i n t r o d u c t i o n t o Ghismonda. I a m u n d e r a s i m i l a r o b l i g a t i o n t o Professor Charles J. Sisson, editor o f

t h e Modern Language Review, and t o t h e Cambridge U n i v e r s i t y Press, Professor James S u t h e r l a n d a n d Professor J o h n B u t t , f o r m e r editors of

t h e Review of English Studies, a n d t h e Oxford U n i v e r s i t y Press, a n d to t h e editor o f The Times Literary Supplement. I owe m u c h t o t h e L o r d C h a m b e r l a i n for his courtesy i n g i v i n g m e access to his archives at St. James's Palace; to t h e D u k e o f D e v o n s h i r e for p l a c i n g at m y disposal r a r e books at C h a t s w o r t h a n d t h e m a n u s c r i p t c o n t a i n i n g a t r a n s l a t i o n o f p a r t o f De Claris mulieribus w h i c h L o r d M o r l e y presented t o H e n r y V I I I ; t o t h e E a r l o f C r a w f o r d for l e n d i n g m e a u n i q u e i n c u n a b u l u m , and to the authorities of the H e n r y E. H u n t i n g t o n L i b r a r y for t h e p r i v i l e g e o f q u o t i n g f r o m t h e m a n u s c r i p t

of W i l l i a m Percy's play, A Forrest Tragaedye in Vacunium. I s h o u l d also l i k e t o express m y indebtedness t o t h e Trustees o f t h e L e v e r h u l m e Research A w a r d s for t h e F e l l o w s h i p t h a t I h e l d i n 1935-6 a n d t o t h e C o u n c i l o f t h e U n i v e r s i t y College o f N o r t h W a l e s for a g r a n t f r o m t h e M a r y R a t h b o n e F u n d i n t h e a u t u m n t e r m o f 1951. These t w o periods w e r e i n v a l u a b l e for m y research. T h i s has also b e e n f a c i l i t a t e d b y a succession o f S u p e r i n t e n d e n t s o f t h e R e a d i n g R o o m at t h e B r i t i s h M u s e u m — M r . A . I . E l l i s , D r . F . G . R e n d a l l , M r . R . A . W i l s o n , M r . N . F . S h a r p — a n d o f Bodley's L i b r a r i a n s f r o m D r . H . H . E . Craster t o M r . J. N . L . M y r e s . A g a i n Sir C. T . H a g b e r g W r i g h t , M r . C. J. P u r n e l l a n d M r . S. N o w e l l - S m i t h o f t h e L o n d o n L i b r a r y , D r . H . G u p p y and D r . E. Robertson of the John Rylands L i b r a r y , D r . M . Tyson of the Manchester U n i v e r s i t y L i b r a r y , M r . H . L . P i n k o f t h e U n i v e r s i t y L i b r a r y , C a m b r i d g e , M r . Francis T h o m p s o n , l i b r a r i a n t o t h e D u k e o f D e v o n s h i r e at C h a t s w o r t h , M r . H . M . A d a m s o f T r i n i t y College, C a m b r i d g e , a n d M r . J. A . W i l k e s of U n i v e r s i t y College, L o n d o n , h a v e a l l h e l p e d m e t o m a k e progress i n m y l o n g task. I n t h e D e p a r t m e n t o f M a n u s c r i p t s at t h e B r i t i s h M u s e u m I h a v e b e e n aided b y M r . E . G . M i l l a r , D r . R o b i n F l o w e r , Sir H . I d r i s B e l l , M r . A . J. Collins a n d t h e i r staff. T o M r . C. J. H i n d l e o f t h e B o d l e i a n L i b r a r y a n d M r . 0. G . W . Stallybrass o f t h e L o n d o n L i b r a r y I a m g r a t e f u l for t h e i r patience i n r e p l y i n g t o n u m e r o u s inquiries. I h a v e h a d t h e good f o r t u n e t o possess friends a n d colleagues w h o ,

PREFACE

ix

despite t h e i r o w n duties, h a v e f o u n d t i m e t o advise m e a b o u t v a r i o u s details or to check references. I w o u l d m e n t i o n Professor W . F . S c h i r m e r , Professor A . C h i a r i , Professor V . B r a n c a , Professor G i u l i a n o P e l l e g r i n i , Professor A . O b e r t e l l o , Professor R e n e F r e c h e t , Professor E . P u r d i e , Professor G . B u l l o u g h , Professor G . T i l l o t s o n , Professor R . Weiss, Professor R . J. M c C l e a n , Professor D . J. G o r d o n , Professor A . W . R e e d , Professor H . J. T h o m s o n , Professor S i r J o h n N e a l e , D r . N . D e n h o l m - Y o u n g , a n d m y o l d p u p i l , M r . R . E . M o r t o n . I s h o u l d also l i k e t o say h o w m u c h I o w e to t h e p r a c t i c a l e n c o u r a g e m e n t o f Professor S. B . L i l j e g r e n . D r . R . J. C a r n i e r e n d e r e d special service i n t h e f i n a l stages o f p r e ­ p a r a t i o n o f t h e m a n u s c r i p t , a n d I a m g l a d t o express m y indebtedness to h i m . I m u s t also t h a n k Professor H . L u d e k e f o r k i n d l y r e a d i n g m y proofs. Finally, I w i s h to record w i t h gratitude the financial support t h a t m y book has received f r o m t h e U n i v e r s i t y o f W a l e s Press B o a r d a n d t h e F r e i w i l l i g e A k a d e m i s c h e Gesellschaft der Stadt Basel. Bangor, N o r t h Wales 4 September 1956

H . G. W .

This page intentionally left blank

CUE-TITLES

AND ABBREVIATIONS

Add. MS.

Additional Manuscript, British M u s e u m .

Archiv

Archiv fur das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen, 1846—.

Bergen

Lydgate's Fall of Princes,

ed. H . Bergen,

Carnegie

I n s t i t u t i o n of Washington, N o . 262, 1923; E.E.T.S.,

1924-7. B. M .

British M u s e u m .

Campbell

Mirror for Magistrates, ed. L . B. Campbell, Cambridge, 1938 (Add. parts ed. 1946).

C. B.E.L. Chambers

Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature, Cam­ bridge, 1940. 4 vols.

E. K . Chambers, The Elizabethan Stage, Oxford, 1923. 4 vols.

Dibdin

H . M . Cummings, The Indebtedness of Chaucer's Works to the Italian Works of Boccaccio, Cincinnati, 1916. T . F . D i b d i n . The Bibliographical Decameron; or Ten Days Pleasant Discourse upon Illuminated Manu­ scripts and Subjects connected with early Engraving, Typography and Bibliography, London, 1817. 3

D. N.B.

Dictionary of National Biography, ed. Leslie Stephen

E. E.T.S.

and Sidney L e e , L o n d o n , 1885—1901. Early English T e x t Society, 1864—.

F. Q.

E. Spenser, The Faerie Queene, Baltimore, 1932-8.

C u m m i n gs

vols.

V a r i o r u m Edition ed. E . Greenlaw, C. G . Osgood, F. M . Padelford. Farinelli

A . Farinelli, Italia e Spagna, T u r i n , 1929. 2 vols.

Griggs

Gesamtkatalog der Wiegendrucke, Leipzig, 1925—. Unpublished Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed.

Grosart

The Life and Complete Works in Prose and Verse of

Gesamtkatalog

E. L . Griggs. L o n d o n , 1932. 2 vols.

Robert Greene, ed. A . B. Grosart, London and Ayles­ b u r y , 1881-6. 15 vols. Hauvette 1903

H . Hauvette, De Laurentio de Primofato, Paris, 1903.

Hauvette [1909]

H . Hauvette, Les plus anciennes Traductions Francaises,

H.L.Q. J.E.G.P.

Huntington Library Quarterly, 1926-. Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 1903—.

Paris [1909].

xiv

Lowndes

CUE - T I T L E S

AND ABBREVIATIONS

W . T . Lowndes, The Bibliographer's Manual, London, 1834. 4 vols. N e w ed. H . G . Bohn. London, 1857-64. 6 vols.

Marillier

H . C. Marillier, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, London, 1901.

Marshall

R. Marshall, Italy in English Literature,

iyjf-i8ij,

N e w Y o r k , 1934.

M.L.N. M.L.R. M.P. O.E.D.

Modern Language Notes, 1886-. Modern Language Review, 1906-. Modern Philology, 1903-. New English Dictionary on Historical Principles, ed.

O.V.

Opere volgari di Giovanni Boccaccio, ed. I . Moutier,

P.M.L.A.

Publications of the Modern Language Association of America, 1884-.

Page

F. Page, Patmore, A Study in Poetry, Oxford, 1953.

Pinkerton

A General Collection of the best and most interesting

M u r r a y et al. Oxford, 1888-1933. Florence, 1827-34. 17 vols.

Voyages and Travels, 1808-14. 7 vols.

ed. J. Pinkerton, L o n d o n ,

1

R.E.S.

Review of English Studies, 1925-.

Root

Chaucer, Book of Troilus and Criseyde, ed. R. K . Root,

Schelling

F. E. Schelling, Elizabethan Drama, ijjS-1642,

Princeton, 1926.

Lon­

don, 1908. 2 vols.

Scott

M . A . Scott, Elizabethan Translations from the Italian,

Shedd

The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, N e w

Skeat

The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, ed. W . W .

S.O.B.D.

[Thomas Moore], Spirit of Boccaccio's

Boston and New Y o r k , 1916. Y o r k , 1884, ed. W . G. T . Shedd. 7 vols. Skeat, Oxford, 1894-7. 7 vols.

''Decameron',

London, 1812.

S.P. S.T.C.

Studies in Philology, 1906-. A Short-Title Catalogue of books printed in England, Scotland, Ireland and of English books printed abroad

T.L.S.

Times Literary Supplement, 1902-.

Welby

Complete Works of Walter Savage Landor, ed. T . E .

Wilkinson

Two Tracts Affrican and Mensola . . . and Newes and Strange Newes from St. Christophers, ed. C. H .

14JJ-164C;

London, 1926.

F. L . Utley, The Crooked Rib, Columbus, 1944. Utley W a l l e r and Glover The Collected Works of William Hazlitt, ed. A . R. Waller and A . Glover, London, 1902-6. 13 vols. R. Weiss, Humanism in England during the fifteenth Weiss

century, Oxford, 1941.

W e l b y , London, 1927-36. 16 vols.

W i l k i n s o n , Oxford, 1946.

INTRODUCTION

B

OCCACCIO'S

literary

career

opened

when

after

some

initial

opposition o n t h e p a r t o f his f a t h e r h e was a l l o w e d to leave Florence f o r Naples. I n t h i s n e w e n v i r o n m e n t of p o p u l a r g a i e t y

a n d c o u r t l y s p l e n d o u r h e s h o w e d l i t t l e i n c l i n a t i o n f o r t h e business career p l a n n e d f o r h i m b y his s t e r n p a r e n t . O n t h e c o n t r a r y , he appears to h a v e f a l l e n i n love w i t h a l a d y w h o m i n a series of w o r k s he calls F i a m m e t t a . A c c o r d i n g to t r a d i t i o n , she was M a r i a d ' A q u i n o , t h e n a t u r a l d a u g h t e r o f K i n g R o b e r t o f A n j o u , a r o m a n t i c association n o w r e g a r d e d w i t h scepticism.

1

C o n s e q u e n t l y , i t is d o u b t f u l w h e t h e r i t was M a r i a

d ' A q u i n o t h a t p r o m p t e d h i m to t e l l i n I t a l i a n t h e F r e n c h r o m a n c e o f Floris a n d B l a n c h e f l e u r u n d e r t h e t i t l e of t h e Filocolo.

Its i m m a t u r i t y

is i n d i c a t e d b y its abuse of digressions a n d descriptions. Nevertheless, i t has v a r i o u s i n t e r e s t i n g features, i n c l u d i n g t h e assembly i n Book I V of a n u m b e r o f ladies a n d g e n t l e m e n w h o sit i n a circle o n a m e a d o w u n d e r a shady t r e e n e a r t h e cool w a t e r of a s p r i n g and debate t h i r t e e n questions r e l a t i n g t o l o v e . T h e scene, w h i c h i n some measure a n t i c i ­ pates t h e Decameron,

has a p a r a l l e l i n t h e Ameto, an eclogue p e r v a d e d

w i t h m o r a l and religious symbolism under the influence of Dante. M o r e i m p o r t a n t t h a n t h e Ameto is t h e Filostrato

w h e r e Boccaccio is

far m o r e h i m s e l f . T h e story of T r o i l o a n d G r i s e i d a is a n i m a t e d b y his passion f o r F i a m m e t t a , a n d a g a i n i n t h e

Teseida

t h e n a r r a t i v e is

s t r o n g l y c o l o u r e d , i t w o u l d seem, b y his o w n feelings. I n t h e

Amorosa

Visione he w r i t e s once m o r e u n d e r t h e i n f l u e n c e of D a n t e , t h o u g h e v e n i n t h i s serious p o e m , w h e r e F i a m m e t t a hovers i n t h e b a c k g r o u n d , i t is e v i d e n t t h a t t h e ascetic o u t l o o k o f D a n t e was c o m p l e t e l y a l i e n t o his i m i t a t o r . W h e n he comes t o Fiammetta,

Boccaccio analyses t h e feelings

of a w o m a n b e t r a y e d a n d abandoned b y h e r l o v e r ; i n short, t h e situa­ t i o n h e r e is t h e c o u n t e r p a r t o f t h a t i n t h e Filostrato.

Here, however,

t h e f o r m is a u t o b i o g r a p h i c a l , a n d a n a t t e m p t is m a d e to h e i g h t e n t h e i m p o r t a n c e o f t h e h e r o i n e ' s l a m e n t b y t h e i n t r o d u c t i o n o f classical l o r e a n d t h e use Fiesolano

of a d i g n i f i e d , o r a t o r i c a l prose style. I n t h e

Ninfale

Boccaccio r e t u r n s to verse a n d u n i t e s t h e l o v e - s t o r y o f Affrico

and Mensola, a shepherd

a n d a n y m p h dedicated t o t h e service o f

D i a n a , w i t h t h e r i v a l r y o f t h i s goddess a n d V e n u s . A f t e r a s h o r t - l i v e d j o y t h e lovers are p a r t e d . Affrico i n despair c o m m i t s suicide; M e n s o l a 1

B

A . C h i a r i , Indagini

e Letture, 2nd series, Florence, 1954, pp. 41—2.

2

INTRODUCTION

is p u n i s h e d b y D i a n a w h o t r a n s f o r m s h e r i n t o t h e r i v e r t h a t s t i l l bears h e r n a m e , j u s t as Affrico's g r a n d f a t h e r f o r a l i k e offence h a d b e e n t u r n e d i n t o t h e r i v e r M u g n o n e . T h e b a c k g r o u n d o f h i l l s a n d streams a n d villages is one t h a t Boccaccio k n e w a n d l o v e d , a n d he conveys a d m i r a b l y t h e c h a r m a n d b e a u t y o f t h e landscape. O n t h e o t h e r h a n d , he is less successful w h e n he tells h o w P r u n e o , t h e son of Affrico a n d M e n s o l a , became t h e f o u n d e r o f Fiesole, a n d grafts t h e e a r l y h i s t o r y o f t h a t c i t y a n d Florence o n to t h e love-story. I t was Florence a n d t h e n e i g h b o u r i n g c o u n t r y s i d e w h i c h was a g a i n i n Boccaccio's m i n d w h e n , after t h e d e v a s t a t i n g o u t b r e a k o f t h e p l a g u e i n 1348, he used i t as a s e t t i n g for t h e Decameron, his great masterpiece. T h e r e f o l l o w e d t h e Corbaccio, i n w h i c h his w o u n d e d p r i d e t o o k vengeance o n a w i d o w w h o h a d rejected w i t h scorn his a t t e n t i o n s a n d p o u r e d o u t abuse n o t o n l y o n t h i s F l o r e n t i n e b u t o n t h e w h o l e sex. F i n a l l y , be t u r n e d to t h e c o m p i l a t i o n of his L a t i n w o r k s , De casibus

virorum illustrium, De Claris mulieribus, De montibus and De genealogia deorum, o n w h i c h his h u m a n i s t i c zeal b u i l t w e i g h t y m o n u m e n t s .

I THE

LATIN

WORKS

I

T was above a l l these c o m p i l a t i o n s t h a t e a r n e d f o r Boccaccio g r e a t

r e n o w n as a scholar i n t h e l a t t e r p a r t o f t h e M i d d l e Ages. H i s f a m e was based i n p a r t o n t h e encyclopaedias o f classical k n o w l e d g e , De

montibus a n d De genealogia deorum. B o t h w e r e t r a n s l a t e d i n t o Spanish,

o n l y t h e l a t t e r i n t o F r e n c h . N e i t h e r was r e n d e r e d i n t o E n g l i s h , b u t t h e y w e r e c e r t a i n l y k n o w n i n h u m a n i s t i c circles. J o h n W h e t h a m s t e d e , elected abbot o f St. A l b a n ' s i n 1420, quotes De genealogia deorum

1

and

his p r o t e c t o r , H u m p h r e y , d u k e o f Gloucester, possessed t h e t w o w o r k s .

H o w e v e r , i t was above a l l De casibus virorum mulieribus

illustrium

2

and De Claris

t h a t e x a l t e d his r e p u t a t i o n t o a r e m a r k a b l e h e i g h t . F o r

Pedro L o p e z de A y a l a , c h a n c e l l o r o f Castille, w h o b e g a n a t r a n s l a t i o n of t h e first o f these, he was ' e l m a e s t r o ' , a n d a T o l e d o e d i t i o n o f a t r a n s l a t i o n o f t h i s w o r k i n 1511 calls Boccaccio ' u n doctor f a m o s o ' .

S i m i l a r l y , F e r n a n M e x i a i n his Libro yntitulado nobillario* him

as t h e 'famoso f i l o s o f o ' ,

5

3

describes

a n d f o r Georges C h a s t e l l a i n , t h e h i s ­

t o r i o g r a p h e r t o t h e dukes of B u r g u n d y , he is ' le n o b l e docteur Bocace ' . P i e r r e F a i v r e , t h e first t r a n s l a t o r o f De casibus i n t o F r e n c h

7

6

thought

h i m a ' t r e s - e x c e l l e n t h i s t o r i e n ' . I n k e e p i n g w i t h t h i s a t t i t u d e is t h e advice g i v e n t o t h e s t u d e n t

of ' E n g l i s h politicks', i n a

fifteenth-

c e n t u r y manuscript t h a t belonged to t h e earl of Leicester, to read ' Seneck a n d J o h n Bocasse ' .

8

T h e De casibus became a g u i d e f o r r u l e r s .

I t p r o v i d e d a b u n d a n t i l l u s t r a t i o n s o f t h e errors t h a t k i n g s a n d princes should a v o i d .

9

T h e m a g n i f i c e n t m a n u s c r i p t copies s t i l l e x t a n t p r o v e

W . F . Schirmer, Der englische Friihhumanismus, Leipzig, 1931, p. 9 6 ; Weiss, p. 3 1 , n . 8. Whethamstede's Granarium was modelled on De gen. deorum. T h e t i t l e De genealogia deorum has been preferred to the f o r m De genealogiis deorum. as the former is t h e one most often used by older English writers. Weiss, p . 64. A . F a r i n e l l i , 'Note sulla fortuna del Boccaccio i n Ispagna n e l l ' E t a M e d i a ' , Archiv, 1905, cxiv, p. 410, n . 2 and again i n Farinelli, i , p. 95. Seville, 1492. Archiv, cxv, p . 368 and Farinelli, i , p. 149. Oeuvres, ed. K . de Lettenhove, Brussels, 1863-6, v i i , p . 143. Bruges, 1476. M S Rawlinson A 338 i n the Bodleian L i b r a r y . Cf. R. Tuve, 'Spenser's Reading: T h e De claris mulieribus', S.P., xxxiii, no. 2, 1936, p . 147, n . 1. P h i l i p I I of Spain had no less than five manuscript copies (cf. Archiv, cxiv, p . 403, n. 4 and Farinelli, i , p. 103, n . 1). 1

2

3

4

6

6

7 8

9

4

T H ELATIN WORKS

h o w l i v e l y was t h e i n t e r e s t t h a t i t a r o u s e d , a n d i t is characteristic t h a t i n 1422 Alonso o f Cartagena s h o u l d c o m p l e t e t h e v e r s i o n o f A y a l a f o r t h e b e n e f i t o f t h e h e i r t o t h e t h r o n e o f P o r t u g a l . I t was t h e r e f o r e n a t u r a l t h a t t h e d u k e o f B e r r y s h o u l d encourage L a u r e n t de P r e m i e r f a i t a n d t h a t H u m p h r e y , d u k e o f Gloucester, s h o u l d c o m m a n d L y d gate t o t r a n s l a t e De casibus. 1

2

3

For t h e m e n o f t h e f i f t e e n t h c e n t u r y Boccaccio was t h e g r e a t m o r a l i s t , c o m p a r a b l e t o B o e t h i u s a n d Seneca. C h a s t e l l a i n saw i n h i m ' l e docteur de patience e n a d v e r s i t e ' . T h i s c o n c e p t i o n was g i v e n p r a c t i c a l a p p l i c a t i o n w h e n Charles o f Orleans, d u r i n g his t w e n t y - f i v e years o f c a p t i v i t y i n E n g l a n d after t h e b a t t l e o f A g i n c o u r t , occupied h i m s e l f w i t h t h e treatise o f Boccaccio, a n d w h e n , after t h e assassina­ t i o n o f J o h n t h e Fearless, d u k e o f B u r g u n d y , i n 1419, his w i d o w also f o u n d solace i n t h i s account o f t h e m i s f o r t u n e s o f o t h e r s . B u t Chastel­ l a i n r e g a r d e d Boccaccio as s o m e t h i n g m o r e t h a n an a i d t o e n d u r a n c e . A d d r e s s i n g t h e a u t h o r , he declared ' t u i n c i t e s les courages a v e r t u s e n delaissant les v i c e s ' , w h i c h has its p a r a l l e l i n P r e m i e r f a i t ' s s t a t e m e n t t h a t Boccaccio's w o r k s : 4

5

8

A v e r t u font chemin, de mal font devoyer.

7

T o t h i s P r e m i e r f a i t adds t h a t Tel auteur adonc doit avoir ou ciel partage,

8

a s e n t i m e n t echoed i n t h e assurance o f t h e a u t h o r o f Celestina t h a t C h r i s t w i l l receive h i m i n t o his g l o r y . Boccaccio h a d t h e a p p r o v a l o f t h e C h u r c h e v e r y w h e r e . I n Spain f r i a r s v i e d w i t h canons a n d bishops i n t h e i r e u l o g i e s , a n d De casibus a n d De Claris mulieribus w e r e q u o t e d side b y side w i t h t h e book o f Genesis a n d t h e w o r k s o f Saint A u g u s t i n e . I n F r a n c e Claude W i t a r t , 9

10

1 1

Cf. Bergen, i , pp. xiv—xv. T w o manuscripts of Premierfait's translation i n t h e B r i t i s h M u s e u m are o f special interest. Royal M S . 14 E . v was executed, probably at Bruges, for a k i n g of England [ E d w a r d I V ? ] whose arms, w i t h Yorkist badges, occur frequently i n the borders. T h e statement o f P. D u r r i e u , Le Boccace de Munich, 1909, t h a t i t belonged definitely to Henry V I I appears to have no foundation. O n the other hand, Royal M S . 20 C i v has on f. 1 the joined initials H R , w h i c h are presumably those of Henry V I I . Archiv, cxiv, pp. 404-5 and Farinelli, i , p. 105. T h e r e were t w o editions of this version, 1484 and 1494. T h e earlier rendering of Pierre Faivre also r a n to t w o editions, 1476 and 1483. Cf. Gesamtkatalog, vol. i v , items 4432, 4433, 4434, 4435. Oeuvres, p . 98. L . V . de Lisle, Le Cabinet des MSS. de la Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris, 1868—1881, i , p. 106. Henry M a r t i n , Le Boccace de Jean sans Peur, Brussels, 1911, p . 2. Hauvette [1903], p . 26, n . 2. Ibid. Archiv, cxiv, p . 397 and Farinelli, i , p. 9 1 . Archiv, cxiv, p . 401 and Farinelli, i , p. 99. C. B . Bourland, 'Boccaccio and the Decameron i n Castilian and Catalan L i t e r a t u r e ' , Revue Hispanique, x i i , p. 18. 1

2

3

4

6

6 7

9

1 0

1 1

8

DE

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

5

ILLUSTRIUM

t h e n e p h e w o f an archdeacon, dedicated his t r a n s l a t i o n o f De

casibus

i n 1578 to t h e bishop of Soissons, d e c l a r i n g t h a t those w h o r e a d i t w o u l d d e r i v e f r o m i t d o c t r i n e c o n d u c i v e t o t h e i r s a l v a t i o n , since i t was n o t o n l y f u l l o f p h i l o s o p h y b u t also replete w i t h v e r y C h r i s t i a n instruction leading to the life everlasting; i n England Robert F l e m y n g , 1

w h o became dean o f L i n c o l n i n 1452, mulieribus a n d De casibus,'

1

was a reader o f De

Claris

a n d t h e l a t t e r was i n t h e possession o f John

Russell, elected bishop o f L i n c o l n i n 1480.

1. De casibus virorum

3

illustrium

N e a r l y a t h i r d o f t h e m a n u s c r i p t s c o n t a i n i n g Chaucer's Monk's Tale r e f e r t o i t , e i t h e r at t h e b e g i n n i n g o r t h e e n d or b o t h , as De

casibus virorum

illustrium,*

b u t i t is u n c e r t a i n w h e t h e r o r n o t t h i s

association, i m p l y i n g as i t does, a p a r a l l e l b e t w e e n De casibus a n d t h e tale, is d e r i v e d f r o m Chaucer h i m s e l f . O n t h e o t h e r h a n d i t is obvious t h a t t h e Monk's Tale lacks t h e d r e a m m a c h i n e r y a n d t h e m o r a l i s i n g a i m o f t h e o r i g i n a l . A n d i f t h e t e x t o f t h e v a r i o u s tragedies is e x a m i n e d i t is e v i d e n t t h a t n o t one is t a k e n i n its e n t i r e t y f r o m Boccaccio. O n l y t h e last stanza o f ' Z e n o b i a ' c a n be t r a c e d back t o h i m w i t h some confidence. Y e t , s t r a n g e l y e n o u g h , t h e p o e m advises t h e r e a d e r to consult ' m a i s t e r P e t r a k ' a b o u t Z e n o b i a . 5

6

B y contrast t h e r e is n o m y s t e r y a b o u t L y d g a t e ' s Fall of Princes. T h e m o n k o f B u r y was at one w i t h t h e n u m e r o u s ecclesiastics o f S p a i n w h o appreciated t h e e d i f y i n g purpose o f De casibus, a n d t h e h u m a n i s t i c H u m p h r e y , d u k e o f Gloucester, t h o u g h t h i m w e l l f i t t e d t o r e n d e r Boccaccio's famous w o r k i n t o E n g l i s h . I t was at his p a t r o n ' s suggestion t h a t L y d g a t e w r o t e t h e envoys w h i c h e n l a r g e o n t h e various episodes o f t h e Fall of Princes. Q u i t e apart f r o m these c o m m e n t a r i e s , i n accordance w i t h t h e duke's wishes, h e r e l a t e d at l e n g t h t h e s t o r y o f L u c r e c e , despite t h e fact t h a t i n d o i n g so he exposed h i m s e l f t o a c o m p a r i s o n w i t h his m a s t e r Chaucer, a p o s s i b i l i t y w h i c h he o t h e r w i s e p r u d e n t l y a v o i d e d . F o r t h i s purpose he used t h e d e c l a m a t i o n o n L u c r e c e b y P e t r a r c h ' s f r i e n d , Coluccio S a l u t a t i , a n d i t m a y w e l l be t h a t 7

Hauvette [ i g o g ] , p . 132. Weiss, p . 104. I b i d . , p . 177. R. K . Root i n Sources and Analogues of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, ed. W . F. Bryan and G . Dempster, Chicago, 1941, p. 615. R . W . Babcock, ' T h e Medieval Setting o f Chaucer's Monk's Tale', P.M.L.A., 1931, x l v i , pp. 210—11. R. K . Root, op. cit., pp. 616, 652-3. For an account of Lydgate see the following: E . Koeppel, Laurents de Premierfait und John Lydgates Bearbeitung von Boccaccios De Casibus Virorum Illustrium, M u n i c h , 1885; H . Bergen, Introduction to Fall of Princes (1923), op. c i t . ; F. Brie, ' M i t t e l a l t e r und Antike bei L y d g a t e ' , Englische Studien, lxiv, 1929, pp. 261— 3 0 1 ; W . F. Schirmer, John Lydgate : Ein Kulturbild aus dem 15 Jahrhundert, Tubingen, 1952. 1 4

5

6

7

2

3

6

THE LATIN

WORKS

t h e m a n u s c r i p t c o n t a i n i n g t h i s L a t i n n a r r a t i v e came f r o m D u k e H u m p h r e y ' s l i b r a r y . T h u s L y d g a t e became associated w i t h t h e I t a l i a n Renaissance, a n d spoke, t h o u g h n o t a classical scholar, w i t h r e v e r e n c e of t h e g r e a t names o f a n t i q u i t y . I n p a r t i c u l a r , he w r o t e e l o q u e n t l y i n praise o f Cicero a n d , w h e r e his source h a d p a i d a b r i e f t r i b u t e t o A t h e n s , he d w e l t o n its c u l t u r a l i m p o r t a n c e f o r t h e w h o l e w o r l d . 1

For i n t h a t cite, p l e y n l i to t e r m y n e , O f f t h e seuene a r t i s , as d o u n f r o m o n h e d s p r y n g , T h e r r a n o u t r y u e r s a n d s t r e m y s off al c u n n y n g .

(i, 4254-6)

T h e efforts o f P t o l e m y I I t o a c c u m u l a t e k n o w l e d g e also w o n L y d gate's a d m i r a t i o n , a n d i t is a t r u e b o o k - l o v e r w h o describes t h e b u r n i n g o f t h e g r e a t l i b r a r y at A l e x a n d r i a as ' f u l g r e t p i t e ' . T h e a n c i e n t w o r l d 2

a t t r a c t e d h i m i n m a n y w a y s , a n d e v e n t h o u g h he was i m p a t i e n t t o press o n w i t h his t r a n s l a t i o n , h e c o u l d n o t r e f r a i n f r o m i n t e r p o l a t i n g a n account o f R o m a n t r i u m p h s

3

a n d a d e s c r i p t i o n , based o n A u l u s G e l l i u s ,

o f t h e d i f f e r e n t k i n d s o f c r o w n a w a r d e d b y R o m e f o r m a r t i a l deeds.

4

F o r t h e w r i t e r s o f t h e past he cherishes a p r o f o u n d respect: as t o m e , i t is a t h y n g o d i b l e , T h y n g e s t e n p u g n e , a w t e n t i k a n d olde, W h i c h n o t a b l e c l e r k i s i n t h e r daies t o l d e .

( h i , 2266—8)

T h i s does n o t m e a n t h a t he f e l t u n d e r a n o b l i g a t i o n t o f o l l o w t h e m precisely. E v e n Boccaccio he m o d i f i e d as he t h o u g h t f i t , a n d as f o r L a u r e n t de P r e m i e r f a i t ' s v e r s i o n o f De casibus o n w h i c h he r e l i e d , L y d g a t e a l l o w e d h i m s e l f considerable f r e e d o m o f t r e a t m e n t . T h i s a p p l i e d especially t o a n y passages t h a t w e r e offensive to his p a t r i o t i c s e n t i m e n t . T h u s w h e n Boccaccio i n s p e a k i n g o f t h e fate o f K i n g J o h n of F r a n c e refers t o t h e E n g l i s h as ' i n e r t i s s i m i s adque p a u i d i s et n u l l i u s v a l o r i s h o m i n i b u s ' w h i c h is echoed b y P r e m i e r f a i t ' s ' h o m m e s faillis & vains & de n u l l e v a l e u r ' , L y d g a t e defends t h e prowess a n d t h e c h i v a l r y o f his c o u n t r y m e n a n d o f E d w a r d , t h e B l a c k P r i n c e , w h i l e he r o u n d l y c o n d e m n s Boccaccio f o r his p a r t i a l i t y . H o w e v e r , H i s fantasie n o r his o p p y n i o u n Stood i n t h a t caas o f n o n a u c t o r i t e : T h e r k y n g was t a k e ; t h e r k n i h t i s d i d e flee; W h e r was Bochas t o h e l p e at s u c h a neede? Sauff w i t h h i s p e n n e h e m a d e n o m a n t o b l e e d e .

(ix, 3178-82)

N o t content w i t h this disapprobation, 1 2

Lydgate turns everything i n

A l l quotations are taken f r o m Bergen's edition. v i , 2588. iv, 526-74. 3

4

239-315.

DE

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

ILLUSTRIUM

7

f a v o u r o f t h e E n g l i s h , passing over t h e r e t e n t i o n o f J o h n i n c a p t i v i t y , despite t h e p a y m e n t o f his r a n s o m b y t h e F r e n c h , a n d

suppressing

P r e m i e r f a i t ' s d a r k h i n t s about t h e sinister m o d e of t h e k i n g ' s d e a t h . S o m e w h a t e a r l i e r i n t h e last book L y d g a t e h a d f e l t a s i m i l a r d i s c o m ­ f o r t . Boccaccio h a d declared t h a t t h e k i n g s of France outshone

the

princes o f t h e W e s t as t h e s u n outshines t h e stars, a n d P r e m i e r f a i t h a d f o l l o w e d h i m . S o m e w h a t e r r o n e o u s l y L y d g a t e relates t h i s e u l o g y t o F r a n c e i t s e l f a n d t h e n m a i n t a i n s t h a t i t was a biased v i e w o r i g i n a t i n g , n o t i n Boccaccio, b u t i n o o n L a u r e n c e , w h i c h was a t r a n s l a t o u r O f t h i s processe, t o c o m e n d e F r a u n c e ; T o preise t h a t l o n d set a l h i s plesaunce.

(ix, 1886-8)

O n e c a n u n d e r s t a n d t h a t such praise w o u l d h a r d l y be t o t h e taste o f H u m p h r e y , d u k e o f Gloucester, t h e g r e a t - g r a n d s o n o f E d w a r d I I I , a n d i t was b u t n a t u r a l t h a t he a n d L y d g a t e s h o u l d be so sensitive at a m o m e n t w h e n E n g l i s h prowess i n France h a d been g r a v e l y affected b y Joan o f A r c . C e r t a i n l y , w h e n P r e m i e r f a i t d i d use t h e e n c o u n t e r o f Boccaccio w i t h D a n t e t o i n t e r w e a v e a n e n c o m i u m o f Paris, L y d g a t e o m i t t e d i t . A t t h e same t i m e he i g n o r e d t h e F r e n c h t r a n s l a t o r ' s a t t e m p t t o enhance its c u l t u r a l i m p o r t a n c e a n d his assertion t h a t t h e

Divine Comedy was derived f r o m t h e Roman de la Rose.

1

Y e t another

omission occurs i n t h e account o f t h e p o r t e n t s t h a t precede t h e o u t b r e a k of t h e c i v i l w a r b e t w e e n J u l i u s Caesar a n d P o m p e y . A m o n g those was t h e b i r t h of c h i l d r e n w i t h t a i l s , ' c o m e sont aulcuns a n g l o i s ' . T h i s w i d e s p r e a d g i b e o f t h e mediaeval w o r l d was too m u c h f o r L y d g a t e ! F o r his p a r t h e considered h i m s e l f at l i b e r t y to adopt t h e same propagandist tactics as P r e m i e r f a i t . H e n c e his i n s e r t i o n o f a e u l o g y o f E n g l a n d f r o m L o n d o n t o t h e Cotswolds a n d f r o m Y o r k t o C a n t e r b u r y . H o w e v e r , L y d g a t e is m o d e r a t e i n his p a t r i o t i s m . H e speaks i n t h e h i g h e s t t e r m s of K i n g J o h n o f F r a n c e w h o ' q u i t h y m l i k a m a n l i k n i h t ' and lies b u r i e d at St. D e n i s ' w i t h o t h i r w o r t h i k i n g i s ' . M o r e ­ over, w h e n he m e n t i o n s H e n r y V , t h e p a t r o n o f his Troy Book, he i n d u l g e s i n no p a n e g y r i c o f his v i c t o r i o u s career b u t presents h i m as one whose a i m was peace b e t w e e n E n g l a n d a n d F r a n c e . I t is t r u e t h a t L y d g a t e gives o n l y t h e E n g l i s h v i e w o f t h e r i g h t s a n d w r o n g s o f t h e wars w i t h France, b u t i n g e n e r a l h e h a d no l i k i n g f o r w a r . Once at 2

3

4

5

6

7

Cf. i x , 2522 ff. Cf. v i , 2331. I t caused an affray at Messina i n 1190 w h e n the English crusaders under the command of R i c h a r d I , enraged at being called ' c a u d a t i ' , attacked the inhabitants. T h e k i n g i n consequence seized the town. Cf. J. S. P. Tatlock, The Legendary History of Britain, Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1950, pp. 505—7 and Ch. xxiii, notes 81—3. * v i i i , 2685-95. i x , 3191. . 3 °3' i , 59 9-731

2

3

5

6 i x

2

6

8

THE LATIN

WORKS

least, i n a m o o d o f d e t a c h m e n t , h e pauses t o consider its causes a n d ponders w h e t h e r i t is due t o t h e i n f l u e n c e o f t h e stars or t o w i l f u l rage As a t w e e n R o m e y n s & f o l k i s o f C a r t a g e .

(v, 424-5)

I t r e m a i n s a m y s t e r y t o h i m , b u t he sees t h a t i t b r i n g s l i t l l e p r o f i t t o e i t h e r side. Conquerors l i k e C y r u s , Sisera a n d M a r p e s i a m a y w i n m a r t i a l f a m e , b u t sooner or l a t e r t h e y come t o g r i e f , a n d f o r a n e p i t a p h on Pyrrhus, Lydgate writes: L o o , h e e r t h e eende o f folkis rekeles T h a t f o l w e d w e r r e & l i s t n a t l y u e i n pes!

(iv, 3897-8)

T h e g l o r y o f t h e v i c t o r is b u t f l e e t i n g , f o r Conquest b i w e r r e lastith b u t a w h y l e , (i,

153 ) 1

and, off al w e r r e d e t h is t h e f y n p a r d e .

(i> 5892) I n k e e p i n g w i t h t h i s a t t i t u d e is t h e distaste t h a t L y d g a t e h e r e a n d t h e r e e x h i b i t s w h e n h e encounters some of t h e g r i m episodes i n w h i c h De casibus abounds. H e o m i t s m a n y o f t h e savage struggles b e t w e e n M a r i u s a n d S u l l a , l i m i t s t h e details o f t h e m o b ' s f e r o c i t y t o w a r d s A n d r o n i c u s a n d cuts d o w n t h e account of t h e t o r t u r e a n d m u t i l a t i o n of H a n n o b y t h e C a r t h a g i n i a n s . W h e n w o m e n a n d c h i l d r e n are c o n ­ cerned, L y d g a t e ' s s e n t i m e n t s are e q u a l l y conspicuous. H e condenses t h e tale of A t r e u s a n d T h y e s t e s a n d suppresses various p a r t i c u l a r s i n t h e account o f M a r i u s ' s c r u e l t y t o w a r d s t h e w o m e n of t h e C i m b r i . T h e same p r o c e d u r e m a y be observed i n t h e s t o r y o f t h e r a v i s h i n g o f t h e L e v i t e ' s w i f e b y t h e Gibeonites, w h e n L y d g a t e refers t h e reader to t h e Book o f J u d g e s f o r t h e c o m p l e t e r e l a t i o n o f these hideous events. 1

2

3

4

5

6

I t is n o t s u r p r i s i n g t h a t t h e g e n t l e m o n k o f B u r y was able t o p a r t a k e of Jocasta's distress w h e n K i n g L a i u s c o m m a n d e d t h a t his son Oedipus s h o u l d be p u t t o d e a t h i n t h e forest: L i t i l w o n d e r t h o u h she f e l t e s m e r t e ! To all w o m e n I reporte me, A n d o n t o m o o d r e s t h a t be t e n d r e off h e r t e , I n t h i s m a t e r i u g e s f o r t o be. W a s i t n a t r o u t h e , was i t n a t p i t e , T h a t a pryncesse a n d a q u e e n , alias, S h o l d e k n o w y n h i r c h i l d d e u o u r e d i n s u c h cas!

( i , 3221-7)

1

4

v i , 1093 ffi, 4 -550 1 2

2 5

ix, H 5 7 - 7 7 v i , 1065-78.

3 6

i"i 4 ~4i i i , 1510-26. 2 0 1

DE

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

9

ILLUSTRIUM

I n some w a y s t h e s i t u a t i o n o f Q u e e n A l t h a e a was s t i l l m o r e p a i n f u l , a n d L y d g a t e enters i n t o h e r d i l e m m a . H e r son M e l e a g e r h a v i n g p r e ­ sented to A t a l a n t a t h e head o f t h e boar he h a d k i l l e d , slew his t w o uncles t h a t h a d d e p r i v e d h e r o f i t . T h e task o f a v e n g i n g t h e m f e l l t o A l t h a e a , a n d L y d g a t e shares t h e conflict i n h e r h e a r t .

1

T h e task i m p o s e d o n A l t h a e a was a l l t h e m o r e g r i e v o u s , because i n L y d g a t e ' s o p i n i o n w o m e n as a w h o l e are disposed t o s h o w m e r c y , n o t to

exact vengeance.

Nevertheless, b e n e a t h t h e i r angelic appearance

some are as c r u e l as w o l v e s or lions or t i g e r s . L y d g a t e also m a i n t a i n s 2

t h a t w o m e n c a n n o t keep a secret, t h a t t h e y are f u l l of d u p l i c i t y , a n d are treacherous a n d f i c k l e . O n a n o t h e r occasion t h e story o f O r p h e u s 3

and E u r y d i c e is used b y h i m f o r a gibe at t h e bondage o f m a r r i e d m e n . Some i n O r p h e u s ' place w o u l d n o t have s o r r o w e d b u t t h a n k e d G o d , t h a t b r o k e n was t h e c h e y n e W h i c h h a t h so l o n g e h e m i n p r i s o u n b o u n d e , T h a t t h e i be grace h a n such a f r e d a m f o u n d e .

(i, 5808-10)

H e is a g a i n i n a s a t i r i c a l m o o d w h e n he recalls t h a t Chaucer was requested b y t h e q u e e n t o w r i t e t h e lives o f n i n e t e e n good w o m e n b u t c o u l d n o t f i n d so l a r g e a n u m b e r . A l l these reflections are i n k e e p i n g w i t h t h e c o m m o n mediaeval a t t i t u d e t o w o m e n a n d w i t h t h a t o f Boccaccio i n p a r t i c u l a r . L i k e h i m L y d g a t e a d m i t t e d t h a t t h e r e w e r e some good a n d i n n o c e n t w o m e n , w h i l e i n s i s t i n g t h a t t h e y w e r e t o be r e v e r e d precisely because t h e y w e r e so f e w . Y e t t h e r e is a difference b e t w e e n De casibus a n d t h e E n g l i s h v e r s i o n . W h e n Boccaccio composed i t , he was s t i l l s m a r t i n g u n d e r t h e r i d i c u l e o f t h e y o u n g w i d o w w h o m he h a d w o o e d a n d w h o m h e h a d attacked so f u r i o u s l y i n t h e Corbaccio. S o m e t h i n g of t h i s t e m p e r still l i n g e r e d i n his c h a p t e r ' Adversus n i m i a m c r e d u l i t a t e m ' w h e r e t h e w h o l e sex is declared to be ' i n s a t i a b i l i l i b i d i n e semper a r d e n s ' . L y d g a t e is less e x p l i c i t r e g a r d i n g t h i s charge a n d glides a w a y f r o m t h e accusation o f libidinousness t o t a l k w i t h his t o n g u e i n his cheek about t h e w i f e l y patience o f E n g l i s h w o m e n . A n d w h e n Boccaccio's s m o u l d e r i n g w r a t h bursts i n t o flame i n t h e c h a p t e r ' I n m u l i e r e s ' , L y d g a t e is m o r e balanced a n d m o r e r e s t r a i n e d . 4

5

6

7

8

9

I t is n o r e s o u n t a t w i t e n w o m e n a l l , T h o u h o n o r t o o w h i l o m dede f a i l e . I t s i t t i t h n a t , n o r i t m a y n a t auaile, H e m t o r e b u k e t h a t p a r f i t b e e n & goode, F e r r o u t off i o y n t t h o u h s u m o t h e r stoode. 1 3 5 7

i, 49 4- i , 6352-6; i , 6373-7; i , 5153-9; i , 55°3-9Cf. F. L . Utley, The Crooked Rib. i , 1812-13,2843-9. Book i . 6

8

8

2

i , 2515; i i i , 2 4 6 9 - 7 1 ; v i , 68. h 33°- 'omnes fugiendas censeo'. i , 4728-46. 4

6

9

6

10

THE LATIN

WORKS

A n d I dar seyn, t h a t w o m e n v e r t u o u s B e e n i n t h e [ r ] v e r t u off p r i c e m o r c o m e n d a b l e , T h a t t h e r be s u m m e r e k n y d v i c i o u s , A n d off t h e r l y u y n g f o u n d e also o n s t a b l e . Goode w o m e n a u h t e n a t be p a r t a b l e O f f t h e r trespas n o r t h e r w i k k e d deede, B u t m o r comendid for ther womanheede.

( i , 6646-50; 6665-71) H e has no personal

a n i m u s against t h e sex a n d rejects

Boccaccio's

advice t o flee t h e m a l l . S e x u a l passion was distasteful t o L y d g a t e , a n d h e is i l l at ease i n t o u c h i n g o n i l l i c i t associations.

T h u s i f Boccaccio describes h o w A n t i o -

chus escapes t h r o u g h t h e a i d o f a ' m e r e t r i c u l a ' , P r e m i e r f a i t has n o objection t o c a l l i n g h e r ' v n e f e m m e p u b l i q u e ' , b u t L y d g a t e glosses over her occupation b y t e r m i n g her ' a w o m a n t h a t l y u e d i n pouerte'. A g a i n , whereas Boccaccio displays a n i n t e r e s t i n A r s i n o e , despite h e r misdeeds, L y d g a t e is hostile a n d condemns

'fals l u s t o f s e n s u a l i t e ' .

T h e e v i l l i f e o f Messalina a n d C a l i g u l a e v i d e n t l y appeared t o h i m u n s a v o u r y , a n d various details are o m i t t e d . So too L y d g a t e f o u n d t h e incestuous

passion of B y b l i s f o r h e r

brother repugnant

and

com­

pressed his account i n t o a f e w l i n e s . M o s t odious of a l l i n his eyes was t h e vice of h o m o s e x u a l i t y , and he e i t h e r deletes a l l m e n t i o n o f i t f r o m his v e r s i o n , or expresses his disgust at t h e ' f o u l & o u t r a g o u s ' t h e m e 1

and the 'horrible deede'.

2

T h i s greater s e v e r i t y is also visible w h e n e v e r t h e actions o f ecclesias­ tics are t o u c h e d o n , f o r L y d g a t e is always concerned lest a n y d i s c r e d i t s h o u l d f a l l o n t h e C h u r c h . I n t h i s respect h e differs n o t a b l y f r o m P r e m i e r f a i t w h o does n o t hesitate to p o i n t o u t t h e abuses p r e v a l e n t i n his o w n day. T h u s i n his p i c t u r e o f t h e g o l d e n w o r l d h e declares t h a t he is l i v i n g i n a n age o f p r i d e , avarice a n d l u s t , w h e n t h e m o r a l s o f c h u r c h m e n f r o m t h e h i g h e s t t o t h e l o w e s t are c o r r u p t . L y d g a t e rejects t h i s a n d a s i m i l a r c r i t i c i s m i n t h e n i n t h book. A n d i f he has t o a d m i t t h a t a n i n d i v i d u a l pope l i k e J o h n X I I l e d a vicious l i f e , h e is c a r e f u l n o t t o r e p r o d u c e P r e m i e r f a i t ' s generalisations about t h e p r i d e , s l o t h , a n d r i b a l d r y o f o t h e r bishops o f R o m e . H e e v e n goes so f a r as t o replace t h e s t o r y o f J o a c h i m , h i g h priest of t h e Jews, b y t h a t of U z z i a h , because he is embarrassed b y such a n e v i l ecclesiastic, t h o u g h he was n o t a Christian. O n t h e o t h e r h a n d , he loves to d w e l l o n those r u l e r s i n f o r m e r t i m e s w h o w e r e s t a u n c h c h a m p i o n s of t h e C h u r c h , l i k e t h e E m p e r o r C o n s t a n t i n e a n d Theodosius. T h e l a t t e r i n p a r t i c u l a r is praised, because I n connexion w i t h Vitellius ( v i i , 978), Ptolemy Philopator (v, 8 6 2 - 5 ) and Alexander, b r o t h e r of Olimpias, the last of these perverts being struck out of the narrative ( i i i , 4760). v i i , 720—1. 1

2

DE

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

11

ILLUSTRIUM

To the cherche he meekli did obeye, [ L i k ] Goddis k n i h t did l o w l i his penaunce.

(viii, 2080—1)

B u t s u p r e m e a m o n g these a n c i e n t sovereigns i m b u e d w i t h t h e C h r i s ­ t i a n s p i r i t was A r t h u r , a n d as L y d g a t e wishes t o idealise h i m , h e is c o m p e l l e d t o a l t e r his r e l a t i o n s h i p t o M o d r e d . A c c o r d i n g t o Boccaccio a n d P r e m i e r f a i t , M o d r e d was a son o f A r t h u r b y a c o n c u b i n e , b u t L y d g a t e , a n x i o u s t o present A r t h u r as flawless i n e v e r y w a y , makes M o d r e d his cousin. T h e r e is y e t a n o t h e r facet o f L y d g a t e ' s r e l i g i o u s o u t l o o k . H e t r i e d to s h u n a n y p a r a l l e l b e t w e e n C h r i s t i a n s and pagans. T h u s w h e n Cartalus, b i s h o p of T y r e , offers t i t h e s t o H e r c u l e s , t h e E n g l i s h v e r s i o n speaks o f t h e p e r f o r m a n c e o f a sacrifice A f t i r the rihtis of ther paynym wise. (iii. 3 9 ) 11

N a t u r a l l y , L y d g a t e declines t o accept P r e m i e r f a i t ' s suggestion

that

God i n t e r v e n e d o n b e h a l f o f t h e r u t h l e s s Gaius M a r i u s a n d , h o w e v e r m u c h he m a y a d m i r e Cicero's eloquence, he w i l l n o t h e a r o f t h e c l a i m t h a t he was d i v i n e l y i n s p i r e d . Q u i t e consistently, h e has no e q u i v a l e n t to Boccaccio's w r a t h f u l o u t b u r s t after Cicero's d e a t h : ' 0

Deus bone.

V b i i n d i g n a t i o iusta? V b i i g n i s edax? V b i f u l m e n ? V b i t e l l u r i s h i a t u s ? ' , for t h a t i m p l i e d t h a t G o d s h o u l d h a v e i n f l i c t e d c o n d i g n p u n i s h m e n t o n P o m p i l i u s f o r t h e s l a y i n g o f Cicero. L y d g a t e n e v e r forgets t h a t t h e R o m a n s w e r e pagans, a n d e v e n w h e n he l a m e n t s t h e f a l l o f R o m e , he c o n d e m n s h e r f o r i d o l a t r y a n d holds h e r u p as a w a r n i n g e x a m p l e . As for J u l i a n , w h o h a v i n g seen t h e l i g h t , y e t r e n o u n c e d C h r i s t i a n i t y a n d relapsed i n t o t h e darkness o f p a g a n i s m , L y d g a t e treats h i m w i t h t h e u t m o s t r i g o u r a n d consigns h i m t o h e l l , w h e r e he is ' d a m p n e d w i t h Sathan depe i n p e y n e ' . I n v i e w o f L y d g a t e ' s o r t h o d o x y i t is r e m a r k a b l e t h a t h e dismissed so b r i e f l y Boccaccio's d e n u n c i a t i o n o f t h e Jews i n his c h a p t e r

'In

Iudaeos P a u c a ' . O n t h e o t h e r h a n d , he was most s t e r n t o w a r d s E n g l i s h heretics a n d praised H e n r y V , because To stroie Lollardis he sette al his labour

(i, 59 7) 6

a n d his p a t r o n , H u m p h r e y , d u k e o f Gloucester, since heretik dar noon come i n his siht, (i, 410) and i n this land no Lollard dar abide

(V4°3) u n d e r his sway. H e is e q u a l l y hostile t o w a r d s t h e K n i g h t s T e m p l a r , e x h i b i t i n g n o n e o f t h e distress w h i c h Boccaccio h a d f e l t a n d r e f u s i n g

12

THE LATIN

WORKS

a n y a d m i r a t i o n f o r t h e i r constancy i n t h e h o u r o f d e a t h . F o r L y d g a t e i t sufficed t h a t t h e a c t i o n against t h e m h a d papal sanction. Conservative b y t e m p e r a m e n t a n d also by reason o f his dependence o n p a t r o n a g e , h e h a d l i t t l e good t o say o f a n y one w h o caused u p h e a v a l i n t h e state. A g a i n a n d a g a i n he p o i n t s t h e lesson t h a t n o t h i n g is m o r e to be d e p l o r e d t h a n c i v i l discord, f o r t h i l k e w e r r i s be m o s t i n f o r t u n a t , W h a n blood w i t h blood, lat no m a n deemen othir, L i s t [ t o ] w e r r e i e , as b r o t h e r a g e y n b r o t h e r ,

( i i i , 4884-6) and Kyngdamys deuyded m a y no w h i l e e n d u r e .

1

( i , 3822) A n abundance of m a t e r i a l f r o m t h e l e g e n d a r y dissension o f A r t h u r a n d M o d r e d a n d t h e c i v i l w a r s o f R o m e to r e c e n t events i n F r a n c e e n a b l e d L y d g a t e to develop his t h e m e . A factor n o t to be i g n o r e d i n t h e c o n s i d e r a t i o n o f s u c h p r o b l e m s is t h e a t t i t u d e o f t h e people. L y d g a t e distrusts t h e c o m m o n s ,

accusing

t h e m o f fickleness a n d i n g r a t i t u d e . T h u s he c o m m e n t s o n t h e e x i l e o f Themistocles: I n t r u s t off c o m o u n s is n o p e r s e u e r a u n c e : As w y n t e r [ & ] s o m e r be d y u e r s off t h e r h e w e , So be t h e i d y u e r s i n c h a u n g off p r y n c i s n e w e .

( i i i , 2203-5)

H i s bias m a y also be seen i n his account o f C o r i o l a n u s , w h e n h e declares t h a t his b a n i s h m e n t was w i t h o u t cause a n d suppresses a l l reference t o t h e q u a r r e l b e t w e e n plebeians a n d patricians. F o r his p a r t L y d g a t e has a n i n s t i n c t i v e d i s l i k e o f t h e o r d i n a r y m a n w h o tries t o o b t a i n p o l i t i c a l p o w e r , since F r o w a r d techchis been euer i n cherlis founde (iv,

2701)

a n d so t h e s t a t o f p o l i t i k puissaunce Is lost w h e r - e u e r k n a u e s h a u e g o u e r n a u n c e .

( i v , 2673-4) Those w h o a i m at a h i g h e r r a n k t h a n pertains t o t h e m are apt t o f a l l v i c t i m s t o p r i d e o r t o become c r u e l a n d v e n g e f u l . A n d so i n speak­ i n g o f Spartacus, L y d g a t e asks: W h a t t h y n g m o r cruel i n comparisoun O r m o r v e n g a b l e o f w i l l & n a t off r i h t , T h a n w h a n a cherl hath domynacioun!

2

( v i , 778-80)

He expatiates on this i n relating the dissensions among the Trojans. Cf. TroyBooh, ed. H . Bergen, London, 1906—35, i v , 4506—37. Cf. his remarks on P h i l i p p a Catanensi, i x , 3025—8. 1

2

DE

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

13

ILLUSTRIUM

H o w e v e r , t o some e x t e n t he h a d come u n d e r t h e i n f l u e n c e o f t h e h u m a n i s t i c t r a d i t i o n w h i c h insisted o n t h e m e r i t o f t h e i n d i v i d u a l i n contrast t o h e r e d i t a r y r a n k . W e a l t h a n d p o w e r , h e asserts, are

no

means t o a t t a i n n o b i l i t y unless t h e y are accompanied b y v i r t u e , a n d i t is a m a n ' s deeds t h a t alone can p r o v e t h a t he is n o b l e . R a n k b y i t s e l f is n o t e n o u g h , f o r ofte t y m e v e r t u n o r gentilesse C o m e n a t t o h e i r e s h i successioun,

( v i , 596-7)

a n d u l t i m a t e l y i t is G o d t h a t ordains w h o s h a l l possess n o b i l i t y . T h i s q u a l i t y is bestowed o n l y o n t h e m e e k a n d g o d - f e a r i n g , a n d such a m a n , i f b o r n i n a h u m b l e p o s i t i o n , does deserve t o be e x a l t e d : who list h y m s i l f to k n o w e , A n d is be grace e n c l y n e d t o meeknesse, T h o u h h e f r o p o u e r t i n streihtnesse b r o u h t u p l o w e A n d is be v e r t u r e i s e d t o w o r t h y n e s s e , W i t h sceptre o f pes & s u e r d o f r i h t w i s n e s s e I n d i f f e r e n t l i his d o o m y s d e m e n y n g , — S u c h o o n is able t o be c l e p e d a k y n g .

0 , 2851-7) F r o m t h i s passage t h e c o n c l u s i o n m i g h t be d r a w n t h a t such a m a n w o u l d be j u s t i f i e d i n o u s t i n g a v i c i o u s r u l e r . Y e t t h a t was far f r o m L y d g a t e ' s i n t e n t i o n . N o one was less o f a r e v o l u t i o n a r y t h a n h e . I n t h i s he diverges considerably f r o m Boccaccio w h o r e g a r d e d t h e princes of his age w i t h c o n t e m p t a n d aversion. L y d g a t e goes o u t o f his w a y t o avoid a n y t h i n g t h a t m i g h t u n d e r m i n e the position of a monarch. T h u s i n s p e a k i n g o f Machseus, d u k e o f C a r t h a g e , he o m i t s t h e fact m e n t i o n e d b y P r e m i e r f a i t t h a t i n Carthage a l l d i g n i t i e s a n d offices w e r e e l e c t i v e and h e sets aside t h e c o n t e n t i o n i n t h e F r e n c h t r a n s l a t i o n of Boccaccio's c h a p t e r ' I n Fastosam R e g u m s u p e r b i a m ' t h a t i n t h e b e g i n n i n g k i n g s a n d o t h e r princes w e r e chosen b y t h e consent o f t h e people to p r o t e c t a n d d e f e n d t h e m a n d t h a t t h e f a i l u r e o f a r u l e r t o c a r r y o u t his obligations r e l i e v e d his subjects of t h e i r duties t o h i m . For a w r i t e r l i k e L y d g a t e , closely b o u n d as he was t o a p a t r o n o f r o y a l descent, i t was impossible t o accept t h e v i e w t h a t allegiance c o u l d be cast off i n t h i s f a s h i o n , a n d so h e i n t r o d u c e s t h e concept of t h e state as a b o d y , e v e r y p a r t i n t e r r e l a t e d a n d e v e r y p a r t h a v i n g its f u n c t i o n . H o w e v e r , L y d g a t e emphasises a g a i n a n d a g a i n t h e necessity f o r a s o v e r e i g n t o care f o r t h e people. I f he rules w e l l , t h e y w i l l obey. H e t u r n s De casibus i n t o a m a n u a l o f advice. Princes s h o u l d choose wise counsellors. 1

2

3

i i i , 3886 ff. A g a i n i n i i i , 1373 ff. lie omits the statement i n P r e m i e r f a i t t h a t princes were f o r m e r l y elected by the consent of t h e people and suppresses the opinion t h a t the lechery of a ruler frees t h e m f r o m t h e i r obligations. i i , 827-903. 1 2

3

14

THE LATIN

WORKS

T h e y s h o u l d t a k e as t h e i r g u i d e , n o t t h e i r w i v e s or r a s h y o u n g m e n , b u t reason. T h e y s h o u l d eschew p r i d e , l u s t a n d avarice, j u d g e c a l m l y a n d show m e r c y . L y d g a t e admonishes t h e e x a l t e d reader t o do r e v e r ­ ence t o t h e C h u r c h a n d t o observe God's precepts. A l l evils recorded b y Boccaccio w e r e due t o lack o f r e l i g i o n ; t h e w a r n i n g is g i v e n t h a t Y e be n o goddys, y e be b u t m e n m o r t a l ,

(ix, 3486) and that D e t h spareth n o u t h e r h i h blood n o r h i h lynages, T r a n s i t o i r e been heer y o u r p i l g r y m a g e s .

( , i ? 5 i 3) Nevertheless, t h e r e r e m a i n e d a p r o b l e m o f g o v e r n m e n t , f o r w h a t V 1

;

was t o h a p p e n i f a l l these sage counsels w e r e neglected? Boccaccio h a d his r e m e d y , w h i c h was t o p l o t a n d conspire, t o t a k e u p a r m s a n d oppose b y force an e n e m y o f t h e people. I n his eyes i t was n o t o n l y necessary b u t h o l y t o do so, since t h e r e was h a r d l y a n y sacrifice m o r e acceptable t h a n t h e b l o o d o f a t y r a n t . P r e m i e r f a i t w e n t s t i l l f u r t h e r a n d declared 1

t h a t i t was t h e most acceptable o f a l l , a n d he repeats t h i s i n s p e a k i n g of Machaeus, d u k e o f C a r t h a g e : l a s e i g n e u r i e d u n t e l h o m m e n e d o i t estre soufferte / ains l e d o i t l e n s a c r i f i e r & occire / car le sang d u n t y r a n t est sacrifice p l a i s a n t & a g g r e a b l e a d i e u .

I n e v i t a b l y , i n v i e w o f his p o s i t i o n , L y d g a t e was c o n s t r a i n e d t o reject t h i s j u s t i f i c a t i o n o f t y r a n n i c i d e . A l l he w i l l a d m i t is t h a t t h e people o f C a r t h a g e t h o u g h t such a sacrifice pleasing t o t h e i r gods. H i s s o l u t i o n was t o w a i t u n t i l G o d s h o u l d r e m o v e t h e t y r a n t . R e p e a t e d l y he states t h a t w h i l e G o d m a y show forbearance f o r a t i m e , he w i l l i n t h e e n d chastise t h e e v i l r u l e r a n d preserve i n n o c e n c e a n d r e w a r d t h e poor f o r t h e i r l o n g patience. Y e t t h e r e is some confusion i n his t h o u g h t , since he recognises elsewhere t h a t h u m a n beings w i l l be t h e agents o f retribution: G o d w o l d n a t suffre h e sholde l o n g e n d u r e , G r a u n t e t h no t i r a u n t to haue heer no l o n g lyff; F o r be s u m m y s c h e e f o r s o d e y n a u e n t u r e T h e i d e i e n be m o o r d r e , w i t h dagger, s u e r d o r k n i f f . ( v i i i , 1758-61)

Yet

h o w e v e r inconsistent t h i s m a y seem, i t is clear t h a t his w h o l e

b e n t was t o u p h o l d t h e v i e w t h a t T o m o o r d r e a p r i n c e , i t is a p i t o u s t h y n g .

2

(vi,

2941)

1

' I n Fastosam R e g u m superbiam'.

2

Cf. his remarks on t h e m u r d e r of A g a m e m n o n {Troy Book, ed. Bergen, v, 1136—

47)-

DE

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

15

ILLUSTRIUM

T h e r e is also some inconsistency i n L y d g a t e ' s a t t i t u d e t o w a r d s t h e deities o f t h e a n c i e n t w o r l d . S o m e t i m e s h e refers to t h e p u n i s h m e n t i n f l i c t e d b y t h e m f o r sacrilege, b u t o n t h e o t h e r h a n d i n d e a l i n g w i t h t h e sacrilege o f X e r x e s i n t h e t e m p l e of A p o l l o at Delos h e speaks of ' G o d ' a n d ' g o d d i s ' i n t h e same b r e a t h . Y e t elsewhere he differentiates b e t w e e n t h e C h r i s t i a n G o d a n d t h e gods o f o t h e r f a i t h s , a n d he is especially opposed t o a n y f o r m o f i d o l a t r y . I n n a r r a t i n g t h e fate o f H o s t i l i u s he says: H i s false goddis m y h t e h y m n a t a u a i l e , Iubiter, Saturnus nor Venus. L a t al C h r i s t e n e defie s u c h r a s c a i l e ; F o r t o o u r f e i t h t h e i be c o n t r a r i o u s .

( h i , 778-81)

A g a i n t h e account o f t h e d e i f i c a t i o n o f R o m u l u s calls f o r t h t h e c o m m e n t : L o o , h e e r off p a y n y m y s a fals o p y n y o u n , T o Cristes l a w e c o n t r a r i e a n d odious, T h a t t i r a n t i s sholde f o r fals o p p r e s s i o u n Be c a l l i d goddis o r n a m e d g l o r i o u s , W h i c h b i t h e r l y u e w e r founde vicious: For this p l e y n t r o u t h e , I dar i t r i h t weel tell, T h e i r a t h e r e be feendis f u l deepe i n h e l l .

( i i , 4208-14) As one m i g h t expect, he casts d o u b t o n t h e v a l u e o f t h e oracle of D e l p h i , b u t he carries his scepticism even i n t o t h e B i b l i c a l story o f t h e w i t c h o f E n d o r . H o w e v e r , after d e c l a r i n g i t to be c o n t r a r y to reason, h e is seized w i t h fear o f b e i n g b r a n d e d as u n o r t h o d o x a n d c o m m i t s t h e matter to divines. I n his s u r v e y of t h e m i s f o r t u n e s t h a t o v e r t a k e m a n k i n d so g r a v e a w r i t e r as L y d g a t e was i m p e l l e d t o ask w h a t was t h e i r u l t i m a t e cause. L i k e his c o n t e m p o r a r i e s he a t t r i b u t e s t h e m i n m a n y cases t o t h e i n f l u e n c e o f t h e stars. T h u s he w o n d e r s w h e t h e r or n o t t h e m a r r i a g e of Oedipus t o Jocasta was b r o u g h t about b y some u n f a v o u r a b l e c o n ­ s t e l l a t i o n , a n d i n s p e a k i n g o f Astyages h e recalls t h a t w h e n such an i n f l u e n c e has affected h u m a n d e s t i n y , some h o l d t h a t no m a n can a v e r t i t . A g a i n , r e f e r r i n g t o A l e x a n d e r o f E p i r u s , he asserts t h a t t h e p e r i o d of l i f e o f a p r i n c e c a n n o t be a l t e r e d , F o r w h a n h e u e n e o f d e t h h a t h set a date, N o m o r t a l m a n eschewe m a y his f a t e .

( i v , 1602-3) A t t i m e s fate a n d stellar i n f l u e n c e seem almost i n t e r c h a n g e a b l e

in

L y d g a t e ' s m i n d , b u t i n some passages his o u t l o o k is almost pagan,

as

w h e n , h a v i n g r e b u k e d t h e Parcae f o r c u t t i n g t h e t h r e a d o f A l c i b i a d e s ' l i f e , w h i l e s p a r i n g t h e u n d e s e r v i n g , h e concludes:

16

THE LATIN

WORKS

A l c i b i a d e s is passed i n t o f a t e , L i n t o f k n i h t h o d l i t h c l i p s e d i n t h e shade; T h e Parchas s u s t r e n t o soone sette h i s d a t e , O f h i h noblesse t o m a k e t h e l a u r e r fade. L a c e d e m o n o y s o f his d e t h w e r g l a d e , F u n e r a l f y r h i s b o d i h a t h deffied, F o r h i h prowesse his soule s t e l l e f i e d .

( i i i , 3676-82)

S u c h a n atmosphere as w e b r e a t h e h e r e differs f r o m t h a t w h i c h n o r m a l l y envelops L y d g a t e ' s w o r k . As a r u l e he lets t h e reader c l e a r l y u n d e r s t a n d t h a t God controls a l l t h i n g s a n d t h a t his w i l l c a n n o t be a l t e r e d . I t is s i g n i f i c a n t t h a t i n t h e f o l l o w i n g lines h e confronts those scholars w h o believe i n Fate w i t h those d i v i n e s w h o s u b o r d i n a t e Fate to t h e p o w e r o f G o d : B u t O alias, al f a t a l p u r u e i a u n c e K e p i t h his cours, as s u m m e c l e r k i s s e y n ; B u t t h e w r i t y n g off d o c t o u r s , i n substaunce, A n d these d y u y n e s r e p l i e t h e r a g e y n , A n d a f f e r m e t h o p p y n y o u n is i n v e y n O f f h e m t h a t t r u s t e o n fate o r d e s t y n e : F o r G o d aboue h a t h t h e s o u e r e y n t e .

(i, 4971-7) L y d g a t e o f t e n associates F o r t u n e w i t h Fate or D e s t i n y , a n d once m o r e he is c a r e f u l t o p o i n t o u t t h a t t h e operations of F o r t u n e are l i k e w i s e r e s t r i c t e d b y G o d . C o n s e q u e n t l y , h e denounces those w h o declare F o r t u n e t o be a goddess, f o r i t is c o n t r a r y t o reason, a n d t h e y are ' b e s t i a l l f o l k ' , since G o d e n d o w e d m a n w i t h reason a n d i n t e n d e d h i m to h a v e t h e free choice o f good. H e n c e he makes Boccaccio i n his d i a l o g u e w i t h F o r t u n a r i d i c u l e fools w h o i n a d v e r s i t y b l a m e h e r : as s u m t y m e s e i t h a theeff, W h a n h e is h a n g i d : ' i t was his d e s t y n e ' — A t w i t i t h F o r t u n e his i n i q u i t e , As t h o u h she h a d d e d o m y n a c i o u n T o reule m a n b i w i l l ageyn resoun.

( v i , 283-7) I t is f u t i l e , h e contends, to a t t e m p t t o shuffle o u t o f personal responsi­ b i l i t y i n this fashion, F o r t h e r is n o s y n n e b u t i t be v o l u n t a r i e (vii,

403)

and S y n n e ay r e q u e r e t h v e n g a u n c e at his t a i l . God off F o r t u n e t a k e t h no counsail.

(id, 193-4) Not

o n l y i n its ideas b u t also i n its t e c h n i q u e The Fall

of

Princes

diverges considerably f r o m De casibus. I t takes no i n t e r e s t i n t h e person

DE

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

17

ILLUSTRIUM

of Boccaccio h i m s e l f a n d ignores t h e p r o l o g u e i n w h i c h he sets f o r t h his purpose, as i t does t h e a u t h o r ' s e x p l a n a t i o n o f his object i n p r e ­ s e n t i n g t h e story o f P h i l i p p a C a t a n e n s i .

1

L y d g a t e cared n o t h i n g for t h e

fact t h a t h e r l i f e was based o n w h a t Boccaccio h a d h e a r d a n d seen. H e was e q u a l l y i n d i f f e r e n t t o t h e d r a m a t i c episodes t h a t Boccaccio i n t r o ­ duced b e t w e e n

his divers lives, j u s t as he i n t e r w o v e at t h e e n d o f

each day o f t h e Decameron

descriptive scenes i n w h i c h t h e

narrators

f i g u r e d against a p l e a s i n g n a t u r a l s e t t i n g . L y d g a t e h a d n o idea o f t h e artistic v a r i e t y w h i c h such a pause created. I n one o r t w o places also he

is s i n g u l a r l y c l u m s y

addressing ' B o c h a s ' 'myn

i n narrative

quotes t h e

author

technique.

Thus

Atreus

himself: 'As seith

in

Bochas',

a u c t o u r w r i t t h e s a m e ' . So too L y d g a t e r u i n s t h e effect o f t h e

tale o f Oedipus, w h e n he makes A p o l l o disclose to h i m , n o t o n l y t h e fact t h a t h e w i l l m a r r y his m o t h e r b u t also t h a t h e r n a m e is Jocasta. On

t h e o t h e r h a n d , he does a t t e m p t t o r e l i e v e t h e m o n o t o n y o f a n

u n b r o k e n series o f n a r r a t i v e s b y t h e use o f a l e t t e r f r o m Canace to h e r brother and b y the e m p l o y m e n t of dialogue. H o w e v e r , the p r o b l e m to w h i c h L y d g a t e addressed h i m s e l f above a l l else was t h a t o f compres­ sion. T h e L a t i n o r i g i n a l was succinct, as Boccaccio i n his p r o l o g u e b a d c l a i m e d i t w o u l d be. B u t i t h a d b e e n expanded t o u n w i e l d y dimensions b y P r e m i e r f a i t . I n a d d i t i o n , L y d g a t e h a d to satisfy t h e desire o f his p a t r o n f o r m o r a l i s i n g envoys. W e c a n observe h o w , as he w e n t a l o n g , he f e l t o b l i g e d t o reduce t h e i r n u m b e r . H o w e v e r , t h a t d i d n o t r e m o v e t h e c h i e f d i f f i c u l t y , a n d h e h a d to p r u n e his F r e n c h m o d e l d r a s t i c a l l y . F i r s t , h e excised t h e references w i t h w h i c h P r e m i e r f a i t studded his t r a n s l a t i o n . I t is b u t r a r e l y t h a t one r e m a i n s .

2

H e also avoids r e p e t i t i o n

of a s t o r y : F o r as m e s e m e t h , i t w e r a t h y n g i n v e y n , T h y n g onys t o l d t o t e l l e i t n e w e a g e y n S i t h e i t is t o l d , w h a t sholde i t m o r a u a i l e ?

3

(iv, 202—3, ° 7 ) 2

H e deletes m a t t e r w h i c h is superfluous, such as a c h a p t e r o n t h e f a m i ­ l i a r mediaeval t h e m e o f dreams, a n d a l t h o u g h a zealous c h u r c h m a n he discards a l e n g t h y account o f t h e o r i g i n of t h e Papacy, b e g i n n i n g w i t h t h e f a l l of A d a m a n d c o n t i n u i n g t h r o u g h t h e I n c a r n a t i o n a n d R e d e m p ­ t i o n . D e s c r i p t i o n s such as those o f N u m i d i a a n d B a c t r i a suffer t h e same 4

fate. Some figures are t h r u s t o u t o f t h e b o o k ; others are

dismissed

s u m m a r i l y , a n d a w h o l e series o f emperors is packed i n t o some t w o hundred lines.

5

1

I n Book i x he omits t h e whole of Premierfait's C h . xxv.

2

v, 1481-2.

3

Cf. v, 2611-3.

4

ix, 1065 ff.

5

viii, 204-420.

C

18

THE LATIN

WORKS

I n e v i t a b l y such condensation reacted o n L y d g a t e ' s s t y l e , a n d h i m s e l f was conscious o f t h e r e s u l t :

he

T h i s l i t i l c h a p i t l e , as t o f o r n is seene, Rehersid h a t h & toold i n wordis pleyn Of emperour[e]s almost f u l fourteene. (viii,

421-3)

Y e t i f his style is sometimes b a l d , i t is n o t w i t h o u t o r n a m e n t . H e r e a n d t h e r e h e makes use of antithesis a n d t h e r e p e t i t i o n o f a w o r d o r phrase. T h u s h e w r i t e s o f Samson a n d D e l i l a h : He He He His

m e n t e t r o u t h e , & she was v a r i a b l e , was f e i t h f u l , a n d she was o n t r e w e , was stedfast, a n d she was o n s t a b l e , t r u s t a y o o n ; she l o u e d t h y n g e s n e w e :

( i , 6441-4)

a n d contrasts Paradise w i t h t h e w o r l d i n t o w h i c h A d a m a n d E v e w e r e driven: T h e r e is d e l i t , a n d h e e r is s o r w e [ & ] care, T h e r e is i o i e , a n d h e e r is heuynesse, T h e r e is p l e n t e , a n d h e e r is e u e l fare, T h e r e is h e l t h e , a n d h e e r is g r e t siknesse, H e e r t r o u b l e a y m e y n t w i t h o n s e u r gladnesse, T h e r is ay blisse a n d e t e r n a l g l o r i e , A n d h e e r e n o m e r t h e b u t fals & t r a n s i t o r i e . 1

( i , 666-72)

I m a g e r y also serves t o e n l i v e n L y d g a t e ' s n a r r a t i v e . Some o f i t is c o n v e n t i o n a l h u t at o t h e r t i m e s he i n c l u d e s scenes f r o m e v e r y d a y l i f e such as t h e g a l l e d horse, b e n d i n g his back w h e n t o u c h e d , a n d t h e s n a i l s h r i n k i n g its h o r n s , t h e n e w - s h o r n sheep, t h e bear t o r n t o pieces b y dogs, t h e l e p e r ' c o o r b i d b a k & c h y n e ' , t h e g a m b l e r c a s t i n g his dice, t h e s m i t h ' s forge b e l c h i n g b l a c k smoke, t h e g u s h i n g c o n d u i t , t h e c a r v e r m a k i n g a f a i r i m a g e o n his t i m b e r , a n d p a i n t e d tables a n d w a l l s . A n d w h e n L y d g a t e appeals t o t h e reader n o t to j u d g e h i m too h a r s h l y , h e contrasts his o w n d u l l w o r k w i t h t h a t o f t h e i l l u m i n a t o r o f m a n u ­ scripts : O f f g o l d n o r asewr I h a d d e n o f o y s o u n , N o r o t h i r colours t h i s processe t e n l v m y n e , Sauff w h y t e a n d b l a k ; a n d t h e y b u t d u l l y s h y n e .

( , 339 ~4 °) i x

8

0

H e gives us a h o m e l y g l i m p s e o f t h e ass, so r e l u c t a n t ' w h a n m e n h a d d e haste t o g o n ' , o f m e d i c i n a l herbs, a n d o f salves a p p l i e d t o festered sores. U n u s u a l l y v i v i d is t h e i m a g e o f t h e u n e x p e c t e d r e s u r r e c t i o n o f a dead m a n at his f u n e r a l : * C f . i i , 1 8 5 6 - 9 ; i v , 2 3 0 4 - 1 0 ; v i , 9 - 1 2 , 54-70.

DE

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

19

ILLUSTRIUM

T h i s i o y e was l i k a feeste f u n e r a l l , I n f o l k o f c u s t u m t h a t d o o n t h e r besi c u r e T o b r y n g e a corps, w h i c h o f c u s t u m shall H a u e al t h e r i h t i s o f his s e p u l t u r e , A n d i n this t y m e , of sodeyn auenture T o l y f a g e y n r e s t o r e d be his b o n y s , C a u s y n g his f r e e n d i s to l a u h e & w e e p e a t t o n i s .

( v i h , 1380-6) L y d g a t e ' s eye

c o n t i n u a l l y rests o n t h e

among the corn. He

countryside

and the

weeds

also tells of Boreas, w h i c h ' y o n g [ e ] sheep &

blosmys g r e u e t h i l l e ' , o f t h e ' b a k w y n t e r ' i n M a y t h a t i n t h e m i d s t o f the nightingale's

song blasts t h e

freshness o f s u m m e r .

So too

the

n e w buds a n d p r i m r o s e s , a l l too s w i f t l y l o s i n g t h e i r fresh hues, a n d t h e flowers c u t d o w n b y t h e m o w e r ' s scythe i n J u n e , are m a d e t o serve as emblems of changing

fortune.

H o w e v e r , i t is above a l l t h e i m a g e r y o f l i g h t t h a t interests L y d g a t e . His great m e n a n d w o m e n are c o m p a r e d t o l a m p s a n d l a n t e r n s a n d lode­ stars, or t o t h e s u n w h i c h w i t h its s p l e n d o u r d i m s t h e star a n d t h e m o o n . T h i s radiance is most conspicuous o f all i n L y d g a t e ' s account o f K i n g Arthur: Y i t was t h e r n e u e r s e y n so b r i h t a sonne, T h e someres d a y i n t h e m y d d a y speere So f r e s s [ h ] l i s h y n e . (viii,

In

one

passage he

combines t h e

2857-9)

symbol of a pilgrimage

used

by

Boccaccio w i t h his f a v o u r i t e i m a g e r y o f l i g h t a n d darkness: I stood c h e k m a a t f o r f e e r w h a n I g a n see I n m y weie h o w l i t i l I hadde r u n n e ; L i k t a m a n t h a t failed day & sunne, A n d h a d d e n o l i h t t a c c o m p l i s s h e his v i a g e , So f e r r I stood a-bak i n m y passage. T h e n y h t cam on, dirked w i t h ignoraunce, M i w i t t was d u l l be cleernesse t o discerne I n r e t h o r i k f o r l a k off suffisaunce, T h e t o r c h i s o u t , & q u e y n t was t h e l a n t e r n e .

( h i , 52-60) Far more frequent

t h a n such a p i c t u r e o f t h e b e n i g h t e d

wayfarer

is t h e repeated i m a g e o f t h e s u n eclipsed b y c l o u d , m i s t or r a i n , as a s y m b o l for t h e o v e r t h r o w of p o w e r o r t h e s w a l l o w i n g u p o f f a m e i n t h e shadows o f o b l i v i o n . T h e n u m e r o u s passages i n w h i c h t h i s

imagery

appears leave no d o u b t t h a t L y d g a t e was d r a w i n g o n his o w n e x p e r i ­ ence o f ' w a t t r i s h o u r s ' .

1

I t is t r u e t h a t one can h e r e a n d t h e r e trace a

He was w e l l aware, of course, t h a t his master Chaucer had used the weather to indicate a change of fortune for the better as i n Troilus and Criseyde ( i i i , 1060—1). On occasion, Lydgate does the same (ix, 2 9 4 9 - 5 1 ) . However w i t h h i m , sun, cloud, r a i n and darkness are far more often employed to suggest a change for the worse. 1

20

THE LATIN

WORKS

source o f i n s p i r a t i o n i n P r e m i e r f a i t , b u t t h e r e is a w o r l d o f difference b e t w e e n t h e prosaic s t a t e m e n t 'les nyeubles de l ' a i r ne p e u u e n t obs c u r c i r les rays d u s o l e i l ' a n d L y d g a t e ' s T h o u h i t so f a l l e s u m t y m e a c l o u d i skie B e c h a c i d w i t h w y n d affor t h e s u n n e b r i h t , Y i t i n effect i t lasseth n a t h i s l i h t ;

( v i , 2971-3) w h e r e t h e r e is a l i v e l y m o v e m e n t t h a t springs f r o m personal observa­ t i o n . As a r u l e , h o w e v e r , L y d g a t e w r i t e s i n d e p e n d e n t l y ,

especially

w h e n he draws his f a v o u r i t e p i c t u r e o f a b r i g h t m o r n i n g g r o w i n g overcast: B u t l o n g e o r eue d i r k n e s s e t h e r d o t h appeere, T h o r u h c l o u d i r e y n e s & mystes l o n g d u r a b l e .

( i v , 1984-5) I t is a n a t i v e s p e a k i n g w i t h t h e c a u t i o n b o r n of l o n g experience o f t h e fickle E n g l i s h c l i m a t e w h o says: T h e f a i r e d a y m e n do preise at e u e .

1

(ix, 2024) T h i s f a m i l i a r i t y w i t h r a i n a n d w i n d a n d s t o r m reappears i n c o n j u n c ­ t i o n w i t h t h a t delicate a p p r e c i a t i o n o f t h e b e a u t y o f flowers w h i c h is so characteristic o f L y d g a t e . P r o m p t e d b y P r e m i e r f a i t ' s d e s c r i p t i o n o f y o u t h b l o s s o m i n g u n t i l i n o l d age i t becomes pale, g r e y a n d b e n t , h e recreates t h e passage i n t h i s f a s h i o n : a l b e u t e shal w a s t e a - w e y & fade L i k s o m e r flours i n t h e r m o s t e x c e l l e n c e , T h a t g r o w e o n h i l l i s & l o w e d o u n i n t h e shade: T h e rose, t h e l i l i e , w h a n t h e i be m o s t g l a d e , V p o n t h e r s t a l k i s — t h e r p r e e f is a l d a y s e y n — Been beten doun w i t h a stormy reyn,

(v, 58-63) a n d a g a i n one has t h e i m p r e s s i o n o f a s i g h t a c t u a l l y seen. T h e p o w e r t o create a s t r i k i n g p i c t u r e is l i k e w i s e f e l t i n a n o t h e r place

where

L y d g a t e touches o n t h i s t h e m e , t h o u g h h e r e t h e f l o w e r i m a g e r y is subordinate: B e u t e d e c l y n y t h , his blosmys falle d o u n ; A n d l i t e a n d l i t i l be successioun C o m e t h c r o k e d elde o n w a r l i i n c r e p y n g , W i t h his p o t e n t f u l p o o r l i m a n a s y n g . 2

3

( i , 767-70) T h e elegiac s t r a i n i n L y d g a t e can be p o w e r f u l as w e l l as p a t h e t i c . H e w r i t e s o f t h e f a l l o f R o m e w i t h d i g n i t y , especially i n t h e seven 1

Cf. i x , 1 6 9 5 - 7 0 1 .

2

'crutch'.

3

'indigently'.

DE

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

21

ILLUSTRIUM

stanzas cast i n t h e ' U b i s u n t ' f o r m w h e r e he contrasts t h e f a m e , g r e a t ­ ness a n d s p l e n d o u r of R o m e w i t h its l a t e r state of r u i n a n d

decay.

1

I t is t r u e t h a t t h e poet l a t e r imposes o n his t h e m e a didactic c o n c l u s i o n , b u t s u c h a m o r a l is n o t s u r p r i s i n g i n t h e o r t h o d o x ecclesiastic i n quest of a s o l u t i o n to t h e m y s t e r y of t h e f l u c t u a t i o n s i n h u m a n

happiness.

Y e t L y d g a t e t h e m a n r e m a i n s k e e n l y a w a r e o f t h e p a i n a n d loss t h a t t h e y b r i n g i n t h e i r t r a i n . I t is a h a r d w o r l d t h a t he p o r t r a y s ; s e l d o m does i t witness a c h a n g e f o r t h e b e t t e r . W h a t is m o r e c h a r a c t e r i s t i c o f

The Fall of Princes as o f Boccaccio's De casibus is t h e m i n g l i n g of bliss w i t h bitterness. T h e sense of t h e m u t a b i l i t y of l i f e inspires notable lines, a m o n g w h i c h some o f t h e most e l o q u e n t are those o n M a r c u s Manlius: W h a t m y h t e a u a i l e h i s noblesse i n bataile? Bies of gold, crownes of laureer? H i s r i c h e platis o r his v n k o u t h m a i l e , H i s m y h t i sheeldis, t h a t shon so b r i h t & cleer? O r his t r y u m p h e s , songe f e r r & neer, O r his victories f o r t h e cite w r o u h t ? — I n his g r e t m y s c h e e f f a u a i l e d h y m r i h t n o u h t . 2

3

(iv, 505-11)

I t was above a l l as t h e t r a n s l a t o r o f De casibus t h a t L y d g a t e became famous, so t h a t a scribe o f t h e f i f t e e n t h c e n t u r y t h o u g h t i t q u i t e n a t u r a l t o add t o ' D e casibus v i r o r u m i l l u s t r i u m ' i n t h e H u n t i n g t o n m a n u s c r i p t o f t h e Monk's Tale* L y d g a t e ' s t r a n s l a t i o n , ' T h e F a l l e o f P r i n c i s ' . S i m i l a r l y , w e e n c o u n t e r h i m i n Caxton's p r o l o g u e to King Arthur, p u b l i s h e d i n 1485. T h e p r i n t e r refers t h e reader t o ' t h y s t o r y e of bochas i n his book de casu p r i n c i p u m ' , w h i c h suggests a t r a n s l a t i o n o f L y d g a t e ' s t i t l e i n t o L a t i n r a t h e r t h a n t h a t g i v e n b y Boccaccio. Reference is m a d e once m o r e t o Boccaccio i n a m a n u s c r i p t o f about t h e m i d d l e o f t h e f i f t e e n t h c e n t u r y , b u t o n i n v e s t i g a t i o n i t is f o u n d t h a t t h e w r i t e r is d r a w i n g o n L y d g a t e . I n t h e course o f his treatise i n verse on the t e n commandments, derived f r o m Robert M a n n y n g of Brunne's 6

6

7

Handljng

Synne, h e speaks o f S e m i r a m i s : Bochas rehersys off wyffes m a n y o n w h y c h t o pere husbans w e r c o n t r a r y u s A m o n g a l l ober h e w r y t e s off o n

i i , 4460-585. 'torques', 'collars'. ' m i s f o r t u n e ' , 'distress'. Cf. W . M c C o r m i c k , The Manuscripts of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Oxford, 1953, P- 545The Prologues and Epilogues of William Caxton, ed. W . J. B . Crotch, London, 1928, P- 93M S . Arundel 20 i n the B r i t i s h Museum. Attention is drawn to this by W . Farnham, 'England's Discovery o f the D e ­ cameron', P.M.L.A., 1924, xxxix, p. 135. T h e corresponding passage i n Lydgate occurs i n i , 6630—6. Cf. Bergen, vol. i , p . 187. 1

2 4

5

6

7

3

22

THELATIN

WORKS

s e m e i y a n u s h y r n a m e off c u n y n g vycyous q u e n e off assyry h e c a l l y d h y r t h u s w h y c h w o l d n o m a n a n y wysse d e n y e w i t h h y r c r o k y d i n s t i n c t t o encresse & m u l t y p l y . 1

2

A l i t t l e l a t e r t h e poet quotes Boccaccio as his a u t h o r i t y f o r a n i n c i d e n t i n t h e l i f e o f Pasiphae: ffor as bochas i n his w r y t y n g berys w y t n e s q u e n e passiphe h a d a c h y l d f u l l ffeyr, h y r h u s b a n d n o t k n o w y n g b y n o lyknesse b u t t h a t t h e c h y l d was hys v e r y e e y r hys t r u s t was gode a n d off n o d y s p e y r . f o r s u m husbandes as poyttes h a u e c o m p y l y d w h y c h moste trustes sonnest are b e g y l y d . 3

But

h e r e too L y d g a t e is t h e i m m e d i a t e s o u r c e .

4

T h e t w o w r i t e r s w e r e c o n t i n u a l l y l i n k e d t o g e t h e r , as w h e n B e n e d i c t Burgh

5

bocase'.

6

i n his p o e m i n praise o f L y d g a t e i n t r o d u c e s ' t h e

lauriate

T h e association was p r o l o n g e d f r o m t h e f i f t e e n t h

century

i n t o t h e s i x t e e n t h b y t h e editions of The Fall Pynson d o w n to t h a t of W a y l a n d .

7

f r o m t h a t of

of Princes,

I n t h e last of these a n e n v o y is

added b y Greneacres ' v p o n I o h n B o c h a s ' , i n w h i c h , after a l l u d i n g t o 8

t h e s o r r o w f u l contents of t h e book, he addresses Proserpine i n these terms: A d m i t t e t h i s Bochas f o r a m a n n e o f t h i n e A n d t h o u g h hys h a b i t e blacker be t h a n sote Y e t was i t m a d e o f t h y m o n k e s hode. T h a t he translated i n English of L a t i n e , Therfore n o w take h i m for a m a n of thyne. A t t h e e n d o f a f e w copies o f W a y l a n d ' s e d i t i o n t h e t i t l e - p a g e of t h e first e d i t i o n o f A Mirror for Magistrates has s u r v i v e d . T h i s serves as a r e m i n d e r t h a t i t was m e a n t to be a n e x t e n s i o n o f The Fall of Princes. T h e idea o f such a c o n t i n u a t i o n o f De casibus was n o t p e c u l i a r t o E n g l a n d . I n fifteenth-century Spain the marquis of Santillana, a c o n t e m p o r a r y o f H u m p h r e y , d u k e of Gloucester, a n d l i k e h i m a g r e a t h u m a n i s t , presents Boccaccio i n his Comedieta de Ponca as t h e c o n ­ soler o f f o u r u n h a p p y w o m e n , L e o n o r a , d o w a g e r q u e e n o f A r a g o n , M a r i a , q u e e n o f N a v a r r e , Blanca, r e i g n i n g q u e e n o f A r a g o n a n d t h e 9

A corruption of ' S e m i r a m i s ' . Fol. 50b, col. 2. This same stanza occurs w i t h l i t t l e variation i n Peter Idley's Instructions to his Son, ed. C. D'Evelyn, Boston and London, 1935, i i , 1805-11. F o r other examples o f The Fall of Princes being used for anti-feminist controversy, cf. Utley, pp. 192-3, 211, items 185 and 220. Fol. 55a, col. 1. Bergen, vol. i , p. 7 4 ; i , 2703—9. D i e d i n 1483. Cf. Lydgate and Burgh's Secrees of old Philisqffres, ed. R. Steele, London, 1894, p. xxxi. Pynson (1494 and 1527), T o t t e l (1554), Wayland (1555?). Fol. 219a. Cf. Campbell, I n t r o , pp. 5-7 and J. W . Cunliffe i n Cambridge History of English Literature, 1909, i i i , pp. 193-4. 1

2

3

4

6

6

7 9

8

DE

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

23

ILLUSTRIUM

I n f a n t a C a t h e r i n a , w h o b e w a i l t h e disastrous b a t t l e off t h e i s l a n d o f Ponza i n 1425. Boccaccio replies t o t h e m i n I t a l i a n a n d promises to record t h e i r misfortunes.

Tragedia

1

I n t h e same w a y Boccaccio appears i n t h e

Isabel b y D o n Pedro, constable o f

de la insigne Reyna

Portugal.

2

So too Georges C h a s t e l l a i n has a v i s i o n i n w h i c h Boccaccio

commands h i m to w r i t e d o w n the sorrowful history of M a r g a r e t of A n j o u , t h e w i d o w e d q u e e n o f H e n r y V I of E n g l a n d .

Mirror

for Magistrates

3

However,

A

was i n t e n d e d t o be o n a far l a r g e r scale. As

B a l d w i n t h e e d i t o r , stated: W h a n t h e P r i n t e r h a d p u r p o s e d w i t h h y m selfe t o p r i n t e L i d g a t e s booke o f t h e f a l l o f Princes, a n d h a d m a d e p r i u y e t h e r e t o , m a n y b o t h h o n o u r a b l e a n d w o r s h i p f u l l , h e was counsailed b y d y u e r s o f t h e i m , t o p r o c u r e t o h a u e t h e storye c o n t y n e w e d f r o m w h e r e as Bochas lefte, v n t o t h i s p r e s e n t e t i m e , c h i e f l y o f suche as F o r t u n e h a d d a l y e d w i t h h e r e i n t h i s y l a n d e : 4

A t least one o f t h e seven scholars w h o m B a l d w i n approached,

George

F e r r e r s , w a n t e d s o m e t h i n g m o r e c o m p r e h e n s i v e . H e said: I m e r u a i l e w h a t Bochas m e a n e t h such as w e r o f o u r n a c i o n , w h o s e w u n d e r f u l : . . . B u t as i t shoulde m o s t t h e Roman a n d Italike story, chronicles.

t o f o r g e t a m o n g his m y s e r a b l e p r i n c e s , n u m b r e is as g r e a t , as t h e i r a d u e n t u r e s appeare, he b e y n g e a n Italien, mynded or els perhaps he w a n t e d o u r c o u n t r e y

5

T h i s p a t r i o t i s m is characteristic o f t h e age, a n d a l t h o u g h i n t h e first e d i t i o n B a l d w i n a n d his f r i e n d s decided to l i m i t themselves to t h e o r i g i n a l p l a n , i n l a t e r editions m o r e a n d m o r e figures w e r e i n t r o d u c e d u n t i l i n 1610 t h e w h o l e scheme was c o m p l e t e . I n e v i t a b l y , i f t h e f o r t u n e s o f m e n l i v i n g after Boccaccio a n d L y d g a t e w e r e t o be discussed, t h e place o f t h e o l d w r i t e r s h a d t o be t a k e n b y some one else, a n d so t h e characters address B a l d w i n . H o w e v e r , t h i s device is n o t always a d h e r e d t o . H e n r y , d u k e of B u c k i n g h a m , speaks t o S a c k v i l l e , a n d S i r Nicholas B u r d e t t o J o h n H i g g i n s . B e t w e e n t h e lives t h e r e are prose l i n k s w h e n t h e c o m m i t t e e deliberates about w h o s h a l l appear n e x t , a n d occasionally e v e n discusses a c o n t r a d i c t i o n i n t h e chronicles. I n one instance J o h n T i p t o f t , earl o f W o r c e s t e r , h i m s e l f c o m m e n t s o n F a b y a n a n d H a l l ! T h e r e is c o n s e q u e n t l y less u n i t y t h a n 6

i n Boccaccio. H o w e v e r , A Mirror

for

Magistrates

has one advantage

o v e r The Fall of Princes. M o r a l i s i n g envoys are discarded, a n d o n l y i n t h e e d i t i o n o f 1587 do t h e y r e c u r at t h e e n d o f each l i f e u p t o Caius J u l i u s Caesar. 1 2 3 4 5 6

C. B . Bourland, loc. cit., pp. 20—1. Archiv, cxv, p. 387, n . 1 and Farinelli, i , p. 184, n . 1. See Le Temple de Bocace, i n the Oeuvres, v i i , pp. 75—143. T h e text printed here is that given by Campbell, p . 68. Cf. Campbell, pp. 6 9 - 7 0 . A n obvious anachronism, since this well-known humanist died i n 1470.

24

THELATIN

WORKS

I n 1574, w h e n J o h n H i g g i n s p u b l i s h e d s i x t e e n , or i n some copies seventeen, p r e - C h r i s t i a n lives, he adopted n e w m a c h i n e r y . H e opens w i t h a d e s c r i p t i o n o f t h e w a n i n g o f s u m m e r , t h e f a l l o f t h e leaves a n d t h e approach of t h e cold after t h e m a n n e r of Sackville's

Induction.

T h e n he relates h o w one e v e n i n g e a r l y i n w i n t e r , as he is r e a d i n g A

Mirror

for

Magistrates,

M o r p h e u s b r i n g s h i m to a h a l l . F r o m

' a d u s k i s h H e ' at t h e e n d o f t h e h a l l M o r p h e u s s u m m o n s t h e B r i t o n s w h o one b y one r e l a t e t o t h e poet a l l t h e i r m i s f o r t u n e s w i t h

great

l a m e n t a t i o n . T h e g e n e r a l scheme is a k i n to t h a t o f Boccaccio a n d L y d g a t e . O n t h e o t h e r h a n d , i n 1578 T h o m a s Blennerhassett proceeds d i f f e r e n t l y . T h e r e is n e i t h e r procession n o r l a m e n t a t i o n . T h e poet is n o t addressed, b u t each s t o r y has a n i n d u c t i o n , spoken b y ' M e m o r i e ' a n d ' I n q u i s i t i o n ' , a n d at t h e e n d o f t h e i n d u c t i o n each character i n t u r n is c a l l e d o n t o u n f o l d his t a l e . I n 1587 t h e lives are m a i n l y b y J o h n H i g g i n s , a n d w h e n he uses envoys, i t is p a r t l y f o r m o r a l i s i n g c o m m e n t , p a r t l y as a l i n k i n t h e n a r r a t i v e . T o t h a t e x t e n t t h e y replace t h e f i g u r e o f M o r p h e u s . Some of t h e speakers i m p l o r e t h e poet t o w r i t e t h e i r lives. O n t h e w h o l e his t e c h n i q u e h e r e shows a g r e a t e r c o n f o r ­ m i t y t o t h e p a t t e r n of L y d g a t e . I n 1610 R i c h a r d Niccols f i l l e d i n t h e gaps l e f t b y his predecessors a n d t h e design was c o m p l e t e d . H e t o o k a hint from

Blennerhassett

and let ' M e m o r i e ' s u m m o n the

new

characters, a n d f r o m H i g g i n s ' s i n t r o d u c t i o n o f 1574 he b o r r o w e d a n d elaborated t h e w i n t e r s e t t i n g . I n a l e n g t h y i n d u c t i o n h e describes a w a l k i n a desolate landscape. T h e trees are covered w i t h icicles a n d h o a r - f r o s t ; t h e n i g h t i n g a l e a n d t h e b i r d s o f s p r i n g are gone: N o n e b u t t h e Red-brest and t h e W r e n d i d sing t h e euen away, A n d t h a t i n notes o f sad r e c o r d f o r s u m m e r s l a t e d e c a y . 1

T h e s u n sets, t h e mists rise, a n d darkness descends. O n e feels t h a t a l t h o u g h t h i s p i c t u r e is b u t a p r e l u d e t o t h e poet's v i s i o n o f m e n o f b y g o n e days, i t is i n s p i r e d b y a g e n u i n e love o f t h e joys a n d beauties of the countryside.

T h r o u g h o u t t h e l o n g e v o l u t i o n of A Mirror

for

Magistrates

the

f i g u r e o f Boccaccio is n e v e r far a w a y , sometimes i n t h e c o m p a n y o f L y d g a t e , sometimes alone. T h u s i n 1587 K i n g B r e n n u s says: A n d l e t w h a t Bochas w r i t e s a n d Higgins h e r e d o t h p e n , As m y r o u r s s h e w w h a t good w e e gate, t o w a r r e w i t h Delphos

men,

a n d J u l i u s Caesar wishes his deeds t o be r e c a l l e d once m o r e , A l t h o u g h b y Bocas I h a u e w h i l o m t o l d m y m i n d , A n d Lydgate haue likewise translated w e l t h e same. 1 2

3

Cf. A Mirror for Magistrates, ed. J. Haslewood, London, 1815, i i , p. 547Cf. Campbell (Add. Parts, 1946), p . 279. I b i d . , p . 290. 3

2

DE

CASIBUS

So too i n Churchyards

VIRORUM

25

ILLUSTRIUM

Challenge (1593), c o n t a i n i n g t h e tragedies o f

Jane Shore, t h e e a r l o f M o r t o n , a n d Sir S i m o n B u r l e i , t h e poet, w h o already h a d connexions w i t h A Mirror

for

reproach B a l d w i n for o m i t t i n g h i m

and

Magistrates, beg

makes B u r l e i

C h u r c h y a r d to

com­

m e m o r a t e his n a m e : D i d Boccace Hue, or L i d g a t e w r i t e againe, Some hope were left, m y lanterne should haue l i g h t : I f a n y one, t h a t h a d a Poets v a i n e , K n e w h a l f e m y l i f e , o r h a d m y case i n s i g h t , I n colours f i n e , I s h o u l d bee p a y n t e d r i g h t . But gaping graue, and g n a w i n g wormes below, S n a p t Bocace v p , a n d L i d g a t e l o n g agoe. (p. 26)

A s i m i l a r appeal is m a d e t o Sir D a v i d L y n d e s a y b y D a v i d B e a t o n , c a r d i n a l a n d a r c h b i s h o p o f St. A n d r e w s ,

after his m u r d e r i n

L y n d e s a y ' s p o e m m a y h a v e appeared i n 1548, ceded t h e first e d i t i o n o f A Mirror

for

1546.

i n w h i c h case i t p r e ­ T h e a u t h o r tells

Magistrates.

how N o c h t L a n g ago, efter t h e h o u r o f p r y m e , Secreitly sittyng i n m y n e Oratorie, I t u k ane B u k e , t y l l occupye t h e t y m e , Q u h a r e I f a n d m o n y T r a g e d i e a n d storie, Q u h i l k I h o n e Bochas h a d p u t i n m e m o r i e , (Prologue,

1—5)

w h e n s u d d e n l y B e a t o n appeared a n d spoke to h i m : R y c h t s u r e I a m , w a r I h o n e Bochas o n l y u e , M y t r a g e d i e at l e n t h h e w a l d d y s c r y u e . Sen h e is gone, I p r a y t h e t y l l i n d y t e Off m y I n f o r t u n e s u m R e m e m b [ e ] r a [ n ] c e , O r , at t h e leist, m y T r a g e d i e t o w r y t e , As I t o t h e sail s c h a w t h e C i r c u m s t a n c e . 1

(27-3 ) 2

I t was a n o t h e r assassination w h i c h i n a r o u n d a b o u t fashion a g a i n b r o u g h t Boccaccio t o t h e notice o f E n g l i s h readers. O n 17 A p r i l

1617

the y o u n g Louis X I I I had Concini, the favourite o f the queen-regent Marie de'Medici,

m u r d e r e d , a n d his w i d o w , t h e n o t o r i o u s L e o n o r a

G a l i g a i , e x e c u t e d a f e w weeks l a t e r . P i e r r e M a t t h i e u , l o o k i n g r o u n d for parallels f o r t h e f a l l o f r o y a l f a v o u r i t e s , i n t h e same year p u b l i s h e d

Aelius Sejanus, histoire romaine a n d Histoire des Prosperitez Malheureuses, d'une femme Cathenoise, grande Seneschalle de Naples. T h e second o f these was d e r i v e d f r o m De casibus, Book i x , s u p p l e m e n t e d b y 2

Cf. The Works of Sir David Lindsay of the Mount, ed. D . Hamer, Scottish T e x t Society, 1931—4, 4 vols., i , pp. 130—1. Lydgate had, of course, dealt w i t h the startling career of ' P h i l i p p a Catanensi'. Cf. Bergen, i x , 2805—3056. 1

2

26

THE LATIN

WORKS

G. A . S u m m o n t e ' s Istoria delta citta e regno di Napoli.

T h e assassina­

1

t i o n of George Y i l l i e r s , d u k e o f B u c k i n g h a m , o n 23 A u g u s t

1628,

t u r n e d the thoughts of E n g l i s h writers to M a t t h i e u ' s w o r k . I n

1628

t w o t r a n s l a t i o n s o f t h e one book w e r e p r i n t e d i n Paris u n d e r t h e t i t l e ,

The powerfull favorite, 1632

t h a t Sir T h o m a s

or the life of Aelius Sejanus, b u t i t was not u n t i l H a w k i n s p u b l i s h e d his Vnhappy

Prosperitie

Expressed in the Histories of ALlius Seianus and Philippa the Catanian. H e f o l l o w e d his source c l o s e l y a n d was too cautious to c o m m e n t f r e e l y 2

on t h e s u d d e n falls o f f a v o u r i t e s , b u t t h e lesson was p l a i n f o r e v e r y m a n . T h e a p p l i c a t i o n was easily m a d e t o t h e case o f B u c k i n g h a m w h e n he r e a d M a t t h i e u ' s g e n e r a l i s a t i o n about t h e fate o f P h i l i p p a : I t is a t r a g i c a l l effect o f t h e i n c o n s t a n c y o f F o r t u n e n o lesse c u n n i n g i n h e r D e c e i t s , t h a n g i d d y i n h e r F a v o u r s . She c o u l d n o t raise t h i s w o m a n f r o m a m o r e despicable d e g r e e , n o r p r e c i p i t a t e h e r f r o m a n h i g h e r , T o s h e w , T h e A s c e n t t o g r e a t P r o s p e r i t i e s is o f Glasse, t h e T o p a T e r r o r , a n d D e s c e n t a P r e c i p i c e . 3

M a t t h i e u ' s f i n a l w o r d s are also i n a v e i n t h a t t h e a u t h o r o f De casibus m i g h t not have found unpleasing: I n a l l t h i s w e m u s t c o n c l u d e , t h a t i l l successe w a i t e t h o n u n j u s t p r o s p e r i t y , t h a t t h e r e is n o t a n y wickednesse w h i c h b e a r e t h n o t its p a i n e a n d r e p e n t a n c e ; t h a t h e w h o p e r p e t r a t e t h o n e , expects t h e o p p o r t u n i t y o f a n o t h e r , t h a t w h i l s t the W o r l d s Theater lasteth, F o r t u n e thereon w i l l play her Tragedies, and w i l l m a k e i t appeare, she f l a t t e r s those she meanes t o s t i f l e . 4

C e r t a i n l y t h i s m o r a l i s i n g s t r a i n is i n k e e p i n g w i t h t h e a t t i t u d e o f L y d g a t e a n d m u c h o f A Mirrorfor Magistrates. E v e n m o r e c o m p l e t e l y mediaeval, h o w e v e r , is a passage i n Churchyards Challenge. T h e poet draws f r o m ' t h e t r a g e d i e o f t h e E a r l e o f M o r t o n ' a lesson n o t o n l y o n t h e i n s t a b i l i t y o f l i f e b u t also o n t h e n e e d to despise t h i s w o r l d i n anticipation of heaven: L o e , lookers o n , w h a t staie r e m a i n s i n state. L o e , h o w m a n s blisse, is b u t a blast o f w i n d e : B o r n e v n t o bale, a n d s u b i e c t t o debate, A n d m a k e s a n e n d e , as d e s t i n e h a t h assignde, L o e h e e r e as o f t , as M o r t o n comes t o m i n d e , Dispise this w o r l d e , a n d t h i n k e i t n o t h i n g straunge: F o r b e t t e r place, w h e n w e o u r Hues doe c h a u n g e . (P-

2

o)

T h e o l d t r a d i t i o n died h a r d , a n d t h e r e are lines i n t h e I n d u c t i o n to t h e 1610 e d i t i o n o f A Mirror

for

Magistrates

w h i c h closely r e s e m b l e

those o f C h u r c h y a r d , at least i n t h e i r emphasis o n t h e i n s t a b i l i t y o f a l l Cf. M . A . Hortis, Studi sulle opere latine del Boccaccio, Trieste, 1879, P- ^ > ' > and H e n r i Hauvette, ' U n chapitre de Boccace et sa fortune dans la l i t t e r a t u r e francaise' i n Bulletin Italien, Bordeaux, 1903, v o l . i i i , no. 1, pp. I—6. T h e name ' S u m m o n t e ' was inaccurately given as ' S u m m o t o ' . He reproduces the error ' S u m m o t o ' . A second edition appeared i n 1639. Cf. i639"ed., p. 295. Cf. 1639 ed., p . 406. 1

1 2

2

3

4

n

2

DE things earthly. The

CASIBUS

VIRORUM

27

ILLUSTRIUM

decay o f t h e beauties o f s u m m e r , R i c h a r d Niccols

declares, D i d s h e w i n state t h e r e was n o t r u s t , i n w e a l t h n o c e r t a i n e stay, O n e s t o r m i e blast o f f r o w n i n g chance c o u l d b l o w t h e m a l l a w a y . Yet

w h e n he

t u r n s to read A

Mirror

undergoes a development. H e n o w f r o m p o w e r as o f D e a t h t h e

for

his

Magistrates,

1

thought

speaks, n o t so m u c h o f s w i f t

falls

l e v e l l e r , a n d his verse acquires a q u a l i t y

t h a t looks f o r w a r d some t h i r t y years t o S h i r l e y ' s f a m o u s p o e m ' O f D e a t h ' . G a z i n g at his book, he says: T h e r e , as i n glasse, I d i d b e h o l d , w h a t d a y before d i d s h o w , T h a t b e a u t i e , s t r e n g t h , w e a l t h , w o r l d s v a i n e p o m p e , a n d a l l t o d u s t do g o ; T h e r e d i d I see t r i u m p h a n t d e a t h b e n e a t h his feet t r e a d d o w n e T h e state o f R i n g s , t h e p u r p l e r o b e , t h e scepter a n d t h e c r o w n e ; W i t h o u t respect w i t h d e a d l y d a r t a l l P r i n c e s h e d i d s t r i k e , T h e vertuous and t h e vicious Prince to h i m been b o t h alike. N o u g h t else t h e y l e a u e v n t o u c h t o f d e a t h except a v e r t u o u s n a m e , W h i c h dies, i f t h a t t h e sacred n i n e e t e r n i z e n o t t h e s a m e . 2

However, obliterate the

such

a

passage

can

m o n o t o n y of A

Niccols' e d i t i o n d i d n o t s e l l ;

3

hardly

Mirror

for

redeem

the

prosiness as

Magistrates

i t no l o n g e r m e t

the

a

or

whole.

needs o f t h e

age.

O n l y one y e a r after its p u b l i c a t i o n D e k k e r declared i n t h e p r o l o g u e t o

The Roaring

Girle t h a t T r a g i c k passion A n d such g r a u e stuffe, is t h i s d a y o u t o f f a s h i o n .

N o w o n d e r t h a t as t h e A

Mirror

for

r e i g n o f E l i z a b e t h m e r g e d i n t h a t o f James,

Magistrates

was

satirised or r i d i c u l e d .

Nevertheless,

4

t h i s c o n t i n u a t i o n o f Boccaccio's De casibus h a d l e f t a p a l p a b l e m a r k o n E n g l i s h h i s t o r i c a l poems a n d

English historical d r a m a .

5

Towards

the

Quoted f r o m the edition o f 1610. Cf. Haslewood, op. c i t . , i i , p. 548. E d . of 1610, p. 557. Cf. Haslewood, ed. c i t . , i i , p. 549. Cf. Niccols' lines i n the I n d u c t i o n to England's Eliza, p r i n t e d along w i t h A Mirror for Magistrates i n 1610: 1

2

T h e Prince and Swaine to death are b o t h alike, N o ods are found w h e n he w i t h dart doth strike. (p. 874) Something akin to this can, of course, be traced back to Lydgate, t h o u g h he places the emphasis on the indifference of D e a t h to a l l men, whatever t h e i r station: w i t h his darte he m a k e t h doun to fall Riche and poore, h e m m a r k y n g sodenly: His vnwar strook smyt[eth] indifferently, F r o m h y m refusyng fauour & al meede, Off a l l estatis he t a k i t h so l i t i l heede. {The Fall of Princes, ed. Bergen, i , 3790-4) Cf. J. W . Cunliffe, loc. c i t . , p. 198. I b i d . , p. 199. Cf. W . F a r n h a m , The Medieval Heritage of Elizabethan Tragedy, Berkeley, 1936; E . M . W . T i l l y a r d , Shakespeare's History Plays, London, 1944; W . F. Schirmer, ' G l i i c k u n d Ende der Konige i n Shakespeare's Historien.' (Arbeitsgemeinschaft fur Forschung des Landes Nordrhein- Westfalen, H e f t 22, pp. 7—18.) 3 6

4

28

THELATIN

WORKS

e n d o f t h e s e v e n t e e n t h c e n t u r y i t w o u l d seem t h a t t h e o r i g i n a l w o r k h a d f a l l e n i n t o desuetude. A t a n y r a t e , t h e reference t o i t as ' a C o m p e n d o f t h e R o m a n H i s t o r i e ' b y Sir James T u r n e r , soldier a n d scholar, indicates t h a t he h a d l i t t l e idea o f its c o n t e n t s . T h e day o f De casibus was done. 1

2. De Claris

mulieribus

T h i s w o r k , w h i c h Boccaccio h a d dedicated to t h e Countess A n d r e i n a d e g l i A c c i a i u o l i , also e n j o y e d a g r e a t r e p u t a t i o n i n E u r o p e . A Spanish t r a n s l a t i o n was m a d e i n t h e f i f t e e n t h c e n t u r y a n d was p r i n t e d at Saragossa i n 1494, one year before t h e C a s t i l i a n v e r s i o n o f De casibus, a n o t h e r e d i t i o n f o l l o w i n g i n 1520. I n France a n a n o n y m o u s v e r s i o n has b e e n preserved i n a m a n u s c r i p t dated 1401, a n d i n a m o d i f i e d f o r m t h i s was p u b l i s h e d b y A n t o i n e V e r a r d at Paris i n 1493, a p p a r e n t l y u n d e r t h e p a t r o n a g e o f A n n e , q u e e n o f F r a n c e . I t was r e p r i n t e d i n 1538 a n d a n e w t r a n s l a t i o n was p r i n t e d i n 1551. T h e L a t i n t e x t was r e p r o d u c e d at L o u v a i n , Strassburg a n d U l m , a n d w h e n t h i s was t u r n e d i n t o G e r m a n about 1473 b y H e i n r i c h S t e i n h o v e l , i t was w i d e l y r e a d , f o u r e d i t i o n s b e i n g c a l l e d f o r before 1500, f o u r others f o l l o w i n g i n t h e s i x t e e n t h c e n t u r y . S t e i n h o v e l dedicated his w o r k t o E l e a n o r , duchess of A u s t r i a , t h e d a u g h t e r of James I of Scotland, t h e first i n i t i a l o f t h e d e d i c a t i o n s h o w i n g h e r coat o f a r m s , a l i o n w e a r i n g a c r o w n . 2

3

4

5

6

7

8

I n t h e f i f t e e n t h c e n t u r y t h e association of De Claris mulieribus w i t h De casibus was e x t r e m e l y close. T h u s i t was c l a i m e d b y V e r a r d t h a t t h e b o o k offered n o t o n l y t h e v i r t u e s a n d eulogies o f n o b l e a n d i l l u s t r i o u s w o m e n b u t also t h e i r ' f o r t u n e s a n d i n f e l i c i t e s ' , a n d he also declared t h a t Boccaccio's a i m was t o p r o v e t h e i n s t a b i l i t y a n d v a r i a t i o n o f F o r t u n e . T h o u g h n o t g u i l t y o f such a m i s c o n c e p t i o n , t h e a u t h o r o f a n E n g l i s h t r a n s l a t i o n , p r o b a b l y m a d e s o m e w h e r e b e t w e e n 1440 a n d 1 4 5 0 , was also f a m i l i a r w i t h De casibus. I n his i n t r o d u c t i o n he refers to 9

10

M S . i n m y possession—written about 1690. Gesamtkatalog, iv, i t e m 4491. Cf. Bourland, loc. cit., p. 12, and Archiv, cxv, p . 370 and Farinelli, i , p. 152. Cf. Hauvette [ i g o g ] , pp. 124—7, d Hauvette [1905], p. 106, n . 2 ; also Gesamt­ katalog, iv, i t e m 44go. Gesamtkatalog, iv, items 4485 to 4485. I b i d . , items 4486 to 448g. Boccaccios De claris mulieribus deutsch ubersetzt von Stainhowel, ed. K . Drescher, Tubingen, i 8 g 5 , pp. x i - x i v . Cf. Drescher's edition, p . i x . A d d . M S . B r i t i s h Museum, 10304, ff. 2a—46b. Quotations are taken f r o m the manuscript. T h e line references are to G . Schleich's edition, Die mittelenglische Umdichtung von Boccaccios ' De claris mulieribus', Leipzig, i g24. A n account of the poem had previously been given by J. Zupitza, ' Uber die mittelenglische Bearbeitung von Boccaccios De claris mulieribus' i n Festschrift zur Begriissung des funften allgemeinen Neuphilologentages in Berlin pp. g3—120. Cf. J. R a i t h , Boccaccio in der englischen Literatur von Chaucer bis Painters Palace of Pleasure, M u n i c h , 1936, p . 74. 1

2

3

4

a

n

6

5

7

8

9

1 0

DE

CLARIS

29

MULIERIBUS

I o h n Bokase / so c l e p y d e is his n a m e T h a t w r o t e the fall of pryncys stronge & bolde A n d i n t o e n g l i s s h / t r a n s l a t e is t h e same.

(16-18) H e adds: A n odyre he w r o t e vnto the laude & fame O f ladyes n o b l e / i n prayse o f a l l w y m e n B u t f o r t h e rarenes / f e w f o l k e do i t k e n .

(!9- ) 21

F r o m t h i s i t m a y be c o n c l u d e d t h a t De claris mulieribus was n o t n e a r l y so w e l l k n o w n as De casibus h a d become t h r o u g h L y d g a t e . T h e poet was anxious t o m a k e good t h i s deficiency, a l l t h e m o r e because h e f e l t i t u n j u s t t h a t no a u t h o r except Boccaccio h a d w r i t t e n solely

about

w o m e n , whereas m a n y h a d devoted books to m e n . H o w e v e r , he t r u s t e d t h a t his l a b o u r w o u l d receive t h e p a t r o n a g e o f some noble princess, F o r poetys b e n o f l i t e l l r e p u t a c i o n , T h a t o f estatys h a u e n o s u s t e n t a c i o n . (37-8)

A t t h e close h e expresses a hope t h a t he m a y s t i l l f i n d e n c o u r a g e m e n t , so t h a t t h e w h o l e w o r k m a y be c o m p l e t e d : I f i t f o r t u n e t o be acceptable A n d please t h e h e r e r s / f o r t h I w y l l procede T o t h e r e s i d u e o f ladyes n o t a b l e ; B u t f y r s t e o f a l l / t o se h o w e t h i s shall spede I w i l l t a k e c o u n s e l l / ere i t go o n b r e d e leste t h a t I e y r e t h e b a r e y n se b a n k e A n d gete m e m o r e o f l a b o u r e t h a n o f t h a n k e .

(1786-92)

A p p a r e n t l y no c o u n t e r p a r t o f t h e d i s t i n g u i s h e d c o n t i n e n t a l patronesses or o f H u m p h r e y , d u k e o f Gloucester, was f o r t h c o m i n g , a n d so o u t o f Boccaccio's one h u n d r e d a n d five lives o n l y t w e n t y - o n e w e r e t r a n s l a t e d . T h e first section consists o f t e n , most o f w h o m are goddesses. T h e n f o l l o w e l e v e n w h o m t h e poet assembles f r o m v a r i o u s parts o f t h e book o n t h e g r o u n d t h a t t h e y w e r e ' b y t h e i r dedys l a u d a b l e ' , t h o u g h i t is d i f f i c u l t to see h o w he can i n c l u d e Circe a n d M e d e a o n t h i s g r o u n d . H o w e v e r , h e h a d a sense o f design. A f t e r t r a n s l a t i n g Boccaccio's p r o ­ logue h e proceeds to t h e stories, l i n k i n g t h e m t o g e t h e r as w e l l as he can, a n d r o u n d s off t h e w h o l e w i t h a b r i e f c o n c l u s i o n . T h a t h e was a scholar is obvious. H e was w e l l a c q u a i n t e d w i t h L a t i n , a n d his p r i d e i n t h i s is reflected i n his i d e n t i f i c a t i o n o f h i m s e l f w i t h those w h o are i n d e b t e d t o C a r m e n t a f o r h e r i n v e n t i o n of L a t i n l e t t e r s : So v n t o vs / t h a t w e r e i n c u n n y n g e b l y n d e , O f a l l l a t y n e she is t h e firste f o w n d r e s s .

(! 5 3-4) 0

30

THE LATIN

WORKS

Sallust he used o n occasion, O v i d m o r e o f t e n , a n d most f r e q u e n t l y , V i r g i l . I n t h e l i f e o f M a n t h o he takes t h e o p p o r t u n i t y t o m e n t i o n t h a t t h e t o w n o f M a n t u a was called after h e r , i n o r d e r t h a t he m a y p a y a t r i b u t e to the noblest poet Virgyle Maro / that euer men herd of 3et.

(1420-1)

T h a t t h i s is n o t j u s t l i p - s e r v i c e is s h o w n b y t h e n u m e r o u s passages i n w h i c h he amplifies Boccaccio's lives w i t h t h e a i d o f t h e ALneid. I t has b e e n suggested t h a t t h e poet was a n ecclesiastic, because h e k n o w s t h e m e a n i n g o f t h e n a m e E v e , a n d m e n t i o n s Moses as t h e i n v e n ­ t o r o f H e b r e w l e t t e r s . C e r t a i n l y , he displays m a n y signs of p i e t y , as w h e n he indicates a p e r i o d i n t h i s f a s h i o n : 1

L o n g toforn cryst and mary virgynall flour

(824) and a g a i n Both forn and after that cryst from deth did ryse.

(840) S i m i l a r l y , h e says o f t h e s y b i l E r y t h r y a t h a t she Wonderys thyngys made i n prophecy Of cristen feithe and of our lorde Ihesus, The whiche is a grete strength to vs A n d to the Ivys vtter confusyon T h a t byleve not the Incarnacyon

(1116—20)

a n d at t h e close h e reiterates t h a t i t b r o u g h t c o m m e n d a t i o n t o a l l women that i n Erythrya found was swyche vertue And suyche cunnynge to speke of criste Ihesu.

(1161—2)

T h e same emphasis m a y be observed i n a passage o n t h e p r o p h e t i c p o w e r o f A l m a t h e a w h i c h , h e says, e x p a n d i n g Boccaccio, she h a d Of h y m that is of rightwysness the son The w h i c h all men doth enlumyne W i t h o u t e whoos grace no thinge we can kon Of oure own selfe / nere 3ft ymagyne.

(1177-80)

F r o m t i m e t o t i m e t h e r e are clear i n d i c a t i o n s t h a t t h e poet m e a n t his t r a n s l a t i o n to h a v e a special appeal t o w o m e n , w h i c h was b u t n a t u r a l i n v i e w o f his desire t o o b t a i n a princess as his p a t r o n . T h u s i n t h e account o f J u n o , h e draws an i n t i m a t e p a r a l l e l b e t w e e n a n c i e n t and m o d e r n t i m e s w h i c h discloses his i n t e n t i o n : 1

Cf. Schleich's edition, p. 105.

DE

CLARIS

MULIERIBUS

31

A n d , l y k e as c r i s t e n w y m e n , g r e t e w i t h c h y l d e , W h a n t h e i r labours & t h r o w y s d r a w e n nere C r y e n o n M a r y Ihesus m o d y r e m y l d e Help lady / that I v n b o w n d e n were So t h e g e n t y l s / as poetys d o n vs l e r e C a l l y d o n I u n o f o r h e l p e & socour Goddess o f b y r t h / i n e u e r y sele & h o u r .

(540-6) Once m o r e h e has a f e m a l e audience i n m i n d w h e n he l a m e n t s some l e n g t h t h e

f a d i n g o f Eve's b e a u t y

after t h e

Fall, and

at

then

addresses his listeners d i r e c t l y : R e m e m b r e t h y s / y e ladyes s o u e r e y n e Evys bewte w y t t and womanhede Excedyd D i d o Criseyde & H e l e y n e T h o f t h e y w e r e f a m o u s e as shall after rede, 5 y t she & t h e y / a l l n o w be i d e d e ffor d e t h e n o t h y n g e s p a r e t h v p o n l y f e B u t at t h e laste / a l l h e d o t h e d o w n d r y f e .

(358-64)

H e does t h i s also at t h e e n d o f t h e l i f e o f M e d e a , w h e r e i n e m p h a s i s i n g t h e e v i l consequences o f h e r o r i g i n a l i n f a t u a t i o n f o r Jason, he

utters

this w a r n i n g : T a k e hede a l l v i r g y n s & w i t h d r a w e y o u r s i g h t f f r o m l a s c y u y o u s & w a n t o n 3onge personys Be n o t f a m y l y e r / n o w d i r be d a y e n e r n y g h t F o r c e r t e n l y / i t shall r e p e n t 30W o n y s .

(1380-3)

I t was perhaps because he d i d n o t l o o k w i t h f a v o u r o n u n c o n t r o l l e d passion t h a t he i g n o r e d Sappho's u n h a p p y l o v e a n d c o n c e n t r a t e d o n h e r poetic g e n i u s . H a v i n g r e f e r r e d t o h e r i n v e n t i o n o f t h e Sapphic measure, w h i c h he considered a most notable a c h i e v e m e n t , h e says: I n a w o m a n t h i s is w o r t h y p r a y s y n g e ffor m e n w o l d t h y n k e t h e m self t h a n k w o r t h y N o w adayes / i f t h e y w e r e so c r a f t y .

C 447-9) 1

His

a d m i r a t i o n for Carmenta

is e v e n

g r e a t e r , since she

had

pre­

eminence By litrale studye i n latinyte.

0452) T h e scholarly poet, w h o esteemed s k i l l i n t h e L a t i n t o n g u e so h i g h l y , t h o u g h t h e r d e s e r v i n g o f r e v e r e n c e , since t h i s was t h e sphere o f m a n r a t h e r t h a n w o m a n . Such an a t t i t u d e m a y seem u n d u l y condescend­ i n g , b u t i t was u n d e r s t a n d a b l e i n t h e f i f t e e n t h c e n t u r y . For i n t e l l e c t u a l

32

THELATIN

WORKS

p o w e r i n t h e o t h e r sex he h a d a g e n u i n e respect, especially w h e n , as i n M i n e r v a , i t was c o m h i n e d w i t h p u r i t y , ffor a l l o n v e r t u e sett was h i r affection E u e r bydynge styll o n perfeccyon A p u r e v y r g y n e t o h i r lyves e n d y n g T o flessly lustys n e u e r c o n s e n t y n g .

(746-9) I t was t h e c h a s t i t y o f C a m i l l a , no less t h a n h e r courage t h a t a t t r a c t e d t h e poet. H e treats h e r w i t h s y m p a t h y f r o m t h e b e g i n n i n g , a n d as h e describes t h e h a r d l o t o f t h e motherless c h i l d , a note o f t e n d e r p i t y is h e a r d . I n t h e account o f h e r d e a t h i n b a t t l e he draws o n V i r g i l t o illustrate the insidious guile and cowardly behaviour of her

slayer,

A r r u n s , a n d ends his n a r r a t i v e w i t h t h i s m o v i n g passage: D o w n she f e l l e m o n g y s h i r m e y n e Dede to t h e g r o u n d w i t h sorough & w e y l y n g e A n d f o r t h w i t h h i r host g a n t u r n b a k & fie V p o n horsbake / as fast as t h e y m y g h t flynge C a m i l l a t h e q u e n e / dede h o m e c a r y y n g e A n d beryed h y r w i t h m a n y a w e p y n g e teere ffor n e u e r ^itt was suyche o n r e y g n y n g e t h e r e .

(1086-92)

N o d i f f i c u l t y arose about t h e q u e s t i o n o f a p a t r o n w h e n H e n r y P a r k e r , L o r d M o r l e y , u n d e r t o o k his t r a n s l a t i o n o f De Claris mulieribus some t i m e b e t w e e n 1534 a n d 1547. O f h i g h r a n k , he was sent o n a m i s s i o n i n 1523 t o confer t h e O r d e r o f t h e G a r t e r o n t h e A r c h d u k e F e r d i n a n d a n d w h i l e he was at N i i r n b e r g his p o r t r a i t was d r a w n b y D i i r e r . H e steered his w a y s k i l f u l l y t h r o u g h t h e t r o u b l o u s years o f H e n r y V I I I ' s r e i g n , despite t h e fact t h a t h e was t h e f a t h e r - i n - l a w o f A n n e B o l e y n ' s b r o t h e r . I t was t o t h e k i n g t h a t h e dedicated his v e r s i o n of t h e first f o r t y - s i x chapters o f Boccaccio's w o r k , a n d , as t h e p r o l o g u e shows, i t was m e a n t as a N e w Y e a r ' s g i f t . H o w w a r i l y a person o f such e m i n e n c e h a d to t r e a d m a y be g a t h e r e d f r o m a change i n t h e w o r d i n g o f a s h o r t passage i n t h e l i f e o f Sappho. I n his v e r s i o n i t r u n s : 1

a n d h y r n a m e sett e m o n g s t e t h e m o s t e r e n o m y d e poetes, w h i c h e s u r e l y is m o r e l a u d e t o h y r e t h e n t h e d i a d e m e t o s u m k y n g e s , o r t h e bysshopps m y t e r s , or t h e conquerours l a w r e l l braunches. 2

T h e a l t e r a t i o n lies i n t h e w o r d s ' s u m k y n g e s ' , f o r Boccaccio h a d spoken o f k i n g s i n g e n e r a l , w i t h o u t a n y q u a l i f i c a t i o n . T h e m o d i f i c a t i o n was c l e a r l y m e a n t t o a v o i d a n y possible cause o f offence t o t h e ' i m p e r i a l l d i g n y t e ' of H e n r y V I I I . Cf. M.L.R., 1945, x l , p. 129. H . G . W r i g h t , ' S i r Henry Parker, L o r d Morley, and A l b e r t D i i r e r ' . Cf. Forty-six Lives translated from Boccaccio's ' De Claris Mulieribus' by Henry Parker, Lord Morley, ed. H . G . W r i g h t , London, 1943. E . E . T . S . O r i g . series 214, p . 155. 1

2

DE

CLARIS

33

MULIERIBUS

M o r l e y was w e l l i n f o r m e d n o t o n l y about t h e classics b u t also about t h e w o r k o f D a n t e , P e t r a r c h a n d ' J o h n Bocas o f C e r t a l d o ' . H e was a c q u a i n t e d w i t h Boccaccio's sonnet o n D a n t e

1

and was aware

who

w r o t e the Decameron, De genealogia deorum, De casibus and De claris mulieribus.

I n p r e s e n t i n g t h e f o r t y - s i x lives f r o m t h e last o f these t o

t h e k i n g , M o r l e y h a d i n m i n d his h u m a n i s t i c leanings a n d l i k e w i s e ' t h e r i g h t r e n o m y d e a n d most h o n o r a b l e l a d y e s ' o f his c o u r t . H e expressed t h e hope ' t h a t i t shulde be w e l l acceptyde t o t h e y m to se a n d reede t h e m e r u e l o u s e v e r t u e o f t h e y r o u n e sexe, to t h e laude p e r p e t u a l 1 of t h e y m ' . H o w e v e r , r e c a l l i n g t h a t a m o n g Boccaccio's famous w o m e n some deserved n o t o r i e t y r a t h e r t h a n praise, he hastened t o add: a l b e i t , as Bocas w r y t e t h e i n hys p r o h e m e , h e m e n g l y s s h e t h s u m n o t v e r e y chaste e m o n g s t e t h e goode, y e t h y s honeste excuse d e c l a r e t h e t h a t h e d y d i t to a goode e n t e n t , t h a t a l l ladyes a n d g e n t l e w o m e n , seynge t h e g l o r y e o f t h e goode, m a y be s t e r y d e t o f o l o w e t h e y m , a n d seynge t h e v y c e o f s u m , t o flee theym. 2

T h e t r a n s l a t i o n , w h i c h is p r o b a b l y based o n t h e L a t i n t e x t o f t h e e d i t i o n p r i n t e d at L o u v a i n i n 1487 b y E g i d i u s v a n der

Heerstraten,

is reasonably accurate a n d c o n v e y e d t o t h e i l l u s t r i o u s circle o f H e n r y V I I I a n d his c o u r t a good idea o f t h e m o r e i m p o r t a n t figures i n De claris

mulieribus,

e v e n i f t h e style f l o w e d less s m o o t h l y t h a n t h a t o f

Boccaccio. I t is possible t h a t t h e c o n c e p t i o n of Chaucer's p o e m The Legend

of

Good Women (ca. 1585) was suggested b y Boccaccio, t h o u g h i t can h a r d l y be p r o v e d . O n t h e o t h e r h a n d , i n The Siege of Thebes, w h i c h is supposed t o be r e l a t e d t o t h e C a n t e r b u r y p i l g r i m s o n t h e i r h o m e w a r d j o u r n e y , L y d g a t e makes specific reference t o De claris

mulieribus

as

one o f t h e a u t h o r i t i e s f o r t h e l i f e of I p s i p h y l e : L o k o n t h e book t h a t I o h n Bochas m a d e W h i l o m of w o m e n w i t h rethorikes glade; A n d d i r e c t e be f u l s o u e r e y n s t y l e T o fayre l a n e t h e queene of Cecile. 3

(3201-4)

I n t h e s i x t e e n t h c e n t u r y i t was n o t f o r g o t t e n , a n d Sir T h o m a s H o b y t h o u g h t i t w o r t h his w h i l e t o b u y Giuseppe Betussi's I t a l i a n v e r s i o n 1

' D a n t e A l i g h i e r i son, M i n e r v a oscura.' Vide post, p. 563.

2

Forty-six

Lives, etc., p . 3.

L a t e r (3506—16) lie declares t h a t Ipsiphyle was forgiven by her husband, ' T h o g h I o h n Bochas Tpe contrarie t e l l e ' . Lydgate was wrong i n saying t h a t Boccaccio dedicated his w o r k to Johanna, queen of Sicily. This was his original intention, b u t i n the end he dedicated i t to the Countess degli Acciaiuoli, as is shown by the prefixed epistle. O n the other hand, the last chapter deals w i t h Queen Johanna, and i n his conclusion Boccaccio alludes to this ' t a m clara r e g i n a ' . Lydgate's error is repeated by L o r d M o r l e y (cf. Forty-six Lives, p. 3 and Addenda, p. 191). 3

D

34

THE

LATIN

WORKS

when he was at Venice i n 1554. Spenser was also familiar w i t h De Claris mulieribus and used i t for his Faerie Queene. There is reason for saying that the relationship of Artegall to Radigund is considerably affected by that of Hercules to Iole, and i t is possible that the gloss of ' E . K . ' on Flora i n the Faerie Queene as on Chloris i n the Shepheardes Calender harks back to the same source. Without doubt the tale of Camiola i n Painter's Palace of Pleasure* was derived from De Claris mulieribus. He inserted i t between tales of revenge and cruelty to provide a contrasting example of a woman i n whom 'the vertue of Liberality glistered lyke the morning Starre after the Night hath cast of his darke and Cloudy M a n t e l l ' , and he introduced an allusion to Boccaccio (and perhaps to himself!) when he made Camiola assert: ' The renoumed wryters of eche coutrey w i l l place me amogs the ranke of y noblest dames'. I n its t u r n Massinger's play, The Maid of Honour (1632), was inspired by Painter. But the original work was still read 1

2

3

e

6

T h e copy is i n m y possession. I t is the Venice edition of 1547, the first having appeared there i n 1545. O n the title-page are Hoby's signature and the motto ' T e n d i t i n ardua v i r t u s ' . Cf. R. Tuve, 'Spenser's Reading: T h e De Claris Mulieribus', S.P., 1936, x x x i i i , pp. 150—g. T h e confusion of Iole w i t h Omphale as the cause of Hercules' degradation was pointed out by A . E . Sawtelle, The Sources of Spenser's Classical Mythology, N e w Y o r k , 1896, p. 63. W . P. M u s t a r d claimed that i t reached Spenser t h r o u g h Tasso (cf. M.L.N., 1905, xx, p. 127). A c c o r d i n g to H . G . Lotspeich, however, (Classical Mythology in the Poetry of Edmund Spenser, Princeton, 1952, pp. 72—3) the nearest parallel to Spenser is to be found i n Boccaccio's De genealogia deorum. D . Bush, Mythology and the Renaissance Tradition, Minneapolis, 1932, p. g i , indicates the possibility of a b o r r o w i n g either t h r o u g h Tasso or Boccaccio. R. Tuve, loc. c i t . , pp. 161—2. i i , no. 32. Cf. Marcus Landau i n Zeitschrift fur vergleichende Litteraturgeschichte, ed. M a x Koch, neue Folge, B e r l i n , 1893, v i , p. 414. T h e m e d i u m t h r o u g h w h i c h i t reached Painter was the French version of De claris mulieribus p r i n t e d at Lyons i n 1551, as has been proved by Robert H a m i l t o n who gave me this i n f o r m a t i o n . Quite independently of Painter, however, Massinger at one point sketches an E n g l i s h background. I n A c t I , Sc. 1, Bertoldo says to his natural brother, Roberto, k i n g of Sicily, who is t r y i n g to dissuade h i m f r o m an expedition against the duchess of Sienna: i f examples May move you more than arguments, looke on England, T h e Empresse of the European Isles, A n d unto w h o m alone ours yeelds precedence, W h e n d i d she flourish so, as when she was T h e Mistresse of the Ocean. H e r navies P u t t i n g a girdle round about the w o r l d , W h e n the Iberian quak'd, her worthies n a m ' d ; A n d the faire flowre Deluce grew pale, set by T h e red Rose and the w h i t e . 1

2

3

4

5

T h e allusion to the defeat of the Spanish A r m a d a i n this passage is an obvious anachronism. Even more notable is the intrusion of Shakespeare into a t h e m e f r o m Boccaccio, w h e n Roberto uses Puck's words to Oberon (A Midsummer Night's Dream, 11, i , 175). I n a general way the anomaly is recorded by A . O t t , Die italienische Novelle im englischen Drama von 1600 bis zur Restauration, Z u r i c h , 1904, pp. 48—g.

DE

CLARIS

35

MULIERIBUS

at the beginning of the seventeenth century, as is proved by Thomas Heywood's reference to i t as one of his authorities for Pope Joan i n his Gunaikeion (1624). However, of more general importance than these individual borrow­ ings is the contribution, direct and indirect, that De claris mulieribus made to the controversy that raged over the merits and demerits of women. I n Italy, where women of the upper classes at the time of the Renaissance were on a footing of equality w i t h men and received the same instruction as men and were consequently well versed i n classical subjects, Boccaccio's treatise had many admirers and imitators, even though others found an abundance of material for condemning the weakness of the opposite sex. From Italy the debate spread to Spain, France, Germany and ultimately to England. I t was perhaps a sign of the times when The boke of the Cyte of Ladyes, a translation of a work by Cristine de Pisan which owed its inspiration to De claris mulieribus, appeared i n 1521. Beyond any question was the interest shown i n the De nobilitate et prcecellentia foeminei sexus declamatio by Henricus Cornelius Agrippa who took a leading part i n the dispute. I t was translated repeatedly into Italian, and -there were several English versions. One of the Italian translations was that of Lodovico Domenichi, La nobilta delle donne, which was used by W i l l i a m Bercher for The Nobility of Women, 1559. Thus i n this roundabout way De claris mulieribus provided material for those who wished to eulogise women. However, i t was not forgotten that i n his Corbaccio he had attacked the opposite sex ferociously, and Domenichi mentions h i m among the anti-feminists. Bercher does not give his name, but to any one familiar w i t h the controversy Boccaccio would surely occur on reading 'whatsoever they be that slander wymen they be rewarded at one tyme or at another and of them that knowe what reason is are not to be harde'.' Bercher might say what he would, but the author of The Scole House of Women (1560) knew full well that Boccaccio had 1

2

3

4

6

6

* p . 576. Jacob B u r c k h a r d t , Die Cultur der Renaissance in Italien, Basle, i 8 6 0 , pp. 391—2. For an account of its influence i n I t a l y , France, Spain and Germany see L . T o r r e t t a i n Giomale storico della letteratura italiana, 1902, x l , pp. 35-65. Cf. Utley, op. cit., pp. 6 7 - 7 4 ; A. F a r i n e l l i , loc. c i t . , pp. 3 7 5 - 8 7 ; R. W a r w i c k Bond i n the introduction to his edition of W . Bercher's The Nobility- of Women, 1559; i n Germany the Clarissimarum feminarum laudatio by A . von Eyb drew on I t a l i a n sources, among t h e m probably Boccaccio, and this w o r k was translated into G e r m a n by Nicolaus von W y l e . D . Clapam, A Treatise of the Nobilitie of Woman Kynde, 1542; H [ u g h ] C [ r o m p ton], The Glory of Women; or a looking-Glasse for ladies, 1652; H[enry] C[are], Female Pre-eminence; or the Dignity and excellency of that sex, above the male, 1670, and E . Fleetwood, The Glory of Women, 1652. E d . R. W a r w i c k Bond, Roxburghe Club, 1904. Op. cit., p. 105. Cf. p. 175, note i n the same work. 2

3

1

5

6

7

36

THE LATIN

WORKS

spoken w i t h two voices on the subject of women, and supported his own satire by an appeal to 'Bochas'. The author of a ballad written about the same t i m e , which scarifies the alleged weaknesses of women, also cites Boccaccio, along w i t h Guido delle Colonne, as a witness: 1

2

I n Bocas a n G u y d o I r e d e a n d f y n d e , T h a t t w e m e n of verrey nature and kynde B e s u b t y l l a n d unstedfaste o f m y n d e ; B u t I w i l l say n o t h i n g e .

These carping critics, however, did not prevent Thomas Salter i n 1574 from including De claris mulieribus i n a list of works suitable for reading by women. He recommended that they should t u r n to t h e h o l i e S c r i p t u r e , o r o t h e r good bookes, as t h e bookes o f Plutarche, made of s u c h r e n o w m e d a n d v e r t u o u s w o m e n as l i u e d i n t y m e paste, a n d those o f Boccas t e n d y n g t o t h e same s e n c e . 3

I n one way or another, therefore, De claris mulieribus, like De casibus was brought into close relationship w i t h the life and thought of the English reader.

5. De genealogia

deorum

As a handbook of mythology the t h i r d of Boccaccio's important L a t i n works was invaluable for scholars and writers. One sign of this is the publication i n the fifteenth century of five editions of the L a t i n text i n Italy and one i n Germany, some of them w i t h De montibus attached. I t was also well known i n England, though not translated as i n France and i n the sixteenth century i n I t a l y . Humphrey, duke of Gloucester, had a copy, and there was one i n the Royal Library of Scotland i n 1578. Lydgate alludes to i t and borrows from i t i n The Fall of Princes and The Siege of Thebes. One passage i n the second of 4

5

6

7

8

9

1

10

Fol. D , i i i a : ye shall fynde, many a reason T h e pryde of women, to deface For theyr mislyuyng.

Cf. H . E . Rollins's Analytical Index, S.P., 1924, x x i , no. 1207. He identifies this poem w i t h the ballad ' B u t I w y l l say n o t h i n g e ' , entered to Thomas Colwell i n 1564-5. T h e text o f the poem is given i n Songs and Ballads, with other short Poems, chiefly of the reign of Philip and Mary, ed. T . W r i g h t , London, i 8 6 0 , pp. 165—5. I n A Mirrhor made for all Mothers, Matrones, and Maidens, intituled the Mirrhor of Modestie, quoted by L . B . W r i g h t , Middle-Class Culture in Elizabethan England, Chapel H i l l , 1955, p. 106. Cf. Gesamtkatalog, iv, items 4475 to 4480. P r i n t e d i n 1498 and again i n 1531. By Giuseppe Betussi, Venice, 1547. Vide ante, p. 3. Cf. D i b d i n , i i i , p. 246. Cf. E . Koeppel, Laments de Premierfait und John Lydgates Bearbeitungen von Boccaccios De casibus Virorum Illustrium , M u n i c h , 1885, pp. 59—60. Cf. the edition of A . E r d m a n n and E . E k w a l l , London, 1911-50, i i , pp. 100, 102, 105—6, 108—g, 110, 123—4, 127, 128 and 132. 2

3

4

6

6

7

8

9

l

1 0

7

DE

GENEALOGIA

37

DEORUM

these works is of exceptional interest. I t occurs i n the account of the death of Lycurgus, king of Thrace. Having reported that because he mingled water w i t h his wine, Bacchus broke his limbs and drowned h i m i n the sea, Lydgate goes on: B u t the t r o u t h 3if lyst verryfie, R e d e o f goddes t h e G e n o l o g y e , L y n e a l y h e r k y n r e d e be degrees, I - b r a u n c h e d o u t v p o n t w e l u e trees, M a d b y Bochas de c e r t a l d o called, A m o n g Poetys i n y t a i l l e stalled, N e x t Fraunceys Petrak swyng i n certeyn. (3537-43)

Caxton also had recourse to De genealogia deorum for his Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye i n 1475 and for his Historie of Jason i n 1477. Evidently he regarded Boccaccio's statements as authoritative and relied on them to amplify his information. This reputation was main­ tained i n the sixteenth century, and i t may be taken for granted that many English teachers followed the advice of Erasmus i n De Ratione Studii to learn from De genealogia deorum. Its high standing may also be seen from Sir Thomas Hoby's purchase of Betussi's Italian transla­ tion when he was at Venice i n 1554. The learned ' E . K . ' had recourse to i t when commenting on The Shepheardes Calender i n 1579, and there may be traces of i t i n the Faerie Queene, Greene's Frier Bacon and Frier Bongay, the anonymous Selimus, Jonson's Alchemist and Richard Barnfield's poems. I n 1624 Thomas Heywood i n his Gunaikeion points to i t as a source for the tale of Althaea and Meleager, and Sir James T u r n e r still looks up to i t w i t h respect. A figure which finds its way into English literature from De genealogia deorum is Demogorgon, though sometimes one has to reckon w i t h the possibility that Lucan was the source. Occasionally he enters by a devious route. Thus Abraham Fraunce i n The Third part of the Countesse of Pembrokes Yuychurch: Entituled Amintas Dale, when speaking of 'the great and terrible God of heauen and earth, 1

2

3

4

6

6

7

8

9

1

27 .

Cf. the edition of H . Oskar Sommer, London, 1894, pp. 3—4, 39, 50, 60, 215, 246,

4 i 39 Cf. The Prologues and Epilogues of William Caxton, ed. W . J. B . Crotch, London, 1928, pp. 3 4 - 6 . Cf. T . W . B a l d w i n , William Shakspere's small Latine and lesse Greeke, Urbana, 1944, i , p. 84. I n m y possession. I t is the Venice edition of 1553. T h e title-page bears Hoby's signature and the motto ' T e n d i t i n ardua v i r t u s ' . Cf. W . P. Mustard, ' E . K . ' s Classical Allusions', M.L.N., 1919, xxxiv, pp. 197-8, 202. 1

2 8

6

2

3

4

5

6

Cf. C. G . Osgood's introduction to Boccaccio on Poetry, Princeton, 1930, p. xliv.

' P- 354Vide ante, p. 28.

8

9

London, 1592.

38

THE LATIN

WORKS

accompanied only w i t h jfiternitie & Chaos' cites Leo Hebrseus as his authority and seems quite unaware of Boccaccio's work. Again Samuel Rowlands refers to 'Leo Hebreus', though as the phrasing shows, he is merely repeating what Fraunce had said. A t first sight Ben Jonson i n The Alchemist* appears to know more about ' Boccace' as the u l t i ­ mate source of this information, but modern enquiries have traced his knowledge of Demogorgon to Robert Vallensis who i n his t u r n does signal back to ' Boccatius '. A n earlier play that introduces the kindred theme of magic is Greene's Frier Bacon and Frier Bongay, i n which Bacon declares that he could have circled England w i t h a w all of brass, 1

2

3

5

6

r

B u t p r o u d Asmenoth ruler of the N o r t h , A n d Demogorgon m a i s t e r o f t h e fates, G r u d g e t h a t a m o r t a l l m a n s h o u l d w o r k e so m u c h .

7

The allusion is not precise enough for one to maintain w i t h certainty that Greene knew De genealogia deorum, but we can be more confident about Spenser. No doubt he had come across the name i n the first of the Cinque Canti ascribed to Ariosto. But Demogorgon, the wise prince, who controls the fairies and every five years summons them to assemble i n council i n a sunlit temple on a lofty mountain, has none of the sombre background that is typical of the scenes i n w h i c h he figures i n the Faerie Queene. How different i n its suggestion is the picture of 8

t h e b o t t o m e o f t h e deepe Abysse, W h e r e Demogorgon i n d u l l darknesse p e n t , F a r r e f r o m t h e v i e w o f Gods a n d heauens blis, T h e h i d e o u s Chaos k e e p e s . r

9

The l i n k i n g of Demogorgon w i t h the three 'fatall Sisters' i n the neigh­ bouring lines is i n keeping w i t h the account i n De genealogia deorum. That is also true of his association w i t h Night, when Duessa goes to 10

Fol. 4a. I b i d . Leo Hebreens or Leone Ebreo was born about 1460 at Lisbon and died i n I t a l y some sixty years later. His account of Demogorgon, w h i c h appears i n the second of his Dialoghi d'Amore, is based on t h a t of Boccaccio, b u t w i t h o u t acknowledgement. Martin Mark-All, Beadle of Bridewell; His defence and- Answere to the Belman of London, London, 1610. See p. 30 i n the H u n t e r i a n Club r e p r i n t of 1874. A c t e d i n 1610. Cf. A c t I I , Sc. i . Cf. Ben Jonson, ed. C. H . H e r f o r d , Percy and Evelyn Simpson, Oxford, 1925-52, x, p- 7 Chambers, i i i , pp. 3 2 8 - 9 , dates i t about 1589. A c t I V , Sc. i . T h e description of the contrast between 'Duessa sunny b r i g h t ' and 'griesly N i g h t ' (F.Q. B k . I , Canto v, St. 21) may w e l l be influenced by t h a t between Alcina and I n v i d i a ( I , 42). So too the account of Ate, Duessa's companion, and her abode resembles t h a t of the Albergo d e l l ' I n v i d i a (Bk. I , Sts. 58 f f . ) . F.Q. B k . I V , Canto i i , St. 47. H . G . Lotspeich, op. cit., pp. 5 8 - g . Cf. also F.Q., iv, p. 182. 1

2

3

4

5

2

6

8

9

1 0

7

DE

GENEALOGIA

39

DEORUM

Hell i n order to cure Sansfoy and, addressing Night, recalls that she was begotten ' i n Daemogorgons h a l l ' and saw ' the secrets of the world vnmade'. The very spelling of the name i n this passage indicates that Spenser had i n m i n d Boccaccio's etymology which related i t to Salfitoy. The t h i r d occasion on which the poet mentions Demogorgon is i n connexion w i t h Archimago: 1

2

H e t o his s t u d y goes, a n d t h e r e a m i d d e s H i s M a g i c k bookes a n d artes o f s u n d r y k i n d e s , H e seekes o u t m i g h t y c h a r m e s , t o t r o u b l e sleepy m i n d e s . T h e n choosing o u t f e w wordes most h o r r i b l e , ( L e t n o n e t h e m r e a d ) t h e r e o f d i d verses f r a m e , W i t h w h i c h a n d o t h e r spelles l i k e t e r r i b l e , H e b a d a w a k e blacke P l u t o e s g r i e s l y D a m e , A n d c u r s e d h e a u e n , a n d spake r e p r o c h f u l l s h a m e O f highest God, the L o r d of life and l i g h t ; A bold bad m a n , t h a t d a r ' d to call b y n a m e G r e a t Gorgon, P r i n c e o f darknesse a n d d e a d n i g h t , A t w h i c h Cocytus quakes, a n d Styx is p u t t o f l i g h t . 3

Here the poet identifies 'Demogorgon' w i t h 'Gorgon', as Boccaccio, following Lucan had done. Taken i n conjunction w i t h the passages already quoted, this heightens the probability that Spenser had De genealogia deorum before h i m . About the time when the lines about Archimago were published, Marlowe's Dr. Faustus was first performed. Here too the magician, deeply versed i n books, sets about his conjuration as night approaches. He too is ' a bold bad m a n ' who rejects the Holy T r i n i t y , utters dread incantations and, along w i t h the infernal powers, invokes Demo­ gorgon. Neither i n the poem nor the play does Demogorgon arise, but i n response to the spell ' Legions of Sprights' are summoned from ' deepe darknesse dred' i n the one, and i n the other, Mephistophilis. Shortly after Dr. Faustus the anonymous Selimus appeared. I t contains a reference to ' Black Demogorgon, grandfather of n i g h t ' , but when Baiazet proceeds to speak of his ' firie h a l l ' and his control over ' a l l the damned monsters of black h e l l ' , the dramatist appears to wander from Boccaccio's conception. There is a similar vagueness, 4

5

6

7

8

9

F.Q. B k . I , Canto v, St. 22. Cf. H . G. Lotspeich, F.Q., i , pp. 191-2. F.Q. B k . I , Canto i , Sts. 3 6 - 7 . Cf. H . G . Lotspeich, F.Q., i , p. 191. 1590. According to Chambers, i i i , p. 423, and J. Bakeless, The Tragicall History of Christopher Marlowe, 1942, i , 274—7, 1588—9. On the other hand, P. S. Boas, i n his edition of the play, London, 1952, p. 11, favours the date 1592; W . W . G r e g , Marlowe's 'Doctor Faustus', 1604—1616, 1950, pp. 3—10, fixes i t during the twelve months following the spring of 1592. ' A c t I , Sc. i i i . 1594. Cf. Selimus, ed. W . Bang and W . W . Greg, Malone Society, 1908. 1

2

3

4

6

8

m

8

9

40

THE LATIN

WORKS

when Richard Barnfield i n his Cassandra claim

1

lets Phoebus set forth a

T h a t he f r o m Demogorgon was descended: F a t h e r o f t h ' E a r t h , o f Gods a n d m e n c o m m e n d e d .

2

Sir Walter Raleigh speaks only i n general terms when i n his Historie of the World, having referred to the chaos that existed before the creation, he declares that from ' this l u m p of imperfect Matter had the ancient Poets their inuention of Demogorgon' . So too, when Momus i n Thomas Carew's masque, Caelum Britannicum,* i n a jocular fashion traces his descent as i n a Welsh genealogy: ' M y name is Momus-apSomnus-ap-Erebus-ap-Chaos-ap-Demogorgon-ap-Eternity', we cannot be sure that he had read Boccaccio. But at least his courtly audience at Whitehall must have been familiar w i t h the general tradition. I n the same way M i l t o n assumes this knowledge on the part of the reader of Paradise Lost, when he relates how Satan, venturing from H e l l towards the World, plunges into the nethermost Abyss and there beholds Chaos and Night, and standing by them 1 3

5

O r c u s a n d Ades, a n d t h e d r e a d e d n a m e Of Demogorgon.

I n detail there may be some poetic manipulation here, but the whole passage, including the description of strife and discord, indicates that, whatever the immediate source of Milton's knowledge, he was most likely inspired by De genealogia deorum. By contrast, D r y den's con­ nexion w i t h Boccaccio i n the sphere of mythology is of the most tenu­ ous kind. He evidently associated Demogorgon w i t h night, as may be seen from his adaptation of The Flower and the Leaf, where the fairies normally appear only under cover of nocturnal darkness: w h e n t h e m o o n arises, n o n e are f o u n d ; For cruel D e m o g o r g o n walks the r o u n d , A n d i f he finds a f a i r y l a g i n l i g h t , H e d r i v e s t h e w r e t c h before, a n d lashes i n t o n i g h t .

(49 ~5) 2

I f the awe-inspiring Demogorgon is here abased to the petty task­ master of the fairy world, i n Shelley's Prometheus Unbound he is assigned a part worthy of, though different from that which Boccaccio gave h i m . The poet, w i t h his innate capacity for myth-making, has grafted the story of Demogorgon on to that of Prometheus and Jupiter. Demogorgon is 'a tremendous gloom', and the mighty portal to his realm is 'like a volcano's meteor-breathing chasm'. To reach his 1 2 3

P r i n t e d i n 1595, i n Cynthia. With certaine Sonnets, and the Legend of Cassandra. Cf. Montague Summers' edition of The Poems, London, n.d., p. 72. Book i , Ch. i , Section 5. A c t e d 1654. Cf. i i , 959-67. 4

5

DE

GENEALOGIA

41

DEORUM

cave the way goes down 'through the gray, void abysm', and there a veiled form sits on an ebony throne. W h e n the veil falls, darkness radiates from the shapeless figure. This tallies i n a general way w i t h the conception of De genealogia deorum. On the other hand, i n Shelley's version Demogorgon is the child of Jupiter who holds universal sway, u n t i l at the moment of his overthrow the ' awful shape' of Demogorgon appears before his throne and i n reply to the tyrant's question, ' W h a t are thou?' says: E t e r n i t y . D e m a n d no d i r e r n a m e . D e s c e n d , a n d f o l l o w m e d o w n t h e abyss. . . . we must dwell together H e n c e f o r t h i n darkness. (III. i .

52-5)

Here are audible echoes of the Boccaccian tradition combined w i t h something strange, but elsewhere Shelley's imagination creates an entirely new role for Demogorgon as i n the scene where i n oracular language, sometimes clear, sometimes cryptic, he replies to Asia's enquiries about the origin of the world and of good and evil. I t is he, finally, who reveals that only eternal love can t r i u m p h over fate and time, chance and change. And after the t r i u m p h of love and the destruc­ tion of tyranny, to which these words are a prelude, i t is left to Demogorgon i n the closing lines of the drama to announce to man and the whole universe the victory of gentleness, virtue, wisdom and endurance. Thus Shelley develops Demogorgon into one who knows not merely the secrets of the world before its creation, but also the supreme mystery of the future, and the g r i m figure of the earlier m y t h becomes the mouthpiece of the poet's own visionary philosophy. Whether the channel through which Shelley became familiar w i t h Demogorgon was the Faerie Queene or Paradise Lost, or whether like some of his contemporaries, he had read Betussi's translation, no­ where is he treated w i t h greater originality than i n Prometheus Unbound. I t could hardly be expected that a work devoted primarily to the accumulation of knowledge about the gods of classical antiquity would exercise a perceptible influence on critical theory i n England. How­ ever, i t has been recognised what an important part the De genealogia deorum played i n stimulating fifteenth-century writers to abandon the mediaeval conception of poetry as rhetoric skilfully turned into verse. Boccaccio's discussion of poetry i n Books xiv and xv brought 1

2

3

A c t i i , Sc. 4. Vide post, pp. 337, 3 6 1 . Cf. Boccaccio on Poetry: Being the Preface and the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Books of Boccaccio's 'Genealogia Deorum Gentilium', ed. C. G . Osgood, Princeton, 1930. See also J. W . H . Atkins, English Literary Criticism, Medieval Phase, Cambridge, 1943, pp. 171-5. 1

3

2

42

THE LATIN

WORKS

about this change when he asserted that t r u t h lay hidden beneath the poet's allegory. The effect of this view is seen i n Stephen Hawes' Passetyme of Pleasure, when he declares i n his dedication to Henry VII: v n d e r a c o l o u r a t r u t h e m a y e arise As was t h e g u y s e i n olde a n t y q u y t e O f t h e poetes olde a t a l e t o s u r m y s e T o cloke t h e t r o u t h . 1

He reiterates this statement i n Chapter I X and denounces the blind­ ness of the ignorant who are unable to appreciate the underlying meaning of the poetry: B u t r u d e people o p p r e s t w i t h b l y n d n e s A g a y n s t y o u r fables w y l l o f t e n solysgyse S u c h e is t h e y r m y n d e suche is t h e y r folysshnes For t h e y byleue i n no m a n e r of wyse T h a t v n d e r a colour a t r o u t h e m a y aryse. 2

But these lines are an obvious rendering of a passage i n Chapter X I V of De genealogia deorum.* One of the clearest formulations of Boccaccio's attitude occurs when, after speaking of ^Eneas' journey to see his father i n Hades, he asks how anyone can believe that Virgil wrote these lines without a mean­ i n g hidden beneath the veil of m y t h . His words are echoed by Gavin Douglas i n 1553 i n his translation of the ALneid. I n its sixth book, he maintains, V i r g i l showed himself to be a high philosopher, 3

5

A n d , w n d e r t h e cluddes o f d i r k p o e t r y H i d lyis t h a i r m o n y notable history. F o r so t h e poetis be t h e r c r a f t y c u r i s , I n similitudis, and vnder quent figuris, T h e suthfast m a t e r to hyde a n d to constrene . . ,

6

As his authority Douglas cites 'Ihone bochas, i n the genologie of goddis'. I t is unusual to find a reference so specific as this, but i t is not unreasonable to assume that De genealogia deorum continued through­ out the sixteenth century to assert the independence of the poet's function and his significance as an interpreter of t r u t h . Though other similar compilations appeared, Betussi's Italian translation of Boccac­ cio's work ran to ten editions i n the hundred years that followed its Cf. W . E . Mead's edition, London, 1928, 11. 5 0 - 3 . I b i d . , 11. 7 9 2 - 6 . Continuing to 1. 805. Cf. C. W . L e m m i , ' T h e influence of Boccaccio on Hawes's Pastime of Pleasure', R.E.S., v, pp. 197—8. 'sub fabuloso v e l a m i n e ' . Cf. The Poetical Works of Gavin Douglas, Bishop of Dunheld, ed. J. Small, E d i n ­ b u r g h , 1874, 4 vols., i i , p. 9. 1

2 4

5

6

3

DE

GENEALOGIA

43

DEORUM

publication i n 1547. I t is difficult to disentangle these later encyclo­ paedias from that of Boccaccio, but there is at least one place i n Sidney's Apology e for Poet rye, where a prompting from De genealogia deorum appears almost certain, and i f his familiarity is thus established, i t would follow that some of his arguments i n favour of poetry are u l t i ­ mately derived from this source. I n Bacon's De sapientia veterum the task of analysing his interpretations of the classic deities is equally complex, but as i n Sidney's Apologye there is good reason to believe that the author had recourse to Boccaccio. Once the habit of finding an allegory everywhere has been acquired, i t may lead to strange conclusions i n the hands of any one gifted w i t h a lively imagination. Inspired by a highly controversial spirit, Gabriele Rossetti built up an amazing edifice of anti-papal teaching that he found covered beneath the veil i n Boccaccio's writings. This was the last and the most peculiar legacy of De genealogia deorum. 1

2

3

4

5

Cf. C. W . L e m m i , The Classic Deities in Bacon, B a l t i m o r e and London, 1933, p. 1. Elizabethan Critical Essays, ed. Gregory S m i t h , i , pp. lxxviii—lxxix, 206 and 406, note. Cf. C. W . L e m m i , op. cit. Vide post, pp. 3 6 1 - 2 . I t has been claimed by W . H . Schofield that a m i n o r w o r k of Boccaccio, his eclogue ' O l y m p i a ' , influenced Pearl. His view was not accepted by I . Gollancz (cf. his ed. of Boccaccio's Olympia, London, 1913, pp. 49—50) or E . V . Gordon (cf. his ed. o f Pearl, 1

2

3

4

5

O x f o r d , 1953,

p.

xxxY).

II THE MINOR I T A L I A N i . T h e Corbaccio,

WORKS

and Amorosa

Ameto,

Visione

H O U G H De genealogia deorum was not translated into English, i t left its mark on English literature i n various directions. The _ l _ same can hardly be said of the Corbaccio. Humphrey, duke of Gloucester, possessed a L a t i n version made for h i m by Antonio Beccaria, but the work seems to have been little known, except i n a general way as a manifestation of the anti-feminist tradition. The Ameto and the Amorosa Visione also remained untranslated as they did i n France. I t has been suggested that Chaucer was acquainted w i t h the former, but the evidence is not convincing. Perhaps i t was known to ' E . K . ' who i n the epistle to Spenser's Shepheardes Calender recalls how many poets, including Boccaccio, wrote pastorals before they had attained their full power. However, as the Ameto is not mentioned by name, there is an element of doubt, even i f Spenser's commentator was aware of Boccaccio's importance for the Renaissance pastoral. Still more dubious is the attempt to associate Chaucer w i t h the Amorosa Visione, - whereas its connexion w i t h Hawes' Passetyme of Pleasure is more firmly established. 1

2

3

4

5

2. T h e

Teseida

The Teseida, which glanced back to the ancient world and related a love-story rooted i n the age of chivalry, was calculated to appeal strongly to the mediaeval reader or listener. I n Spain i t was popular though not translated, and i n France there were three versions i n the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. I t caught Chaucer's eye and left its 6

7

Cf. W . F. Schirmer, Der englische Fruhhumanismus, L e i p z i g , 1951, p. 44, and Weiss, pp. 45—6. Beccaria's stay i n England lasted f r o m 1438—g to 1445—6, as is shown by Weiss, Giornale Storico della letteratura italiana, 1937, cx, pp. 344—6. Cummings, pp. 3 3 - 4 2 . T h e Ameto was discussed by J. C. W a l k e r , An historical and critical essay on the revival of the drama in Italy (1805). Cf. Marshall, p. 346. Cummings, pp. 13—32. C. W . L e m m i , ' T h e Influence of Boccaccio on Hawes's Pastime of Pleasure', R.E.S., 1929, v, pp. 195-6. Archiv, cxvii, pp. 114—15, and F a r i n e l l i , i , pp. 246—7. Hauvette [1909], pp. 5 0 - 6 7 . 1

2 3

4

5

6 7

t h e

TESEIDA

45

stamp on his House of Fame, Anelida and Arcite and the Parlement of Foules. However, i t is i n his Knight's Tale that the effect of the Teseida is most fully seen. The chief problem that confronted h i m was to fit the story into the scheme of the Canterbury- Tales. The Teseida was long and leisurely i n its movement, and obviously a faithful adaptation would have made the Knight's Tale unduly prominent. Even as i t stands, this tale takes up twice as much space as the narratives of the Clerk, The M a n of Law, the Merchant and the Wife of Bath, which are the only ones to attain anything like the same proportions. Yet Chaucer had reduced the Teseida from nearly ten thousand lines to less than a quarter of its original length. To achieve this feat of con­ densation much was omitted. Classical lore which Boccaccio, i n his enthusiasm for the ancient world, had introduced so freely, is sacri­ ficed. The bare m i n i m u m is told of Teseo's campaign against Thebes. Various processions, visits to temples and pagan rites are discarded. The ceremony of Palemone's marriage to Emilia offered another oppor­ tunity for ruthless excision. So did the account of the festivals and tournaments organised by Palemone and Arcita while awaiting the arrival of their supporters. The sixth book of the Teseida enumerated all who were invited to come and even recorded those who were unable to do so. On other occasions i n the next two books similar lists are given, but, apart from the chief protagonists, Chaucer mentions only Emetreus and Ligurge. The seventh book is not only condensed but also recast. After Boccaccio's Teseo had given instructions for the combat, there are repeated delays. By contrast, when Theseus has laid down the conditions, the company rides to the lists, the combatants enter, the gates are shut, the trumpets sound, and at once the fight begins. After the accident to Arcita the compression of events is equally notable; similarly, his death is related without any of the numerous details i n the original. At an earlier stage Chaucer dispensed w i t h the wanderings of Arcita i n exile and simplified the action i n other respects. His version knows nothing of the plan which enabled Palemone to escape by disguising himself, at the suggestion of his servant Panfilo, i n the clothes of the physician Alimeto, or of his stay at an i n n where he is provided w i t h a horse and armour. Again, after the duel i n the wood Chaucer makes the rivals set out at once for Thebes, instead of riding back to Athens where they are cared for and treated w i t h honour i n the palace, and, their possessions restored, lead a life which for its splendour and generosity wins the sympathy of the Athenians. As a result of all these changes the Knight's Tale has fewer personages than 1

2

1 2

Cf. R. A . Pratt, 'Chaucer's Use of the Teseida', P.M.L.A., 1947, l x i i . pp. 5 9 8 - 6 2 1 . Book i x , stanzas 13—49, i ' - 9 ^ lines, are reduced to six lines. e

2

46

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

the Teseida. Panfilo and Alimento become anonymous; Ischion, the great physican w h o m Teseo summoned to examine Arcita, vanishes, and Acate, the intended husband of Emilia whose premature death left the field open for Arcita, fails to emerge. The characters that do remain are not unaffected. Ippolita, who i n the Teseida had shown herself a dutiful and submissive queen but at the tournament had revealed some of the martial ardour of an Amazon, becomes a mere lay-figure. Teseo also undergoes some modification. Boccaccio had portrayed h i m as a great warrior who defeated the Amazons and the tyrant Creon and at the tournament watched the combatants w i t h the eye of an expert. At the same time there is a gentler strain i n Teseo. So engrossed does he become i n his love for Ippolita that he tarries i n Scythia u n t i l Peritoo reproaches h i m for deferring his return to Athens where such glorious tasks await h i m . I n striking contrast to the callousness of Creon towards his enemies, Teseo sees to i t that i n accordance w i t h custom the tyrant is cremated and that his ashes are placed i n a temple at Thebes. Moreover, he gives orders that none of the holy places are to be violated by his plundering followers. He is the most humane of victors. The dead are buried, and the battlefield is searched, so that all the wounded may receive medical care. He does debate w i t h i n himself whether Palemone and Arcita ought not to be put to death, but he has their wounds seen to as i f they had been his own men, and, though they are heavily guarded, they are lodged i n a room i n the palace, w i t h servants to wait on their pleasure. W h e n Peritoo has obtained the release of Arcita, Teseo bestows gifts upon him—an action as thoughtful as i t was generous, since Arcita had lost everything. Again the scene i n the wood reveals the innate magnanimity of Teseo. On discovering the lovers Teseo courteously enquires who they are, and then, conquering his wrath, w i t h great politeness thanks them for their explanation of how they came to love the same woman and who she is. His tolerant attitude towards them is not incredible, since he has but recently known an infatuation himself. His kindly treatment of them at Athens, his loving care for the wounded Arcita and his consideration for the defeated combatants complete the portrait of a singularly attractive personality. Chaucer's Theseus has fewer shades i n his character. I t is above all the stern ruler who is depicted, and no opportunity is lost of exalting his dignity. The Theban women fall prone before h i m , and those who petition h i m to spare Palamon and Arcite kneel i n his presence. Again before the combat his importance is enhanced. I n Boccaccio he joins his nobles i n the palace and on enquiring whether the combatants have arrived, is informed

THE

47

TESEIDA

No, signor m i o , m a e'verranno tosto.

1

(O.F.

v i i , st.

100,

1. 8 )

Chaucer is careful to avoid any such casual treatment, and his Theseus is not kept w a i t i n g . 2

D u k Theseus was at a w i n d o w set, A r r a y e d r i g h t as h e w e r e a g o d i n t r o n e .

( A . 2528-9) Instead of Theseus announcing the conditions of the combat himself, a herald does so w i t h due ceremony: A n h e r a u d o n a scaffold m a d e a n h o , T i l a l t h e noyse o f t h e p e p l e was y - d o A n d w h a n h e s a u g h t h e p e p l e o f noyse al s t i l l e , T h o s h o w e d h e t h e m i g h t y dukes w i l l e .

( A . 2533-5) As a general Theseus is far more ruthless towards Thebes and its inhabitants. The city is demolished, and the imprisonment of Palamon and Arcite is rigorous. Nothing is said of attendants, and the grimness of the prison is emphasised: T h e g r e t e t o u r , t h a t was so t h i k k e a n d s t r o n g , W h i c h o f t h e castel was t h e c h i e f d o n g e o u n .

( A . 1056-7) I n Boccaccio the prisoners' chamber had a window which Arcita, i n spite of his fetters, was able to open. On the other hand, Palamon and Arcite lie i n darkness and must obtain the consent of the gaoler before they can leave the dungeon and go to an upper chamber, whence they can see the garden. Even then, i t is through thick and square iron bars. W h e n Arcite is released, only the conditions imposing the deathpenalty i f he violates them, are related. This impression of severity is confirmed by the episode i n the wood. Theseus at once spurs his horse forward and stops the fight. On learning who the combatants are, he forthwith declares that they must die. And though he afterwards relents, i t must be admitted that his tolerant attitude towards the lovers is much less comprehensible than i n the Teseida. I f Theseus has fewer facets to his character than his counterpart, that is still truer of Emelye. I n Boccaccio she is given considerable prominence. I n particular, he traces the gradual awakening of her 3

References for quotations f r o m the Teseida, w h i c h is contained i n v o l . ix of the Opere volgari, are by book, stanza, and line. A l l quotations f r o m the Knight's Tale are taken f r o m Skeat. T h i s may be deduced f r o m the reference to the dungeon and also f r o m the later account of Palamon's captivity i n A . 1451—2: 1

2

3

I n derknesse and h o r r i b l e and strong prisoun This seven yeer h a t h seten Palamoun.

48

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

love for Arcita. A t the beginning of the poem she is a mere child, and the fact that she is being watched from the window does nothing but flatter her vanity. As she catches sight of Arcita riding away into exile, she feels compassion. W h e n he returns to Athens, she is still too young to know the meaning of love, but she is proud to find that she alone can penetrate his disguise and wonders what has made h i m r u n such risks. The episode i n the wood again brings her to the fore. I t is she who first chances upon the combatants and through some of her attendants calls Teseo to witness the spectacle. After the disclosure of the identity of the two protagonists and the revelation that i t is she w h o m they love, Emilia is embarrassed and at the same time feels distress at the sight of their wounds. W h e n Teseo tells her that she w i l l marry one of them, she blushes but remains silent. As the com­ pany returns to Athens, Emilia rides i n their midst, and that is symbolical of the importance attached to her. She is mentioned by name among those who welcomed the rivals, and before the combat Arcita publicly declares his love for her, while Palemone regards her as a goddess. D u r i n g the combat i t is the sight of Emilia that inspires Arcita w i t h fresh energy and determination. Her own reactions as she watches the fluctuations of the struggle are also described. I t becomes clear that she is now capable of love, but she does not yet know which of the combatants to choose. However, she is intensely moved. Unlike Teseo and Ippolita she finds the battle 'Orribile . . . rea e dura', because she reflects that her beauty is the cause of so much bloodshed, on account of which so many w i l l curse her. Then suddenly after the victory of Arcita her love turns to h i m . The accident that befalls Arcita provides still more proof of her affection. Fear seizes her as she sees h i m fall, and she is assailed by the conviction that like all others she must taste the bitterness as well as the joy of love. Filled w i t h grief at the sight of his face covered w i t h dust, blood and sweat, she cannot repress her tears. Bashfully she begs h i m to take comfort. She assures her 'dolce sposo' that she w i l l always be w i t h h i m . The t r i u m p h a l procession concentrates the eyes of all Athens upon her, and as she sits beside Arcita, gracious and pleasing, the object of universal admiration, she knows a measure of happiness. But i t is short-lived. Before long, Arcita's strength begins to fail, and she is plunged into despair. I t is vain for h i m to urge her to marry Palemone after his death. She cannot forget her ' caro sposo' and, like one frantic, she kisses h i m and falls prone i n a swoon. A curse seems to weigh upon her, and rather than bring misery to Palemone as she has done to Arcita, she prays that Jove w i l l remove her from this life. I n spite of this passionate outburst, when Arcita is dead, she controls her emotion and w i t h Palemone performs the last offices. A t the pyre

THE

49

TESEIDA

she contends w i t h her feelings and, though she faints, struggles to her feet, only to swoon again after throwing her rings and ornaments into the fire. For a time her sorrow is extreme, and when Teseo urges her to marry Palemone, she sits mute, w i t h bowed head, u n t i l he has to ask her whether she has heard. A t first she w i l l not let herself be persuaded but i n the end yields to his arguments. I t must be conceded that, i n spite of her hesitation, the interval appears somewhat brief. But as i f to justify the change, Boccaccio had analysed Palemone's feelings towards Emilia at some length after the overthrow of Arcita, and Palemone's unshakable devotion to her had been made clear when he refused to follow her advice to marry some other Greek beauty. I n this w ay too Emilia gains i n prominence, and at the close she is once more i n the foreground amid the festivities and the wedding procession i n Athens. On the other hand, i n Chaucer, Emelye plays a relatively obscure part. After the one glimpse of her i n the garden she practically disap­ pears u n t i l Arcite becomes her page, and at the scene i n the wood she does nothing but join w i t h other women i n petitioning Theseus to have mercy on the two knights. Apart from her prayer to Diana she remains a mere puppet who flits past the reader for a moment at the tournament and the funeral pyre, u n t i l she is united to Palamon at the close. Chaucer makes no effort to trace the gradual growth of her love for Arcite, the one indication being given i n a single line, coupled w i t h a sceptical generalisation about women. Similarly, he suppresses the important passage i n which Boccaccio had defined the attitude of Emilia to Palemone and the unswerving affection of the latter. As a result of this and other omissions the acceptance of Palemone by Emilia seemed to Chaucer too sudden and therefore unconvincing. So after the combat he sent the Greek kings home, and i n the Knight's Tale i t is only after the lapse of a number of years that they reassemble and press for the marriage. Another feature that Chaucer had to sacrifice is the analysis of the heroine's varying moods. Nothing is shown of her passionate devotion, and i n her grief she is an entirely conventional figure who shrieks and faints and has to be carried away. She is not a t h i n k i n g being who wonders whether she does not bring disaster upon all to w h o m she is plighted, and so she exhibits no reluctance to marry Palamon. A n angel hovering i n the background, a colourless abstraction, she lacks the individuality and the humanity of Emilia. Just as Boccaccio dwells at length on the emotions of the heroine, so r

1

2

A. 2681-2. He uses the same prolongation to explain a change of attitude i n Criseyde. Vide post, pp. 9 5 - 6 . 1

2

E

50

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

he elaborates those of Palemone and Arcita. I n particular, he describes how the former, still captive i n Athens, alternates between joy and grief, weeping and sighing over his lot, yet gathering confidence at the very thought of escape. His sorrow over his defeat is also fully depicted, while the accident to Arcita leaves h i m alternating between regret and hope. Still more carefully does Boccaccio note the mutations i n Arcita's mind. His lamentation when he leaves Athens and, gazing sadly up towards Emilia on her balcony, rides away amid w i n d and rain, is not easily forgotten. I t leaves behind something of the poignant desolation felt by the reader at Troilo's visit to the empty house of Griseida, and one is again reminded of Troilo's longing for his absent love when Arcita stands on the shore at Egina and exclaims, as the w i n d blows towards h i m from Athens, Questo f u ad E m i l i a m o l t o p r e s s o .

1

(O.V. i v ,

st.

32,

1. 8 )

And suddenly, hearing of the untimely death of Acate, an irresistible surge of longing prompts h i m to defy the prohibition of Teseo against his return. Once i n Athens, he is glad to be near Emilia and yet unhappy because she is unaware of his love. Hence his habit of retiring to a wood, where, lying under a pine by a stream, he is wont to sigh: i o a m o , e n o n son p u n t o a m a t o ,

(O.V. i v ,

st. 6 8 , 1.

2)

and w i t h the name of Emilia on his lips falls asleep. Of all these states of m i n d the Knight's Tale has little or nothing. Another feature that is developed more clearly i n the Teseida is the friendship of Palemone and Arcita and its durability, i n spite of all the antagonism generated by their love for Emilia. I n Boccaccio this antagonism emerges but slowly. A t first their friendship is unshaken. Together they watch day by day for the appearance of the heroine i n the garden, and when bad weather keeps her indoors, they are united i n grief. Together they sigh and weep, together they find relief by composing verses i n her honour. I n fact, they are fellow-sufferers rather than rivals i n love. I t is significant that Arcita, on his liberation by the intervention of Peritoo, should return to take leave of his friend and that he should confide to h i m a message for Emilia, i f ever he should meet her. For his part, Palemone can hardly bear the thought of separation from Arcita. senza t e i n doglioso t o r m e n t o R i m a n g o , lasso, t r i s t o ed i s c o n t e n t o .

(O.V. h i ,

1

st. 77, 11. 7 - 8 )

Cf. Filostrato^ book v, st. 70 and Troilus and Criseyde, book v, 671—2.

THE

TESEIDA

51

W h e n Arcita is to set forth, they are so overcome that their servants have to lift them up and rebuke them for this excess of sentiment. Thereupon they kiss each other and say farewell w i t h broken voice. I t is i n the wood that they meet again, and though i n the meantime Palemone has felt some jealousy of Arcita, when he chances upon his friend sleeping peacefully, he has not the heart to wake h i m . After the dawn-song of the birds has roused Arcita, Palemone greets h i m kindly; they rejoice together and relate their experiences. Not u n t i l they fall to speaking of Emilia do their tempers begin to rise. Even then each calls the other his dear friend, and i t is only after a long discussion, when neither w i l l give way, that Arcita unwillingly dons his armour and the struggle opens. I n this Palemone receives a blow on the head and falls from his horse, whereupon w i t h the utmost solicitude Arcita takes off his helmet, lays h i m tenderly on the grass and flowers and laves h i m w i t h water. A t first his efforts seem to be i n vain, and Arcita laments his brave companion and recalls how reluctant he had been to fight w i t h h i m . I n his distress he regrets that he ever loved. W i t h the arrival of Teseo, their friendship is again demonstrated. I n reply to the duke's enquiry, Arcita says that they are two knights who for love are testing their valour. Only when pressed does he reveal who he is. But he screens his opponent. The latter must speak for himself. Then Palemone discloses his name. So far nothing has been breathed about the lady for w h o m they are contending, and i t is only when cornered by Teseo's interrogation that Palemone makes known the whole affair. He confesses that he has done wrong and deserves death, but he is silent about the infliction of any penalty on Arcita. Before the tournament at Athens, while awaiting the arrival of their supporters, they live i n complete harmony. Their former amity is restored and whatever either wishes, is agreed to by the other. After the combat, even though he is keenly aware of the humiliation of defeat, Palemone induces his friends to walk w i l l i n g l y i n the t r i u m p h a l procession, i n order to give consolation to the injured Arcita. The old friendship is nowhere more poignant than when the dying hero asks to see, hear and touch his friend and companion and declares that the one offence of which he has ever been guilty is to have taken up arms against h i m . I n accordance w i t h Arcita's request Palemone helps to perform the last offices for Arcita, and at his obsequies sacrifices i n the fire not only arms and jewels but also his hair and beard. So fervent is his devotion that i n spite of his passion for Emilia he fears that i n marrying her he would wrong his dead friend, and i t takes all the arguments of Teseo and the Greek kings to dispel his misgivings. By comparison the friendship of Chaucer's heroes seems formal and superficial rather than deep and intimate. Their rivalry for the

52

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

love of Emelye at once leads to a quarrel, and the violence of their temper begets a fierce hostility. The jealousy of Palamon is more volcanic than any such emotion i n his Boccaccian counterpart. T h e r - w i t h the f y r of Ielousye up-sterte W i t h - i n n e his b r e s t , a n d h e n t e h i m b y t h e h e r t e So w o o d l y , t h a t h e l y k was t o b i h o l d e T h e b o x - t r e e , or t h e asshen dede a n d colde.

( A . 129,9-302)

I t is true that at the first encounter i n the wood Arcite promises to bring food, drink and bedding to Palamon and that next day they help each other to arm As f r e e n d l y as h e w e r e his o w n e b r o t h e r . ( A . 1652)

But this hint of friendship is less notable than the abuse w i t h which Palamon had assailed his rival as he burst out of the bushes, and we are left w i t h the impression that he w i l l stick at nothing. L i t t l e surprise is felt therefore when he immediately betrays their secret to Theseus, declares that Arcite has long befooled h i m and, having thus incited Theseus, demands death not only for himself but for Arcite as well. Nor does the Knight's Tale describe any restoration of friendship or exhibit all the numerous instances of personal devotion i n which the Teseida abounds. However, the obscuring of the reconciliation between love and friendship is not the only effect of Chaucer's attempt at condensation on the relationship of Palemone and Arcita. The relative importance of the two figures is transformed. I t seems likely that Boccaccio sym­ pathised w i t h Arcita as he did w i t h Troilo. I n each poem Fortune inter­ venes to cut short the happiness of love, and, as has already been indicated, there is an affinity between some episodes i n the Filostrato and the Teseida. I n any case, Arcita is more conspicuous than his rival. Significantly, i t is he who first sees Emilia, and after he has been liberated, far more attention is paid to his state of m i n d than to that of Palemone. Before the tournament Arcita addresses Emilia and later harangues his supporters at length. M u c h less space is given to Pale­ mone, and his thoughts and words are reported indirectly. Equally striking is the full account given of Arcita's exploits, whereas Pale­ mone's achievements are found i n two lines tacked on to the eulogy of his opponent. I n the Knight's Tale, the process of abridgement under­ mines the dominant position which Boccaccio had bestowed on Arcita. Not only that, but Chaucer tries of set purpose to w i n sympathy for Palamon by extending the period of his captivity i n a gloomy dungeon

THE

53

TESEIDA

to no less than seven years. I n addition, he makes some changes w h i c h help i n a positive manner to enhance the standing of Palamon. A t the very beginning i t is Palamon who first catches a glimpse of Emelye, and during the tournament the mode of his defeat tends to emphasise his valour i n a way unknown to the Teseida. There, i n fact, Palemone is overcome i n a rather ignominious fashion. His arm is bitten by t h e steed of Cromis; he falls to the ground and, as soon as he has b e e n dragged from the horse's mouth and out of the fray, Arcita disarms h i m . By contrast, Chaucer's Palamon is severely wounded by Emetreus, but even so strikes h i m from his saddle and, i n spite of Palamon's condition, i t takes twenty men to overpower h i m . Moreover, Chaucer takes good care not to submit h i m to the humiliation of the t r i u m p h a l procession, and he transforms Teseo's tribute to the combatants as a Avhole into an apologia for Palamon: 1

S o o t h l y t h e r was n o d i s c o n f i t u r e , F o r f a l l i n g nis n a t b u t a n a v e n t u r e ; N e t o be l a d w i t h fors u n - t o t h e stake U n y o l d e n , and w i t h t w e n t y knightes take, O persone a l l o n e , w i t h - o u t e n m o , A n d h a r i e d f o r t h b y a r m e , foot, a n d t o , A n d eek his stede d r i v e n f o r t h w i t h staves, W i t h f o o t m e n , b o t h e y e m e n a n d eek k n a v e s , I t nas a r e t t e d h i m n o v i l e i n y e , T h e r m a y no m a n clepen i t cowardye.

( A . 2721-30) Perhaps Chaucer felt that i f Palamon's marriage to Emelye was to b e justified, something had to be done to elevate his position. A t a n y rate, the shifting of the balance i n his favour is unquestionable. Though many of the alterations that have been considered must be ascribed to the need for compression, Chaucer did not perform his task mechanically but left himself free to add where he wished. I n some of these passages his realistic temper found vent. One of the m o s t striking examples is the unflinching recital of the medical effects o f Arcite's wounds, the symptoms and the remedies vainly applied, culminating as i t does i n the g r i m humour of the lines: N a t u r e h a t h n o w no dominacioun. A n d certeinly, ther nature w o l nat wirche, F a r - w e l , p h i s y k ! go b e r t h e m a n t o c h i r c h e !

( A . 2758-60) Another glimpse of real life is afforded by the reference to the decora­ tion of Athens w i t h cloth of gold before the tournament and the picture of the crowd discussing the chances of the combatants. Boccaccio had 1

Cf. p. 47.

54

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

told of the great barons debating the point, but Chaucer turns i t into a vivid popular scene: S o m m e s e y d e n t h u s , s o m m e seyde i t shal be so; Somme helden w i t h h i m w i t h the blake herd, Somme w i t h the balled, somme w i t h the t h i k k e - h e r d ; S o m m e sayde, h e l o k e d g r i m a n d h e w o l d e f i g h t e ; H e h a t h a sparth of t w e n t y pound of w i g h t e .

( A . 2516-20)

The preparation for the tournament also furnishes an animated picture of contemporary life which owes very little to the Teseida. Here are all the colour and pomp of mediaeval chivalry. Knights, squires, yeomen and armourers are conjured up before our eyes; helmets, shields, lances, hauberks and coats of mail. Everywhere there is bustling activity, the clatter of hoofs, the clink of armour, the clang of hammers, and the sound of pipe, trumpet, clarion and d r u m . Such was the scene that Chaucer had i n m i n d when he wrote: 1

2

Ye k n o w e n w e l , that every lusty k n i g h t , T h a t l o v e t h p a r a m o u r s , a n d h a t h his m i g h t , W ere i t i n Engelond, or elles-where, T h e y w o l d e , h i r t h a n k e s , w i l n e n t o be t h e r e . T o f i g h t e f o r a l a d y , benedicite] I t w e r e a l u s t y s i g h t e f o r t o see. 7

( A . 2111-16)

I n spite of the Greek setting, i t w as possibly some English tourna­ m e n t that Chaucer recalled from his own experience when he evoked the vision of the ancient world. The same may be true of his description of Arcite making a garland of woodbine and hawthornleaves and the rising sun drying r

3

i n t h e greves T h e s i l v e r dropes, h a n g i n g o n t h e leves.

(A. 1495-6)

Certainly, the passage which relates how Arcite, clad as a poor labourer, ' T h e fomy stedes on the golden brydel / G n a w i n g e ' was derived f r o m ' E spumanti l i lor freni rodiensi' (Teseida, v i i , st. 97, 1. 3) and i t is possible t h a t 'Con selle ricche d'ariento e d ' o r o ' ( i b i d . , v i i , st. 97, 1. 2) suggested 1

herneys So uncouth and so r i c h e , and w r o g h t so weel O f goldsmithrie, of browding, and of steel. Essentially such a description had the same interest for Chaucer's mediaeval audience as the description of the hero's armour i n Sir Gawain and the Green Knight or t h a t of the Trojans i n Lydgate's Troy Book, i i i , 44 ff. I t has been suggested by Johnstone Parr, ' T h e Date and Revision of Chaucer's Knight's Tale' (P.M.L.A., 1945, lx, 317—24) t h a t this may have been the one held by R i c h a r d I I i n London i n May, 1390, Chaucer as Clerk of the King's W o r k s being actively concerned w i t h the preparations. T h e hypothesis is interesting, even i f one does not regard Parr's conclusions as indubitably established. 2

3

THE

55

TESEIDA

enters the service of Theseus, would doubtless appeal to Chaucer's contemporaries. From the bald statement i n the Teseida that he was lodged w i t h the duke, Chaucer develops the following: T o the c o u r t he w e n t e u p - o n a day, A n d at t h e g a t e h e p r o f r e t h h i s servyse, T o d r u g g e a n d d r a w e , w h a t so m e n w o l devyse. A n d s h o r t l y o f t h i s m a t e r e f o r t o seyn, H e f i l i n office w i t h a c h a m b e r l e y n , T h e w h i c h t h a t d w e l l i n g was w i t h E m e l y e . F o r h e was w y s , a n d coude soon aspye O f every servaunt, w h i c h t h a t serveth here. W e i coude h e h e w e n w o d e , a n d w a t e r h e r e , F o r h e was y o n g a n d m i g h t y f o r t h e nones, A n d t h e r - t o h e was s t r o n g a n d b i g o f bones T o d o o n t h a t a n y w i g h t c a n h i m devyse. A n d t h u s , w i t h - i n n e a w h y l e , his n a m e is s p r o n g e B o t h o f his dedes, a n d his goode t o n g e .

( A . 1414-25; H 3 7 - ) 8

These lines are quite i n the tradition of English romance and to some listeners at any rate may well have had a familiar sound. Chaucer made other additions of a philosophical nature. Thus when Arcite is released from prison, only to find himself banished from Athens and debarred from seeing Emelye, he exclaims: A l i a s , w h y p l e y n e n f o l k so i n c o m m u n e O f purveyaunce of God, or of fortune, T h a t y e v e t h h e m f u l ofte i n m a n y a gyse W e i b e t t r e t h a n t h e y c a n h e m - s e l f devyse?

( A . 1251-4)

His point is that i t is futile for human beings to go i n quest of happiness when all is ordered for the best by divine wisdom. Palamon, on the other hand, questions the justice of the fate meted out to h i m . Arcite has been allowed to regain his liberty; he remains a prisoner. He denounces the cruelty of the gods who are indifferent to the lot of mankind. Indeed, he asserts that man is worse off than an animal: w h a n a beest is deed, h e h a t h n o p e y n e ; B u t m a n a f t e r his d e e t h m o o t w e p e a n d p l e y n e , T h o u g h i n t h i s w o r l d h e h a v e care a n d w o .

(A. 1319-21)

The explanation he leaves to the theologians. I t is Egeus, the old sage, who corrects Palamon. He is well aware of the sorrows of life: T h i s w o r l d nis b u t a t h u r g h f a r e f u l o f w o , A n d w e b e n p i l g r i m e s , passinge t o a n d f r o ; D e e t h is a n e n d e o f e v e r y w o r l d l y sore.

( A . 2847-9)

56

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

I t is the last line which is a repudiation of Palamon's assertion. The typical mediaeval metaphor of the pilgrimage w i t h its Christian associa­ tions evokes the world of bliss after death. Thus we are led to a passage i n the speech of Theseus: W h y grucchen we? w h y have w e hevinesse, T h a t good Arcite, of chivalrye flour Departed is, w i t h duetee and honour, Out o f this foule prison o f this l y f ? 1

(A. 3058-61) For his part, Theseus has no doubts about the wisdom of the ' firste moevere', even i f his purpose is not clear. There is a meaning and an order i n the world. Evidently, i n the Knight's Tale as elsewhere, Chaucer is preoccupied from time to time w i t h the problem raised by the sufferings of man­ kind. The sudden death of Arcite i n the moment of victory is one of those reversals of fortune which fascinated the Middle Ages. However, though i t may be a tragedy i n accordance w i t h Lydgate's usage, one may question, even i f everything i n the poem is taken into account, whether an accident caused by the shying of a horse warrants the opinion that 'the view of the universe taken by the Tale is a tragic view, and the condition of man presented by the teller is also t r a g i c ' . Moreover, one may well ask whether Chaucer is so profoundly moved by the events of this story as by those of Troilus and Criseyde. His attitude to the heroine and her admirers differs greatly from that displayed towards the Trojan lovers. The swift transition of Arcite from m i r t h to reverie evokes a smile at 2

thise loveres i n h i r queynte geres, Now i n the croppe, now doun i n the breres, Now up, now doun, as boket i n a welle.

(A. 1531-3) And when the occasion presents itself, Chaucer interpolates these lines on the folly of Palamon and Arcite: But this is yet the beste game of alle, T h a t she, for w h o m they han this Iolitee, Can hem ther-for as muche thank as me; She woot namore of al this hote fare, By God, than woot a cokkow or an hare! B u t al mot been assayed, hoot and cold; A man mot been a fool, or yong or old.

(A. 1806-12)

I n the last line there may be an echo of the f o r m of words used for the r i t e of b u r i a l i n Chaucer's day. I n the Westminster Missal i t r a n : 'suscipe a n i m a m serui t u i . N . quam de ergastulo seculi huius uocare dignatus es' (cf. Henry Bradshaw Society, i i i , 1286). Cf. W . Frost, ' A n Appreciation of Chaucer's Knight's Tale' (R.E.S., 1949, xxv, P- 9 9 ) ' 1

2

2

THE

TESEIDA

57

The implications of the second passage, uttered by Theseus, have some affinity w i t h the attitude of his namesake i n A Midsummer Night's Dream. The first quotation, spoken by the author, blends i n tone w i t h the other, and i t would seem that Chaucer, even i f he sympa­ thised w i t h Palamon, nevertheless viewed the doings of the two rivals w i t h detached amusement. Assuredly, when disaster overwhelms Arcite, he gives no sign that his feelings were so deeply engaged as i n the mis­ fortunes of Troilus. Perhaps this explains why, i n touching on the death of Arcite, he introduced the macabre humour already pointed out. I t is also possible that for the same reason he transferred the lofty episode i n the Teseida describing the flight of Arcita's soul to the passing of Troilus and replaced i t by the whimsical jocularity that deliberately sacrifices all solemnity: 1

His s p i r i t As I c a m Therfor I O f soules

c h a u n g e d hous, a n d w e n t e t h e r , never, I can nat t e l l e n w h e r . stinte, I n a m no divinistre; finde I nat i n this registre.

(A. 2809-12) As Chaucer left the theme that he derived from the Teseida, i t was more a tale of action than a psychological study. Attention was focused on the conflict between Palamon and Arcite. To that extent i t was better suited to the Knight who might be expected to know more of duels and tournaments than of the intricate movements of the human heart. H o w far Chaucer had this i n m i n d when making his adaptation, one can only surmise. W h a t is certain is that the Knight's Tale is more compact, more organically coherent, swifter and richer i n sudden dramatic situations, but that i t is inferior i n tracing gradual develop­ ments and i n subtle characterisation. I t would be as foolish to expect that the Teseida could be compressed into the mould of the Knight's Tale without loss as i t would be to suppose that Clarissa Harlowe could be faithfully reproduced as a short story. 2

Thanks to Fletcher's dramatisation of Chaucer's tale i n The Two Noble Kinsmen and Dryden's adaptation i n his Fables, the work of Boccaccio was indirectly perpetuated. Dryden spoke of the Knight's Tale i n his preface, declaring that he preferred this ' Noble Poem' to all Chaucer's other stories. Indeed, he ranked i t as perhaps not much inferior to the Iliad and the Mneid. He goes on: A c t V , Sc. i . I t is no doubt true t h a t Chaucer made some effort to distinguish between Palamon and A r c i t e , b u t opinions have differed sharply about the interpretation of t h e i r characters. Cf. H . N . F a i r c h i l d , ' A c t i v e A r c i t e , Contemplative P a l a m o n ' , J.E.G.P., 1927, xxvi, pp. 285—93, f A . H . M a r c k w a r d t , Characterisation in Chaucer's 'Knight's Tale', University of M i c h i g a n Press, 1947. K . A . Pratt, w h i l e recognising some differentiation, does not consider t h a t i t goes very far. Cf. P.M.L.A., 1947, I x i i , pp. 615-16. 1 2

a n |

58

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

I had t h o u g h t for t h e H o n o u r of our N a t i o n , and m o r e p a r t i c u l a r l y for his, w h o s e L a u r e l , t h o ' u n w o r t h y , I h a v e w o r n a f t e r h i m , t h a t t h i s S t o r y was o f English G r o w t h , a n d Chaucer's o w n ; B u t I was u n d e c e i v ' d b y Boccace; f o r casually l o o k i n g o n t h e E n d o f his s e v e n t h Giornata, I f o u n d Dioneo (under w h i c h n a m e h e shadows h i m s e l f ) a n d Fiametta ( w h o represents his M i s t r e s s , t h e n a t u r a l D a u g h t e r o f Robert K i n g o f Naples) o f w h o m these W o r d s are s p o k e n . Dioneo e Fiametta gran pezza cantarono insieme al'Arcita, e di Palamone: b y w h i c h i t appears t h a t t h i s S t o r y was w r i t t e n before t h e t i m e o f Boccace; b u t t h e N a m e o f its A u t h o r b e i n g w h o l l y lost, Chaucer is n o w b e c o m e an O r i g i n a l . 1

2

3

Dryden's error was corrected by John Farmer i n An Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare i n 1767, and from that time on Boccaccio was recognised as the composer of the Teseida. His authorship was mentioned by Thomas Russell i n a footnote to his sonnet ' T o Boccaccio', i n 1789. How ever, he gave no sign of having read the poem, and Leigh H u n t , w r i t i n g i n his essay ' M a y Day' i n 1820, lamented that 4

r

w e n e v e r h a d t h e happiness o f m e e t i n g w i t h t h a t v e r y r a r e w o r k . T h e I t a l i a n s h a v e so n e g l e c t e d i t , t h a t t h e y h a v e n o t o n l y n e v e r g i v e n i t a r i f a c i m e n t o o r r e - m o d e l l i n g , as i n t h e i n s t a n c e o f Boiardo's p o e m , b u t are a l m o s t as m u c h u n a c q u a i n t e d w i t h i t , w e b e l i e v e , as f o r e i g n c o u n t r i e s .

Nevertheless, through the medium of Chaucer, he perceived something of Boccaccio's power and maintained that the tree must have been a 'fine old enormity' which could supply such inspiration. Hunt's complaint about the neglect of the Teseida was not unfounded, though Antonio Montucci's Italian Extracts (1806) did contain a pas­ sage describing the defeat of the Amazons by Theseus. However, Antonio Panizzi did something to remove Hunt's criticism, for i n 1830 he dealt at length w i t h the Teseida and the Knight's Tale, incidentally defending Boccaccio against T y r w h i t t and W a r t o n . His essay was studied by J. C. Hobhouse who i n this way became familiar w i t h the ' p l o t ' of the Italian original. 5

6

7

8

9

T h a t is, of the Decameron. T h e first edition has a m i s p r i n t w h i c h is here corrected. Cf. The Works of John Dryden, ed. Scott-Saintsbury, E d i n b u r g h , 1885, x i , 239. Cf. Sonnets and Miscellaneous Poems, Oxford, p. 6. M y attention was drawn to this sonnet by J. R a i t h , op. c i t . , p. 141. Vide post, p. 277. The Indicator, no. xxix. Vide post, pp. 352—3. I n 1801 F r i e d r i c h von Schlegel also laments that he has been unable to find a copy of the complete w o r k and has had to rely on the prose excerpt of Granucci (cf. ' N a c h r i c h t von den poetischen W e r k e n des Johannes Boccaccio', Vermischte kritische Schriften, Bonn, 1877, pp. 6 and 11). Cf. M a r s h a l l , p. 3 1 1 . I n the second edition of M o n t u c c i (1818) i t occurs on pp. 223—4. M o n t u c c i recognises t h a t i t is not w e l l known and praises i t h i g h l y . Orlando Innamorato di Bojardo: Orlando Furioso di Ariosto: With an essay on the romantic narrative poetry of the Italians, i , pp. 159—go. Italy, London, 1859, p. 242. 1 2 3

4

5 6

7

8

9

THE

59

FILOSTRATO

5. T h e Filostrato Whereas Chaucer omitted to state who was the creator of the Teseida, he ascribed the Filostrato to ' L o l l i u s ' . I n both cases i t is likely that the manuscript at his disposal failed to mention Boccaccio. There is a similar erroneous attribution of the poem, this time to Petrarch, i n the translation made by Louis de Beauvau between 1442 and 1445. As he was i n the service of Rene, king of Sicily, the journey of this seneschal of Anjou to Italy imparted to h i m the same stimulus as to Chaucer, and the parallel becomes closer when we recall that he was sent by his master as an envoy to Pope Pius I I , just as Chaucer was entrusted w i t h missions to the cities of Genoa and M i l a n . Once again i t was a piece of good fortune that this admirable early work of Boccaccio fell into the hands of the great English poet. Unlike Louis de Beauvau, who translated w i t h tears i n his eyes, because he was smitten w i t h the same grief as the love-sick Troilus, Chaucer was able to approach the Filostrato w i t h a certain detachment. This contrasts notably w i t h the strong autobiographical element i n Boccaccio's poem, the very basis of which is his separation from Fiammetta. I n the 'Proemio' he tells the lady to w h o m i t is dedicated that whenever she hears Troilo weep and lament the departure of Griseida she w i l l recognise his own voice, tears, sighs and anguish, and whenever she reads of the beauty and good qualities of Griseida, she is to understand that i t is really herself who is meant. He therefore chooses her as his Muse, since i t is the grief caused by her leaving h i m that has led h i m to relate the woeful tale of Troilo, for i n so doing he is revealing himself through the pains of others.* About half-way through the poem Boccaccio appeals once more to this lady to have pity on h i m and by her return give back to h i m the ease of which she has bereft h i m . Finally, he bids his book go to this gentle lady and, pointing to its author's utter misery, induce her to come and solace h i m who is happy only i n her presence. This insistence is notable and accounts for Boccaccio's portrayal of dawning love, the joy of its con­ summation, the bitterness of parting and the hope of reunion. He sought above all to convey these moods, and there is a passionate lyrical strain i n his narrative. I n these circumstances he was less 1

2

3

5

6

Hauvette [1909], pp. 19-26. I b i d . , p. 23. T h e Filostrato and Troilus are compared i n detail by R. Fischer, Zu den Kunstformen des mittelalterlichen Epos, W i e n e r Beitrage, i x , 1899, pp. 217—30. For a valuable interpretation o f Troilus see W . P. Ker, English Literature: Medieval, London, 1912, Ch. i x . * O.V. i , st. 2—5. T h e Filostrato occupies v o l . x i i i of the Opere volgari. Subsequent quotation references are by book, stanza, and line. O.V. i v , st. 2 3 - 5 . O.V. ix, st. 5-7. 1

2

3

5

6

60

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

concerned to depict human character. Hence the minor figures are sketched hut lightly, and for the most part his eyes are concentrated on the lovers. Even i n their relations, however, not everything is explained, and i n particular the reasons for the betrayal of Troilo by Griseida are left somewhat obscure. On the other hand, Chaucer addresses ' moral Gower' and ' philo­ sophical Strode', and at the beginning invokes Tisiphone, one of the Furies, whom he regards as a fitting Muse for a story of tragic love. Free from any preoccupation w i t h his own sentiments, he is able to watch the actions of all the characters and analyse them w i t h a steady, penetrating gaze. Significant i n this respect is the light thrown on Hector by Chaucer's addition of his reply to the proposal to exchange Griseida for Antenor: 1

'Sires,

she nys n o p r i s o n e r ' , he seyde; ' I n o t o n yow w h o t h a t t h i s c h a r g e l e y d e , B u t , o n my p a r t , y e m a y eftsone h e m t e l l e , W e usen here no w o m m e n for to selle'.

(iv, 179-82) However, the share of Hector i n the action was too small for Chaucer to do more than emphasise his dignity and manliness, but i n Diomede he had more scope. Boccaccio had conceived of this figure as a cunning seducer who contents himself at his first meeting w i t h noting the distress of Troilo and Griseida and only later w i t h a cautious, gradual approach ventures to become more personal, and finally leads up to a declaration of love. Yet i t is strange that one so experienced should at the end of this speech blush and w i t h trembling voice lower his eye­ lids and avert his gaze. Such genuine and involuntary embarrassment is hardly compatible w i t h the deliberate calculation of a w i l y man of the world. And surely he is not at all astute when he bids Griseida, longing for Troilo and her native town, to abandon the false love of the Trojans, and disparages her fellow-citizens as crude barbarians, little to be esteemed i n comparison w i t h the Greeks who are superior to all other nations. I t would seem as i f Boccaccio i n his humanist zeal for Hellenic civilisation had lost sight of the fact that such boasts as these would be calculated to repel Griseida by their nationalistic arrogance. Chaucer's Diomedes is more consistent i n every way. He has all the ease i n love-making of one t h a t koude m o r e t h a n t h e Crede I n s w i c h a craft,

(v, 89-90)

A l l quotations are taken f r o m The Book of Troilus and Criseyde, ed. R. K . Root, Princeton, 1926. 1

THE

61

FILOSTRATO

a n d e m b a r k s o n t h e w o o i n g of Criseyde at t h e i r v e r y first e n c o u n t e r , w i t h a l l t h e a u d a c i t y a n d self-assurance o f a m a n versed i n dealing: w i t h w o m e n . B u t he is as s h r e w d as he is d a r i n g and avoids a n y tactless c r i t i c i s m of t h e T r o j a n s . A f t e r v o w i n g o n his h o n o u r as a k n i g h t t h a t he is a n x i o u s t o please Criseyde, h e promises t h a t she w i l l r e a d i l y f i n d a m o n g t h e Greeks one as l o y a l a n d as k i n d as a n y T r o j a n . T h e r e u p o n , t a k i n g a step f o r w a r d , he begs h e r t o t r e a t h i m as a b r o t h e r a n d t h e n , after e m p h a s i s i n g t h e c o m m o n b o n d b e t w e e n Greeks a n d T r o j a n s , i n t h a t a l l serve t h e g o d o f love, declares h i m s e l f Youre owene aboven every creature.

( , 154) v

T h i s is c o u p l e d w i t h asseverations t h a t he has n e v e r t a l k e d t h u s t o a n y w o m a n before a n d c a n n o t f r a m e his w o r d s a r i g h t , f o r w a n t o f i n s t r u c t i o n i n such m a t t e r s : I lovede nevere w o m m a n here biforn As paramours. 1

(v, 157-8) B u t h e gives a pledge t o devote h i m s e l f t o h e r alone a n d , a n t i c i p a t i n g t h a t she m a y be t a k e n aback b y t h i s u n e x p e c t e d d e c l a r a t i o n , h e claims that

such

instances

of i n s t a n t a n e o u s

l o v e are

not

unknown

and

implores T h a t ye me for youre servant wolde calle, So lowely ne so trewely yow serve N i l non of hem, as I shal, t i l I sterve.

0> 173-5) I n spite o f t h i s v e n e e r o f c o u r t l y l o v e , U i o m e d e s is m e r e l y p u r s u i n g his o w n u n s c r u p u l o u s designs. T h e i n t r i g u e is f o r h i m a m e r e p a s t i m e , a n d e v e n i f he is n o t a l t o g e t h e r successful, he t h i n k s t h a t i t w i l l at least s h o r t e n t h e j o u r n e y . H o w e v e r , his speech t o Criseyde is s u c h a 2

masterpiece

o f p l a u s i b i l i t y , t h a t she

is impressed

by

'this

sodeyn

D i o m e d e ' a n d , i n t h e e n d , o v e r c o m e b y his a r t f u l persuasion. Cf. Benoit de Ste. M o r e , Le roman de Troie, ed. L . Constans, Paris, 1904—12. ( A l l quotations are made f r o m this edition.) 1

Onques d'amer ne m ' e n t r e m i s , N ' a m i e n ' o i ne f u amis (11. i 5 5 7 - 8 ) 2

and M a i n t e pucele avrai veiie E t mainte dame coneiie: One mais a r i e n ne fis preiere De m e i amer en t e l maniere. Vos en estes la premeraine, Si sereiz vos la dereraine. (11. 13561-6) 2

v, 9 4 - 6

62

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

Still more remarkable is the development that Pandaro undergoes at Chaucer's hands. As Boccaccio portrays h i m , he is a disillusioned young man who has loved without finding happiness and esteems women lightly. Devoted to the interests of Troilo, he would sacrifice his own sister to h i m , and, though he does not relish the function of a go-between, he arranges the meeting of his friend w i t h Griseida. As a man of the world he foresees the result of her treachery long before Troilo, but refrains from disabusing h i m . W h e n i t can no longer be concealed, he suggests that the battlefield may solve all these troubles and shares its dangers w i t h Troilo to the last. Chaucer's Pandarus has some affinities w i t h his Boccaccian prototype i n that he too is presented as a disappointed lover. He laments that no one has cast a friendly look upon h i m , he weeps and wails, and at intervals he takes to his bed for grief. But such passages are inconsistent w i t h his outlook elsewhere. How can one take his sentimental melancholy seriously when he jests repeatedly about his love to Criseyde? Thus when she asks to be told How ferforth be ye put i n loves daunce, ( i i , 1106)

the reply comes: ' B y god', quod he, ' I hoppe alwey b y h y n d e . ' (ii, 1107)

1

This humour of Pandarus is a trait for which there was but the slightest of hints i n his counterpart. His geniality and high spirits are infectious; his jovial laughter echoes through the early part of the poem. To Criseyde, especially, he succeeds i n imparting some of his cheerfulness; she laughs w i t h still greater gusto. Sometimes his atti­ tude to her is one of jocular familiarity, as when he visits her on the morning after her first encounter w i t h Troilus at his house. But more characteristic is a vein of sly humour. Thus he joins the invitation to his home 'to speke of love aright' w i t h the seemingly innocent remark, For ther have ye a leiser for to telle. (hi,

200)

Equally characteristic is his comment after the fainting Troilus has been placed i n Criseyde's bed and has recovered from his momentary weakness. As Pandarus retires w i t h his candle to the fireside, he says: for aught I kan espien, I nor this candel serven here of nought; L i g h t is nat good for sike folkes yen.

(hi, 1135-7) 1

Cf. also i i , 1165—9.

T H E FILOSTRATO

63

And a moment or two later, perceiving Criseyde i n her lover's embrace, he murmurs, as he prepares to withdraw to his own room, i f y e be w i s e , S w o u n e t h n a t n o w , lest m o r e f o l k arise.

( i i i , 1189-90)

Yet whether his manner be boisterous or subdued, under the humor­ ous exterior Pandarus hides a steely resolve to break down Criseyde's resistance. I n doing so, since Chaucer has transformed h i m from Criseyde's cousin into her uncle, he combines authority w i t h tender­ ness. There is no reason to doubt his assurance of his affection and his reluctance to grieve her, and his distress at the sight of her tear-stained face on hearing that she is to be exchanged for Antenor is patently sincere. Nevertheless, his devotion to Troilus is still greater. He sympathises w i t h h i m on seeing how he suffers from his undeclared and unreciprocated love, and although he may feel a pang of com­ punction at the thought of betraying his niece, he soons thrusts aside his hesitation, because he believes that every woman is at heart a rake and all she needs is a favourable opportunity: 1

vice N o w o m m a n d r a t , i f she be w e l avised.

( i i i , 327-8)

I n keeping w i t h this maxim, he sees no wrong i n offering not only his own sister, as his prototype had done, but also Eleyne, the wife of Troilus' brother Paris, as a means of slaking his friend's passion. I t is typical of his mentality that he should imagine that Troilus is at first u n w i l l i n g to disclose w h o m he loves, lest Pandarus should steal the lady from h i m . This hedonist plunges into his intrigue w i t h all the zest of the hunter i n pursuit of his quarry: 2

A ha! . . . here b y g y n n e t h game.

( i , 868)

L o , h o l d t h e at t h e t r i s t e cloos, a n d I Shal w e l t h e deer u n t o t h i bowe d r y v e .

( i i , 1534-5) He bustles to and fro w i t h all the eagerness of a hound on the trail. He s h o f ay on; he t o a n d f r o was sent; He l e t t r e s b a r . . .

( i i i , 487-8) This joyful zeal distinguishes h i m from Pandaro, though they have i n common other traits such as an emotional nature that finds an outlet T h i s holds good, even i f we do not regard h i m as an elderly man, a view unwar­ ranted by the text. Cf. J. S. P. T a t l o c k , ' T h e People i n Chaucer's Troilus', P.M.L.A., 1941, l v i , p. 95. Cf. i , 6 7 6 - 8 ; 8 6 0 - 1 . 1

2

64

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

i n tears. Yet here again a distinction must be drawn. I n the scenes common to Chaucer and Boccaccio Pandarus evinces more restraint and dignity. Because he is less lachrymose, he is i n a better position to rebuke Troilus for his folly i n t h i n k i n g that by shedding tears he can ever hope to w i n a woman. So too he summons Criseyde to action, instead of giving way to idle tears: 1

W h a t helpeth i t to wepen f u l a strete, Or though ye bothe i n salte teeris dreynte? ( > 9 9-3°) iv

2

Nevertheless, when i t suits his purpose, he can use tears w i t h consider­ able effect. Especially is this so when he wants to excite pity i n Criseyde. I n presenting Troilus to her he cannot refrain from glancing at her hardness of heart. T h e r w i t h i t semed as he wepte almoost. ( h i , 64)

Previously, when pleading w i t h her not to make Troilus die of grief, he throws himself into his task w i t h such earnestness that the tears hurst from his eyes, and later i n order to reinforce his friend's appeal Pandare wep as he to water wolde. (hi, 115)

On such occasions as these Pandarus plays his part w i t h an air of conviction. He is indeed an excellent actor. W i t h what a sorrowful mien does he hang his head after reminding Criseyde of the melan­ choly t r u t h that her beauty must soon decay, and how grave is his manner as he keeps up the pretence of Troilus' illness and bids the attendants stand back quietly while Criseyde enters the patient's room! Another scene i n which his natural bent for acting finds expres­ sion is the one where Criseyde first kisses Troilus. Her uncle's delight is doubtless genuine enough, but his way of showing i t is somewhat theatrical: F i l Pandarus on knees, and up his eyen To hevene threw, and held his hondes hye.

( h i , 183-4)

1 Cf.

Pandare m y g l i t e nat restreyne T h e teeris f r o m his eyen for to reyne. (iv, 872-3)

and Pandaro, ch'avea Con T r o i l o pianto i l giorno lungamente, L e l a g r i m e dolenti non potea Tener, m a cominci6 similemente, A pianger con costei dogliosamente. (O.V. iv, st. 101, 11. 1-6)

T H E FILOSTRATO

65

This histrionic capacity is a great asset i n the execution of his design. Still more valuable is the thoroughness w i t h which this w i l y intriguer lays his plans. W i t h the meticulous deliberation of a general con­ templating a campaign, he works out his scheme i n its smallest details. Unlike his counterpart i n the Filostrato, he never sets things i n motion u n t i l he has prepared the ground carefully. A t the very outset, after promising to help Troilus, he went his wey, thenkyng on this matere, And how he best myghte hire biseche of grace, A n d fynde a t y m e therto, and a place. For everi w i g h t that hath an hous to founde Ne renneth naught the werk for to bygynne W i t h rakel hond; but he w o l bide a stounde, And sende his hertes line out fro w i t h i n n e Aldirfirst his purpos for to Wynne.

(i, 1062-9)

I n the same way he gives Troilus most precise instructions about his demeanour as he rides past Criseyde's house and about the letter that he is to send her, cunningly adding that he is to blot i t a little w i t h his tears. W i t h equal minuteness he unfolds to Troilus his stratagem for bringing the lovers together at the house of Deiphobus, and one must admire the ingenuity of his device. Troilus feigns sickness and appar­ ently i n a high fever retires to his chamber amid the consternation of Deiphobus and his retinue. After dinner next day Pandarus consents to allow Troilus to see visitors: But wel ye woot, the chaumbre is but lite, And fewe folk may l i g h t l y make i t w a r m .

(ii, 1646-7)

Plausibly he suggests that only Deiphobus and Eleyne should enter at first and w i t h an air of mystery hints that Troilus has some matter of national importance to communicate. Then, having permitted t h e m to speak to the patient and arranged for them to be occupied elsewhere, he summons Criseyde and her attendants, all of whom believe that Deiphobus and Eleyne are still w i t h Troilus and that she w i l l briefly ask for his support against Poliphete i n their presence. The proprieties being thus observed, the attendants are ordered to wait outside for fear of disturbing the feverish Troilus, and Criseyde enters. Thanks to such skilful management, Pandarus carries the interview to a successful issue. No sooner is i t over than he is already looking ahead to the next stage of his enterprise—the meeting at his own house. On this, the crucial moment, he bestows all his pains: F

66

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

For he, w i t h gret deliberacioun, Hadde every t h y n g that herto m y g h t e availle Forncast, and p u t i n execucioun, A n d n e i t h e r l e f t f o r cost n e f o r t r a v a i l l e .

( h i , 519-22)

However, such precision alone would not account for Pandarus' t r i u m p h i n swaying Criseyde to yield. One has the impression of his wider experience and his intellectual superiority to all the others i n the poem. More genial than Iago he feels a like joy i n pulling the threads of the intrigue and hefools Deiphobus w i t h the same scornful delight as the ensign displays towards Othello. Pandarus is no senti­ mentalist and has no sympathy for a languishing lover. A practical man of the world, he spurs Troilus on to action and rouses h i m t i m e and again from his dejected lethargy. No dreamer himself, he does not understand how others can trust i n the portents of 'swich ordure'. He is essentially a realist, and i t is characteristic that when he keeps his longing friend company as they pace the walls of Troy, he does not forget to tell h i m when i t is time to dine! Guided by hard commonsense, this sceptical roue cannot refrain from a gibe at the solemn man­ ner of Troilus as he is about to enter the room of Criseyde: 1

t h o w w r e c c h e d mouses h e r t e ! A r t o w agast so t h a t she w o l t h e bite?

(hi, 73 -7) 6

Such diffidence as that of Troilus is incomprehensible to one who moves so confidently to his goal and allows nothing to prevent h i m from attaining i t . He lies without hesitation and invents the stories of Poliphete and of Horaste w i t h all the glibness and speciousness of frequent practice. Most unscrupulous of all is his conduct to Criseyde. W h e n i n v i t i n g her to his house, he vows that Troilus w i l l not be there, swears by all the gods that his statement is true and wishes that he may suffer all the torments of hell i f i t proves false. Finally, when he has escorted Troilus to her bedchamber, he declares that Troilus, impelled by jealousy, has contrived to find a secret way into the house. More than anything else, however, i t is Pandarus' understanding of human nature that makes h i m so dangerous. Knowing as he does the knightly courage of Troilus, he stirs h i m from his lethargy by playing on this w i t h the suggestion that fear of the Greeks has turned his thoughts to religion. So too he never loses sight of Criseyde's timidity and tender-heartedness and is careful not to rouse her fears. I t is the same practicality as t h a t of Speed i n relation to the love-sick Valentine (The Two Gentlemen of Verona, ed. A . Q u i l l e r - C o u c h and J. Dover W i l s o n , Cambridge, 1921, I I , i , 156-60). 1

THE

67

FILOSTRATO

W h e n Troilus rides past her house, Pandarus instructs h i m to fix his eyes on himself and not to linger. I n making any request to his niece he always reassures her. Thus at the beginning he merely asks her to be more amiable to Troilus; she need not bind herself by any promise. At a later stage he asserts that Troilus wants nothing but to serve her and maintain her honour. Realising her dislike of gossip, Pandarus seeks to prove that she has nothing to apprehend on that score. W h e n he enters her room by night, he warns her not to cry out and then calms her by saying that none can hear and, moreover, he w i l l go as soon as he has told his tale. Immediately afterwards he reveals the presence of Troilus i n the house, but adds i n the same breath that his coming is unknown to any one else. There can be no h a r m i n her seeing him, and Pandarus w i l l be there all night. Whenever she shows signs of alarm, he soothes her w i t h honeyed words, linked w i t h a touching reminder of their kinship. I n his attempts to persuade Criseyde, Pandarus never fails to work upon her tender feelings. His prototype had touched on Griseida's sensitiveness about the swift fading of beauty, and this argument like­ wise figures i n the discussions w i t h Criseyde. But i t is a theme of trivial importance compared w i t h the appeal to her gentle heart. From the outset Pandarus insists that Troilus's life is i n danger and that she w i l l have to shoulder the responsibility for his death. He cannot bear to repeat to her the words of the woeful Troilus; so painful is the topic that, were he to do so, he would swoon. A t times he trades upon her affection for himself and asserts that unless she relents, he too w i l l die. As a climax to numerous previous entreaties, w i t h what pathos he depicts the sorry case of his friend: T h i s is so g e n t i l a n d so t e n d r e o f h e r t e , T h a t w i t h his d e t h h e w o l his sorwe w r e k e ; F o r t r u s t e t h w e l , h o w sore t h a t h y m s m e r t e , H e w o l t o y o w n o jalous w o r d e s speke. A n d f o r t h i , nece, o r t h a t his h e r t e b r e k e , So speke y o u r e self t o h y m o f t h i s m a t e r e .

( i i i , 904-9) Conspicuous also is the use that Pandarus makes of surprise to influence Criseyde. Thus when he has been protesting how innocuous his proposals are, he suddenly exclaims: T h e r w e r e n e v e r e t w o so w e l y m e t , W h a n y e b e n his al h o o l , as h e is y o u r e ; T h e r m y g h t y g o d y i t g r a u n t e us see t h a t h o u r e .

( i i , 586-8)

Naturally, Criseyde retorts that she has spoken nothing of the kind. Pandarus agrees and lets the matter rest, but he is well pleased to have

68

THE

MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

planted the idea i n her m i n d . Criseyde is even more completely taken aback when he is escorting her to the room of Troilus i n Deiphobus' house and she is under the impression that she is to request his help against Poliphete. On the very threshold, however, without any pre­ face Pandarus whispers: 1

Nece, I conjure, and heighly yow defende, On his half, that soule us alle sende, A n d i n the vertue of corounes tweyne, Sle nat this man, that hath for yow this peyne.

(h, 1733-6) Even more startling is the dramatic fashion i n which he produces Troilus, w h o m he has declared to be i n another room of the house, at her bedside and belies the smooth assurances given only a few seconds earlier. Nothing could better demonstrate the untrustworthiness of Pan­ darus or the tactics by which he combines the gradual approach w i t h sudden leaps forward to the goal. He is i n t r u t h a master of intrigue, as quick-witted as he is careful i n planning and as prompt to take advantage of an unforeseen opening as to develop well-laid schemes. Thus the unexpected appearance of Troilus riding i n the street causes Criseyde involuntarily to start back from the window at which she and Pandarus are sitting. Pandarus begs her not to go i n , lest Troilus should t h i n k she wishes to avoid h i m . Her reply, 'Nay, nay', and her blushes betray her inclinations, and Pandarus is not slow to make the most of this opportunity. Knowing that she is not indifferent to Troilus, he later tries to w i n her over to his proposal by saying that she cannot care for Troilus or she would not put his life i n jeopardy as she is doing, which wrings from her the blunt confession: Had I h y m nevere lief! By god, I weene Ye hadde nevere t h y n g so lief.

(iii, 869-70)

Pandarus at once seizes on the admission to reinforce his pleas on behalf of Troilus. His readiness of m i n d and his practicality are again illustrated when he has so unexpectedly brought Troilus to Criseyde. At this sudden appearance she is so utterly embarrassed that she is speechless. I t is an awkward position, and the tactful Pandarus tries to hide her confusion by a playful remark: nece, se how this lord kan knele!

( i i i , 962)

He gains a little more time for her to recover by h u r r y i n g off for a cushion on which Troilus, who is clad only i n a shirt and furred cloak, 1

589-97-

T H E FILOSTRATO

09

may kneel. However, he is nowhere more entirely master of an emer­ gency than when his friend, without warning, collapses i n a dead faint at the bedside of Criseyde. For the moment all his elaborate plans seem to have come to naught. I n vain his disposal of her attendants i n the room outside that of their lady, i n vain his choice of a night of r a i n and storm, i n vain his precautions to secure privacy. But he rises to the occasion and, thrusting the unconscious Troilus into Criseyde's bed, works at the same time upon her dawning admiration and her sense of pity. The situation is retrieved, and Pandarus at long last has triumphed. The pithy, colloquial language of Pandarus makes h i m a more familiar figure than i n the original. On the other hand, Chaucer's presentation of Troilus tends to idealise h i m . As has been pointed out by a number of scholars, the poet was under the influence of the courtly love code, and his conception of his hero's relation to Criseyde was coloured by its outlook. This is true up to a point, though the characters are never mere types conforming to a rigid scheme. The effect is nowhere more clearly visible than i n the portrayal of Troilus himself. There was, of course, some trace of the courtly outlook i n the Filostrato. Griseida is a haughty lady and Troilo her subject and servant; the necessity for keeping their love secret is asserted, because they are surrounded by eager slanderers; and i n accordance w i t h tradition, the coming of dawn is hateful, Troilo cursing its approach. Finally, there is a suggestion of the transforming power of love: 1

T u f a i cortese o g n u n o e c o s t u m a t o C h i d e l t u o fuoco a l q u a n t o e i n f i a m m a t o .

{O.V. i i i ,

st. 77, 11. 7-8)

I n particular, its effects are seen i n the redoubling of Troilo's martial energy which makes h i m the terror of the Greeks: e questo s p i r t o t a n t o a l t i e r o P i u che l ' u s a t o g l i p r e s t a v a a m o r e , D i c u i e g l i era f e d e l s e r v i d o r e .

{O.V. i i i ,

st.

90,

11.

6-8)

I n other respects, however, Boccaccio differs considerably from the troubadours. His Troilo is a lover as well as a servant, and the terms 'amadore' and 'servidore' are interchangeable. Love being less idealistic, i t may wane i n time as the result of absence from ' la cosa Cf. W . G . Dodd, Courtly Love in Chaucer and Gower, Boston, 1913, pp. i2g—208; R. K. Root, The Poetry of Chaucer, Boston, 1922, pp. 102—21; T . A . K i r b y , Chaucer's 'Troilus': A Study in Courtly Love, Louisiana State University, 1940. I n England C. S. Lewis has discussed the question at l e n g t h i n ' W h a t Chaucer really d i d to II Filostrato', Essays and Studies, x v i i , pp. 56—75 and i n The Allegory of Love, Oxford, 1956 and 1938. I n his article ' T h e People i n Chaucer's Troilus' (vide ante, p. 63) J. S. P. T a t l o c k challenges the view t h a t Chaucer was so m u c h affected by courtly love. 1

70

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

amata'. More significant still, though nominally the faithful servant of Griseida, Troilo criticises and abuses her. He may ponder for a moment whether he is to blame for her desertion, but concludes that it is she who is false and disloyal. She is ' l a nostra fraudolente donna', and he reproaches her bitterly for her broken pledges. Theoretically he recognises that the servant should refrain from complaint of his lady's actions and momentarily he may acquiesce w i t h an air of h u m i l i t y , but he leaves no doubt that he thinks her i n the wrong. Devoured by suspicion and his jealousy at her failure to return, Troilo is far from assuming that she is on a plane above all ordinary mortals. On the contrary, he places himself i n the seat of the judge but mag­ nanimously promises, i f she w i l l return, to forgive her without exacting any penalty. Again he threatens to k i l l himself, observing that though he w i l l suffer, hers w i l l be the shame for having consigned one so innocent to an obscure death. As long as he hopes that Griseida w i l l come back to Troy, his reproaches are courteous; but when he is sure that she w i l l not, he pours forth a torrent of denunciation and vows to k i l l Diomedes, not merely as an act of vengeance, but as the best means of grieving one so full of deceit and lies. Perceiving the warring elements i n Troilo, Chaucer set himself to depict a hero conforming more whole-heartedly to the code of courtly love. I n the first place he elaborates various features that were merely outlined i n his source. The brief references to the antagonism of the dawn towards the rapturous lovers are developed into an alba. Similarly, the new martial vigour that Troilus displays under the stimulus of love is emphasised: 1

A n d t h i s encres o f h a r d y n e s s e a n d m y g h t C o m h y m o f l o v e , his ladies t h a n k t o W y n n e , T h a t a l t e r e d his s p i r i t so w i t h i n n e .

( i i i , 1776-8)

The mere promise of help from Pandarus i n his wooing of Criseyde is enough to make Troilus start from his bed, leap on to his steed and work havoc among the Greeks. I n other respects he undergoes a change that amounts to a transformation. Instead of scoffing at love, haughty and aloof i n his bearing, he wins universal popularity for his affability, no less than for his valour. After the achievement of his desires Troilus' happiness finds expression i n his love of dress and festivities and i n his extensive generosity, so that s w i c h a vois o f h y m w as a n d a stevene T h o r u g h o u t t h e w o r l d , o f h o n o u r a n d largesse, T h a t i t u p r o n g u n t o the yate of hevene. r

( i i i , 1723-5) 1

i i i , 1450-65.

T H E FILOSTRATO

71

I t is as though the youthful gaiety and delight i n colour that character­ ise Chaucer's Squire were blended w i t h the courtesy and martial prowess of the Knight. As i n Boccaccio the lovers have to reckon w i t h the serpent tongues of the envious, and one passage is entirely typical of the troubadour convention when Criseyde, contemplating flight from the Greek camp by night, exclaims: No fors of wikked tonges janglerie; For evere on love han wrecches had envye. (y, 755-6) W h e n they meet i n public, the lovers are always on their guard lest they should reveal their secret to those standing by, and Troilus, despite his passion, never gives a h i n t of his feelings. Even when he is amazed by the decision to exchange Criseyde for Antenor, he utters not a word. His chief concern is for her honour; his own interests must be subordinate: syn that I am hire knyght, I moste hire honour levere han than me In every cas, as lovere ought of right. (iv, 569-71) Along w i t h this zealous care for her reputation there goes an ardent devotion. On the whole Troilus thinks of himself as a servant rather than a lover. I t is true that he longs for the physical consummation of his love, but apart from the encounter at Pandarus' house, little is said of fleshly delights. W e shall search i n vain for any such cry as that of his prototype: Or foss'io teco una notte di verno, Cento cinquanta poi stessi in inferno.

{O.V. ii, st.

8 8 , 11.

7-8)

More typical is Troilus' declaration to Criseyde god hath wrought me for I shal yow serve, ( i i i , 1290) which is an exact parallel to the words of Gaucelm Faidit about his relationship to his lady: Dieus mi fes per far son mandamen.

1

Troilus again and again reveals his wish to serve Criseyde as her man, her knight, who like the vassal owes obedience to his superior i n all h u m i l i t y and faithfulness. His attitude is defined at length when he begs to be allowed to place himself under her orders: 1

Cf. F. Diez, Die Poesie der Troubadours, Leipzig-, 1883, p. 128, n . 6.

72

THE

MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

I n t r o u t h e a l w e y t o d o n y o w m y servise, As t o m y l a d y r i g h t a n d c h i e f resort, W i t h al m y w i t a n d al m y d i l i g e n c e ; A n d I t o h a n , r i g h t as y o w l i s t , c o m f o r t , U n d e r y o u r e y e r d e , egal t o m y n offence, As d e t h , i f t h a t I b r e k e y o u r e d e f e n c e ; A n d t h a t y e d e i g n e m e so m u c h e h o n o u r e , M e to c o m a n d e n a u g h t i n a n y h o u r e ; A n d I to ben youre, verray, h u m b l e , trewe, Secret, a n d i n m y peynes p a c i e n t ; A n d evere m o desiren fresshly n e w e T o serve, a n d b e n ay y l i k e d i l i g e n t ; A n d w i t h good h e r t e , al h o l l y y o u r e t a l e n t R e c e y v e n w e l , h o w sore t h a t m e s m e r t e .

( i i i , 133-46) Above all i t is this quality of patience that helps to bring Troilus nearer than Boccaccio's hero to the ideals of courtly love, even when he is subjected to the greatest strain. Jealousy is alien to h i m , and though on the occasion of the meeting at Pandarus' house he has to corrobor­ ate his friend's tale to Criseyde, he is i l l at ease. His explanation is therefore lame and faltering, and as soon as possible he apologises for his supposed jealousy and pleads to be forgiven. More characteristic of h i m is his assumption that Criseyde's failure to r e t u r n to Troy is due to some fault i n himself. I n his letters he beseeches her to come and keep her pledge, but does not upbraid her. Even after receiving her final reply, he is reluctant to believe any i l l of the woman w h o m he has served so loyally. A t last, however, the bitter t r u t h becomes obvious. Yet there is a singular gentleness i n his recognition of the painful facts. Whereas his prototype had perceived that a new love was the cause of Griseida's lies, Troilus understands that she Nas n a t so k y n d e as t h a t h i r e o u g h t e be,

( , 1643) and the treachery denounced by Troilo is toned down to ' hire hertes variaunce' (v, 1670). Troilus may wonder for a moment w h y God does not punish Criseyde, but the only reproach that he permits himself to address to her is the dignified and restrained remark, ' I have i t nat deserved' (v, 1722). W h a t does h u r t h i m to the quick is her lack of loyalty; which is but natural, since loyalty is the very core of his being. So conspicuous is i t that Pandarus, i n enumerating his good qualities, mentions his loyalty first, and Criseyde confesses that this trait helped to w i n her heart. For one so steadfast there can be no question of forgetting. Like Troilo, he is haunted by the image of his lady, but whereas his selfv

T H E FILOSTRATO

73

centred counterpart complains because he cannot drive i t from his mind, Troilus loves her as before. Assured that he has not long to live, he gives orders for his cremation and the sending of his ashes to Criseyde. I t certainly never occurs to h i m as i t does to Troilo, that he might grow accustomed to separation from her. Even before the actual parting he sees i n Death the only solution, and he adjures those lovers who may pass his tomb to remember h i m , 1

For I loved ek, though ich unworthi were. (iv, 3 9) 2

This diffidence is yet another trait that differentiates h i m from Troilo. Sometimes i t assumes the form of an excessive modesty spring­ i n g from a consciousness of the uncouthness of the Trojans compared w i t h the polished Greeks, but more often i t arises from a sense of his personal inferiority to the lady he worships. So great is the distance between t h e m i n his esteem that he is alarmed at the mere prospect of speaking to her of love. His confusion is akin to that portrayed by Bernard de Ventadour who, on seeing his lady, betrays his emotion in eyes, hue and visage and trembles w i t h fear like the leaf i n the w i n d . Troilus lies repeating what he intends to say but on her approach is overcome by a sudden embarrassment and forgets all his carefully planned speech. Blushes alternate w i t h pallor, as w i t h downcast eyes and trembling voice he twice falters 'mercy, mercy, swete herte!' The scene i n Criseyde's bedchamber when Troilus suddenly faints w i t h emotion may also be interpreted i n the light of the troubadour tradition. I t is likely that the episode was suggested to Chaucer by the incident related i n the Filostrato when Troilo, after listening to the discussion i n the Trojan assembly about the exchange of Griseida, swoons w i t h anxiety. By transferring the event to the earlier stage i n the relations of the lovers Chaucer provided yet another illustration of the emotional upheaval experienced by the hero i n the presence of his lady which the poets of courtly love had so often dwelt upon. He may well have had another reason. The swoon of Troilo i n public savours of weakness, whereas that of Troilus, exhausted by long waiting 2

3

1

v,

509-15.

Cant eu la vei, be m'es parven als olhs, al vis, a la color, car aissi t r e m b l e de paor com fa la folha contra'l ven. Cf. Rernart von Ventadorn : Seine Lieder, ed. C. A p p e l , Halle, 1915, no. 3 1 , 11. 41—4. He is b r o u g h t round by his brothers who bathe his face and rub his pulse. T h e same treatment is applied by Pandarus and Criseyde. 2

3

T h e r w i t h his pous and paumes of his hondes T h e y gan to frote, and ek his temples tweyne. ( i i i , 1114-15)

74

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

i n suspense close to the woman he loved so ardently, m i g h t be more readily excused. This supposition is all the more probable because again and again Chaucer strives to make Troilus more manly than his counterpart. The hero of the Filostrato was marked by an emotionalism and a sentimentality which scarcely harmonised w i t h his martial fame, and there are many signs that Chaucer was aware of this incompati­ bility. A t the close of the poem he is careful to warn the reader that he has been concerned to portray Troilus i n love and that i n conse­ quence those who m i g h t wish to know of his warlike deeds should t u r n elsewhere. Guido delle Colonne and Benoit de Ste. More were doubt­ less the authorities uppermost i n Chaucer's mind. For t h e m the love of Troilus and Briseida was a mere episode occurring during a truce i n the Trojan war and serving as a relief from the numerous battle scenes. They depicted h i m as a great warrior and leader, second only to Hector, and i n their narrative, after his brother's death, Troilus naturally steps into his place as the champion of the Trojans. I n Benoit especially Troilus is the flower of chivalry and rates knightly honour higher than anything i n the world. I t is clear that Chaucer was affected by this conception. Hence, even though he disclaims any attempt to show this aspect of his hero, he introduces various passages w i t h the express intention of revealing his exploits i n combat. He is presented as a paragon of chivalry, and we are given more than one glimpse of h i m as he puts the Greeks to flight, the account of Pandarus being especially v i v i d . But the most graphic passage is that which pictures his r e t u r n from the battlefield w i t h all the marks of the fray upon h i m , to the jubilant acclamation of the people of T r o y . Having witnessed such a scene, Criseyde r i g h t l y praises Troilus for his manliness, and there are various allusions to this quality, whether i t is displayed i n action or i n the repression of his grief. Nowhere is his self-control more remarkable than when i t has become certain that the happiness of the lovers is to be shattered by Criseyde's depar­ ture from Troy. His farewell is described thus: 1

2

3

4

w h a n h e s a u g h t h a t she n e m y g h t e d w e l l e , W h i c h t h a t his soule o u t o f his h e r t e r e n t e , W i t h o u t e n m o r e , out of t h e c h a u m b r e he w e n t e .

( i v , 1699-701) The suggestion of suffering too acute for words is i n striking contrast to the tearful parting narrated by Boccaccio. There is a similar strength i n Troilus' quiet acceptance of the inevitable, once he has been assured that he may expect to see Criseyde again w i t h i n ten days, an attitude very different from the feeble lamentations of Troilo on this occasion. 1

v, 8 3 5 - 4 0 .

2

u\

i93-

2 0

3-

3

i i , 624—44.

4

i v , 1674.

T H E FILOSTRATO

75

Yet Troilus' acquiescence is not a weak passivity. I t is typical of h i m that he longs for action and plans to carry off Criseyde before she has been handed over to the Greeks. Indeed, but for his fear that she might be killed i n the struggle, H e hadde i t don, w i t h o u t e n wordes m o r e . ( v , 56)

Nothing distinguishes Troilus more sharply from his prototype than this dislike of wordiness. His songs and his letters to Criseyde are much briefer, and i n this restriction of sentiment and lyric utterance the Chaucerian intention to portray h i m as a man of action whose speech tallies w i t h his deeds, becomes manifest, and his assurance to Criseyde 1

A t shorte wordes, w e l ye m a y m e leve; I k a n n o m o r e , i t shal be f o u n d e at p r e v e

( i v , 1658-9)

reflects his character faithfully. To one so little given to eloquence and rhetorical ornament the advice of Pandarus to Troilus when com­ posing his first letter that he should eschew the repetition of a word, however excellent i n itself, must seem pointless. On the other hand, it does apply to Troilo, as may be seen from the corresponding letter written by h i m : Tu sola p u o i queste p e n e noiose, Q u a n d o t u v o g l i , p o r r e i n dolce pace; Tu sola p u o i l ' a f f l i z i o n penose, M a d o n n a , p o r r e i n riposo v e r a c e ; Tu sola p u o i con l ' o p e r e pietose T o r m i i l t o r m e n t o che si m i disface; Tu sola p u o i , siccome d o n n a m i a , A d e m p i e r cio che l o m i o c u o r disia. D u n q u e , se mai p e r p u r a fede a l c u n o , Si mai p e r g r a n d e a m o r , se p e r disio D i ben servire ognora i n ciascheduno Caso, q u a l si volesse o b u o n o o r i o , M e r i t o g r a z i a , fa'Mio n e sia u n o , Cara m i a d o n n a ; fa'ch'io sia q u e l l ' i o , C h e a t e r i c o r r o , si c o m e a colei C h e se' c a g i o n d i t u t t i i sospir m i e i .

{O.V. i i , st. 101-2) I t seems that Chaucer had observed this habit of Troilo, of which other examples may be found i n the Filostrato, and had placed the 2

His song i n i i i , 1744—71 takes up four stanzas, and t h a t i n v, 638—44 one, i n contrast w i t h Boccaccio's sixteen and five ( i i i , st. 74—8g and v, st. 62—6); his letters ( i i , 1065—84 and v, 1317—421) take up three and fifteen stanzas respectively, as against eleven and twenty-four i n Boccaccio ( i i , st. 96—106 and v i i , st. 52—75). O.V. v, st. 5 4 - 5 ; v i i , st. 3 4 - 5 and 5 9 ; v i i i , st. 12-13. 1

2

76

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

admonition i n the mouth of Pandarus, without considering that i t was not required by a hero on w h o m he had bestowed simplicity and directness of speech i n keeping w i t h a man of action. Perhaps i t was for this reason that Chaucer modified or suppressed an image that Troilo uses about himself when, seeking Griseida's favour, he exclaims: I o t o r n e r o , se t u f a i d o n n a questo, Q u a l fiore i n n u o v o p r a t o i n p r i m a v e r a .

{O.V. i , st. 56, 11. 1-2)

and later, N o n f u m a i rosa i n dolce p r i m a v e r a , B e l l a , c o m ' i o a r i t o r n a r diposto Sono.

{O.V.

v , st.

37,

11.

4-6)

Clearly, Chaucer felt uncomfortable about the association of a virile warrior w i t h a spring flower and a rose. Therefore he substituted F o r was t h e r n e v e r e f o w e l so f a y n o f M a y , As I shal b e n .

(v, 425-6)

The change is significant, the image of Boccaccio suggesting a passive beauty, that of Chaucer an active energy. This accords well w i t h his conception of Troilus. From the beginning we are made to perceive his power of leadership when he strolls about the temple, glancing at the ladies and followed by other youths, as he was w o n t t o g i d e His yonge knyghtes.

( i , 183-4)

Afterwards he shows himself capable of taking the initiative, whereas Troilo is incapable of doing anything without a hint from his friend. Apparently i t is Troilus' idea to get r i d of Deiphobus and Eleyne, while he converses w i t h Criseyde, by handing to t h e m documents that he has received from Hector. A t the end of his interview w i t h her, as he hears t h e m returning from the garden, he keeps up the pretence of his illness by groaning heavily and dismisses t h e m on the plea that he needs rest. I n all this, though, of course, Pandarus arranges the meet­ i n g at the house of Deiphobus, Troilus receives no outside help. Similarly, when he has heard of Pandarus' scheme for bringing h i m together w i t h Criseyde at his own house, Troilus quite independently circulates a report that i f he is missed, night or day, i t is to be under­ stood that he has gone to sacrifice at the temple of Apollo, i n order to learn when the Greeks w i l l flee next, and he is not to be disturbed. Finally, when the exchange of Criseyde for Antenor has been agreed

T H E FILOSTRATO

77

upon, he forms some sort of plan. W i t h a companion so experienced as Pandarus, Troilus is naturally inclined to rely on his counsel, hut he is not without resources of his own. Certainly he is no mere yesman, waiting to be told what to do and is altogether unlike the hesi­ tant hero portrayed by Boccaccio: 1

V o l e n d o e n o n v o l e n d o o r questo o r q u e l l o , I n t r a d u e stava i l t i m i d o d o n z e l l o . (O.V. i v , st.

16,

11. 7-8)

W h e n Troilus does conceive of a scheme, he is shrewd and practical. However passionately he may be i n love, he has a streak of hard common sense. I n persuading Criseyde to flee w i t h h i m , he does not overlook the need for the means of subsistence. Troilo is satisfied to look forward to a romantic world of vague delight; Troilus is business­ like i n the extreme: A n d v u l g a r l y t o s p e k e n o f substaunce O f t r e s o u r , m a y w e b o t h e w i t h us lede I n o u g h t o l y v e i n h o n o u r a n d plesaunce, T i l i n t o t y m e t h a t w e shal b e n d e d e ; A n d thus w e m a y eschuen al this drede. A n d , h a r d i l y , ne d r e d e t h no poverte, F o r I h a v e k y n a n d frendes e l l e s w h e r e , T h a t , t h o u g h w e comen i n oure bare sherte, Us sholde n e y t h e r l a k k e n g o l d n e gere, B u t ben honoured w h i l e we dwelten there. r

1513-17; 1520-4) Such a man as this is not likely to become the prey of his emotions. Consequently, Chaucer sought i n various ways to moderate the exces­ sive display of feeling i n which Troilo indulges repeatedly. One sign is his suppression of the kisses which his hero on several occasions bestows upon Pandarus. Sometimes he omits all reference to t h e m ; elsewhere he substitutes some other mode of expressing Troilus' senti­ ments. Thus when Pandarus brings the good news that Criseyde w i l l favour Troilus, instead of kissing h i m again and again, he holds up his hands to express his joy and gratitude. Similarly, on seeing his friend after the night of his meeting w i t h Criseyde at Pandarus' house, Troilus falls on his knees, whereas i n Boccaccio we read: c o n disio g l i si g i t t o a l c o l l o : E n e l l a f r o n t e con a m o r b a c i o l l o .

(O.V. iii, st. 56,

11.

4-6)

Even more striking is the greater restraint imposed by Chaucer M v , 169-75.

78

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

upon his hero i n the expression of his grief or disappointment. Troilo is everlastingly emitting sighs and shedding tears, complaining of the fires of love which martyrise his soul and consume h i m to the point of death, or lamenting his unhappy lot. He is a languishing and a wailing lover who alienates our sympathy by his futile and maudlin self-pity. Chaucer resolutely set himself to modify this feature of the Boccaccian hero's character, always keeping i n m i n d that he was not only a passionate lover but also a warrior. He limits the sighs, tears, sobs and complaints and more than once gives a glimpse of the fiery vigour of Troilus, as when he tersely declares I wol m y selven sle, i f that ye drecche (iv, 1446) 1

or after pouring imprecations on Calchas exclaims: wolde blisful Jove, for his joie, T h a t I the hadde where I wolde i n Troie! (iv, 335-6)

W h e n Troilus is assailed w i t h grief, i t is not allowed to attain exag­ gerated proportions. His words to the absent Criseyde are more con­ cerned w i t h her happiness than w i t h his own misery: For ther nas houre i n al the day or nyght, W h a n he was there as no w i g h t myghte h y m heere, That he ne seyde: ' O lufsom lady bryght, H o w have ye faren syn that ye were heere? Welcome, ywis, m y n owne lady deere. ( , 463-7) v

I n comparison Troilo seems an effeminate weakling: E non passava sera ne mattina Che con sospiri costui non chiamasse, O luce bella, o stella mattutina; Poi, come s'ella presente ascoltasse, M i l l e fiate e p i u , rosa d i spina Chiamandola che ella i l salutasse, Pria ch' e' ristesse sempre convenia, I I salutar col sospirar finia.

{O.V. v,

st. 44, 11. 1-8)

Criseyde's failure to return throws Troilus into a state of profound dejection, and he shuns all society and refuses food and drink. Yet i n all this there is no trace of the lachrymose self-indulgence displayed by his prototype. Nor would Chaucer's reader ever suspect, when the despair­ i n g hero soberly contemplates suicide, what a w i l d outburst i n the 1

Cf.

Ne veggio bene ancor com'io m i passi Senza doglioso ed amaro languire, Sentendo te altrove. {O.V. i v , st. 140, 11. 4 - 6 )

T H E FILOSTRATO

79

original had been rejected by the English author. Boccaccio shows us Troilo i n a state of hysterical excitement; he tries to stab himself and is only prevented from doing so by sheer force. He loses all selfcontrol and i n spite of his unbounded fury appears weak and u n ­ balanced. He sits down 'piangendo', and when Pandaro has rebuked h i m , he answers w i t h tears i n his voice, his words continually inter­ rupted by sobs. I f Troilo is undignified here, there are other scenes i n which the violence of his emotion is somewhat comic. I t is difficult to repress a smile at the sight he presents as he falls prone on his bed and bursts into tears after confessing to Pandaro his love for Griseida. Chaucer would have none of this. Nor did he retain the passage i n which the woeful Troilo is visited first by his brother Deifebo and then by a crowd of solicitous Trojan women, who flock into his chamber and t r y to banish his sorrow, the whole culminating i n a family quarrel when Cassandra ventures to sneer at Griseida. Other passages there are which Chaucer does not reject outright but which he transforms i n such a way that they cease to be ridiculous. Thus when Pandaro comes to consult w i t h his friend after the decision to hand over Griseida to the Greeks has been made, Boccaccio relates that T r o i l o , tosto che v e d u t o l ' e b b e , G l i corse al c o l l o si f o r t e p i a n g e n d o , Che bene raccontarlo u o m n o n potrebbe; E i n c o t a l guisa, n u l l ' a l t r o facendo Che pianger forte, dimoraro alquanto Senza p a r l a r nessuno o t a n t o o q u a n t o .

(O.V. i v ,

st. 44, 11. i - 8 )

Chaucer mentions that on entering the chamber, Pandarus ' f u l tendreliche wepte' and stood gazing w i t h folded arms at 'this woful Troilus' and ' his pitous face'. He also adds that T h i s w o f u l w i g h t , this T r o i l u s , t h a t felte H i s f r e n d P a n d a r e y e o m e n h y m t o se, G a n as t h e s n o w a y e y n t h e sonne m e l t e , For w h i c h this sorwful Pandare, of pitee, G a n f o r t o w e p e as t e n d r e l i c h e as h e .

( > 3 5-9) iv

6

But he does not let the friends weep on each other's neck. Moreover, the introduction of the simile lends a certain poetic quality that some­ how elevates the scene. The same holds good of another passage that concludes Troilus' rebuttal of Pandarus' arguments to the effect that he should forget Criseyde and bestow his love on some other woman. I n Boccaccio both men burst into tears and, i n spite of Pandaro's

80

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

attempts to console h i m , Troilo weeps copiously. Chaucer on this occa­ sion tolerates no rivalry i n shedding tears, makes Troilus more subdued i n his grief and again achieves a poetic effect by means of a simile. T h i s T r o i l u s i n teris gan distille, As l i c o u r o u t o f a l a m b y c f u l faste; A n d P a n d a r u s g a n h o l d e his t o n g e s t i l l e , A n d t o t h e g r o u n d his e y e n d o w n h e caste.

( i v , 519-22)

A like procedure is adopted i n the scene where Troilus meets Criseyde after the grievous tidings of their coming separation have become known. Here is certainly nothing to excite the reader to laughter. Chaucer tries to distract attention from the abundance of their tears and sobs and sighs by emphasising their bitterness, as may be seen from these lines, which may nevertheless be faintly ironical at the close: T h o w o f u l teeris t h a t t h e y l e t e n falle As b i t t r e w e r e n , o u t o f t e r i s k y n d e , F o r p e y n e , as is l i g n e aloes o r g a l l e . So b i t t r e t e e r i s w e e p n a t , as I f y n d e , The woful M i r r a t h o r u g h the bark and

rynde.

1

( i v , 1135-9) I t is obvious that even after all the changes made by Chaucer, Troilus is no strong, silent man. He is still so much given to a display of feeling that he merits Pandarus' reminder that the shortest way to success i n love is not to wallow and weep like Niobe the queen. But Chaucer tones down the grosser effects and on occasion employs more subtle ways of suggesting emotion—-Troilus' sudden outburst of song at the prospect of being reunited to Criseyde, his loving memory of the voice of Criseyde singing to h i m from the past, his deathly pallor, his inability to sit quietly on his horse, the furious pace at which he rides, or his restless pacing to and fro upon the walls of Troy, the sudden frosty chill at his heart when he sees his lady's empty house. One may wonder whether Chaucer was satisfied w i t h Troilus after he had undergone so much manipulation. Though the modern English reader may find h i m still too prone to emotional display, there is no reason to surmise that his creator would agree, for the severe conven­ tion of to-day is not of long standing, as the scene of Nelson's death 1

D i l a g r i m e bagnati t u t t i quanti, E volendo parlarsi non potieno, Si g l ' i m p e d i v a n g l i angosciosi p i a n t i , E'singhiozzi e'sospiri, e nondimeno Si baciavan talvolta, e le cascanti L a c r i m e si bevean. {O.V. i v , st. 115, 11. 2 - 7 )

T H E FILOSTRATO

81

serves to remind us. I n another respect, however, he may well have felt some misgiving. There were moments i n the intrigue against Criseyde when the conduct of Troilus hardly seemed worthy of an ideal knight. He stooped to subterfuge, deceit, and the violation of solemn assurances. These passages, of Chaucer's own invention, pre­ sent Troilus i n an unfavourable light, and so what the poet had gained by an attempt to exhibit his hero as the epitome of chivalry, as modest as he is valiant, is nullified by such shifty proceedings. I t is a sign of Chaucer's discomfort that he tries to forestall adverse comment. He declares, perhaps half i n jest, that he w i l l not be astonished, 1

2

That That How And

i f i t happe i n any wyse, h e r e be a n y l o v e r e i n t h i s place h e r k n e t h , as t h e s t o r y w o l devise, T r o i l u s c o m t o h i s l a d y grace, t h e n k e t h , 'so n o l d e I n a t l o v e p u r c h a c e ' .

(ii, 9-33) 2

But he replies that customs vary i n different countries and that one cannot expect that everywhere love should be made as i n England by formal visits and declarations! The predicament from which Chaucer sought to escape i n this fashion was of his own creation. I t arose from amplifications of the original not unconnected w i t h the character of Criseyde. However, before attempting to discuss Chaucer's portrayal of her, i t is well to understand how Boccaccio had drawn her counterpart. Griseida belongs to a group of similar figures i n his writings, all of t h e m young widows urged on by ' l a rabbiosa furia della carnale concupiscenza'. Of these Dido is one, and i n De claris mulieribus he goes so far as to condemn all women who marry a second time on the pretext that they cannot resist the soliciting of the flesh. I n his earlier work, The Decameron, the point of view is not that of the severe moralist, as may be seen 3

I t is of interest to note t h a t i n Morte Arthure, w h i c h was w r i t t e n between 1350 and 1400 and therefore belongs to Chaucer's period, Sir Gawaine weeps for his m e n and A r t h u r , on finding Sir Gawaine dead, swoons and weeps profusely. His g r i e f is so immoderate t h a t Sir Ewayne rebukes h i m : 1

2

3

I t es no w i r c h i p e i-wysse to w r y n g thyne hondes, To wepe als a womane i t es no w i t t holdene! Be k n y g h t l y of contenaunce, als a k y n g scholde, A n d leue siche clamoure for Cristes lufe of heuene! (3977-8o) Witness his embarrassment at the acclamations of the c r o w d : he wex a l i t e l reed for shame, W h a n he the peple upon h y m herde cryen, T h a t to byholde i t was a noble game, H o w sobreliche he caste adown his eyen. ( i i , 645-8) Cf. L'Ameto-Lettere-II Corbaccio, ed. N . Bruscoli, B a r i , 1940, p. 219. G

82

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

from three young widows who are the heroines of their respective tales. Among t h e m Elena of Florence is notable, because, like Griseida, she is determined not to fetter herself i n wedlock again but to spend her time gaily i n the company of whatever gallant she may choose. There is also an essential similarity between Ghismonda and Griseida, each of t h e m a resolute personality bent on satisfying her desires, though Griseida is cast i n a less heroic mould and has not to battle against the w i l l of a savage father. I n Griseida's sensuality lies the secret of the ease w i t h which Pandaro induces her to accept his proposal on behalf of Troilo. She offers some objection, asserting that she is still mourning her dead husband and w i l l continue to do so all her life. Yet only six stanzas later her resistance is overcome, the decisive factor being Pandaro's argument that her beauty w i l l soon fade, either through old age or death. I n her later reflections, she maintains that there is no reason w h y she should not love while still young. Others do this; to follow their example can be no sin. So her decision is: 1

2

3

4

A d u n q u e vigorosa R i c e v i i l dolce a m a n t e , i l q u a l v e n u t o T ' e f e r m a m e n t e m a n d a t o da D i o , E sodisfa'al suo caldo d i s i o .

{O.V.

i i , st.

74,

11.

5-8)

Her love for Troilo, as she herself candidly admits, is simply a means to quench the fire w i t h i n her; even before she has met h i m , she is already indulging i n amorous delight i n anticipation: or foss'io n e l l e braccia D o l c i d i l u i , s t r e t t a a faccia a faccia!

(O.V.

i i , st.

117,

7-8)

11.

She has therefore made up her m i n d to yield and i n her reply to his letter indicates this openly. I t is true that when Pandaro next ap­ proaches her, she talks of loving Troilo like a brother, but a moment later she abandons all opposition and sends a message to say that she w i l l comply w i t h Troilo's wishes. W i t h o u t delay he comes to her house, is admitted by her i n person, and their passion is consummated i n a scene that is frankly sensual. Griseida is therefore a somewhat too merry widow, and i t can occasion no surprise that such a woman should transfer her affection to Diomede. Boccaccio does not explain her motives i n any detail because he probably considered that the reason for her conduct was manifest. However, i n the summary of Diomede's qualities wdiich Griseida ponders before surrendering herself to h i m , one is significant. 1

i i , 2 ; i v , 1 ; v i i i , 7.

2

v i i i , 7.

3

Cf. Filostrato,

i i , st. 69—74.

4

i v , 1.

T H E FILOSTRATO

83

After mentioning his robust physique and handsome appearance, Boccaccio adds: E ad a m o r l a n a t u r a a v e v a p r o n a .

{O.V.

v i , st. 33, 1. 5)

Clearly, he thought of Griseida as a sensual creature, which accounted for the rapidity w i t h which she allowed Diomede to supplant Troilo and her lack of subsequent regrets. This behaviour seemed to h i m to warrant his general condemnation of young women at the close of the poem for their inconstancy and libidinousness. I t was, however, not only i n Boccaccio that Chaucer found a por­ trayal of the relations of Troilus and Criseyde. Older still were the accounts given by Benoit de Ste. More and his successor Guido delle Colonne, and these are also valuable for the appreciation of Chaucer's interpretation. Guido was a prosaic individual w i t h a strong moralising bent and a violent prejudice against women. He never loses an oppor­ t u n i t y of denouncing their folly, and he indulges i n such generalisa­ tions as 1

o m n i u m e n i m m u l i e r u m s e m p e r est m o r i s v t c u m i n h o n e s t o desiderio v i r u m a l i q u e m a p p e t u n t , sub a l i c u i u s h o n e s t a t i s u e l a m i n e suas excusationes i n t e n d a n t

2

and s i c u t de f o r m a ad f o r m a m p r o c e d e r e m a t e r i e n o t u m est, sic m u l i e r i s c o n c u p i s c e n t i a dissoluta p r o c e d e r e de u i r o ad u i r u m , u t i esse c r e d i t u r sine f i n e . 3

The attitude of such a writer to Briseida is decided i n advance. He regards her merely as one of a species and not as an individual. Conse­ quently, he omits many details that throw light on her psychological development and reveal the struggle between good and evil i n her nature. Guido is blind to the subtler shades of characterisation because he does not want to see. I f he finds her described as Simple e aumosniere e pitose,

4

he suppresses the line, for i t does not fit into his scheme. For the same reason he w i l l hear nothing of the tears shed by the Trojan ladies at her departure, nor of her own genuine grief on being separated from these friends and from her lover. Nor does he appreciate the mixed feelings w i t h which Briseida receives the steed won by Diomedes from Troilus, nor the importance of the later r e t u r n of the horse to the His dependence on Joseph of Exeter's poetical paraphrase, Frigii Daretis Ylias, must also be taken into account, as has been proved by R. K. Root, M.P., 1917, xv, pp. 1—22. T h e w o r k had a great reputation i n the M i d d l e Ages. I t was still read i n the Renaissance period, being first p r i n t e d at Basle i n 1558 under the t i t l e Daretis Phrygii . . . de Bella Trojano . . . libri sex and again i n 1583. Historia destructions Troiae, ed. N . E . G r i f f i n , Cambridge, 1936, L i b e r i i , p. 18. Griffin's ed., L i b e r i i , p. 17. Benoit, 1. 5288. 1

2

3

4

84

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

victor and the gift of her sleeve to he worn as a favour i n a tournament. He does not grasp the significance of these incidents as milestones on the road of estrangement. The wdiole business is for h i m quite simple. Briseida's action is only what is to be expected and invites no comment, unless i t be to emphasise her evil ways. He loses no chance of slipping i n a condemnatory phrase such as 'propter suas illecebras', and having loaded the dice against her by making her love for Troilo begin to abate on the very first day of her arrival i n the Greek camp, he proceeds to add: 1

Q u i d est e r g o q u o d d i c a t u r de constancia m u l i e r u m , q u a r u m sexus p r o p r i u m i n se h a b e t u t r e p e n t i n a f r a g i l i t a t e e a r u m p r o p o s i t a d i s s o l u a n t u r et h o r a b r e u i s s i m a m u t a b i l i t e r u a r i a n t u r ? N o n e n i m c a d i t i n h o m i n e u a r i e t a t e s et dolos e a r u m posse describere, c u m m a g i s q u a m d i c i possit s i n t e a r u m u o l u b i l i a proposita n e q u i o r a . 2

Determined as he is to present Briseida only as a type of female callousness and perfidy, Guido takes good care that his reader shall never learn anything of her heart-searching, her regrets and repen­ tance. I n his hands she tends to become a mere abstraction. Very different is the treatment of the story i n the Roman de Troie. I t is true that like Guido, Benoit regards the siege of Troy as the main theme and introduces the love-element primarily as a contrast to the inevitable monotony of the numerous battle-scenes. But his m i n d is more supple, and he sees clearly into the working of the human heart. His Briseida is well liked by all the Trojans. Priam alone would gladly see her leave Troy, but that is merely because he is animated by hostility to her father; he praises ungrudgingly her nobility, virtue, wisdom and beauty. The rest of the royal family regret her departure, and many people bid her a sorrowful good-bye. For her part, she is no less grieved and leaves t h e m w i t h tears and cries and sadness i n her heart. At her final parting from Troilus she is even more intensely moved: L a danzele c u i d e m o r i r Q u a n t de c e l u i d e i t d e p a r t i r .

(11- i3495~6)

She vows that all her life she w i l l never be the friend of another, and Benoit says nothing to imply that her assurances of fidelity are less sincere than those of Troilus. Yet he has no great faith i n the stead­ fastness of women. Their sorrow is of brief duration; they weep w i t h one eye and smile w i t h the other. They soon change their mind, and even the wisest of them is foolish. A woman who has loved for seven years w i l l forget i n three days. Although Benoit makes no comment, his account of the magnificent and costly robes that Briseida took w i t h her from T r o y , following as 3

4

1 3

Griffin's ed., L i b e r v i i i , p. 85. 11. 13441-6.

2

I b i d . , L i b e r xix, p. 166. 11. 13329-409. 4

THE

85

FILOSTRATO

i t does without a break the description of the bitter nocturnal parting from Troilus, was most likely intended to suggest a calculating strain i n her. However that may be, i t is certain that on the way to the Greek camp she already begins to appear less attractive. Her rejection of Diomede's advances savours of worldly wisdom, and we become aware of a hard, rational strain i n her. She argues that she does not know h i m well enough and that i t would be rash of her to love h i m so quickly. She must also consider her reputation. But what alienates sympathy most of all is her mention i n the same breath of the grief she feels at the loss of her friend and her wealth. One is struck also by the fact that, while she maintains that she is i n no mood for love and hopes that God w i l l not implant any such emotion i n her, she goes so far as to say that, were i t to happen, there was no one w h o m she would care for more than Diomede. I n keeping w i t h this attitude is her failure to show any displeasure when, unnoticed by others, he steals one of her gloves. The same unfeeling element i n her character as has already appeared emerges again when she meets Calchas. A t first she is, like h i m , over­ joyed and responds to his kisses and embraces, yet a moment later she is mingling reproaches for his treason w i t h a lament over the forfei­ ture of his riches and possessions. The change is so abrupt that i t points to a lack of balance i n her nature. W e are therefore prepared for the discovery that the meeting w i t h the Greek princes tends to make Briseida relinquish her original intention, and before the fourth evening she has given up her plan for returning to Troy. Benoit comments on this instability and g r i m l y adds that i t is the loyal who pay for i t . However, the process is gradual, and Benoit traces skilfully the various stages. The next of these is reached when Diomede, having dismounted Troilus, presents his horse to Briseida. I n her reply she cannot refrain from telling h i m that i f he loves her, he should spare her people, and w i t h obvious pride i n Troilus' prowess she w arns the donor what a requital he may expect from such a knight. Neverthe­ less, she ends by saying that since he loves her, she would be wrong to hate h i m . She w i l l therefore not hate h i m , though she does not love him. From now on Diomede suffers the agony of his unreciprocated passion, and though he often pleads w i t h her, she remains obdurate. At this juncture there is still no question of any relenting on her part. Indeed, Benoit remarks that she grew three times harder, for such is the nature of women. Diomede's renewed petitions only strengthen this sense of power: r

E mout se fait joiose e liee De co qu'il est si en ses laz. (11. 15174-5)

86

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

However, at last she decides to give h i m one of her silken sleeves to bear as a pennant on his lance. This is the first positive mark of favour that she has bestowed upon Diomede, and Benoit stresses its impor­ tance; for henceforth her love for Troilus is broken, and he w i l l await her i n vain. Yet i t is not u n t i l many months later, i n fact not u n t i l some years after her departure from Troy, that Briseida yields to Diomede. By the irony of fate i t is Troilus himself who brings i t to pass. D u r i n g the fifteenth battle he wounds Diomede severely and Briseida takes pity on h i m . Thoroughly disillusioned by now, Troilus assumes that she has already given herself to Diomede and predicts that before the siege is over, she w i l l betray h i m too, and he w i l l have to keep a sharp look-out, i f he is not to share her w i t h others. N e s'est a n c o r pas arestee, D e s q u e l i m e s t i e r s l i agree.

(11. 20097-8)

These bitter words are heard both by Greeks and Trojans, and re­ peated far and wide. But i n spite of Troilus' accusations, i t was only after Diomede had been wounded that Briseida bestowed her love upon h i m : Des ore est t o t e e n l u i s ' e n t e n t e , D e s o r 1'aime, des o r 1'en t i e n t .

(11. 20216—17)

Des or p u e t o m aparceveir Q u e vers l u i a t o t a t o r n e : S ' a m o r , son c u e r e son pense.

(11. 20226-8)

However, Benoit is not content to end the story thus. I n a long soliloquy he makes Briseida reveal all the warring emotions w i t h i n her. She is far from happy, for she knows that she w i l l be held i n evil repute: D e m e i n ' i e r t j a f a i t b o n escrit N e chantee bone chancon.

(11. 20238-9) The women of Troy w i l l find fault w i t h her, for she has brought shame upon t h e m , and her treachery w i l l always be a cause of reproach to them. She admits that she is false, fickle and foolish, and her heart is too changeable. Her friend was the best that any one could have; she ought to have loved h i m and hated those who sought to h a r m h i m , instead of which she has bestowed her love on his worst enemy. Consequently, she w i l l for ever be despised. A l l this would never have happened, i f she had not left Troy. Never did her heart then even

T H E FILOSTRATO

87

contemplate change. But among the Greeks she was without friends, and she felt the need for someone to dispel her sorrow. Yet i n spite of these attempts at self-justification, her heart grieves and bleeds; she often weeps and wishes that she could forget what she has done. She prays God to prosper Troilus, for she is filled w i t h remorse. Harassed by her memories and the pangs of regret, she nevertheless realises that she must face the situation. Repentance avails nothing; there is no remedy. Henceforth she must give her m i n d to Diomede, so that each may have joy i n the other. She ends by declaring that her proud bearing towards h i m has gone and she is prepared to do his will. W i t h the examples of Guido and of Benoit before h i m Chaucer could see which was to be avoided and which provided the more fruit­ ful way of interpreting Boccaccio's heroine. His Criseyde is a pleasing figure w i t h long, slender fingers and fair hair bound w i t h a thread of gold. Her voice is agreeable, and everything about her of a feminine delicacy. Far from being tall and powerful i n body, she is of medium height, and no one was ever Tasse mannyssh i n semynge'. I n disposi­ tion she is harmonious and well balanced. There is no trace of morbidity i n her grief for her dead husband, and i n spite of her rejection of Pandarus' invitation to join i n the celebrations of the coming of May and her protest that i t would be more fitting for her to pray i n a cave and read saints' lives, she is still full of zest and gaiety. Whereas we hear little of the 'piacevole riso' of Griseida, the sound of Criseyde's laughter echoes through the early part of the poem, and i t is hearty laughter, the unrestrained m i r t h of a young and healthy creature. This normality is reflected i n her love for Troilus, into which the motives that animate Boccaccio's heroine do not enter. One of the chief factors to sway her is her admiration of his qualities, and not so much Pandarus' argument about the passing of beauty. She extols h i m not only for his valour but also for his ethical supremacy, a com­ bination which, as she points out, is seldom found i n one person. I n the first place she is attracted to h i m neither by his royal b i r t h nor his warlike fame, but by his moral vertu, grounded upon trouthe, (iv,

1672)

which enables his reason to bridle his passion. I n such words there is nothing that smacks of the facile voluptuary or the superficial wanton, an impression that is confirmed by the slowness w i t h which she yields to Troilus and Diomedes, no less than by her motives i n delaying. Of her prototype Pandaro had claimed that she was more honest than other women, but his assertion is belied by her actions. On the other

88

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

hand, when Pandarus speaks of Criseyde as 'vertuous . . . a l ' and 'of vices cleene', when he maintains that the name as y i t of hire Among the peple, as who seyth, halwed is; For nevere was ther w i g h t , I dar wel swere, That evere wiste that she dide amys,

(iii, 267—70)

we are w i l l i n g to believe h i m , partly because of her conduct u n t i l that point i n the tale, partly because of the high esteem i n which she is held by the noble Hector. As Deiphobus tells, I have herd h y m , o tyme and ek oother, Speke of Cryseyde swich honour, that he M a y seyn no bet.

(ii, 1452-4)

Deiphobus himself as well as Eleyne praises her, both for her good breeding and her admirable qualities. The poet too commends her, as being polite and ' sobre . . . and wys'. A n amatory poem is hardly the place i n which to look for sagacity, yet Criseyde does contrive to display i t . Most conspicuously i t appears i n her comment on the futility of lamentation without action: i f a w i g h t alwey his wo compleyne, A n d seketh nought how holpen for to be, I t nys but folie and encrees of peyne

(iv, 1255-7)

and i n her decision to ignore popular clamour, For whoso wol of every word take hede, Or reulen h y m by every wightes w i t , Ne shal he nevere t h r y v e n .

(v, 767-9)

Quite apart from this, she evinces, i f not wisdom, at any rate a distinct shrewdness. The confusion of Troilus on the occasion of their meeting at Deiphobus' house does not escape her notice, and her questions about his supposed jealousy of Horaste are so penetrating as to embar­ rass her lover. The incident of Horaste brings to light another aspect of her fundamental seriousness. She had prized Troilus especially for his loyalty and assumed that he would credit her w i t h an equal fidelity. W h a t hurts her therefore i n his feigned jealousy is the mere idea that he should t h i n k her capable of disloyalty. Fidelity had i n fact been a postulate for her love from the very beginning and on their parting she makes the most solemn vows, praying that i f she is false, she may be consigned to hell. This emergency is but the test to which she had looked forward when she declared to Troilus;

T H E FILOSTRATO

89

I emforth m y connyng and m y might, Have, and ay shal, how sore that me smerte, Ben to yow trewe and hool w i t h al m y n herte;— A n d dredeles, this shal be founde at preve. (iii, 9 9 9 -

1 0 0 2

)

Ironical as this may seem i n the light of later events, no doubt should be cast on the sincerity of her promise. Chaucer gives his guarantee: treweliche, as w r i t e n wel I fynde, T h a t al this t h y n g was seyd of good entente; A n d that hire herte trewe was and kynde Towardes h y m , and spak r i g h t as she mente; And that she starf for wo neigh, w h a n she wente, A n d was i n purpos evere to be trewe.

(1415-20)

I t is evident therefore that Criseyde's intentions were unimpeach­ able. H o w then are her subsequent fickleness and betrayal to be explained? First, i t may be observed that Chaucer was not altogether lacking i n sympathy w i t h what Guido and Benoit had said of woman's instability. We may recall the remark that he interposes i n the Knight's Tale when Emelye, seeing Arcite victorious, began to look upon h i m w i t h approval: For w o m m e n , as to speken i n comune, T h e y folwen al the favour of fortune.

(A. 2681-2)

Accordingly, he depicts Criseyde as weak, drifting along under the impulse of Fortune, w i t h the result that her purpose is nullified. I n character as i n physique she has less strength than Griseida, and whereas the latter abandons Troilo for Diomede i n the deliberate pursuit of sensual desire, the inconstancy of Criseyde arises from an i n f i r m i t y to which many factors contribute. One of the first signs of Chaucer's plan is seen i n his systematic suppression of references i n the Filostrato to the heroine's haughtiness. The first time that he comes across the epithet ' altiera', he tones i t down to ' w i t h f u l assured lokyng and man ere', and though he does admit a little later 'somdel deignous', he afterwards removes all trace of imperiousness. W h a t a contrast, for example, is the patient acquiescence w i t h which she leaves Troy, to the fiery indignation of Griseida! F u l sorwfully But forth she T h e r nys non A n d forth she

w h a n she redy was to ride, she sighte, and seyde: 'alias!' moot, for aught that may bitide; other remedie i n this cas; r i t f u l sorwfully a pas.

0, 57-61)

90

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

After such an exhibition of passivity one is not surprised to find that she excuses her failure to r e t u r n as being due to 'the goddes ordinaunce'. I n her attitude to her father she reveals a similar lack of spirit. She goes so far as to wish h i m bad luck for her share i n his misfortune, but she indulges i n no such fierce and violent denunciations as Griseida. Either she says nothing at all of ' mio padre malvagio' or contents herself w i t h exclaiming O Calkas, fader, thyn be al this synne! (iv, 761) She speaks w i t h some contempt of his reported ability to expound Apollo's words and suggests that his interpretation is governed by his own cowardice, but when she meets h i m face to face, she politely declares that she is glad to see h i m and i n her manner is both ' milde, and mansuete', whereas Griseida, though not openly hostile, displays no such complaisance. Finally, Criseyde even tells Diomedes that she is obliged to Calchas for the arrangement of the exchange—a statement which would seem incomprehensible but for the feebleness arising from the courtesy of the w ell-bred lady and the dutifulness of the daughter. To her other relative, Pandarus, she is also deferential. I t is true that she is attached to h i m as her friend and counsellor, but there are passages i n which she clearly looks up to h i m as a senior kinsman who is to be treated w i t h respect and whose word is law. I n the first of these she is eager to learn what the news is, about which he has just dropped a hint, but she refrains from pressing h i m : r

uncle myn, I nyl yow nat displese, Nor axen moore that may do yow disese. (ii, 146-7) The second relates how she accepts his invitation to supper i n spite of some misgivings: she graunted with hym for to go Withoute await, syn that he hire bisoughte, And, as his nece, obeyed as hire oughte. (iii, 5 7 9 - ) 81

To Troilus, once he has become her lover, her subordination is still more complete: what so ye me comaunde, That wol I don. (iv, 1294-5) This side of Criseyde's nature places her at a disadvantage when she has to handle an unexpected crisis and come to a rapid decision

T H E FILOSTRATO

91

unaided. Pandarus knows this well and repeatedly adopts shock tactics to gain his ends. Time and again he succeeds, hut nowhere is her help­ lessness more patent than when he startles her by bringing Troilus to her bedside as i f by magic. B u t , l o r d , so she Ne, though m e n She m y g h t e n a t So sodeynly, for

w e x sodeynliche reed! sholde s m y t e n o f h i r e h e e d , a w o r d aright out brynge his sodeyn c o m y n g e . 1

(hi, 956-9)

A similar procedure is followed by Diomedes. His counterpart i n the Filostrato, seeing the rage of the haughty Griseida as they wend their way to the Greek camp, confines himself to watching her and waits four days before making any advances. On the other hand, the sight of Criseyde's meekness incites Diomedes to act at once. His proposal, as they ride from Troy, is t r u l y remarkable. Yet Criseyde's surprise combines w i t h her habitual courtesy to inspire, not a tart rebuff, but an answer that encourages h i m to persist i n his attentions. Thus the inability of the weak and clinging lady of high rank to cope w i t h such a situation marks one stage i n her progress towards the ultimate betrayal. Another cause of weakness i n Criseyde is a trait i n her character that C. S. Lewis has insisted on—her t i m i d i t y . This goes far beyond any such feature i n the conventional courtly lady, for her apprehensiveness is accentuated by her isolation. A trace of i t is found i n Boccaccio, but i t relates only to her position as an exile among the Greeks. Thus he describes how she shrinks from asking whether the reports that she is to be exchanged are true—'per paura', and i n the Greek camp weeps over her plight, because 'con cui dolersi non avea'. But Chaucer sees her as a pathetic, lonely figure from the outset. She is a widow, surrounded by powerful adversaries like Poliphete; her father has fled to the enemy. Chaucer therefore applies to her the words that Boccaccio had reserved for her later troubles: 2

3

allone O f a n y f r e n d t o w h o m she dorste h i r m o n e .

4

( i , 97-8)

The treachery of Calchas affects profoundly one who is both sensitive and devoted to her native city, and though she is respected by Hector and the Trojan leaders and can enjoy social intercourse w i t h t h e m and Pandarus and her three nieces, Chaucer conceives of her as lacking intimates to w h o m on her own initiative she can confide her difficulties. 1

3

Italics added. V i d e post.

The Allegory of Love, Oxford, 1938, pp. 185-90. Vide ante. 4

92

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

How lonely she is i n society is brought out by the scene i n the temple when Troilus becomes enamoured of her. Boccaccio speaks of her as being ' n e l tempio presso alia porta' and may well have intended to convey that Griseida, having arrived late or being anxious to leave early, was no very devout worshipper. A t any rate, he gives no indica­ tion of any particular significance i n this phrase. Chaucer, on the other hand, adds words that are pregnant i n their implication: she stood f u l lowe and stille allone, Byhynden other folk i n litel brede, A n d neigh the dore, ay under shames drede, Simple of atire.

(i, 178-81)

And w h y should she thus be haunted by the fear of disgrace? Because of her father's disloyalty to Troy. There could surely be no more effective picture of one i n dread of ostracism, deliberately keeping to the back of the temple, shrinking into herself, and even by the plain­ ness of her garb, t r y i n g to withdraw from the public eye. This lone­ liness is dispelled for a time by her love for Troilus, but when she has to face the prospect of leaving h i m , i t returns w i t h a sharper edge than before, and w i t h true insight Chaucer makes her call upon her dead mother, uttering as she does so a wail of helpless anguish. W e l l might she look forward w i t h dismay to leaving Troy, for quite apart from her distress at the separation from her lover, she had no cause to like the Greeks. Indeed, they had always been a bogey to her: 1

I am of Grekes fered so that I deye. (ii, 124)

The outlook for a solitary woman i n a camp of warriors was not reassuring, especially as any kind of violence always filled her w i t h alarm. I t is typical of her that when contemplating suicide, she rejects the use of weapons, syn neither swerd ne darte Dar I noon handle.

(iv, 771-2)

Similarly, the sight of Troilus' sword wrings from her an involuntary cry of fear, and Pandarus' threat to k i l l himself has an overwhelming effect: Criseyde, which that wel neigh starf for feere, So as she was the ferfulleste w i g h t That myghte be . . . She gan to rewe and drede hire wonder soore. 449-5 M 455) The context makes i t unlikely that by this reference to the simplicity of her attire widow's weeds are meant. 1

THE

93

FILOSTRATO

W i t h supreme skill Chaucer has portrayed her fluttering sensibility and the panting alternation i n her of hope and terror; her need for reassurance from Pandarus and her recovery of confidence when the tact and loyalty of Troilus are proved. The poet reveals that her anxiety to conceal their love-affair is not just a part of the troubadour convention—the desire to avoid scandal—but an inherent dislike of publicity. How sensitive and highly strung she is may be seen from the sudden panic that seizes her when Troilus rides past and Pandarus has to beg her not to flee from the window, or again from her t r e m u ­ lous alarm when she is kept on tenterhooks, awaiting Pandarus' news: B e t h n a u g h t agast, n e q u a k e t h n a u g h t ; w h e r t o ? N e c h a u n g e t h n a u g h t f o r feere so y o u r e h e w e .

( i i , 302-3)

Even when she is by herself, the mere thought of yielding to Troilus brings on such an access of fear that she almost falls. I n keeping w i t h this is her impulse, on hearing that Poliphete is bringing a legal action against her, to let h i m have his way, regardless of the rights or wrongs of the case, for enough w i l l still remain for her, and she w i l l be left i n peace. W h a t is to be expected of so timorous a creature as this when circumstances have snatched her away to the Greek camp? I t is indeed remarkable that she should contemplate an attempt at escape, and that i n spite of her fears of being taken as a spy or, still worse, of falling into the hands of some ruffianly Greek soldier, she should conquer her apprehensions and resolve to set forth the following night. I n the end, however, her courage evaporates. The words of Diomedes about the parlous state of Troy and the fact t h a t she was a l l o n e a n d h a d d e n e d e O f frendes h e l p

(v, 1026-7)

cause her to hesitate and finally to give up the design. Allied to Criseyde's quivering sensibility is her tender-heartedness, for nevere m o ne lakkede h i r e pite. (v,

824)

This emotion is, however, something more than the attribute bestowed by mediaeval convention on a heroine, and the w i l y Pandarus is quick to exploit the possibilities that i t opens up for his intrigue. Hence i n pleading for Troilus, her uncle is careful to point out that i f Troilus dies of unreciprocated love, he w i l l join his friend i n death. Again and again he plays on this string u n t i l she is swayed by the knowledge that myn

ernes l i f is i n b a l a u n c e , (ii,

466)

94

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

and so she agrees to show Troilus some measure of kindness. The appeal to her tender heart never fails, especially when i t is combined w i t h physical weakness or suffering. The spectacle of Troilus at Deiphobus' house, supposedly exhausted by a fever and yet struggling to rise and kneel before her, awakens all her womanly solicitude. Still more is her sense of pity aroused, after Pandarus' harrowing recital of Troilus' agonies, when he swoons at her bedside. Everything is for­ gotten—her shyness, her reserve, her caution—as she seeks to revive h i m by various means and finally, when all else fails, by her kisses. And just as this tenderness leads to the consummation of Troilus' desires, so i t is the decisive factor that makes her yield to Diomedes. By a tragic irony i t is the compassion kindled i n her as she gazes upon and tends the wounds received by Diomedes at the hands of his rival that persuades her to bestow her love upon h i m . As Chaucer, follow­ i n g Guido delle Colonne, tells us: I fynde ek i n stories elleswhere, W h a n thorugh the body h u r t was Diomede Of Troilus, tho wepte she many a teere, W h a n that she saugh his wyde wowndes blede; A n d that she took to kepen h y m good hede, A n d for to hele h y m of his sorwes smerte M e n seyn, I not, that she yaf h y m hire herte.

(v, 1044-50)

W i t h all her gentleness and weakness, Criseyde never yields easily, even when her inclination impels her to do so. Her resistance to the suit of Troilus is prolonged. This may be partly because, as C. S. Lewis has emphasised, Chaucer wished to follow the convention of courtly love. But i t is also because this reluctance is an essential part of her maidenly modesty, for i n spite of the fact that she is a widow, she exhibits an almost virginal bashfulness. W i t h all the insight of a Richardson, Chaucer traces the series of events by which her scruples are slowly overcome. A whole succession of incitements—the lovesong of Antigone i n the garden, the ecstasy of the nightingale, Cri­ seyde's dream about the eagle, the eulogies of Troilus by the guests at Deiphobus' house, the spectacle of the hero returning i n t r i u m p h from the fray—arouses first her interest and then her affection. The activities of Pandarus too have a large share i n stimulating her love. His task is arduous, for she is always u n w i l l i n g to commit herself irretrievably. Even when she has admitted to Pandarus i n the noc­ turnal scene that she loves Troilus, she wishes to postpone seeing the supposedly distraught hero t i l l the morrow , and i t is only after another heart-rending appeal that she consents to speak to h i m that night. At the same time she begs Pandarus to safeguard her honour and tries r

T H E FILOSTRATO

95

to rise from the bed. I t is clearly not her intention to yield at this juncture, and only the unexpected swoon of Troilus and their subse­ quent bodily nearness lead to her surrender. How long this gradual development took, Chaucer does not state, but he hints that i t was a lengthy affair: I sey n a t t h a t she so s o d e y n l y Y a f h y m h i r e love.

( i i , 673-4)

On the contrary, i t was only b y proces a n d b y good servyse, H e g a t h i r e l o v e , a n d i n n o sodeyn w y s e .

( i i , 678-9)

Evidently then their slowly growing intimacy must have extended over a considerable portion of the three and a quarter years during which the love of Troilus and Criseyde burgeoned and flowered. The phases of the evolution which culminated i n Criseyde's deser­ tion of Troilus are not marked w i t h the same elaboration, but there are indications that Chaucer thought of the betrayal as the result of a gradual progression. Such specific references to time as there are all tend to i m p l y a longer duration than that envisaged by Boccaccio, even though the actual difference i n the two versions may be relatively small. W h i l e awaiting the r e t u r n of Criseyde, Troilus and Pandarus stay a week w i t h Sarpedon, instead of five days; after her arrival i n the Greek camp ten days elapse before Diomedes approaches her, whereas i n the Filostrato this occurs on the fourth day, and though the 'monthes t w e y n e ' of her absence to which Troilus alludes i n his letter may not appear much more than the forty days of the original, to h i m it seems 'longe tyme agon' and not 'poco tempo'. The attitude of Criseyde herself strengthens the impression that her submission to the w i l l of Diomedes took place at no early date. Certainly, when he makes his astounding declaration on the way to the Greek camp, the griefstricken heroine pays little heed and listens but absent-mindedly: 1

Criseyde u n t o t h a t purpos l i t e answerde, As she t h a t was w i t h sorwe oppressed so T h a t , i n effect, she n a u g h t his tales h e r d e , B u t h e r a n d t h e r , n o w h e r e a w o r d or t w o . H i r e t h o u g h t e h i r e s o r w f u l h e r t e brast atwo.

(v, 176-80)

And though she is too gentle and too courteous to administer a rebuke, Troilus tells Pandarus ( i i i , 360—2) t h a t i t was A p r i l w h e n he w as sick to death t h r o u g h love for Criseyde; Pandarus goes to i n f o r m her about M a y 3 r d ( i i , 5 0 - 6 ) ; i t is the first week i n August w h e n the Trojans ask for an armistice and agree to exchange Criseyde for Antenor (iv, 31—2), but this is i n the t h i r d year after T r o i l u s fell i n love w i t h her (v, 8-14). 1

r

96

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

her reply is politely evasive. Chaucer admits that her resolve to escape to Troy is not long maintained, but i t does persist for fully two months, which is much more than is to be gathered from Boccaccio's 'tosto'. Moreover, whereas the Filostrato attributes the change of plan to the ascendancy of her 'novello amadore', Chaucer avoids any definite statement to show that Diomedes had already won her affection. For the same reason, when the Greek resumes his entreaties, though she replies as becomes a well-bred lady, she is far from giving h i m Lieta speranza di quel che cercava.

(O.V. v i , st. 13, 1.

8)

Pursuing the same tactics as when pressed by her uncle, she tries to gain time by asking for a postponement of any further discussion u n t i l the next morning. For the moment her words are studiously vague•• Paraunter thanne so i t happen may, That whan I se that nevere y i t I say, T h a n wol I werke that I nevere wroughte. ( > 99!-3) v

Her promise that i f she were to favour any Greek, i t should be Dio­ medes, does not amount to much i n view of the horror w ith which she regards the enemies of Troy. A n d her conclusion: r

I sey nat therfore that I wold yow love, N y sey nat nay. (v, 1002-3)

is clearly an effort to temporise, for even i f she goes so far as to present Diomedes w i t h a glove, her m i n d is still bent on her native city, as is proved by her exclamation immediately after: O Troie t o w n , Y i t bidde I god, i n quiete and i n reste I may yow sen, or do m y n herte breste.

(v, 1006-8) W h e n she is left to ponder over her fate, i t is significant that what is uppermost i n her thoughts is her isolation and helplessness. There is no suggestion of a new passion. How ever, at their next interview Dio­ medes does succeed i n banishing her grief and later receives from her various presents, including a steed and a brooch that had been given her by Troilus. A l l this is intended to mark Criseyde's gradual t u r n i n g aw ay from her old lover, u n t i l the climax is brought about by the sight of Diomedes' wounds inflicted by the Trojan champion. However, Chaucer insists that this point was reached only after a considerable interval: r

r

97

T H E FILOSTRATO F o r t h o u g h t h a t h e b i g a n t o w o w e h i r e soone, O r he h i r e w a n , y i t was t h e r m o r e t o d o o n e .

1

(v, 1091-2) Finally, as another extenuating feature of her conduct, the poet men­ tions that Criseyde is filled w i t h acute remorse. W h e n her liaison w i t h Diomedes is accomplished, she knows no happiness: F o r I h a v e falsed o o n , t h e g e n t i l e s t e T h a t evere was, a n d o o n t h e w o r t h i e s t e .

(v, 1056-7)

She is tormented, not only by the thought of her treachery to one who was the embodiment of loyalty, but also of the infamy into which she has plunged herself and all her sex. A t the same time she recognises that there can be no going back, and the irrevocability of her action blinds her eyes w i t h bitter tears. From the analysis of Criseyde's character emerges w i t h absolute transparency Chaucer's conception of her as weak rather than vicious. He may deplore that she was ' slydynge of corage' and criticise her lack of delicacy i n bestowing on Diomedes the brooch given to her by Troilus, but sees i n her no essential depravity. W i t h the sure hand of a master he traces the way i n which the schemes of Pandarus i n conjunc­ tion w i t h a series of incitements achieve her union w i t h Troilus, and how the unforeseen exchange combines w i t h isolation and loneliness to make her the prey of the glib and astute woman-hunter Diomedes. The part of external events i n this development is notable. As i n Shakespeare's great tragedies circumstances operating on an infirmity of character produce a disastrous result. Such intervention from without i n human affairs was evidently much i n Chaucer's m i n d . Hence the numerous and extensive passages on Fortune, which are of a magnitude far beyond the brief, occasional allusions i n the Filostrato. No doubt, they were to the taste of the mediaeval reader. Yet their scope and frequency point to something more than an attempt at mediaevalisation. The translator of the De consolatione philosophice obviously had a personal interest i n the ques­ tion, and further proof is found i n his repeated preoccupation w i t h the omens conveyed by dreams. Nor is i t without deliberate purpose that when Chaucer first introduces Criseyde to us, she is listening to one of her attendants reading aloud from the romance of Thebes. She has heard 2

h o w t h a t k i n g L a y u s deyde, T h o r u g h E d i p p u s his sone,

(ii, 101-2)

Cf. ' B u t t h e r o n was to heven and to doone' ( i i , 1289), w h e n Criseyde resists Pandarus' overtures. Cf. W . C. Curry, 'Destiny i n Chaucer's Troilus', P.M.L.A., 1930, x l v , pp. 129-68. 1

2

H

98

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

and is just about to pass to the account of the sudden end of Amphiaraus i n an earthquake. These were remarkable illustrations of the influence of Fate on human beings, and the more one appreciates Chaucer's artistic sense and i n particular his use of tragic irony, the more one becomes convinced that his choice of the romance of Thebes on this occasion was an integral part of the design of his poem. Was not Tydeus a prominent figure i n the story of Thebes, his indirect share i n the untimely death of K i n g Lycurgus' son being but one among various notable examples of the effects of Destiny i n that romance? And was not Diomedes the son of Tydeus?—Diomedes who, after the violent intervention of Fate i n the love affair of Troilus and Criseyde had shattered their happiness, was the instrument to complete the work of destruction. I n this fashion Criseyde's own fortunes were associated w i t h the romance of Thebes, which may explain the dispro­ portionate amount of space allotted to that subject i n the fifth book, at a juncture when the poem should be hastening to its close. I n any case, i t is likely that Chaucer wished to suggest that i n Criseyde's lot was to be seen yet one more instance of the way i n which the ' executrice of wyerdes' was wont to operate. The lengthy speech of Troilus on 'necessitee' and free-will is therefore not an excrescence, but an essential feature of the work, and though Criseyde is too facile i n ascribing her treachery solely to the thrusting on of Destiny, Chaucer seems to have thought that her action was bound up w i t h one of the great universal mysteries. So he succeeds i n making us feel, as we witness the bitter regret of Criseyde over her loss of Troilus that 1

The worste kynde of infortune is this: A man to han ben i n prosperitee, A n d i t remembren whan i t passed is.

(iii, 1626-8)

To one thus caught i n the grip of Fate Chaucer had no desire to refuse his sympathy, especially as her sorrow was due i n some degree to that pity which ' renneth sone i n gentil herte'. The spectacle of weak­ ness unable to cope w i t h adversity excited i n h i m , not scorn or con­ demnation, but insight and compassion. That is why, before he narrates Criseyde's desertion, he anticipates the hostility of her critics: Alias! that they sholde evere cause fynde To speke hire h a r m ! and i f they on hire lye, Iwis, hem self sholde han the vilanye.

(iv, 19-21) Lydgate comments on the death of Amphiaraus as being due to the irresistible hand of Fate: Only of fate w h i c h no m a n can repelle, Jje e r t h opnede and he fille doun to helle. (Siege of Thebes, 4033-4) 1

THE

FILOSTRATO

99

For his part, as he openly declares after her deed has been told, he looks upon her as one deserving commiseration. She is a ' sely w o m m a n ' w h o m he has no wish to rebuke more than the tale warrants, and he continues: H i r e n a m e , alias, is p u n y s s h e d so w i d e , T h a t f o r h i r e g i l t i t o u g h t e y n o u g h suffise. A n d i f I m y g h t e excuse h i r e a n y w i s e , F o r she so sory was f o r h i r e u n t r o u t h e , I w i s , I w o l d e excuse h i r e y i t f o r r o u t h e . 1

K 1095-9) Taking this view, Chaucer found no room for any generalisations about the frailty of women. On the contrary, he suppressed not only Troilo's early gibes at the fickleness of the sex which turns like the leaf i n the w i n d but also the passage at the end of the Filostrato i n which Boccaccio repeats the charge i n the same words, along w i t h that of an inherent sensuality: V i r t u n o n sente n e c o n o s c i m e n t o , V o l u b i l s e m p r e c o m e f o g l i a al v e n t o . {O.V,

2

v i i i , st. 30, 11.

7-8)

The general trend of Chaucer's poem would not permit of such a summing up; his conclusion had perforce to be altogether different. A h i n t of what he is leading up to is given by Criseyde when, on hearing that she is to be torn away from Troilus, she exclaims: E n d e t h t h a n n e l o v e i n wo? Y e , o r m e n l i e t h , A n d al w o r l d l y blisse, as t h y n k e t h m e . T h e e n d e o f blisse ay s o r w e i t o c c u p i e t h ,

( i v , 834-6)

which conveys so poignantly the bitter-sweet, not only of love, but of all human happiness. These words are echoed i n the comment of Chaucer himself: S w y c h f y n h a t h false w o r l d e s brotelnesse! (v,

1832)

A l l is unstable, all is vanity; joy and happiness are

fleeting.

S w i c h is t h i s w o r l d , w h o s o i t k a n b y h o l d e ; I n ech estat is l i t e l h e r t e s reste; G o d l e v e us f o r t o t a k e i t f o r t h e beste!

(v, 1748-50) 1

2

V a r i a n t reading 'publisshed'. Cf. a passage i n the Corbaccio:

M o b i l i tutte e senza alcuna stabilita sono: i n una ora vogliono e svogliono una medesima cosa ben m i l l e volte, salvo se di quelle, che a lussuria appartengono, non fossonoper cio che quelle sempre le vogliono. (L''Ameto-Lettere-Il Corbaccio, ed. c i t . , p. 216)

THE

100

MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

How is that to be done? Not by delivering, as Boccaccio had done, a warning to young men to control their passions and beware of women, but by directing all young people, men and women alike, to fix their eyes on God, the embodiment of enduring love: O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she, I n w h i c h that love up groweth w i t h youre age, Repeyreth horn fro worldly vanyte, And of youre herte up casteth the visage To thilke god that after his ymage Y o w made, and t h y n k e t h al nys but a faire This world, that passeth soone as floures faire.

( , 1835-4 ) v

1

This passage accords w i t h the overpowering emotion that seized Chaucer as he set himself to relate the disastrous t u r n i n the love of Troilus and Criseyde. He writes trembling w i t h fear, contemplating the scene earnestly, not cynically. Similarly, the laughter of Troilus, as his soul looks down from on high after death, is not the mocking laughter of disillusionment but that of the detached spectator who from afar can survey life as a whole and see the folly of human agitation i n the pursuit of blind desire. I t is Fortune that derides those she over­ throws, but Fortune and the Parcae are subordinate to Jove, and at the close Chaucer refers his listener to the all-pow erful deity, as he directs h i m to 'the first moevere' at the end of the Knight's Tale. I n each case behind apparent caprice and disorder is an assurance of purpose and order. Hence the love-story of Troilus and Criseyde, though they are perhaps neither of t h e m really tragic characters, is seen by Chaucer as part of the mystery of human existence. He makes i t something more than a lyrical cry of amorous exaltation, something more than a tale of courtly love, something more even than a penetrating study i n the psychology of seduction. I n his hand i t acquires a greater depth and a wider perspective, so that while i n some ways more mediaeval than Boccaccio's romance, his version has that universality which is the sure sign of great literature. Through the medium of Chaucer the story of Troilo and Griseida entered on a long and complicated history which need hardly be considered i n detail i n a survey of the influence of Boccaccio i n England. Suffice i t to say that i n Robert Henryson's powerful Testa­ ment of Cresseid there is still a trace of sympathy for her, but the moral of her punishment w i t h leprosy for her offence is brought out unforget­ tably, and more and more i n the sixteenth century she was regarded r

1

See H . E . Rollins, ' T h e Troilus-Cressida Story f r o m Chaucer to Shakespeare', P.M.L.A., 1917, xxxii, pp. 383-429. 1

T H E FILOCOLO

101

as the type of the fickle wanton. This is clearly the Shakespearian conception, even though Shakespeare's play ends inconclusively. This strange ending tempted Dryden to t r y his hand at improving Shakes­ peare, though i n doing so he merely obscured the central theme, the fickleness of Cressida. Wordsworth, i n his 'Troilus and Cresida', an adaptation of part of Chaucer's poem, has no ethical preoccupation. The scene that appealed to h i m most powerfully was that describing the emotion of Troilus as he stands before the deserted house of the heroine after her departure from Troy. I t is beyond all doubt one of the finest passages i n Troilus and Criseyde, and one is inclined to ask whether, as Wordsworth wrote his version i n 1801, there lingered some memories of his own parting from Annette Vallon. However that may be, i n this poem as i n the Lyrical Ballads of this period, he seized on the elemental human passion here depicted w i t h such intense pathos. This adaptation, l i n k i n g as i t does Boccaccio, Chaucer and Wordsworth, bears out the claim made i n the 1802 revised version of the famous Preface (1800) to the Lyrical Ballads that i n spite o f difference o f soil a n d c l i m a t e , o f l a n g u a g e a n d m a n n e r s , o f l a w s a n d customs: i n spite o f t h i n g s s i l e n t l y g o n e o u t o f m i n d , a n d t h i n g s v i o l e n t l y d e s t r o y e d ; t h e P o e t b i n d s t o g e t h e r b y passion a n d k n o w l e d g e t h e vast e m p i r e o f h u m a n society, as i t is spread o v e r t h e w h o l e e a r t h , a n d o v e r a l l t i m e .

4. T h e Filocolo Boccaccio's first romance, the Filocolo, was far too long and rambling to attract a translator either i n England or Spain, though a German version was printed at Metz i n 1499 and again i n 1500. France had to wait u n t i l 1542, when Adrien Sevin's rendering achieved great popularity, which was perhaps due i n part to the fact that the Filocolo was based on the French tale of Floris and Blanchefleur. However, the possibility had already been grasped of detaching a section of the romance and giving i t an independent existence. The episode i n question describes how the hero Florio, having been deprived of Biancofiore by her parents, i n the course of his quest for her is driven to Naples by a storm. Outside the city he and his friends, on passing a garden where there is a joyous company, are invited to enter. Later, i n the heat of the day, Fiammetta requests the strangers to join her and her attendants. Seated i n a circle round a fountain, they choose Fiammetta as their queen. Each of the thirteen i n t u r n sets forth a problem on love. This is solved by Fiammetta; then the speaker dissents from her view; and thereupon Fiammetta answers the chal­ lenge and defends her opinion. W h e n evening comes, the merry1

1

Gesamtkatalog, i v , items 4470 and 4 4 7 1 .

102

THEMINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

m a k i n g is r e s u m e d , a n d at n i g h t f a l l t h e c o m p a n y r e t u r n s t o Naples, w h e r e F l o r i o takes leave o f F i a m m e t t a . A l l t h a t was needed t o develop t h i s i n t o a separate e n t i t y was t o p r o v i d e i t w i t h a n i n t r o d u c t i o n or a r g u m e n t , r e l a t i n g b r i e f l y t h e events t h a t b r o u g h t F l o r i o t o I t a l y .

Treize elegantes demandes damours, p u b l i s h e d i n Paris i n 1531 a n d t w i c e r e p r i n t e d . I n S p a i n w e f i n d Trece questiones muy graciosas, p r i n t e d i n 1546, 1549 a n d 1553. T h i s appears t o h a v e b e e n done first i n t h e

1

2

T h e c o r r e s p o n d i n g E n g l i s h v e r s i o n appeared i n 1567 u n d e r t h e t i t l e

A pleasaunt disport of diuers noble personages w h i c h was r e p r i n t e d i n 1571 a n d 1587 as Thirteene most plesant and delectable questions, entituled a disport of diuers noble personages. T h e i n i t i a l s o f t h e 3

t r a n s l a t o r ' H . G . ' , h a v e b e e n t h o u g h t t o stand f o r H u m p h r e y G i f f o r d a n d H e n r y G r a n t h a m , b u t t h e l a t t e r i n t e r p r e t a t i o n is t h e m o r e p r o b ­ able. T h e t r a n s l a t i o n , w h i c h owes n o t h i n g t o its F r e n c h or Spanish c o u n t e r p a r t s b u t was i n f l u e n c e d b y t h e r e l e v a n t p o r t i o n of Sevin's r e n d e r i n g of the w h o l e

Filocolo,

follows t h e I t a l i a n t e x t w i t h consider­

able f i d e l i t y , t h o u g h G r a n t h a m ' s c o m m a n d o f t h e l a n g u a g e is some­ t i m e s i m p e r f e c t . H e r e a n d t h e r e w e chance u p o n a h a p p y phrase such as ' g o l d e n sleep' f o r ' d o l c e s o n n o ' or ' w e a t h e r beate m a t e s ' f o r ' n a u f r a g h i ' . B u t l e a v i n g such phrases aside, t h e t r a n s l a t i o n c o m b i n e s t h e i n e v i t a b l e c h a r m o f t h e best E l i z a b e t h a n prose w i t h t h e richness a n d s t a t e l y m o v e m e n t of Boccaccio's

Questioni.

T h e s e q u a l i t i e s are r e f l e c t e d ,

f o r i n s t a n c e , i n t h e d e s c r i p t i o n , at t h e close, o f h o w t h e

company

d e p a r t e d a n d P h i l o c o p o w i t h a d i g n i t y o f speech b e f i t t i n g t h e c h i v a l r o u s f o r m a l i t y o f a k n i g h t addressing a q u e e n i n h e r c o u r t , bade f a r e w e l l t o Fiammetta: Thence was heard of al sides the pleasant instruments, and the aire resounding of amorous songs, no part of the Garden was w i t h o u t banketting: wherein they all abode m e r i l y all that day, euen to the last houre: b u t n i g h t being come vpon t h e m , and the starres shewing forth t h e i r l i g h t , i t semed good to the L a d y , & to t h e m al, to depart & to returne to the citie, wherein being entred, Philocopo t a k y n g his leaue, thus sayde vnto h i r : Most noble Fiametta, i f the Gods shoulde euer graunt me, that I were myne o w n , as I am an others, w i t h o u t doubt I shoulde bee presently youres, but bicause myne owne I am not, I can not gyue m y selfe to an other: Howe be i t forsomuch as the miser­ able heart coulde receyue strange fier, so muche the more i t feeleth thorow your inestimable worthinesse to bee kindled, and shall feele alwayes and Hauvette [1909], pp. 3 - 4 . P. Rajna, ' L ' E p i s o d i o delle Questioni d'Amore nel Filocolo del Boccaccio', Romania, 1902, xxxi, pp. 28—32; G. B . Bourland, loc. cit., p. 14; Archiv, cxvi, p. g6, n. 2, and Farinelli, i , p . 244, n . 2. Short-Title Catalogue, items 3180 to 3182; W . C. Hazlitt, Hand Book to Poetical and Dramatic English Literature, 1867, p. 42, i t e m 6b, mentions a fourth of w h i c h only t h e title-page is said to be preserved i n the Bagford papers i n t h e B r i t i s h Museum. N o t h i n g appears to be known of this edition otherwise. I n 1927 there appeared a r e p r i n t w i t h an introduction by E d w a r d H u t t o n . 1 2

3

THE

103

FILOCOLO

i n c e s s a u n t l y , w i t h m o r e effect shal desire n e u e r t o be f o r g e t f u l l o f y o u r w o r t h i n e s s e . She t h a k e d P h i l o c o p o g r e t l y o f t h i s c u r t e s y at his d e p a r t u r e , a d d i n g t h a t i t w o u l d please t h e Gods q u i c k e l y t o b r y n g a gracious peace t o his desires.

I n spite of Grantham's assertion that the reading of the book 'shal bring pleasure and delight', he is obviously not much concerned w i t h the good stories that i t contains, two of which were told again i n the Decameron. He gives no sign either of grasping the relation between the framework for l i n k i n g tales i n the earlier and the later work, or of appreciating the skilful design and perfect symmetry of the Questioni. Nor is he aware of its possible autobiographical interest, for the simple reason that little was known by the Elizabethans about Boccac­ cio's life. Like his contemporaries, Grantham thought far more of h i m as a moralist and scholar than as a man and artist. Hence the impor­ tance i n his eyes of the subject-matter, which 'being therwithall duely considered shall gyue sundrie profitable Lessons meete to be followed'. Of course, the theme of love i n itself was calculated to appeal to the reader, but the problems were presented i n a form highly congenial to an age which was still not too far removed from the mediaeval debats and which delighted i n the use of the dialogue for presenting opposed points of view. I t is evident that at the back of Grantham's m i n d was

the recollection of De casibus, De claris mulieribus, and De genealogia deorum, as may be seen from his tribute to Boccaccio as one ' o f no smal credit w i t h the Learned, for those his sundry well w r i t t e n workes'. For h i m Boccaccio was above all the scholar, a conception which is reflected i n the designation of the author on the title-page as 'Poet Laureat', a term which did not acquire its present meaning i n England u n t i l the age of Dryden but was conferred on writers before that time chiefly to recognise their learning. I t has been maintained that vestiges of the Filocolo can be discovered i n Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde, but this opinion has been treated w i t h scepticism. On the other hand, i t is quite obvious that The Flower of Friendship which 1

2

Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , ' T h e Elizabethan Translation o f the " Q u e s t i o n i d ' A m o r e " i n the Filocolo', M.L.R., 1941, xxxvi, pp. 289—303. Cf. Cummings, pp. 4—12. Scholars have also supposed an indebtedness of the Franklin's Tale to the Filocolo, w h i c h i n part turns on the supposed debt of Troilus and Criseyde to the latter. A m o n g the many notable students of Chaucer who have debated the question, for the sake of brevity only a few can be mentioned. W . H . Schofield, P.M.L.A., x v i , pp. 405—49, believes t h a t Chaucer used, not the Filocolo, but a lost lay. Cummings supports h i m . Rajna, Romania, xxxii, pp. 204—67, argues i n favour of Chaucer's indebtedness to Boccaccio; J. L . Lowes, M.P., xv, 689—728, treats the case thus presented w i t h his customary i n s i g h t ; G . Dempster and J. S. P. Tatlock, i n Sources and Analogues, p. 576, consider i t h i g h l y probable. F. N . Robinson shares this view, but i n the notes to the poem i n his edition of Chaucer pares away m u c h of the supposed evidence. I n these circumstances the hypothesis must be regarded as plausible but not proved. 1

2

104

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

was published i n 1568, one year after Grantham's translation had appeared, owed something to the English version of the thirteen questions. The book tells how a company of distinguished friends, including ' M . Lodouic Viues, and an old Gentleman called M . Erasmus' considered the best way of spending their time. Bowls and archery were proposed, but 1

2

M . P e d r o n o t h i n g at a l l l y k i n g o f such deuises, w h e r e i n t h e L a d i e s s h o u l d be l e f t o u t , said: y h e w e l r e m e m b r e d h o w Boccace & C o u n t i e B a l t i z e r w i t h o t h e r s r e c o u t e d m a n y p r o p e r deuises, f o r exercise, b o t h p l e a s a u n t & p r o f i t a b l e , w h i c h ( q u o t h h e ) w e r e vsed i n y courts o f I t a l i e , a n d some m u c h l i k e t o t h e m , are p r a c t i s e d at t h i s d a y i n t h e E n g l i s h c o u r t , w h e r e i n is n o t o n l y d e l e c t a t i o n , b u t p l e a s u r e i o y n e d w i t h p r o f i t e , a n d exercise o f t h e w i t . f

e

The reference to the custom of Elizabeth's court is all the more notable, because Edmund Tilney, the author of The Flower of Friendship, was afterwards to become Master of the Revels, and dedicated his work to the Queen. His reference to Castiglione obviously applies to The Courtier; that to Boccaccio envisages the contents of A pleasaunt disport of diuers noble personages. Tilney's imitation is not i n the least mechanical. I t is true that just as Ascaleone is first chosen k i n g and then, at his suggestion, Fiammetta is elected queen, so ' Maister Pedro di l u x a n ' is asked to preside, whereupon he proposes that they shall accept Lady Julia as their sovereign. But i n other respects the narrative goes its own way, for the topics are considered on successive afternoons, and on the first i t is Pedro who airs his views on the duties of a husband, on the second, Lady Julia who expounds the obligations of a married woman. There are other traits which lend great charm to Tilney's little book, but these are inspired by the Decameron. 3

Brian Melbancke i n his Philotimus (1583) is less concerned w i t h originality of structure than w i t h the discovery of a good story. He found two among the thirteen questions, nos. 4 and 12, and i n the preamble to the latter we hear an echo from Grantham: T h e Queene of a companie i n a m e r r i e m e e t i n g of gallants for disporte, this question propounded . . .

hauing

Both stories are condensed, and the tone is crude. I t is obvious that i n spite of Melbancke's euphuistic style they were meant for a public very different from that envisaged i n The Flower of Friendship. No great interval elapsed between the publication of Philotimus and the composition of Lyly's Loves Metamorphosis.* The transformation of the nymphs Nisa, Celia and Niobe by Cupid for their hardness of heart has been traced back to an episode i n the seventh book of the 1

2

I t was m u c h read. O t h e r editions i n 1571 and 1577. Noted by Scott, p. 2 1 . V i d e post, p. 4 8 1 . 3

4

N o t published t i l l 1601.

105

FIAMMETTA

Filocolo, w i t h which L y l y has interwoven the story of Erisichthon's metamorphosis i n Ovid. There is a parallel i n Robert Greene's Alcida, where three nymphs undergo a like transformation. The per­ plexing problem that faces the scholar is therefore to determine whether L y l y was following Greene or Greene, L y l y . I f the date 1588—9 be accepted as that when Lyly's play was written, i t would seem that the credit for the notion of harking back to Boccaccio must go to Greene. On the other hand, i f i t be assumed that Loves Meta­ morphosis was w r i t t e n as early as 1585-6,* then i t is Greene who is the debtor to L y l y . I n either case we have here yet another example of the infiltration of classical conceptions into Elizabethan literature through the medium of Boccaccio. 1

2

3

5

5. Fiammetta One can only speculate what Chaucer would have made of Fiammetta i f i t had come into his hands, but i t was late i n reaching England. I n Spain i t was translated early, perhaps at the beginning of the fifteenth century, and found its way into print at Salamanca i n 1497 and at Seville i n 1525. I t was widely read u n t i l i t was placed on the Index i n Spain i n 1631. I n France i t was slow to arrive, and the first version gave only six chapters, but i t at once became popular. Two editions appeared i n 1532 at Paris and Lyons, and a t h i r d i n 1541. A new translation of the whole work was made i n 1585 by Gabriel Chappuys and printed along w i t h the Italian t e x t . I t was perhaps as a result of this bilingual rendering that Fiammetta began to arouse enthusiasm i n England, for i t was i n 1585 that Paulus Jovius observed how ' Courtiers are inwardly rauished i n vewing the Picture of Fiametta which Boccace l i m n e d ' . I n any case, two years later Bartholomew Young published his Amorous Fiammetta prob­ ably using for this purpose the Italian text of an edition printed either i n 1558 or 1565. The mere fact that the book was dedicated to such 6

7

8

9

10

V . M . Jeffery, John Lyly and the Italian Renaissance, Paris, 1928, pp. 84—91. Published 1588. Rene Pruvost, Robert Greene et ses romans, Paris, 1938, pp. 315-17. T . W . B a l d w i n , Shakspere's Five-Act Structure, Urbana, 1947, pp. 517-25. T h e Filocolo afterwards was l i t t l e known. A n a t t e m p t has been made to prove that Keats used i t for ' T h e Eve of St. Agnes' (cf. H . N . MacCracken, i n M.P., 1907, v, pp. 145—52) b u t this is unconvincing. A . M o n t u c c i included some passages f r o m i t i n his Italian Extracts (cf. 2nd ed., 1818, pp. 297—303, 305—7, 308—11). Archiv, cxvi, pp. 79—80; and F a r i n e l l i , i , pp. 209—11; also Bourland, loc. c i t . , p. 13. Hauvette [1909], pp. 3 3 - 4 3 . The Worthy tract of Paulus Iouius, sigs. 4 verso— 5. R e p r i n t e d w i t h some modernisation, London, 1929. Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , ' T h e I t a l i a n E d i t i o n of Boccaccio's Fiammetta used by Bar­ tholomew Y o u n g ' , M.L.R., 1943, xxxviii, pp. 339—340. 1

2

3 4

6

6

7

8

9

1 0

106

THE MINOR

ITALIAN

WORKS

a well-known figure as Sir W i l l i a m Hatton and that the translator was a member of the Middle Temple suggests that i t was thought likely to appeal to cultured and influential circles. The translator included i n his work the epistle of Gabriele Giolito which declared that Fiammetta was amongst the finest prose of ' that most excellent & learned Clarke, Master John Boccace', and Thomas Newman i n his dedication, though he refers deprecatingly to the book as only prose, nevertheless did not fail to extol Boccaccio as 'a famous Poet'. There was indeed an abundance of material, particularly i n the seventh book, where Fiammetta's sufferings are compared w i t h those of the famous lovers i n classical antiquity, to satisfy the craving of the age for the background of the ancient Avorld. Here was Boccaccio the scholar, but as i n so many of his works, the learning is blended w i t h the theme of love. I n one sense Fiammetta is complementary to the Filostrato, the latter a story of the betrayal of Troilo by the faithless Griseida, the other a tale of the desertion of Fiammetta by Panfilo. I n both works the anguish of soul is powerfully depicted by the hand of a master i n the understanding of the human heart, an insight which may well have its origin i n his own experience. Such anguish was calculated to appeal to a generation that found delight i n Petrarch, and i t is signifi­ cant that on the title-page of Amorous Fiammetta the translator quotes from one of his sonnets the words 1

2

b e l fine fa, c h i b e n a m a n d o m u o r e

which he repeats i n Spanish at the end of his translation and again i n French after the table of contents. This is a significant reminder that the translation appeared just before the great outburst of sonnetw r i t i n g i n England i n the last decade of the sixteenth century. I n Bartholomew Young's mind there was a palpable connexion between the love-theme of the Petrarchan sonnet and that of Fiammetta. A t the same time the translator thought i t necessary to lend a moral purpose to the story. Giolito, addressing the ladies of Castale i n Monferrato had asked: Because c o n t a y n i n g i n i t t h e sighes, t h e teares, & p r o l o n g e d m i s e r i e s o f a n e n a m o u r e d y o n g G e n t l e w o m a n forsaken of her L o u e r , w h o d o t h n o t conceiue t h i s v e r y same t o be set f o o r t h as a s o u e r a i g n e e x a m p l e , a n d sole i n s t r u c t i o n for y o u a l l . 3

And so he admonishes them: Nephew of Sir Christopher Hatton, L o r d Chancellor and favourite of Queen Elizabeth (cf. D.N.B., xxv, p. 162). Christopher H a t t o n h i m s e l f is associated w i t h Boccaccio. V i d e post, p. 178. Book x, n o . Cf. Le Rime di Francesco Petrarca, Rome, 1821, i , 330. Dedication, para. one. 1

2

3

107

FIAMMETTA

Reade i t therefore, & dyscoursing amongst your selues the dolorous coplaints of that miserable and haplesse Ladye Fiammetta: by her desastrous and aduerse Fortune, learne you (fayre Ladyes) to be wyser and better aduysed. 1

Thomas Newman was quick to seize on this interpretation and present the book as a warning against undisciplined passion. His words are echoed on the title-page: Amorous Fiammetta. W h e r e i n is sette downe a catologue of all and singuler passions of Loue and iealosie, incident to an enamored yong Gentlewoman, w i t h a notable caueat for all women to eschewe deceitfull and wicked Loue, by an apparant example of a Neapolitan Lady, her approued & long miseries, and w i t h many sounde dehortations from the same.

Young did not go quite so far as Chappuys who considered that his readers would draw from his version the lesson that they should devote themselves entirely to the love of God and find no perfect pleasure except in their Creator. Nevertheless, the moral conclusion of the English translation, however peculiar it might have seemed to Boccaccio, would have won the approbation of Samuel Richardson. But the time was not ripe i n England for the psychological novel i n prose. Young's translation may well have enjoyed some success on its publication, but Fiammetta found no imitators. The temper of the literary world underwent a change as the sixteenth century drew to a close. Petrarch gave way to Hall and Donne, and the spirit of romance began to quail before the lash of satire. It is also probable that as the years passed by, Young's style was found too ornate and too full of artifice. I t is also verbose to an extra­ ordinary degree. Adjectives are piled up. Some are inserted, so that 'sonno' becomes 'sweet sleepe', 'bugie', 'plausible lies' and 'casi', 'bitter chaunces'; others are doubled, so that 'sozze' is rendered by 'foule and lothsome', 'tempestuosi' by 'boysterous and tempestuous', 'sottile' by 'subtile and Sophisticall'. Nouns and verbs are duplicated in the same way. I n general, the turn of phrase is cumbrous, as may be seen from the rendering of ' per lunga usanza' as ' by tract of long time and custome', of 'stimolati da molti dish' as 'procured and main­ tained by innumerable pricking desires', and a simple combination like 'atti diversi' is inflated to the dimensions of 'diuers dryfts, manie meanes, and sundry flights'. Of course, this expansion is not without purpose. I t arises from a desire for balance and alliteration. But the effect is to slow down the movement of Boccaccio's prose, as may be gathered from a comparison of 2

nella vaga puerizia tratta, sotto reverenda maestra qualunque costume a nobile giovane conveniente apparai {O.V. ch. i , . 3) P

1

Dedication, para. t w o .

2

Hauvette [1909], pp. 4 2 - 3 .

THE MINOR ITALIAN

108

WORKS

with i n m y y o n g a n d t e n d e r yeeres, b r o u g h t v p p e v n d e r a r e u e r e n d a n d sage M a t r o n e , I easilie l e a r n e d e u e r i e good q u a l i t i e , w h i c h was m o s t c o n u e n i e n t a n d commendable for anie y o n g and noble W o m a n . (page l )

This style seems all the more unnatural, because it is employed in an attempt to convey the grief of a broken-hearted lover. Nevertheless, it is likely that Young's contemporaries admired its opulent decoration and stately harmony. I n the long run, however, when taste changed in favour of simple and direct style, such mannered writing went out of fashion. Whatever the cause or causes, Amorous Fiammetta was not reprinted and left no successors. 1

2

6. The Ninfale

Fiesolano

Neither in France nor in Spain was the Ninfale Fiesolano appreciated to anything like the same extent as Fiammetta. A translation is known to have been in the possession of the marquis of Santillana but now seems to have disappeared, and in France the only rendering was that of Antoine Guercin, printed at Lyons in 1556. This fell into the hands of Jo. Goubourne, and he turned it into English. The version of this otherwise unknown writer was published by an obscure printer, William Blackman, i n 1597. An account of the book with a transcrip­ tion of the title-page was given by J. Payne Collier. He did not state where he had seen this copy, which seemed to have disappeared, until it was revealed that i t was in the library of Worcester College, Oxford. Goubourne dedicated his book to 'Maister Frauncis Verseline' who belonged to a family of Venetian glass-makers named Verzellini. The father, James or Jakob, enjoyed the support of Sir William Cecil, and 3

4

U n t i l the edition of K . H . Josling, London, i g 2 g . I t has been suggested by W . D . Briggs t h a t there is a vague recollection of Fiammetta i n the Faerie Queene, i i i , 2 (cf. Matzke Memorial Volume, Stanford University, 1911, pp. 57—61). I n t h e nineteenth century some passages were given i n A . M o n tucci's Italian Extracts (2nd ed., 1818, pp. 3 1 2 - 1 5 ) . His comment is characteristic of his age: 1 2

T h e subject of this h i g h l y interesting poetical novel is the i l l i c i t love of a m a r r i e d lady, called F i a m m e t t a ; and although a few lines of i t are devoted to p a i n t i n g the transitory charms of pleasure; yet her t o r t u r i n g disappointment and long repentance are represented so lively t h r o u g h o u t the w o r k , t h a t i t cannot b u t inspire its readers w i t h detestation for the crimes of F i a m m e t t a , and deeply i m p l a n t i n t h e i r bosoms a love for t h a t v i r t u e , w h i c h is the firmest tie of h u m a n society, namely, conjugal fidelity. A Bibliographical and Critical Account of the Rarest Books in the English Language, London, 1865, i , p. 13. I t was edited by C. H . W i l k i n s o n for the Roxburghe Club i n Two Tracts Affrican and Mensola . . . and Newes and Strange Newes from St. Christophers, Oxford, 1946. 3

4

THE

NINFALE

109

FIESOLANO

from 1574-5 on he figures, sometimes with his son Francis, i n con­ temporary records. These facts are of interest, as they show that Goubourne's patron was an Englishman of Italian descent who had some taste for the literature of Italy. In his dedication Goubourne admits that he has relied on a French text, and the title-page is equally candid: 1

N e w l y translated out of Tuscan into French by Anthony Guerin, Creste.

domino

A n d out of French into English by Io. Goubourne.

The name of the French writer calls for comment, since i n the Lyons edition it is given as 'Antoine Guercin du Crest'. Evidently 'Guercin' has been carelessly read as ' Guerin' and ' du' as ' do', that is, ' domino'. The phrase 'Newly translated' is also peculiar when it is borne i n mind that Guercin's rendering was over forty years old. I t is simply the literal and thoughtless equivalent of ' Nouuellement traduit'. This is characteristic of Goubourne's procedure. Seldom does he display any independence. I t is true that he discards the title ' Le Nymphal Flossolan', perhaps thinking it unintelligible to an English reader, and replaces it by the sub-title, at the same time lending to it a more seriously emotional note: A Famous tragicall discourse of two louers, Affrican, and Mensola, hues infortunate loues, and lamentable deaths . . .

their

Yet immediately afterwards he returns to Guercin with the words 'A History no lesse pleasant then full of recreation and delight', the tone of which seems incongruous after the earlier part of the title. In other respects, however, Goubourne is almost invariably a slavish imitator. He was probably unaware that the Ninfale Fiesolano was a poem of four hundred and seventy-two stanzas. Like Guercin he writes in prose, divided into chapters, the sole difference being that the French version has nineteen chapters, the English only eighteen, because the first of Guercin, an epistle desiring the favour of his lady, was not the work of Boccaccio, and so, not unreasonably, was left unnumbered by Goubourne. Wherever Guercin diverges from the original, the English transla­ tion follows suit. Thus the names 'Affrican', 'Alcumena' and 'Senadeche' are taken, not from ' Africo', ' Alimena' and ' Sinedecchia', but from their counterparts i n the French text. Most conspicuous of all is the name 'Flossolan'. At first Guercin had translated 'Fiesole' by ' Flossole' but later he replaced it by ' Flossolan', his equivalent for the corresponding adjective, 'Fiesolano'. Perceiving the discrepancy, Gou­ bourne everywhere uses 'Flossolan'. The work ends, i n accordance 1

Wilkinson, p. xxv, notes 1 and 2.

110

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

with Guercin's example, by applying this strange form to the book itself: 'Thus endeth Maister Iohn Bocace to his Flossolan', the very structure of which is a clumsy adaptation of ' Icy se taist M . Jean Boccace, et fait fin a son Flossolan'. Hauvette's penetrating analysis of Guercin's methods enables us to watch how Goubourne accepts his omissions, abbreviations, addi­ tions and errors. More important than such minutiae, however, is the transformation that is brought about in various aspects of the poem. It has been universally recognised that one of its most pleasing features is the tenderness with which Boccaccio portrayed the relationship between the hero and his parents, their anxiety for his welfare when he is oppressed by the cares of love, and their grief at his death. The first of these is abridged, and i n the episode where they perform the last rites for Affrican, the victim of Diana's wrath, instead of burying his remains by the side of the river, the parents unfeelingly cast his ashes into the water. Another incident which i n Boccaccio was full of intense pathos depicts the arrival of the aged Senadeche with the orphan child of Affrican and Mensola, so that she may entrust it to the sorrowing grandparents. Something of its emotional power still lingers, but much has been lost. The figure of Mensola also falls short of the delicacy and innocence of the original. This nymph, dedicated to the service of Diana, had fled before the young shepherd and in a fit of anger had shot an arrow at him and the next moment had uttered a cry of warning. I n the French version and consequently i n that of Goubourne this subtle indication of the dawn of love is ignored. Instead, Mensola slackens her pace so that she may satisfy her curiosity about the pursuer. Later, when she discovers that she is with child, she displays a worldly wisdom and a sensual ardour that are alien to her namesake in the Ninfale Fiesolano. It may be that these elements i n her character spring from a con­ ception at the back of Guercin's mind of Diana and her nymphs as the counterparts of an abbess and her nuns. He even goes so far as to present Diana as holding a chapter. That being so, he was perhaps inclined to associate the story of Mensola with tales of amorous living in monasteries and convents i n which the literature of the late Middle Ages abounded. This is all the more probable because, as Hauvette has demonstrated, Guercin was familiar with the Decameron. Boccaccio's poem was an expression of violent passion but at times in Guercin's hands this deteriorated into a tasteless lasciviousness. All the same he experienced some qualms. He thought it necessary to turn a blind eye to the opening stanzas i n which Boccaccio extols 1

2

1

Hauvette [1909], pp. 4 3 - 9 .

2

I b i d . , p . 47, n . 6.

T H E NINFALE

111

FIESOLANO

love and to add a passage which, as Goubourne renders it, explains that sacred love for his lady hath caused me to aduenture this present trauaile: and take pen i n hand, to discourse an Historie verie auncient, but pleasant, full of delight and w o r t h y your hearing: to the ende that each one k n o w i n g the subtill sleights of Cupid, m i g h t learne to eschew his Darts, and sharpe pointed arrowes, yielding at the first a poysoned sweete, pleasant, and inuisible: but once wounded, the sweetnes becomes meere rage, bereauing h i m of sence, memory, and vnderstanding that feeles i t : A n d w i t h like care to extinguish the hote b u r n i n g and pestilent fier of that Goddesse his Mother, sole enemie to Chastitie. 1

Thus Boccaccio's paean becomes an admonition. As i f this were not enough, an appeal is addressed to all amorous ladies to defend the translation: vouchsafe to shield me against the enuious backbiters, that by their venomous pearcing and detracting tongues, I be not deemed to haue w r i t t e n of a t h i n g base and vnprofitable. 2

The carping critics are again rebutted in the epistle to the reader, and in reply to the accusation that the work is devoid of profit, the author declares that he will not heed the brutishly minded: I care not, seeing m y translation I present not to them, but to euery gentle m i n d affecting v e r t u e . 3

Such a claim would indeed be difficult to uphold, but it is symptoma­ tic of the uneasiness that Guercin felt after tampering with Boccaccio's poem. Goubourne may well have shared this discomfort, but his slavish fidelity conceals any personal reaction. I f we are in the dark about his attitude to the ethical problem involved, we can at least discern that he was not much concerned about the origin of Florence and its associa­ tion with Fiesole, a matter of profound interest to Boccaccio. As a result there is a visible tendency for him to hasten through this part of the narrative and reach the close. I t is, of course, true that Boccaccio was primarily attracted to the love-story and that although he was now remote from Naples and could view with detachment his youthful passion, the knowledge of the bitterness of parting still lingered and enabled him to enter into the grief of the shepherd and the nymph after their brief hour of happiness. For Goubourne this was also the central theme, and the mythological background with its rivalry of Venus and Diana merely of secondary value. Yet through the medium of Guercin the charm of the pastoral setting with its clear streams and cool valleys penetrated to him. His style is marked by the same quest for alliteration as that of Bartholomew Young, but he writes with ease 1

2

Dedication to Author's ' M i s t r i s ' . Ibid.

' T o the Readers H e a l t h ' .

112

THE MINOR ITALIAN

WORKS

as i n the following passage that describes Affrican's fruitless search for Mensola: As he thus reasoned w i t h himselfe, he beheld certaine young Maides of meruailous beauty, sporting t h e m selues i n midst of a thicket w i t h i n that Valley, w h o m he thought to surprize before they wist: A n d as one that seekes to catch the Cricket or Grashopper of the Groue, so went he softly stealing among the bushes, to a rowe of Chesnuts there g r o w i n g : I n the shadow whereof he espyed three Damsels, t h e i r heads decked w i t h greene Chaplets, reposing their weary bodies at the feete of those Trees, deuising together, and sweetly singing i n the shade. 1

Another such graceful picture is drawn when the arrival of Diana is described: i n a Valley large, plaine, and very dilectable, i n the middest whereof was a Pond, the water therein discending from a siluer spring i n the height of the Mountaine, bordering the East side of the Vally, ranne w i t h a sweete and delectable m u r m u r e : w h i c h passed for a space by the Plaine, letted by the rootes of sundry great Trees, staide i t selfe i n forme of a l i t t l e Lake. The water discending from the Fountaine, by the fresh force thereof had decked the place where i t passed, w i t h sundry sorts of sweet hearbes and flowers. 2

The scene is pleasing i n itself, but it has an additional value as a first sketch of the 'Valle delle donne', so that even i f Goubourne's Famous tragicall discourse soon sank into oblivion, at least it contained an artistic anticipation of a notable scene i n the Decameron. 3

1

3

W i l k i n s o n , fol. 13. W i l k i n s o n , fol. 4. A t the end of Day V I of the Decameron, vide post, pp. 344, 350, 3 5 1 , 357, 402. 2

Ill THE DECAMERON I N THE FOURTEENTH, FIFTEENTH, AND SIXTEENTH HE

Decameron

CENTURIES

as a w h o l e does n o t s e e m to h a v e b e c o m e k n o w n

i n Western Europe u n t i l the fifteenth century. France was J L earliest i n the field when Laurent de Premierfait, who lacked any acquaintance w i t h Italian and had to rely on the aid of a friar, Antonio d'Arezzo, produced a translation i n 1414. I t was printed i n 1485 by Antoine Verard and though arbitrarily mutilated by Verard, ran to eight editions between 1485 and 1541. Still more popular was the racy and accurate version of Antoine le Macon. W i t h i n seventy years of its publication i n 1545 nineteen editions appeared i n Paris, Lyons, Amsterdam and Rotterdam. As was the case w i t h Boccaccio's L a t i n works, royal personages took an interest i n the Decameron. A copy o f Premierfait's rendering was presented to the duke of Berry, t h i r d son of K i n g J o h n the Good and brother of Charles V ; and i t was Queen Margaret of Navarre, sister of Francis I , who encouraged le Macon to undertake his task, and i t was to her that his work was dedicated. I n Spain the Decameron i n its entirety was translated into Catalan i n 1429, and another manuscript of the middle of the century contains fifty stories i n Castilian. The first printed edition was published at Seville i n 1496, and four others followed i n the next century. I n Germany a translator who used the pseudonym ' A r i g o ' produced a version which was printed at U l m about 1473 and at Augsburg i n 1490. I t continued to enjoy great popularity i n the sixteenth century and left a deep mark on Hans Sachs. I n Holland, where the humanis­ tic movement was strong as i n southern Germany, fifty tales were 1

2

3

N o w t h o u g h t to he H e i n r i c h L e u b i n g . Cf. K . Drescher, Arigo, der Ubersetzer des Decamerone und des Fiore di Virtu, Strassburg, 1900. For the text of the translation see Decameron von Heinrich Steinhdwel, ed. A . von Keller, Stuttgart, i 8 6 0 . For a b r i e f account of the west European translations of the Decameron see H . G . W r i g h t , The First English Translation of the 'Decameron', Upsala, 1953, pp. 8-10. J. H a r t m a n n , Das Verhaltnis von Hans Sachs zur sogenannten Steinhowelschen Decameronubersetzung, B e r l i n , 1912. 1

2

3

I

114

T H E DECAMERON:

14th T O 16th C E N T U R I E S

translated by Dirck Cornhert, a notable figure of the Dutch Renais­ sance, in 1564, and i n 1605 the remaining fifty were published in the rendering of Gerrit Hendricx van Breugel. England had to wait until 1620 for a complete translation but, of course, i n one way or another news of the Decameron had arrived long before then. I n view of Chaucer's familiarity with Italian, an advantage denied to most of his countrymen for many a long day, there has been a natural inclination to assume that he must have read the work, it being argued that this was all the more likely because of his probable meeting with Boccaccio in 1373. However, such a meeting is just as dubious as the supposed visit of Milton to Galileo. Moreover, there is no convincing internal evidence that Chaucer had read any of the tales or that the framework for his Canterbury Tales was suggested by that of the Decameron. If there are such strong reasons against Chaucer's acquaintance with the Decameron, there can be no doubt about the interest taken i n it by Humphrey, duke of Gloucester. He possessed a copy of Premierfait's translation, and the manuscript presented to him by the earl of Warwick with a note i n Humphrey's autograph is still i n the Bibliotheque Nationale. The work continued to be read i n the highest circles and, turning northwards to Scotland, we find 'The decameron of Bocas' i n the Royal Library i n 1578. I n the humbler ranks of society also it attained a certain diffusion i n the course of the sixteenth century. Thus Sir Thomas More's personal servant, Walter Smyth, in his will bequeathed to John More, his master's only son, Chaucer's tales and 'Boocas', which was probably the Decameron. Again it can be surmised with some likelihood that it was one of the distractions of Gabriel Harvey while an undergraduate at Oxford. He describes how he devoured 1

2

3

4

6

6

A l l k y n d e o f bookes, good a n d b a d d , S a y n t i s h a n d d i v e l i s h , t h a t are t o be h a d d . Vide post, p. 191. Cf. Piero Rebora, ' M i l t o n a Firenze', Nuova Antologia, October, 1953. T h e question is discussed, w i t h references to other contributions to this topic, by R. K . Root, 'Chaucer and the Decameron', Englische Studien, 1912, xliv, pp. 1—7; W . F. Schirmer, 'Boccaccios W e r k e als Quelle G . Chaucers', Germanisch-Romanische Monatsschrift, 1924, x i i , pp. 289—93; W . F a r n h a m , 'England's Discovery of the Decameron', P.M.L.A., 1924, xxxix, pp. 123—59; M a r i o Praz, 'Chaucer and the great I t a l i a n writers of the T r e c e n t o ' , The Monthly Criterion, 1927, v i , pp. 141—50; R. A . P r a t t and K . Young, ' T h e L i t e r a r y F r a m e w o r k of t h e Canterbury Tales' i n Sources and Analogues of Chaucer's 'Canterbury Tales', ed. W . F. B r y a n and G . Dempster, Chicago [ i 9 4 ° ] . PP- n - 2 0 . M S . Fr. 12, 4 2 1 . Cf. K . H . Vickers, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, London, 1907, 1

2 3

4

P- 437D i b d i n , i i i , p. 246. Cf. A . W . Reed, Early 5 6

Tudor Drama, London, 1926, p. 154.

T H E DECAMERON:

14th T O 1 6 t h C E N T U R I E S

115

Alternating between grave and gay, he is seen one moment poring over Cicero's Orations and Aristotle's Politics, and then W i t h i n a daye o r t w o e i m m e d i a t e l y f o l l o w i n g e , A t P e t r a r c h e a n d Boccace I m u s t h a u e a f l y n g e .

1

After wrestling with Cicero and Aristotle, Boccaccio might well seem an agreeable relaxation. Yet he, as well as Petrarch and Dante, offered difficulties to the English scholar, and to provide for the needs of the latter William Thomas, who had stayed at Padua, drew up the Principall rules of the Italian Grammer and added ' a Dictionarie for the better vnderstandynge of Boccace, Petrarcha, and Dante'. An edition of the Decameron i n Italian was licensed to John Wolfe on 13 September 1587, though no copy is at present known. The authori­ sation by Archbishop Whitgift may appear remarkable, but the reputa­ tion of Boccaccio as a humanist still was high, and the renderings into Latin of the tales of Grisild, Guiscardo and Ghismonda, Titus and Gisippus, and Cimone by Petrarch, Bruni and Beroaldo were not forgotten. The archbishop could have justified the study of the last of these stories, as was done by an anonymous writer at the end of the century who mentions Boccaccio and Plato side by side as exponents of the view that love can make a man ' gentle, debonaire and vertuous' or 'so ciuill gentle, conformable, valiant and renowned, as no one could equall him in all graces and good partes beseeming a Gentle­ man'. 2

3

4

6

5

7

8

9

However, not all humanists were agreed about Boccaccio, and some notable figures at home and abroad condemned tales and romances. Vives, whose work on The instruction of a Christen woman appeared in English about 3 540, criticises such popular reading as Amadis and Tristan, Lancilot du Lake, Floris and Blanchefleur, Pyramus and Thisbe, Guy of Warwick and Bevis of Southampton, and the Euryalus of jfineas Sylvius, later Pope Pius I I . The Decameron, like Poggio's Facetice, was severely censured by Vives. So too Roger Ascham in The Scholemaster in 1570 denounces Morte Arthure and incidentally, the episodes of ' Sir Launcelote' and ' Syr Tristram'. He then continues: 10

Letter-Book, ed. E . J. L . Scott, Camden Society, Series I I , No. 33, 1894, PP- 3 3 4 See the edition of 1562. T h e w o r k was first published i n 1550. Cf. Scott, p. 91 and Arber's Transcript, i i , p. 2 2 1 . Scott points out as a notable fact t h a t i n the same year the publication of B a r t h o l o m e w Young's translation of Amorosa Fiammetta w as sanctioned by the bishop of London. Vide post, pp. 116-22, 196,507. Vide post, pp. 123, 131. Vide post, p. 154. P r i n t e d about 1498. Cf. Gesamtkatalog, i t e m 4437. Vide post, pp. 194, 264. T h e reference is to the ' C o n u i u i u m ' , i.e. the Symposium. Fancies ague-fittes, or beauties nettle-bed, 1599. M y attention was drawn to this w o r k by W i l k i n s o n , p. x x i . Cf. Opera, Basle, 1555, i i , p. 658. I

1

2 3

T

4 7

8

9

1 0

5

6

_

116

THE

DECAMERON: 1 4 t h T O 1 6 t h C E N T U R I E S

A n d y e t t e n Morte Arthures do n o t t h e t e n t h p a r t o f so m u c h h a r m e , as one o f these bookes m a d e i n Italie, and translated i n E n g l a n d . T h e y open, not f o n d a n d c o m m o n w a y e s t o v i c e , b u t such s u t l e , c u n n y n g , n e w , a n d d i u e r s e shiftes, t o c a r y y o n g w i l l e s to v a n i t i e , a n d y o n g w i t t e s t o m i s c h i e f , t o t e a c h o l d b a w d e s n e w schole p o y n t e s , as t h e s i m p l e h e a d o f a n E n g l i s h m a n is n o t hable to i n u e n t . 1

It is true that Ascham does not specify the Decameron, but it must have been on his list, for shortly after he contrasts unfavourably ' a tale in Boccace' with a story of the Bible. One year earlier this point of view is presented with even greater vehemence in the English translation by J. Sandford of the German philosopher Henricus Cornelius Agrippa's work, which in its English dress was called Of the Vanitie and vncertaintie of Arts and Sciences. He too rejects as dangerous such tales of love as those of Lancelot and Tristram and condemns ^Eneas Sylvius, Dante, Petrarch, and above all Boccaccio, who h a t h w o n n e h i m s e l f e t h e p r i c e o r p a l m e o f bawdes c h i e f l y e i n those bookes, w h i c h e h e e n t i t u l e d L e cento N o u e l l e : w h o s e e x a m p l e s , & d o c t r i n e s , are n o t h i n g e els, b u t v e r y s u b t i l l deceites o f b a w d r i e s . 2

This trend of opinion, which judged all literature exclusively by moral values, was not without some effect in governing the choice and treat­ ment of tales from the Decameron. l . Tales i n Verse derived through French and L a t i n Though Chaucer's Clerk's Tale is ultimately derived from the Decameron, i t is based on an anonymous French prose translation of the Latin version made by Petrarch and on the revised draft of the text as it left the great humanist's hand shortly before his death in 1374. What with the changes introduced by Petrarch and those resulting from Chaucer's modification, the story differed in some res­ pects from that of Boccaccio. 3

4

1570 ed., f o l . 27. 1569 ed., f o l . 98. For an account of the French versions, see E . Golenistcheff-Koutouzoff, L'histoire de Griseldis en France au XIV et au XV siecle, Paris, 1933. T h r o u g h the m e d i u m o f Petrarch's version the story was also carried to Germany, where i t was p r i n t e d separately, several editions appearing i n the period 1470—80 (cf. Decameron von Heinrich Steinhbwel, ed. A . von Keller, Stuttgart, i 8 6 0 , p. 685). S i m i l a r l y the Spaniards knew i t i n Petrarch's version and ascribed i t to h i m (cf. Farinelli, i , 32—6). For an account of the widespread popularity of the story o f G r i s i l d i n many countries, and not only i n the M i d d l e Ages, see K . Laserstein, Der Griseldisstojf in der Weltliteratur, W e i m a r , 1926. Cf. J. B . Severs, ''The Clerk's Tale' i n Sources and Analogues of Chaucer's 'Canter­ bury Tales', pp. 288—91, and The Literary Relationships of Chaucer's 'Clerkes Tale', N e w Haven and N e w Y o r k , 1942. 1

2

3

e

4

e

117

TALES I N VERSE

Here and there a detail is added which lends an air of veracity to the narrative. The gems for Grisild are 'set i n gold and in asure'; the wedding procession moves away with all the young nobles of Walter's retinue, to the accompaniment of ' many a soun of sondry melodye'; the revelry that follows continues until sunset, and the festivities after the reconciliation ' t i l on the welkne shoon the sterres light'. The poet depicts Grisild as a casual spectator, who, curious to see the new marchioness, intends to stand with other village-maidens and who, when called by Walter sette d o u n h i r w a t e r - p o t a n o o n B i s y d e t h e t h r e s h f o l d , i n a n oxes s t a l l e .

1

(E 290-1)

Yet even i f these traits added here and there enable the reader to see people and places more clearly, Chaucer was still more concerned with the minds of human beings. The tale itself presented a theme dear to Boccaccio—the existence of nobility of soul in the lowest ranks of society. Chaucer accepted this, as is shown by the remarks on ' gentilesse' in The Wife of Bath's Tale, which were inspired by the classical tradition that had been handed on to Dante. However, that did not mean that he idolised the people. Even though he recognised the person of exceptional qualities, he could not refrain from a generalisa­ tion which gives a different turn to Petrarch's text when he makes the Clerk declare that 'the peple have no greet insight i n vertu'. If Chaucer's critical attitude suddenly gleams forth here, it is openly displayed to condemn the fickleness of the masses i n their quest of novelty which leads them to approve their lord's plan to replace Grisild by a younger wife: 2

3

4

Y o u r d o o m is fals, y o u r Constance y v e l p r e v e t h , A f u l g r e e t fool is h e t h a t o n y o w l e v e t h !

(E 1000-1)

Chaucer belonged to those who, like the sober folk i n the city, despised such incalculable gusts of popular feeling. How then does he present Walter, the capricious husband of Grisild? I t was no easy task to discover enough sympathetic qualities i n him to reconcile the reader to the happy ending of Boccaccio's tale. Indeed, Dioneo, the narrator of the story in the Decameron, exhibits him as one who, far from illus­ trating the theme of liberality or magnificence which had been laid down for the tenth day, was guilty of 'una matta bestialita'. Chaucer tries to suggest some essential goodness i n Walter when the latter, Quotations f r o m the Clerk's Tale are taken f r o m Skeat. Skeat, D 1109—204. P a r t i c u l a r l y i n the Convivio. Cf. B . J. W h i t i n g , The Wife of Bath's Tale i n Sources and Analogues of Chaucer's Tales, pp. 2 6 5 - 6 . E 242-3. 1

2

3

4

118

T H E DECAMERON:

14th T O 16th C E N T U R I E S

moved by his wife's constancy, casts his eyes downward and when, as a prelude to his disclosure of the truth, i n an access of remorseful tenderness he calls her ' dere w y f . Yet on the whole Chaucer con­ trives to stir our feelings against Walter by the insertion of such words as 'sturdy' ('harsh'), 'wikke' and 'boistously' ('roughly'). More plainly he shows his bent when the Clerk maintains: 1

I seye t h a t y v e l i t sit Tassaye a w y f w h a n t h a t i t is n o n e d e , A n d p u t t e n h e r i n anguish and i n drede,

(E 460-2)

a sentiment which he later reiterates. A similar procedure can be noted i n the sketch of Walter's servant who obeys his commands to carry off first the daughter, then the son from Grisild. The choice of words ' he stalked him ful stille' to describe his entrance into her chamber is significant. Equally menacing is his silence when Grisild pleads for her children. But his expression is eloquent of an intention to slay the girl, and the way i n which this ' ugly' servant lays hands on the boy is still ' worse, i f men worse can devyse'. The total effect is to sway the sentiment of the reader in favour of Grisild and against the ruler who abuses his power. The tale, as related by Boccaccio and Petrarch, depicts a feudal society, where the marquis has absolute power over his subjects. However, in Chaucer's hands their submission to his will implies an even wider gap between them and their lord. Their spokesman, addressing Walter, feels that he is guilty of some presumption i n asking for an audience and begs that he may not be treated with disdain. And when Walter yields to their request and fixes a date for his marriage, Chaucer depicts them obediently and reverently kneeling down to thank him. This emphasis of Chaucer makes it all the more natural that a mere girl, the daughter of the poorest of the poor i n a little village of this community, should share i n the unquestioning deference to every wish of their lord. When Walter calls, she adopts the same posture as other superior members of society had done: 2

d o u n u p - o n h i r knees she g a n t o f a l l e , A n d w i t h sad c o n t e n a n c e k n e l e t h s t i l l e , 3

(E 292-3)

and indoors she is so amazed at his presence that her face grows pale. Although her consent is formally asked by Walter, the possibility of a refusal is even less likely i n the environment depicted by Chaucer than 1

2

sturdy, E 6 9 8 ; w i k k e , E 7 8 5 ; boistously, E 7 9 1 . E 621-3.

3

See also E 949—52.

TALES I N VERSE

119

i n t h a t of Boccaccio. I n a d d i t i o n , Chaucer lends to h e r v o w of u n s w e r v ­ i n g obedience a g r e a t e r s o l e m n i t y . G r i s i l d does n o t m e r e l y p r o m i s e , b u t swears u n f a i l i n g acceptance o f W a l t e r ' s e v e r y w i s h , a n d t h e w o r d is r e i t e r a t e d to stress i t s i m p o r t a n c e . I n t h i s w a y a stronger m o r a l o b l i g a ­ t i o n is i m p l i e d , t h e u p h o l d i n g of w h i c h has a basis i n G r i s i l d ' s s t r e n g t h of m i n d . H o w e v e r , w h i l e Chaucer b y these s l i g h t m o d i f i c a t i o n s seeks t o account f o r G r i s i l d ' s d u t i f u l n e s s , h e is c l e a r l y anxious lest she s h o u l d appear a m e r e a u t o m a t o n . H e emphasises w h a t he finds i n his source about h e r f u n d a m e n t a l h u m i l i t y w h i c h preserves h e r f r o m h a u g h t i n e s s or p r i d e i n t h e h o u r o f p r o s p e r i t y a n d helps h e r to m a i n t a i n h e r pledge to h e r l o r d . She p e r f o r m s a l l t h a t she is t o l d to do, a n d e v e n goes b e y o n d a l l t h a t was d e m a n d e d w h e n i n h e r m e a n a r r a y she m i n g l e s w i t h t h e t h r o n g t h a t presses t o w a r d s t h e gate to w e l c o m e t h e n e w marchioness. Consequently, t h e r e is e v e r y j u s t i f i c a t i o n w h e n t h e Clerk's praise, i m p l y i n g as i t does t h a t she r i v a l s Job, c u l m i n a t e s i n t h e eulogy: Ther can no man i n humblesse h i m acquyte As w o m m a n can, ne can ben half so trewe As w o m m e n been. (E 936-8) 1

M o r e o v e r , Chaucer i n t r o d u c e s a personal q u a l i t y i n t o t h e r e l a t i o n ­ s h i p o f W a l t e r a n d G r i s i l d w h i c h is m o r e i n t i m a t e t h a n t h a t o f l o r d a n d vassal. A t t h e outset he sees t o i t t h a t she is t r e a t e d w i t h respect. T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g r e p u g n a n t i n t h e f e u d a l despotism w i t h w h i c h , i n t h e o r i g i n a l , W a l t e r orders G r i s i l d t o be s t r i p p e d o f h e r clothes a n d r o b e d a n e w i n t h e presence o f a l l a n d s u n d r y . P e t r a r c h saw no reason t o m o d i f y t h i s episode w h i c h i n his v e r s i o n takes place o n t h e t h r e s h o l d o f t h e cottage. I n r e l a t i n g t h e i n c i d e n t Chaucer speaks v a g u e l y o f t h e d i s r o b i n g ' r i g h t t h e r e ' , b u t G r i s i l d i n r e s t r o s p e c t says t h a t i t o c c u r r e d ' i n m y fadres p l a c e ' . T h i s greater delicacy o n Chaucer's p a r t was m e a n t t o r e m o v e a n y obstacle t o t h e d e v e l o p m e n t o f affection b e t w e e n h e r a n d W a l t e r . T h a t t h i s affection, far f r o m b e i n g d i m i n i s h e d b y h e r t r i a l s , h a d a c t u a l l y g r o w n , m a y be seen f r o m h e r d e c l a r a t i o n t h a t she w i l l always l o v e h i m b e s t . I t is t h i s a t t a c h m e n t w h i c h explains her sudden outburst: T

2

O gode god! how gentil and how kinde Ye semed by your speche and your visage The day that maked was our mariage! But sooth is seyd, algate I finde i t trewe— For i n effect i t preved is on me— Love is noght old as w h a n that i t is newe. ! C f . E 927-31. Eg7 . 2

3

120

T H E DECAMERON:

14th T O 16th C E N T U R I E S

B u t , certes, lord, for n o o n adversitee, To d y e n i n the cas, i t shal nat be That ever i n word or werk I shal repente That I yow yaf m y n herte i n hool entente. (E 852-61)

It is this passionate recollection which introduces a note of indignant protest into her request not to be sent home naked from the court: Ye coude nat doon so dishoneste a t h i n g (E 876)

and explains the dignified entreaty combined with tender reproach in her words: L a t me nat l y k a w o r m go by the weye. Remembre yow, m y n owene lord so dere, I was your w y f , thogh I u n w o r t h y were. (E 880-2)

Here it is the wife who speaks, and the same heightening of emotion is perceptible when the instincts of the mother are stirred. Chaucer follows the essentials of the story, but his Grisild seems a more lifelike figure when she pleads with Walter's servant and bids her child farewell. At the close, when the feelings of the wife and the mother are awakened at one and the same time and she faints for joy, the Clerk touches his readers with his exclamation: 1

O, w h i c h a pitous t h i n g i t was to see H i r swowning, and h i r humble voys to here! (E 1086-7)

Still more powerful is the effect of Grisild's own words, as she gazes at her children and then suddenly faints for the second time. There is no such access of feeling i n Boccaccio who was here more concerned with outward events than the inner life. The first swoon was intro­ duced by Petrarch; but the second was added by Chaucer, to exemplify the power of maternal love. This is revealed when, as she falls, she seizes her children and holds them i n a convulsive grasp even when she has lost consciousness. Not content with this, Chaucer works upon his audience by describing the overpowering effect on the spectators as well: 2

3

O many a teer on many a pitous face D o u n ran of hem that stoden h i r bisyde; Unnethe abouten h i r mighte they abyde. (E 1104-6)

Such a scene made Grisild more warmly human, when at long last the rigid control of her feelings was broken down by the sudden impact of events. Perhaps it also served to gratify Chaucer's sense of irony. 1 E 547-60.

8

E 1093-8.

E 1100-03.

TALES I N VERSE

121

Only a short time before Grisild had interceded for the new mar­ chioness on the ground that she could not endure an ordeal so well as one of tough peasant stock; and now, taken off her guard, she herself is overcome by the cumulative strain. However, all other considerations were subordinate to the main purpose, to offer a conspicuous example of courage i n adversity. Here was an illustration of the workings of fortune, raising the heroine to the heights of joy only to cast her down again. I n this respect the fate of Grisild resembled that of many another figure known to Boccaccio, but it differed i n her final restoration to happiness. Under the influence of Petrarch, Chaucer again and again throws into relief the strength and tenacity which enabled 1

this h u m b l e creature, Thadversitee o f f o r t u n e al tendure.

(E 755-6)

Walter tries to portray her sorrows as 'the strook of fortune or of aventure', and the people who accompany her after her expulsion from the court throw the responsibility on Fortune whom they curse most heartily. Consequently her ultimate triumph warrants the lesson t h a t e v e r y w i g h t , i n his degree, S h o l d e be c o n s t a n t i n adversitee.

(E 1145-6)

This gives a turn to the story which was not found i n Boccaccio. However, though Chaucer was aware that there was a problem i n the sufferings of mankind, as the parallel that he draws between Job and Grisild indicates, he asks no questions. He does not attempt to probe the mystery and does not even dwell upon it as i n Troilus and Criseyde. It is enough for him to cast a passing glance and then proceed to the conclusion of the Clerk—God inflicts on mankind the scourge of adversity A n d f o r o u r beste is al his g o v e r n a u n c e ; L a t us t h a n l i v e i n v e r t u o u s suffraunce.

(E 1161-2)

Such a pious philosophy is altogether i n keeping with the character of the narrator. Even i n the Prologue to the tale Chaucer singles out those features i n the Clerk which make his choice of the career of Grisild as his theme the most natural thing i n the world. I t is, i n truth, a revelation of his inmost self. He rides along as . . . s t i l l e as d o o t h a m a y d e , W e r e n e w e spoused, s i t t i n g at t h e b o r d .

2

(E 2-3) 1

E 810-12.

2

Prologue to Clerk's

Tale.

122

T H E DECAMERON:

14th T O 16th C E N T U R I E S

His tale is that of a quiet maiden by a quiet scholar whose voice is as benign as that of Grisild herself. Absorbed in study, he eulogises, not only Petrarch, the nominal author of the story, but also 'Linian' or Giovanni di Lignano, another man of learning. And it is characteristic of his gravity that by way of preface to the ' mery tale' for which the Host had asked, he should add: B u t d e e t h , t h a t w o l n a t suffre us d w e l l e n h e e r B u t as i t w e r e a t w i n k l i n g o f a n y e , H e m b o t h e h a t h s l a y n , a n d a l l e s h u l w e dye. ( E 36-8)

The ending of the story harmonises perfectly with the character of the Clerk, for with unconscious irony he ends by preaching, which the Host had begged him at all costs to avoid! Not only did Chaucer select a tale which was consistent with the personality of the narrator, he also fitted it into the framework of the surrounding tales. Whereas the last tale of the Decameron came but ill from the lips of Dioneo and, as Boccaccio himself realised, hardly tallied with the general theme prescribed for the tenth day, Chaucer con­ trives within the limits of the Clerk's Tale to prepare the way for its successor. I t is true that, as he was unlimited by any specified theme, his task was easier than that of Boccaccio. Nevertheless, one must admire the ease with which Chaucer prepares the descent from the world of lofty idealism to that of earthy passion i n the Merchant's Tale. He begins when i n his account of the prosperity in marriage of Walter's son, the Clerk observes: A l p u t t e h e n a t his w y f i n g r e e t assay, ( E 1138)

and this leads on to the statement, for which there is no warrant in Petrarch or Boccaccio, that T h i s w o r l d is n a t so s t r o n g , i t is n o n a y , As i t h a t h b e e n i n olde t y m e s y o r e .

(E 1139-40)

There is a faint ripple of humour on the surface of this grave tale, which becomes a smile when the scarcity of Grisilds i n modern times is related, and culminates in the ironical laughter of Chaucer's envoy. The transition to the world of 'Ianuarie' and 'May' is complete. So masterly was Chaucer's narrative that no other mediaeval English writer attempted to compose a tale in verse on the subject of Grisild. But his influence is palpable i n the Legenda Sismond, the work of Gilbert Banester, Master of the Children of the Chapel Royal 1

1

E 1164-9.

TALES IN VERSE

123

from 1478 to i 4 8 6 . I n one manuscript the poem is even attached to Chaucer's Legend of Good Women, and the portrait of Sismond con­ tains obvious borrowings from The Booke of the Duchesse: 1

She was w h i t e , ruddy, fressh and lowely hewyde, I n all h y r body wes nat o w i k k y d syng, A n d euery day h y r fayrnes anewyd, For i t wes sadde, demwre and benynge; Hardly h y r tonge shulde none h u r t nor enpayre. H y r eloquens was spokyn w i t h so mylde speche, W i t h sad contenance, thus may I expresse, That, forsoth, she was a werreye lywys leche. 2

Banester alludes to 'Bocas in cent nouellys', which suggests, with other evidence, that he relied upon a French version, and this i n turn was based upon the Latin version of Leonardo Bruni, made in 1436 or 1438. The English version deals more fully than the original with the characters of Tancred, Ghismonda and Guiscardo and their rela­ tions with one another. Tancred is shown as a great ruler whose fame is spread far and wide. His daughter, here called Sismond, is marked by loyalty, steadfastness and gentleness, and the depth of her nature is revealed by the intensity of her emotion at the death of her husband. Tancred for his part is also capable of tenderness, and his decision that Sismond shall never marry again is dictated by pity as well as by affection. The bond between father and daughter is made more solemn and more intimate by a deliberate pledge which Sismond gives him at this moment. This feature was clearly meant to provide another reason for his anger at her later conduct, but it does confront the narrator with a difficulty, since Banester hardly explains adequately her change of mind. 3

As for Guistard, he has undergone a notable idealisation. The sharp-witted page of Boccaccio is now a young squire whose perfect manners and good breeding recall the squire in Chaucer's prologue to the Canterbury Tales. He is a polished gentleman who seems an For a detailed account of the manuscripts and of the poem see Early English Versions of the Tales of Guiscardo and Ghismonda and Titus and Gisippus from the Decameron, ed. H . G. W r i g h t , London, 1937, E . E . T . S . , O r i g . Ser. 205; and Josef R a i t h , Boccaccio in der englischen Literatur von Chaucer bis Painters Palace of Pleasure, M u n i c h , 1936, pp. 7 7 - 8 0 . See also W . H . G. Flood, Early Tudor Composers, Oxford, ! 9 5 , PP- i 5 - Quotations are f r o m M S . A d d . 12524 as p r i n t e d i n W r i g h t ' s edition. Cf. The Booke of the Duchesse, 11. 904—6, 916—18, 930—1, 925—6, 919—20. T h i s b o r r o w i n g was first noted by J. R a i t h , op. c i t . , p. 79. T h i s is the reading of M S . Rawlinson C. 86. T h a t of M S . A d d . 12524, 'Bocase i n k e n t ' is obviously corrupt. 1

2

2

3

1 6

124

T H E DECAMERON:

14th T O 1 6 t h C E N T U R I E S

admirable representative of the land which, as Banester tells us, Tancred kept free 'from fylthy vice'. Conscious of his humble birth, he maintains a fitting modesty and regards himself as 'one off the lest'. The English version discards the device of the letter in the reed by means of which the heroine communicates with him i n the Decameron. Instead, after a cautious preamble, Sismond openly con­ fesses her love. Unlike his counterpart, Guistard is dumbfounded and receives the news with blushing diffidence. As the story unfolds, the tendency to idealise develops into a bent for moralisation. Banester would clearly have disapproved of the passion of the lovers i n the Decameron and presents Guistard and Sismond as being ' in grete syn'. At the same time he insists that Sismond wished T o haue lyffid i n the l a w of matermony,

(2 8) 3

but she now finds that her pledge, so rashly given in an access of grief, is an impassable barrier, and the bitter truth causes her to weep a hundred times. After the discovery Sismond's attitude again differs notably from that of her prototype. She still retains her filial respect and is less fiercely defiant. Outwardly firm, even to the point of offering to die instead of Guistard, she is not cast i n the same stern mould as Ghismonda. After she has taken the poison, there is a glimpse of human frailty, and on her death-bed she is seen T r e m e l y n g a n d q u a k y n g , fast d r a w y n g a f t e r b r e t h .

(5")

The pathos of the situation is enhanced when Tancred, who had been not a possessive but a loving parent, now overwhelmed with grief, utters a great cry and falls dead, unlike his counterpart, who lives on to repent his cruelty and inter the lovers i n one tomb. How ever, the English version does shift the responsibility for this fatal event on to Tancred. Sympathy is given to Guistard and Sismond, and at the close Tancred is openly condemned and the omnipotence of love proclaimed: r

F o r , certys, o f t r e w l u f a r y s i t is t h e gyse, V h e n t h e r e t r o u b l e a n d v e x a c i o u n e is m o s t e sore, T h e y w o l l love yche other i n more h e r t i l y wyse A n e h u n d r e t h f o w l d e t h e n euer t h e y d y d afore; Y o u t h w i l l t o y o u t h a n d lofe t o l u f e e u e r m o r e .

(575-9)

But Tancred had done worse than thwart the course of love; he had been 'ayeyenst spowsail' and so was morally culpable. Having exoner­ ated Guistard, Banester expresses a hope that

TALES I N VERSE

125

hys f e i t h f u l l entencioune Vas t h e cause off hys endelese s a l u a c i o u n e .

(594-5)

Though he is more doubtful about Sismond, i n view of her desire for marriage, her sufferings, and her final contrition (of which nothing has hitherto been said), he entertains hope for her soul also, F o r off f e i t h a n d t r e u t h o f a l l l u f a r y s s u r e m o u n t y n g She was, a n d a m [ i ] r o u r e t o w o m e n a l l , E n s a m p l e o f t r e u e a n d stedfast l o w e g y f f y n g .

(604-6)

The poem finds i n the sorrowful ending yet another example—-that of the power of Fortune. I n the last resort i t was Fortune that was the cause, since she brought to pass the death of Sismond's husband, then brought new joy into her life through Guistard, and finally plunged all into disaster. H o w much this interpretation appealed to the fifteenth century may be perceived from one of the manuscripts i n which the story is preserved. Here the tale is given a prologue which comments thus: 1

2

T h e w y k k e d d a u n g e r a n d e n v y o u s ielosye Be ay r e d y i n c o [ r ] n e r s t o espye, W y t h myschef doing theyre vtmost deuour A l l t r e v e l o u e r s t o p a r t e a n d disseuyr, As y e s h a l l h e r e pe l y k e case B e t w e n e i j louers d o n as i t was. F o r t u n e caused he h e r t y l o v e b e t w e n e p a y m ; A l a s ! a n d at be last f o r t u n e d i s c o u e r d t h a y m , A n d t h i s c a u s e t h m e t o be w o n d i r h e u y T h a t she n a d p r e s e r u e d t h a i m secretly, For I wis, fortune, and y f [ye] had liste, T h i s m a t e r h a d n e u y r be k n o w e n n o r w i s t e . O l a d y V e n u s , be h y g h a n d m y g h t y goddesse, Y e shulde haue k y t h e d y o u r gentilnesse, F o r t u n e a n d y e a l l m y g h t e h a u e sauyde, W h o s e corsis n o w l y e t h i n t h a y r e chestes g r a u y d .

3

The manuscript brings into close connection two other poems which reveal a fundamental kinship of outlook. The second, which is the immediate forerunner of the story of Guistard and Sismond, denounces the treachery of Fortune. T w o lines epitomise the argument: I n w e l b e w a r e pe w y s e l y , For fortune t u r n e t h sodenly. r

4

The first was w r i t t e n by Lydgate at the command of Queen Catherine as she walked i n the meadows that had just been mown, and i n his 1 2 3

Cf. 11. 8 3 - 4 , 210, 239-42, 339-40 and 4 4 1 . Rawlinson C. 86 i n the Bodleian. Cf. W r i g h t ' s ed., I n t r o . , pp. x i i i - x i v .

I b i d . , I n t r o . , p. x i i i .

126

T H E DECAMERON:

1 4 t h T O 16th C E N T U R I E S

hands the scene becomes a symbol of the fickleness of Fortune. Nothing fair may continue long, for with a turn of her wheel she destroys all beauty, and in contrast to this world, where all is uncertain and subject to perpetual transmutations, Lydgate points to the unchanging glories of the celestial city. I n the same way the poem preceding the lovers' tale combines an admonition with praise of the joys of heaven: T h e n caste away by croked appetyte O f worldely w elth pat may be not avayle; I n hevenly love I counceyle be delite, Here to gete i t w i t h by true traxiayle; Y f bou do bus, of blis pou maist not fayle. Geve god by hert; many maner wyse Now blissed is he, pis worlde pat can despise. 7

1

Read i n this context, the conclusion of the tale of Guistard and Sismond, preoccupied as it is with the salvation of their souls, is seen in a new light. For Banester and for Englishmen of the fifteenth century i t had an atmosphere altogether different from that i n which the Tieta brigata' lived and moved. It would seem also as i f Banester failed to appreciate the humanistic tradition that animates the lengthy speech i n which Boccaccio's heroine defends her choice of Guistard, on the ground that personal merit should count for more than high rank. Her pleas, which are remarkable for their democratic bias, are reduced to what is noublenesse but vertue, parde? (379)

Whatever Banester's reasons, in his version the powerful equalitarian arguments of the original almost disappear. I t was left for a later writer to expound what he had virtually ignored. I n the latter part of the fifteenth century Boccaccio's tale found another English interpreter whose work is preserved i n a manuscript and i n the volume Certaine Worthye Manvscript Poems of great Antiquitie, which was printed i n London i n 1597 ^ dedicated 'To the worthiest Poet Maister Ed. Spenser'. There are many parallels between this anonymous version and that of Banester, which point to a common source. This was probably the French form of the tale mentioned earlier, but there is certainly direct borrowing from Banester. Thus the conclusion is derived from him. The unknown author was a scholar, familiar with literary devices, who adorns his verse with images which distinguish his work from Banester's plain and simple style. He draws on Nature, jewels, naviga­ tion and warfare, and on occasion from a more homely environment. 2

an
6 (Book i , p. 107); i i i , 3 (Book i , p. 110). Dec. i x , 2 (Book i , pp. 180-1). Dec. v i , 10 (Book i i , pp. 3 5 0 - 1 ) . 1

S.P., 2

3

v u

4

6

6

O

194

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

bishop's men and i n his turn thrust into prison. Here his treatment bore some similarity to the punishment of Ambruogiuolo, for the bishop caused an iron cage to be made, 1

w h i c h i n s o m m e r was a n n o i n t e d o u e r : w i t h h o n y a n d set i n t h e o p e n S u r m e , l o d g i n g t h e p o o r e E a r l e t h e r e i n , t h e r e t o be assaulted b y flies ( y o u m a y w e l l imagine how.) 2

The same bias is to be observed i n one of the tales to which Burton alludes i n The Anatomy of Melancholy. I t occurs in a passage de­ nouncing monks and confessors, because 'under colour of visitation, auricular confession, comfort, and penance, they have free egress and regress, and corrupt God knows how many'. To illustrate his argument, he uses one of the tales cited in A World of Wonders. Equally charac­ teristic of this age of fierce religious controversy is Burton's attitude towards the story of the three rings. Instead of concluding from it the need for tolerance, he denounces Boccaccio, along with Giordano Bruno, Machiavelli and Pietro Aretino, as an atheist. However, his interest in the Decameron is not confined to the sphere of religious controversy. Thus when he speaks of the transforming power of love and beauty, he deals at length with the early part of the tale of Cimon and Iphigenia. Indirectly it is the appreciation of beauty that leads Henry Peacham also to the Decameron. I n The Compleat Gentleman, which was printed the year after the first edition of Burton's work, he mentions various Italian painters. Of these 3

4

5

6

Buffalmacco was scholar t o Taffi, a n d as e x c e l l e n t i n his profession, so was h e m e r r y a n d o f p l e a s a n t c o n c e i t : w h e r e f o r e hee was f a m i l i a r w i t h Bruno a n d Calandrino, r a r e A r t i s t s a n d o f his o w n e h u m o u r , m a n y o f w h o s e iestes are r e c o r d e d b y Boccace.' Dec. i i , 9 (Book i , p. 198). Cf. H e n r i Estienne, op. c i t . , 1566, Book i , p. 320. See also The Stage of Popish Toyes, p. 33. Dec. i x , 2. Cf. The Anatomy of Melancholy, ed. A . R. Shilleto, i i i , p. 148. Dec. i , 3. i i i , p. 445. T h e climate of the seventeenth century was not congenial to i t . N o t u n t i l Lessing's Nathan der Weise appeared i n 1779 was this story used by a great w r i t e r to discuss differences of religious f a i t h i n a more tolerant spirit. However, a F r e n c h m e t r i c a l version was published at D u b l i n i n 1721. 'Les Trois Anneaux', w h i c h an entry i n pencil i n the B . M . copy ascribes to 'Rene Mace', follows 'Les Trois Justaucorps . . . T i r e de l'Anglois du Reverend M r . Jonathan S w i f (sic!). Bound up w i t h this D u b l i n volume is Recueil de Pieces Serieuses, Comiques, et Burlesques, 1721 (no place of publication), w h i c h also contains the above tale i n French, b u t here (p. 225) i t is a t t r i b u t e d to 'Monsieur de J . . . S . . .'. Whoever was responsible for the appearance of 'Les Trois Anneaux' i n D u b l i n must have seen a point of contact between Boccaccio and Swift, even t h o u g h there is no connexion between A Tale of a Tub and the story, and the fierce irony o f the one differentiates h i m f r o m the easy-going scepticism of the other. 1

2

3

4 5

Dec. v, 1. I t was apparently k n o w n to h i m t h r o u g h the translation of Beroaldus, the L a t i n f o r m of Beroaldo. (Cf. The Anatomy of Melancholy, ed. c i t . , i i i , p. 200.) Vide ante, p. 113. Ch. x i i . 6

7

INDIVIDUAL

TALES I N PROSE A N D VERSE

195

The satirist too found material i n the Decameron, as may be seen from The Knave of Clubbes (1609) by Samuel Rowlands. One of the portraits that he draws, entitled ' A Cuckold', is derived from the tale of Madonna Isabella, Leonetto and Lambertuccio. Often written i n a vigorous, colloquial style, it transforms Boccaccio's figures into con­ temporary types. Leonetto is the courtier, Lambertuccio the swagger­ ing captain who breathes fire and fury at the very thought of his rival: 1

2

I w o u l d m a k e incission i n his guts, A n d c a r u e h i s carcasse f u l l o f w o u n d s a n d cuts. (sig. E recto)

But this tale in verse sounds a harsher note than the original, as may be seen from the opening line: A C i t t y w a n t o n f u l l of pride and lust. (sig. D 4

recto)

The voice of the satirist is heard again at the close when Rowlands puts words into the mouth of the courtier which, though they are fitting enough, coming as they do from one whose life has been saved by a quick-witted woman, are nevertheless meant to be interpreted ironically, since she has betrayed her husband: M o r e l o u i n g f a r i n h e a r t t h e n m e n y o u be, E x t e n d i n g y o u r affections b o u n t e o u s , free, M o s t affable a n d p i t t i f u l l b y n a t u r e , T h e worlds euen supreame all excelling creature, F o n d m e n v n i u s t l y doe abuse y o u r n a m e s , W i t h s l a n d r o u s speeches a n d m o s t false defames, T h e y l y e , and raile, and enuies poyson spit, B u t those are m a d - m e n t h a t doe offer i t , T h e y t h a t i n i o y t h e i r w i t a n d p e r f e c t sence, W i l h a t e t h e h a r t s h o u l d b r e e d a t h o u g h t s offence Accounting i t a womans greater honor, T o h a u e a senceles foole e x c l a i m e v p o n h e r . (sig. E2 recto)

Characteristic though this tale is of the interest i n shrewd wantons who beguile their husbands, and popular though this story and others like it were i n seventeenth-century drama, there was not lacking an occasional appreciation of the nobler qualities of human nature. It is perhaps not without significance that i n 1683 William Winstanley revived Elyot's version of Titus and Gisippus i n an abridged and F i r s t p r i n t e d as Tis Merry when Knaves Meet, o f w h i c h no copy seems to be extant. The Knave of Clubbes was first p r i n t e d i n 1609; other editions followed. Quotations are f r o m the B . M . copy w h i c h , according to S.T.C., is to be dated [1611] but, accord­ i n g to B . M . Catalogue [1615?]. Dec. v i i , 6. Cf. A World of Wonders. 1

2

196

T H E DECAMERON

modernised

form,

Select Novels

I N THE SEVENTEENTH

a n d i n 1694

CENTURY

W a l t e r Pope i n c l u d e d a m o n g

his

t h e t a l e o f P a t i e n t G r i s s e l l , j u s t at a t i m e w h e n

the

1

2

d r a m a was s w i n g i n g a w a y f r o m tales o f amorous i n t r i g u e t o t h e m e s o f pathos a n d s e n t i m e n t .

5. The Drama (a)

Tragedy

T h e story o f Guiscardo a n d G h i s m o n d a s t i l l c o n t i n u e d t o appeal t o dramatists

i n t h e s e v e n t e e n t h c e n t u r y . A m o n g these was

William

P e r c y , a c o n t e m p o r a r y o f S i r H e n r y W o t t o n at O x f o r d . I n 1602 h e

w r o t e A Forrest

Tragaedye

in Vacunium w h i c h , l i k e his o t h e r plays,

seems to h a v e b e e n i n t e n d e d f o r a m a t e u r p e r f o r m a n c e i n t h e h o u s e h o l d of his b r o t h e r , t h e

e a r l o f N o r t h u m b e r l a n d , t h o u g h his d i r e c t i o n s

p r o v e t h a t he w r o t e i t w i t h a n eye o n t h e b o y actors, t h e C h i l d r e n of Paul's.

3

T h e o p e n i n g is d e r i v e d f r o m II Sacrificio,

w h i c h was p r o d u c e d i n

1531 at Siena a n d d e r i v e d its n a m e f r o m t h e sacrifice to C u p i d of sonnets w r i t t e n b y t h e A c a d e m y o f t h e I n t r o n a t i . H o w e v e r , i n v i e w of t h e t r a g i c n a t u r e of his t h e m e , P e r c y i n t r o d u c e s famous t r a g i c lovers whose s o r r o w f u l e n d is r e l a t e d . T h e s e lovers appear a g a i n at t h e close of each act, a n d i n t w o choruses each l o v e r declaims a f e w l i n e s o n t h e p o w e r o f l o v e , o n his or h e r o w n fate, or a c o m m e n t o n t h e p l a y . C o n ­ siderable use is m a d e of m u s i c , t h e w a i t s p l a y i n g w h e n these a n c i e n t lovers cross t h e stage, a n d t h e ' c o n s o r t ' a c c o m p a n y i n g t h e chorus w h e n t h e y are s p e a k i n g .

4

T h e r e are p o i n t s o f contact w i t h Gismond

of Salem,

b y W i l m o t and

his f r i e n d s , as is s h o w n b y t h e c a r e f u l analysis o f t h e p l a y ,

5

a n d no

s t u d e n t o f Boccaccio has a n y d i f f i c u l t y i n r e c o g n i s i n g t h e source of i n s p i r a t i o n w h e n i n A c t I I , Sc. i t h e h e r o i n e F u l v i a confides t o h e r black attendant

Rhodaghond

t h a t she

has

arranged

for her

lover

A f f r a n i o to come to h e r : There stands abutting to our Castell wall A hidden vault w i t h bushes ouergrown T h a t they do couer the whole M o u t h of h i m , whereto abutting, at our chamber foote, standeth a doore by reason of his site, These many yeares, worne out of m e m o r y . 6

Cf. W i l k i n s o n , p . x v i i i , n . 4. I t was also p r i n t e d i n Winstanley's Historical Rarities and curious Observations Domestick & Foreign, London, 1684, pp. 273—87. I t came to h i m , however, t h r o u g h Petrarch's later version of Boccaccio's tale. A n account of the plot was first given by H . N . Hillebrand, H.L.Q., 1938, I , no. 4, p. 409. A detailed study of the play, its sources and literary qualities was made by M . H . Dodds, ' A Forrest Tragaedye i n V a c u n i u m ' , M.L.R., 1945, x l , pp. 246-58. Cf. M . H . Dodds, loc. cit., p . 248. I b i d . , p . 250. Quotations are f r o m the manuscript in the Henry E . H u n t i n g t o n L i b r a r y . 1

2

3

4

6

5

THE

DRAMA

197

In Act I I I , Sc. i Fulvia welcomes Affranio, and their conversation leaves no doubt regarding the intimacy of their relations. However, an observer, Tremellio, is present, concealed i n much the same way as Tancred, and after the departure of the lovers, he starts up furiously and vows revenge. In the final scene Fulvia looks forward to being reunited with Affranio, even as Ghismonda rejoices at the prospect of her soul encountering that of Guiscardo after death. However, there are some notable features i n the main plot that have been overlooked. I n the Decameron there were two stories that were rich i n Senecan material, though that of Guiscardo and Ghismonda contains more significant dramatic potentialities. I n each case savage revenge is inflicted for a wrong done, by tearing out the heart of the offender. Tancred places the heart, still whole, i n a golden cup which his servant presents to Ghismonda. I n the other story, that of Rossigglione and Guardastagno, the former bids his cook take the heart which he declares to be that of a boar but is actually that of Guardas­ tagno and serve it that evening. The heart is minced, and the wife of Rossiglione eats it in a way that is not unfamiliar to readers of Seneca's Thyestes. I t occurred to Percy that he might unite the two stories to form the main plot of his tragedy. His heroine is not a widow like Ghismonda, nor is she a princess. Consequently, all the arguments by which Ghismonda justifies her conduct to Tancred are eliminated at one stroke. No question of dis­ parity of rank arises, for even i f Fulvia is the daughter of a marquis, Affranio is of noble birth and owns a castle adjacent to that of Tremellio. The conflict therefore springs, not from filial disobedience but from the disloyalty of a wife and the violation of friendship. The opening scene emphasises the cordiality of this relationship between the two neighbours, for Tremellio entreats Affranio to stay on and spend the time i n hunting. I t is the treachery of his friend that rankles so with Tremellio, as we perceive from his cry: 1

n e ' r e so f o u l e a F a c t f r o m f r e i n d t o f r e i n d , N e u e r so v i l e a n A c t f r o m M a n t o M a n , was t h i s a R e c o m p e n s e f o r t h a t deare l o u e w h i c h I haue borne thee f r o m t h y n e Infancye!

(III. ii) As soon as he has made the discovery, he gallops away after Affranio and, like Rossiglione, lies in ambush, though unlike him, without attendants. He leaps out, kills him, and cuts out the heart with his hunting-knife. I t is now that we perceive the full import of Percy's description of Tremellio among the dramatis personae as 'A Knight 1

Dec. i v , g. Vide ante, pp. 151—2.

198

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

apparrelld i n greene and with wood knif', the array i n which he appears in the first scene. The forest is the background which dominates Percy's mind, as the title of the play A Forrest Tragaedye in Vacunium discloses. The two Boccaccian stories join again i n Act V, Sc. v, though Percy introduces some modifications. He would have none of the gruesome meal that Rossiglione offered his wife. Instead, Tremellio gives her the choice between killing herself with his knife that so recently has slain Affranio or of drinking the wine from a cup of gold into which the powdered heart of Affranio has been poured. She rejects the second alternative and, taking the knife, stabs Tremellio to death; then, squeez­ ing a poisoned citron into the cup, she drains it and dies, unrepentant, crying: I come, Affranio, Affranio, I come A n d w i t h t h i s d r i n k I d r i n k e m y soule u n t o t h e e .

The only other characters present, Rhodaghond and Jeptes, follow her example and die. These two figures form part of the sub-plot invented by Percy. The hero is Amadour, a Frenchman, the heroine Florimel, the daughter of Fulvia. She has a second suitor, Clodio, an Italian, but she prefers Amadour. Jeptes is her tutor, and when Clodio discovers that Amadour is his rival, he obtains from Jeptes a poisoned citron which he presents with many professions of friendship to Amadour. When Amadour has been secretly married to Florimel, i n all innocence he satisfies her desire for fruit by giving her the citron. She is taken i l l and Amadour now realises that it was his life that was aimed at. When Clodio enters, Amadour runs him through with his rapier. Florimel expires and Amadour dies of grief. Jeptes is filled with remorse for his share i n these events, and so it is appropriate that he should take poison at the close. I f Rhodaghond does the same, it is because, when her mistress in a gust of anger struck her i n the presence of her lover Jeptes, she betrayed Fulvia by calling Tremellio back from the hunt and thus exposed the lovers. So she also expiates her treachery by means of the poisoned cup. No doubt the episode of the poisoned citron was suggested by an incident that occurred i n France three years before the play was written, when Gabrielle d'Estrees, the principal mistress of Henry IV, whom the king wished to marry, was poisoned by a lemon. Apart from this topical interest, however, the sub-plot serves a useful purpose by amplifying the rather slender material of the main plot and by delaying the catastrophe. Despite its final tragic nature, at intervals an element of light relief is provided, and Percy shows some ability 1

1

Cf. M . H . Dodds, loc. c i t . , p. 253.

THE

DRAMA

199

in creating dramatic contrast. Nevertheless, the play as a whole has but few aesthetic qualities, so that A Forrest Tragaedye in Vacunium is chiefly remarkable as an example of the interweaving of two tales from the Decameron with a sub-plot to illustrate the force of Jeptes' question to Fulvia: T h i n k y o u B l o o d s h a l l n o t be r e q u i t w i t h blood?

The theme of Guiscardo and Ghismonda was again embodied in dramatic form by an anonymous writer whose work is contained in Add. MS. 34312 i n the British Museum. The play bears no title but has for convenience' sake been called Ghismonda after the heroine. The manuscript is undated, but the text shows clear traces of the translation of the Decameron that first appeared in 1620. Another clue is provided by the description of one of the characters as ' a chronomasticall courtier'. The word ' Chronomastix' was employed by George Wither i n Britain's Remembrancer in 1628 but had already become known to the public through Ben Jonson's Time Vindicated which was printed i n 1623. One may therefore conclude that Ghismonda must be later than 1620 and perhaps after 1628. A note to the epilogue states 'Scriptum p Capellanum tuum deuinct- & deuotissimum'. Since the MS. was at one time in the possession of the Dolben family and since David Dolben was bishop of Bangor from 1631 to 1633, it is possible that the play was written by him and transcribed by his chaplain Hugh Williams, or that it was the work of Hugh Williams himself. At any rate, the author was a man of learning and interested in religious matters, for he touches on purgatory and papal infallibility, on confession and absolution, martyrdom and canonization; and the prob­ lem of the conditions under which a vow is binding, no less than the advice of a spiritual director, came within the scope of his consideration. Like Wilmot and his friends, the author of Ghismonda deals at length with the widowhood of the heroine. From the beginning he tries to depict her as fundamentally serious. Accordingly she feels such intense grief at the death of her husband that she vows never to marry again. This is a cause of anxiety to Tancred. He is therefore happy to entertain a proposal from the duke of Capua that his son Felix shall marry her, for i n this way he hopes to dispel her unhappiness. How­ ever, by this time she has become attracted to Guiscardo, and when it seems likely that he will be sent on a mission to Capua, she gives him a hint of her affection. When Guiscardo has received the king's orders, 1

s

3

Ghismonda, ed. H . G . W r i g h t , Manchester, 1944. A t t e n t i o n was drawn to this by N . Orsini, Studii sul rinascimento italiano in Inghilterra, Florence, 1937, p. 62. T h e suggestion t h a t i t may be as late as 1665 (cf. Ghismonda, I n t r o d u c t i o n , p . 2) I now consider unlikely (cf. R.E.S., 1947, x x i i i , p. 358). 1 2

3

200

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

Ghismonda resolves to declare her love. To do this she uses the device of the letter in the cane, but displays more awkwardness than skill in the process. On reading the invitation to visit her that night through a ' vent-loope', concealed by briars beneath the window, Guiscardo tells the king's messenger that he cannot go until the spring. I t is this strange answer, not mere chance, that arouses Tancred's suspicion. On information given by one of his courtiers about a stray remark that he had heard Ghismonda make to Guiscardo, he proceeds to her room. Concealing himself, he falls asleep. He awakens to see Guiscardo kissing the princess and, unlike his prototype, lets his anger get the better of him. He shoots at them with his pistol and when he misses, rushes towards them with his sword, only to stumble and fall. He ignores Ghismonda's protestations that no serious offence has been committed. Guiscardo is arrested and beheaded on the stage; the execu­ tioner makes his exit with the body i n order to remove the heart. The scene in which the cup of gold is handed to Ghismonda echoes the words of the corresponding passage in the English translation of 1620. But there are some innovations. She sends a request by a courtier that she may be buried with Guiscardo, a superfluous addition, because she herself later begs her father to grant this favour. She does not fill the golden cup with her tears and, on the other hand, i n the cabinet containing the poison she discovers a letter from Guiscardo that inspires her eulogy of his virtues. More important, before clasping the heart to her bosom, she wraps it i n her veil, the black hue of which symbolises her grief, and its white lining Guiscardo's nobility. The death scene lacks the tranquil dignity and awe-inspiring solemnity of the original, for the waiting-woman shrieks and Ghis­ monda cries and groans as she lies i n the throes of death. Tancred utters futile expressions of remorse which he carries to such a pitch that he declares not only Ghismonda, but also Guiscardo to be a martyr. Ghismonda's eloquent speech, i n which she defends her conduct and justifies her choice of Guiscardo i n the tale, for various reasons finds no place here. The excision of this central feature reduces the drama­ tist's material considerably, and he has to find means of eking it out. As the princess does not give the letter to Guiscardo until Act IV and as the lovers are not discovered until Act V, the problem arises how to fill i n the first three acts. Much attention is paid to Ghismonda's state of mind. She has no one in whom she can confide, for Mistress Minks, her waiting-woman, moves on a different plane from her virtuous mistress. They are as far apart as Juliet and her Nurse. However, from discussions between Tancred and his courtiers, Guiscardo, Gabriello, Pasquino and Glausamond, we learn much about Ghis­ monda's attitude. Guiscardo and Glausamond are sent to comfort the

THE

201

DRAMA

disconsolate widow, and a considerable part of the second act is taken up with their visit. Most of the third act is devoted to the proposal brought by the Capuan ambassador, to comment on Ghismonda's reaction and to the solemn conclave of Tancred and his councillors which ends with the decision that Guiscardo shall depart as an envoy to Capua. However, the dramatist needed still more material and so he intro­ duced an under-plot. This relates to a dispute that breaks out between Pasquino and Gabriello when the former steals out of the tavern where they have been drinking and leaves Gabriello to pay the bill. This practical joke which gives rise to a controversy that recurs at intervals was intended to provide some slight relief from the serious main plot. It also served to illustrate the general unscrupulousness of the courtiers, among whom by contrast Guiscardo stands forth pre-eminent, even as Ghismonda shines by the side of the venal and corrupt Mistress Minks. The incidental criticism of court life is another feature of the play. Tancred himself censures i t , and Pasquino is the embodiment of the ambition that exults over the downfall of a fellow-courtier. Nothing could be more callous than his words to Guiscardo when the execu­ tioner bears in the scaffold: Here's the place you'r like to leaue your head at. (Act V )

1

But the most interesting of the subordinate figures about the court is Glausamond. He is a cynic, with no high opinion of his fellow-mortals of either sex. The perfect courtier, he makes it his chief object to please his master, for None can t h r i u e now w i t h o u t a brazen face. (Act I )

2

H e loves to talk i n cryptic phrases, conveying his meaning by hints and veiled allusions, because he knows the danger of open speech i n a court. The age is such that a measure of dissimulation is essential: The dayes we hue i n Are now preposterous grown, the t i m e come agayne, W h e n 'twas a grace to lie, sin to speake playne. T e l l a m a n of his faultes, because you loue h i m , You lose h i m quite, therby so moue h i m To anger and impatience that hee'le greeue To se you i n his sight and not beleeue W h a t your good wishes told h i m . Comend a g u l l , Whose father d i ' d but lately, leaueing h i m full 1

W r i g h t ' s ed., p. 177.

I b i d . , p. 125.

202

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

O f t h a t w h i c h drawes a t t e n d a n c , a n d ' t is g r e a t odds H e e ' l e p r i z e y o u as t h e h e a t h e n s d i d t h e r e gods, C a l l y o u his g e n i u s , t h a n k e y o u r k i n d w o r d e s t o h i m , A l t h o u g h b y these f a i r e speaches y o u v n d o e h i m . I f y o u ' r toe conscientious t o l i e , Y o u m u s t goe l i u e a l o n e , f o r c o m p a n y Y o u ' r e like to haue b u t l i t t l e . ( A c t II) 1

The fact that despite his cynicism Glausamond risks his own interests by pleading with the raging Tancred on behalf of the lovers makes him an attractive figure, but it does not imply that his satirical comment on his period was insincere or unwarranted. In portraying the chief figures of Boccaccio's tale the dramatist had less freedom than in creating an entirely new figure like Glausa­ mond, but he contrives to manipulate them i n an original way. To Guiscardo he allots a more important part than any other writer had done previously. As i n various plays, English and Italian, Guiscardo rises i n the social scale. Here he is a peer of the realm and a member of the king's council as well as Ghismonda's gentleman-in-waiting. He enjoys the confidence of Tancred who praises his honesty and trust­ worthiness, and at the beginning he is loyal enough to the king. But when Ghismonda bestows upon him unmistakable signs of her favour, his sense of duty to his sovereign weakens. Indeed, he goes so far as to shun the mission as Tancred's envoy to Capua i n order that he may be near Ghismonda. I t is only when disaster has overtaken him that he stands forth i n his full strength and nobility. Now there is no dilemma, and his way is clear. His chief concern is that the honour of the princess may be unstained, and he begs that i f any one is to be punished, it shall be himself. He faces execution bravely, protesting his innocence to the last. I n spite of the tyrannical role that Boccaccio had assigned to the king, the dramatist treats him with considerable sympathy. He is shown as the victim of his office. Hedged round with courtly deference, he lives in isolation and finds it difficult to ascertain the truth. Even his daughter is an enigma. He is genuinely anxious for her welfare, and unlike his prototype is by no means a possessive father. I t is his desire to remove her melancholy that leads him to approve her marriage to Felix of Capua, and every step that he takes i n the matter is carefully weighed. The same sense of responsibility appears when suspicion falls on Guiscardo. He refrains from precipitate action, and it is only when he has seen the lovers kissing and embracing that he loses his self-control. I t has to be remembered, however, that Guiscardo had been his right-hand man, so that his conduct seemed doubly 1

W r i g h t ' s ed., pp. 135-4.

THE DRAMA

203

traitorous to the king. Momentarily Tancred hesitates when Glausamond demonstrates the flimsy nature of the evidence, but i n the end he resolves to put Guiscardo to death, for even i f he were innocent, his audacity might have led him to aspire to the throne. The king therefore proceeds on his course, undeterred by Ghismonda's threat of suicide which he does not take seriously. Yet even now he is not devoid of magnanimity and orders for Guiscardo the death of a nobleman, not of a felon, and at the close his natural generosity reasserts itself. Full of remorse, he commands that the lovers shall be interred together: Such m a r t i r s neuer were before; N o story d o t h record w h e r e such a paire D i d d i e so g o o d , so i n o c e n t , so f a i r e . (Act V ) 1

Though Boccaccio recognised that fate had dealt harshly with the lovers, he could never have subscribed to such an ending. But his tale had been transformed in the English translation of 1620, so that the relationship of Guiscardo and Ghismonda never went further than the exchange of chaste and modest kisses. Taking his cue from this passage, the dramatist portrays Ghismonda as a model of chastity who leaves an impression of unblemished purity, not only on Tancred and Guiscardo, but also on the cynical Glausamond and the unprincipled Pasquino. Consequently, he is able to show the love scene on the stage. I t is a harmless affair i n which Guiscardo sings a song commending Ghis­ monda's virtues. Not content with this, the play seeks to convince the spectator of her saintliness. This emerges clearly when Guiscardo describes her discourse with him about her oath never to marry again. He speaks of her with veneration, as i f she were something holy: She stopt, a n d , as i t w e a r e a s a y n t t h a t t h o u g h t T h e a i r e was t o o c o r r u p t t o e n t e r t a y n e T h e b r e a t h h e r v o i c e e x p e l ' d , f o r t h w i t h she s a y d : ' H e a u e n shall resolue this scruple, and repentance M a k e t h i s spott w h i t e b y d a y l y e x e r c i s e ' . (Act I) 2

However, even with the alterations made i n Boccaccio's tale, this saintliness is difficult to maintain. Ghismonda never lacks a cer­ tain earthly shrewdness. Even amid her mourning for her husband, she introduces a qualification i n her oath never to marry again which enables her to escape from the vow i f she finds another as good as the first. Again i n the use of the cane there is an element of astute calcula­ tion; her encouragement of Guiscardo to disobey Tancred and her arrangement of the rendezvous are the actions of a fallible mortal, 1

W r i g h t ' s ed., p. 184.

2

I b i d . , p. 121.

204

T H E DECAMERON

I N THESEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

a n d t h e archness, n o t t o say slyness, o f h e r m a n n e r d u r i n g t h e i n t e r v i e w does n o t suggest holiness. M o r e i n k e e p i n g w i t h t h e s p i r i t o f h e r I t a l i a n p r o t o t y p e is t h e h e r o i c courage o f G h i s m o n d a i n t h e l a t t e r p a r t of t h e p l a y . She does n o t f l i n c h f r o m d e a t h b u t , c o n f r o n t i n g T a n c r e d , b o l d l y declares: though I haue a body feminine, I ' l e shew a spirit that is masculine. I ' m b u t a woman, yet made of the mould That Cesar was. (Act V ) 1

H e a r i n g t h i s , T a n c r e d confesses t h a t she talks ' l i k e a n e m p e r o r ' , a n d G l a u s a m o n d a d m i r e s h e r as a n ' h e r o i c k w e n c h ' . E v e n i f G h i s m o n d a is o n l y a p a r t i a l success, i t is i n t e r e s t i n g t o see also h o w t h e d r a m a t i s t evokes f r o m Boccaccio's s t o r y those h e r o i c q u a l i t i e s t h a t D r y d e n also was t o e l i c i t i n ' S i g i s m o n d a a n d G u i s c a r d o ' . T h e a u t h o r o f Ghismonda

2

discards t h e apparatus o f classical t r a g e d y ,

a n d t h e r e is no clear i n d i c a t i o n t h a t he was a c q u a i n t e d w i t h I t a l i a n plays o n t h i s t h e m e . O n t h e w h o l e his w o r k appears t o be i n t h e p o p u l a r E n g l i s h t r a d i t i o n , t h o u g h i t has v a r i o u s t r a i t s w h i c h suggest t h a t i t was u n l i k e l y t o be acceptable i n t h e o r d i n a r y t h e a t r e . I t has some o r i g i n a l ideas b u t i t s poetic m e r i t is s l i g h t .

The Atheist's Tragedie (1611) b y C y r i l T o u r n e u r , w h i c h is a t r a g e d y of a v e r y d i f f e r e n t o r d e r , also d r e w o n t h e Decameron.

3

Here truly

is a w o r l d o f u t t e r v i l l a i n y , c u n n i n g e x u l t i n g i n its t r i u m p h

over

i n n o c e n c e , a n d p e r f i d y r e j o i c i n g i n t h e p o w e r o f its subtle c o n t r i v e r . H o r r o r is p i l e d u p o n h o r r o r — g h o s t l y v i s i t a t i o n s , m u r d e r t o t h e u n c a n n y accompaniment

of the

howling

dog a n d t h e

screeching

o w l , and

n o c t u r n a l i n t r i g u e s i n a c h u r c h y a r d w i t h skulls as a p i l l o w f o r a p a i r of lovers. T h e forces o f e v i l appear o m n i p o t e n t u n t i l vengeance is i n f l i c t e d o n t h e v i l l a i n , n o t b y one o f h i s v i c t i m s b u t b y h i m s e l f . I t m i g h t be t h o u g h t t h a t Boccaccio's l i g h t - h e a r t e d tale o f g a l l a n t r y w o u l d be s i n g u l a r l y o u t o f place i n such s u r r o u n d i n g s , a n d i n d e e d i n its o r i g i n a l f o r m i t could h a r d l y have been made an i n t e g r a l part of a p l a y so d a r k a n d m e n a c i n g . Y e t T o u r n e u r manages t o do t h i s . H o w ­ ever, h e l i m i t s i t t o a s u b - p l o t , a m i n o r episode, a n d at t h e same t i m e lends t o i t a d i f f e r e n t q u a l i t y . T h i s u n d e r - p l o t is d e r i v e d f r o m t h e s i x t h tale o f t h e s e v e n t h day, w h i c h relates h o w Isabella, b e i n g dissatisfied w i t h h e r h u s b a n d , t u r n s W r i g h t ' s ed., p. 173. Vide post, p. 270. Cf. G . Langbaine, The Lives and Characters of the English Dramatick Poets, 1698, p. 505, and E . Koeppel, Quellen-Studien zu den Dramen Ben Jonson's, John Marston's und Beaumont's und Fletcher's (Miinchener Beitrage, Heft xi), Erlangen and Leipzig, 9 5 , P- ! 3 1

2

3

l 8

8

THE DRAMA

205

her affection towards Leonetto, but is at the same time harassed by the attentions of Lambertuccio. One day during the absence of her husband she receives Leonetto, but he has barely arrived when Lambertuccio appears on the scene. Isabella's embarrassment is heightened by the return of her husband. The device by which she extricated herself from this dilemma is an example of the ingenuity displayed by women i n the tales of this day. Her counterpart i n the play, Levidulcia, the wife of Belforest, is the very embodiment of lust. She encourages a mere servant i n the most brazen fashion and has just persuaded the reluctant Fresco, when he has to hide behind the arras, because Sebastian, the younger son of the villain D'Amville, appears at the door. Sebastian is coarse and virile, a man whose bluntness matches her own shamelessness. They are interrupted by Belforest. Like Lambertuccio, Sebastian draws his sword and feigns to have pursued Fresco. After he has gone, Fresco emerges, invents a long story of which there is nothing in the Decameron, and departs. But the play cannot allow this theme to end gaily. Levidulcia and Sebastian are resolute in the pursuit of their passion. They are surprised once more by Belforest. I n the ensuing struggle both men are slain, and Levidulcia, suddenly, perhaps too suddenly, overcome with remorse, stabs herself. The lasciviousness of Sebastian and Levidulcia is clearly intended as a contrast to the nobility of Charlemont and the purity of Castabella. At the same time they offer a parallel to the malevolence of D'Amville. I n a different sphere and on a lower level the scheming and treachery of Levidulcia match his, and even as retribution over­ takes D'Amville when he dies by his own hand, so justice is done when she commits suicide. I n this way Boccaccio's story was assimilated to the sombre background of English revenge tragedy. A tale from the Decameron is again used in the under-plot of Thomas Southerne's The Fatall Marriage which was first produced and printed in 1694. The main plot deals with the intrigue of Carlos, the younger son of Count Baldwin, against his elder brother Biron who, having married Isabella against the wishes of his father, has incurred his dis­ pleasure, and after his departure for the wars is generally believed to have fallen i n battle. Carlos is aware that Biron is alive but a slave, yet for his own ends he keeps the news from the count. After years of mourning, Isabella, faced with poverty and distress for herself and her child, agrees to wed the devoted Villeroy. Immediately after the marriage Biron returns and is killed by Carlos and his men. Isabella, torn by conflicting emotions, goes mad and kills herself. Even i f these events now appear somewhat theatrical, they have considerable power. It was the serious plot i n which Southerne was chiefly interested, and he wrote it with an eye on Mrs. Barry, who took the part o f

206

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

Isabella. B u t h e added ' a l i t t l e taste o f c o m e d y ' , as he h i m s e l f declared, to satisfy ' t h e p r e s e n t h u m o u r o f t h e t o w n ' . O n e o f t h e e l e m e n t s i n t h i s c o m i c p l o t is d e r i v e d f r o m t h e e i g h t h s t o r y i n t h e t h i r d day o f t h e Decameron.

As Boccaccio t o l d i t , t h i s h a d a n a n t i - c l e r i c a l bias, since i t

s h o w e d h o w a n abbot i n t h e p u r s u i t of his designs against t h e w i f e o f t h e jealous F e r o n d o , d r u g g e d t h e l a t t e r , a n d h a d h i m b u r i e d i n a t o m b o f t h e m o n a s t e r y , w h e r e he was flogged p e r i o d i c a l l y f o r t e n

months

a n d i n d u c e d t o b e l i e v e t h a t h e was i n p u r g a t o r y . I n t h e e n d , h e was d r u g g e d once m o r e , r e v i v e d a n d a l l o w e d t o r e t u r n h o m e , c u r e d o f h i s jealousy. T h e t h e m e o f t h e jealous h u s b a n d was p o p u l a r i n s e v e n t e e n t h c e n t u r y d r a m a , b u t S o u t h e r n e m o d i f i e d t h e p a r t o f t h e abbot a n d at t h e same t i m e m o r a l i s e d t h e p l o t . F e r n a n d o , as he calls t h e is o n b a d t e r m s w i t h

his w i f e , his d a u g h t e r

husband,

V i c t o r i a a n d his son

F a b i a n . I t is t h e last o f these, w h o is supposed t o h a v e t u r n e d r e l i g i o u s , t h a t leads t h e i n t r i g u e against F e r n a n d o . T h e abbot a n d t h e friars k n o w w h a t is afoot a n d c o u n t e n a n c e Fabian's scheme b y a l l o w i n g h i m t o w e a r t h e h a b i t o f t h e i r o r d e r , b u t t h e y are n o t active p a r t i c i p a n t s . F a b i a n drugs his f a t h e r at t h e w e d d i n g feast o f V i l l e r o y a n d Isabella a n d carries h i m off t o a t o m b i n t h e b u r y i n g - p l a c e i n t h e

monastery,

w h e r e h e receives a s o u n d t h r a s h i n g , a n d as h e h i m s e l f

afterwards

related: I thought I was alive i n Purgatory; and stood i n ' t a good w h i l e ; but there's no contending w i t h the D e v i l i n his o w n Dominions you k n o w ; I was forc't to confess m y self, at last, as dead as a H e r r i n g . (iv. i) H e regains consciousness a n d emerges f r o m t h e t o m b , j u s t as t h e p r o ­ cession of supposed m o u r n e r s is passing b y . H i s j o y a n d b e w i l d e r m e n t at f i n d i n g h i m s e l f i n t h e l a n d o f t h e l i v i n g are w e l l d e p i c t e d . I n fact, he is so g l a d t o be a l i v e t h a t h e w i l l consent t o a n y t h i n g t h a t his f a m i l y desires a n d renounces a l l his f o r m e r suspicions. T h e u n d e r - p l o t is m e a n t t o p r o v i d e c o m i c r e l i e f , t h e t o m b episode o c c u r r i n g b e t w e e n t h e w e d d i n g o f V i l l e r o y a n d Isabella a n d t h e r e t u r n o f B i r o n w h i c h leads t o t h e t r a g i c e n d i n g . T h u s t h e c o m i c b u r i a l of F e r n a n d o is n o t w i t h o u t a n i r o n i c effect, since i t is so soon f o l l o w e d b y a series o f disasters t h a t c u l m i n a t e i n t h e d e a t h o f V i l l e r o y , B i r o n a n d Isabella. T o t h a t e x t e n t i t can be defended, b u t w h e n G a r r i c k r e v i v e d t h e p l a y i n 1757, h e

o m i t t e d Fernando,

Fabian

and Victoria

and

rejected t h e c o m i c scenes w h i c h seemed to h i m i n d e l i c a t e a n d i m ­ m o r a l . T h e p l a y was recast a c c o r d i n g t o t h e s e n t i m e n t a l b e n t o f t h e age.

THE

DRAMA

207

(b) ComedyJust as a favourite theme of the sixteenth century, the story of Guis­ cardo and Ghismonda, was revived i n the seventeenth for the purpose of tragedy, so the well-known tale of Griseida found its way into the comedy of the period. 'The Plaie of Patient Grissell' was entered i n the Stationers' Register on 28 March 1600 and was i n all likelihood produced i n February or March of that year, though not printed till 1603. Even i f it resembles Chaucer's Clerk's Tale i n some respects, it diverges i n others, so that it is impossible to say i n what form the last tale of the Decameron was known to the collaborating dramatists, Chettle, Haughton and Dekker. 1

The tale is of the romantic kind that appealed to the Elizabethan audience, and the wooing of a beautiful peasant girl by a marquis who afterwards married her, had something i n common with the wooing of fair Margaret, the daughter of the keeper of Fressingfield, by Lacy, earl of Lincoln, in Greene's Frier Bacon and Frier Bongay. Like Grissill, Margaret underwent an ordeal before her happiness was obtained. It is true, that was before she went to court and it was a trifle compared with the trials of Grissill; but i n a general way one can see why the dramatists turned to this subject. However, in one sense the unshakable devotion of a heroine that inspired unending patience did not offer promising dramatic material, since her reaction can almost be predicted when she has to face a new sorrow. Though this weakness is inherent, the dramatists try to avoid monotony by inventing trials for Grissill. The marquis compels her to pick up his glove and to kneel down and tie the shoes of his faithful servant Furio. She has to serve his courtiers, Mario and Lepido, with wine, bowing to them as she does so, and just before she is restored to happiness, she is obliged to carry a heavy load of wood into the castle. An attempt is made to humanise the marquis. By asides, confidential conversations and by his appearance i n disguise, which, of course, according to the convention of the Elizabethan stage, is impenetrable, we learn how ardently he loves both Grissill and his children and how he himself suffers, so that at times he is on the point of abandoning his plan. But even i f the play does something to make him more pleasing, his cruelty is not explained, any more than in the tale, and appears to spring from an unaccountable caprice. A whole series of characters is used to comment on his strange conduct. Furio carries out his orders faithfully, even though his heart Chambers, i i i , p. 292. T h e play was edited for the Shakespeare Society, 1841, by J. P. Collier, and i n the Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker, ed. Fredson Bowers, Cambridge, 1953, vol. i . Quotations and line references are based on this latest edition. 1

208

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

bleeds. But when he has to part the mother from her children, his assumed harshness is discarded and he yields to her entreaties to be allowed to feed t h e m , saying ' I would I were r i d of m y miserie, for I shall drowne m y heart, w i t h m y teares that fall i n w a r d ' . GrisshTs father is as patient as Grissill herself. He acquiesces, for he feels bound to obey his lord i n all things, but near the end, when the marquis asks whether he is happy, the old peasant replies: 1

W h o can be glad w h e n he i n d u r e t h wrong? (v. i i . 102)

His son Laureo, a figure unknown to Boccaccio, is less submissive. A scholar who has spent nine years at the university and has achieved nothing, he is dissatisfied w i t h the world at large: Oh I am mad, To thinke how much a Scholler vndergoes, A n d i n th'ende reapes naught but pennurie.

(1. i i . 141-3) He therefore protests against the whims of the marquis and does not hesitate to speak of his tyranny. He sits reading and brooding over his wrongs and finally, i n the presence of the marquis himself, throws down the wood that he has been carrying on his back and declares: I haue cast downe m y burthen not m y loade, The loade of your grosse wrongs lyes heere like leade. (v. i i . 63-4)

Yet despite the indignation at injustice which here bursts forth, there is nowhere i n the play a revolt against the existing order. From the beginning, Janicola's servant Babulo had seen i n the marriage a violation of the n o r m which could not endure. He says 'beggers are fit for beggers, getlefolkes for getlefolkes: I am afraid yt this woder of y rich louing y poor, w i l last but nine daies'. And Janicola maintains that ' bond-men must serue' and ' Great men are gods, and they haue power ore us'. Even Laureo apologises to the marquis i n the end: e

e

Pardon me m y gratious L o r d , for now I see, T h a t Schollers w i t h weake eyes, pore on their bookes, B u t want true soules to iudge on Maiestie: None else but Rings can know the hearts of Kings, Hence foorth m y pride shall fly w i t h humbler wings.

(v. i i . 214-18) Nevertheless, the effect of the criticism of the subordinate figures is to suggest that the marquis has inflicted a grievous wrong, as he h i m ­ self openly confesses. Only two characters support h i m throughout, Mario and Lepido, the pliant courtiers. They are mere time-servers 1

iv. i . 1 3 9 - 4 ° -

THE DRAMA

209

who are satirically presented and fittingly punished by their dismissal from court. The dramatists make the serious plot attractive by turning Janiculo and his household into Elizabethan workmen. They are basket-makers, and when the marquis, disguised as a member of this craft, declares that he will resist the forcible separation of the children from their mother, Babulo exclaims 'Oh rare, cry prentises and clubs', a call known to every Londoner. The early morning scene i n Janicola's cottage with its air of brisk and cheerful industry is strongly reminis­ cent of the similar scene in The Shoemaker's Holiday. Just as Eyre wakes up and sets to work the womenfolk and the journeymen, so Janicola rouses Grissill and Babulo. The last of these is closely related to Firk and Hodge, and Eyre's cry 'haste to work' is echoed by Janicola's: 'lets faster worke: time apace weares'. The theme is taken up again in the charming lyric ' Art thou poore yet hast thou golden Slumbers' with its chorus: W o r k e apace, apace, apace, apace: H o n e s t l a b o u r beares a l o u e l y face, T h e n hey noney, noney: hey noney, noney.

( i . i i . 101-3)

Another aspect of this humble life is shown i n the scene where we see Grissill seated, while Ianicola to the accompaniment of Laureo's lute sings the lullaby ' Golden slumbers kisse your eyes', as he rocks the cradle made by Babulo. The dramatists felt that they needed something more than these poetic glimpses of workaday life to offset the painful episodes of the main plot. I n various ways they provide humour to lighten the spec­ tacle of Grissill's sorrows. Even Furio, who is an intensely serious figure, raises a laugh when he is saddled with Grissill's two infants and laments his inexperience in handling children. More important is Babulo, whose function is often that of a clown, jesting and criticising under the cover of his wit. I n addition there is a gull, the foppish Signor Emulo, who is described thus: one o f those c h a n g e a b l e S i l k e g a l l a n t s , w h o i n a v e r i e s c u r u i e p r i d e , scorne a l schollers, a n d reade n o bookes b u t a l o o k i n g glasse, a n d speake n o l a n g u a g e b u t s w e e t L a d y , a n d sweet Signior a n d c h e w b e t w e e n t h e i r t e e t h t e r r i b l e w o r d s , as t h o u g h t h e y w o u l d c o n i u r e , as c o m p l e m e n t a n d P r o i e c t s , a n d F a s t i d i o u s , a n d C a p r i c h i o u s , a n d M i s p r i z i a n , a n d t h e S i n t h e r e s i s , o f t h e soule, a n d s u c h l i k e raise v e l u e t t e a r m e s .

(11. i . 54-60)

Emulo i n person shows his fondness for grandiloquent language and magnificent attire i n his account of a duel that he fought. When he finds himself unappreciated, he resolves to leave Italy for ever, but p

210

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

his condemnation is rejected by Farneze, who exclaims i n defence of his native land: a w a y y o u i d e o t : Italy infects y o u n o t , b u t y o u r o w n e diseased s p i r i t s : Italy? o u t y o u f r o t h , y o u s c u m m e , because y o u r soule is m u d , a n d t h a t y o u h a u e b r e a t h e d i n Italy, y o u ' l l say Italy h a u e d e f y l e d y o u : a w a y y o u b o r e , t h o u w i l t w a l l o w i n m i r e i n t h e sweetest c o u n t r i e i n t h e w o r l d . ( i n . i i . 92-6)

Thus the gallant, the butt of so much contemporary ridicule, is made an object of satirical contempt. Far more genial is the presenta­ tion of his opponent i n the duel, Sir Owen ap Meredith, who has strayed into the domains of the marquis of Saluzo. He woos and marries a widow called Gwenthyan who is a cousin to the duke, her first husband having brought her from Wales. Both she and Sir Owen talk broken English, which seems all the more impossible because Rice or Rees, Sir Owen's servant, who is obviously meant to be a Welshman, speaks English quite normally. However, the Elizabethan spectator was not likely to cavil at such an anomaly and was evidently as well pleased as w i t h the Anglo-Dutch jargon of Hans i n The Shoemaker's Holiday. Among themselves Sir Owen and Gwenthyan often talk Welsh, and i n spite of the distorted form i n which i t appears i n the printed version, i t is obvious that Dekker, or whichever of the other two collaborators was responsible for this part of the play, had derived i t from a pure Welsh source. This use of dialogue i n a foreign tongue may be compared to some extent w i t h that of French by Catherine when she is wooed by Henry V. But the effect i n Patient Grissill acquires additional piquancy from the altercations between Sir Owen and Gwenthyan, for she is even more hot-tempered than himself, and valiant though he is, he cannot control her. He complains that her tongue goes jingle-jangle, better and worse than bells when the house is on fire, and that she chides and brawls and scolds and scratches terribly, so that he feels inclined to take to his heels and r u n to Wales. As he himself sadly admits: 1

S i r Owen ap Meredith c a n r i g h t l y t e l l , A shrewes sharpe t o n g u e is t e r r i b l e as h e l l .

( m . i i . 278-9)

One of the liveliest scenes i n the play is that which depicts her revenge on her husband when i n an attempt to assert his authority he tears her superb and expensive new ruff. Knowing that Sir Owen has invited the marquis and his attendants to dine at his house, she calls i n the beggars to partake of the food and drink and, arrayed i n the rags of a beggar, receives Sir Owen and his guests. Everything has been devoured, and the kitchen, strewn w i t h the fragments of the 2

1

Obviously a corruption of the W e l s h name ' G w e n l l i a n ' .

2

A c t I V , Sc. i i i .

THE DRAMA

211

repast, looks 'like the end of some terrible battle'. But 'the best sport is to see the scullians, some laughing, some crying, and whilst they wipe their eies they blacke their faces', the cooks cursing their lady and some praying for their lord. The relations of Sir Owen and Gwenthyan are the counterpart of those between the marquis and Grissill, but the roles are reversed. I t is Sir Ow en who has to undergo a series of trials u n t i l at the close Gwenthyan adopts a conciliatory tone, at the same time warning h i m not to be too proud and triumphant! The sub-plot has an important function. Its episodes, interposed between the painful, even heart-rending scenes of the main plot, afford relief and also help to create the illusion of passing time which is necessary for the story of Grissill. The married life of Sir Owen and Gwenthyan is like a commentary i n dramatic form on Chaucer's warning: r

N o w e d d e d m a n so h a r d y be tassaille H i s wyves patience, i n hope to finde Grisildes, for i n certein he shall f a i l l e !

1

( E 1180-2)

The portrayal of these two Welsh people is a caricature, but i t is goodnatured. Indeed, Sir Owen, brave, quick-tempered and patriotic—• ' B y Cod Wales is better countrie then Italics, a great teale so better' —is akin to Fluellen, and i t is significant of his popularity that the last words of the play are placed i n his mouth, as he expresses the hope that i f the audience love Gwenthyan, they w i l l love h i m as he loves them too, and so w i t h a Welsh greeting he bids them good-night. The intrusion of these characters into the old tale m i g h t well have seemed strange to Boccaccio, but the medley was deliberately calcu­ lated by dramatists who understood the art of satisfying their patrons in the Elizabethan theatre. The marriage of a noble to one of lower rank is the central theme of the story of Beltramo and Giletta, the ninth tale of the t h i r d day i n the Decameron, which constitutes the main plot of Shakespeare's All's Well that Ends Well. The original story is one of highly romantic love, on to which is grafted the problem of the relative value of noble descent and personal merit. This topic is of such widespread interest that i t is worth while considering the background before examining the play i n detail. The question had been discussed by the ancients and from t h e m had been handed on to Boethius, Dante and Chaucer. The development of humanism i n Italy and the growth of the mer­ chant class, not least i n Florence, created a lively preoccupation w i t h the subject. Boccaccio, perhaps actuated to some extent by personal impulses, was by no means indifferent to i t , and i n the fifteenth 2

1 2

Skeat's text. Jacob B u r c k h a r d t , Die Cultur der Renaissance in Italien, Basle, i 8 6 0 , pp. 355—65.

212

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

century i t was frequently debated, one of the best known contributions being the Controversia de Nobilitate of Bonaccorso da Montemagno. This attracted attention i n the great civic centres of humanism i n south-west Germany and was soon translated. A French version by Jean Mielot also appeared, and this w as turned into English by John Tiptoft, earl of Worcester, and printed by Caxton i n 1481. This humanistic tradition manifested itself again i n II Nenrdo by Giovanni Battista Nenna, which was translated i n 1595 by W i l l i a m Jones. r

1

2

M S . H a r l . 4402 i n the B r i t i s h M u s e u m not only contains M i e l o t ' s version b u t is itself a collection of debates and verse on n o b i l i t y . Cf. A . W . Reed, 'Fulgens and L u c r e s ' , T . L . S . , 5 A p r i l 1919, p. 178. T h e fact t h a t i t was dedicated to the earl of Essex indicates t h a t such discussions were not i n any sense opposed to the aristocratic p r i n c i p l e . Even M a r y , queen o f Scots, w h e n i t suited her purpose, would argue i n favour of the m a n 'de bas estat, pauvre en biens, mais genereus d'esprit' (cf. A . Labanoff, Lettres . . . de Marie Stuart, 1844, > 9 —9 and J. E . Neale, Queen Elizabeth, 1934, p. 140). T h e general aristo­ cratic tone of Elizabethan England is unquestionable. Yet, looking at Europe as a whole and the powerful mercantile communities i n w h i c h the arguments about personal m e r i t and hereditary rank found congenial soil, i t is natural to ask w h e t h e r or not they were purely theoretical. Here i t may be observed t h a t despite the division of society into well-defined classes d u r i n g and after the M i d d l e Ages, the structure was not absolutely r i g i d . Even i n the mediawal period there was some movement (cf. A . L a w , ' T h e English Nouveaux-Riches i n the fourteenth century', Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, New Series, 1895, i x , pp. 49—75). Thus W i l l i a m de la Pole, a m e r c h a n t of Ravenser O d d and H u l l , who m a r r i e d the daughter of another m e r c h a n t n a m e d John Rotenhering, became notable as the founder of the great house of the earls and dukes of Suffolk (D.N.B., x l v i , p. 48). T h e C h u r c h provided another opening for some able m e n of humble b i r t h like Baldwin, archbishop of Canterbury, and Robert Grosseteste, bishop of L i n c o l n , and after the exodus of foreign priests during the Black D e a t h there w ere still more opportunities, so t h a t complaints were made of the p r o m o t i o n of sons of cobblers and even of serfs to the office of bishop (Pierce the Ploughman's Crede, 11. 744—57)- I n fact, the spread of education was such t h a t the House of Commons i n 1591 petitioned R i c h a r d I I to prevent the c h i l d r e n o f serfs being sent to school i n order to alter t h e i r social status (cf. J. E . G . de M o n t m o r e n c y , State Intervention in English Education, Cam­ bridge, 1902, p. 27), an appeal t h a t was rejected. T h e most spectacular rise to power t h r o u g h the m e d i u m of the C h u r c h was, however, seen i n the career of Cardinal Wolsey. A f t e r the dissolution of the monasteries a good many merchants founded i m p o r t a n t families. I n this connexion the f a m i l y of Henry C r o m w e l l , alias W i l l i a m s , of Huntingdonshire is of interest. T h e descendants of ' a Putney ale-brewer and innkeeper' offer a good example o f ' t h a t flexibility i n the E n g l i s h aristocratic system w h i c h p e r m i t t e d new families to spring suddenly f r o m obscurity to w e a l t h and splendour' (cf. J. E . Neale, The Elizabethan House of Commons, London, 1949, p. 48). A n d A . F. Pollard (Factors in Modern History, London, 1907, p. 41) w r i t i n g on ' T h e Advent of the M i d d l e Class' remarks t h a t ' t h e great ministers of T u d o r times, the Cromwells, the Cecils, the Walsinghams, a l l spring f r o m the new m i d d l e , and not the old feudal, classes; and Queen Elizabeth herself was great-grand-daughter of a London m e r c h a n t ' . T h e alteration i n economic values i n the course of the six­ teenth century strengthened the social position of the merchant classes, w h i c h is reflected i n literature. O n the subject of the change i n social conditions and the relationship of ' v i r t u e ' to n o b i l i t y see R. Kelso, The Doctrine of the English Gentleman in the sixteenth Century, Urbana, 1929, pp. 16 and 23—7. For an outline of the influence of the humanistic t r a d i t i o n see A . W . Reed's paper on ' C h i v a l r y and the Idea of a G e n t l e m a n ' i n Chivalry, ed. E . Prestage, London, 1928, pp. 2 0 7 - 2 8 . 1

2

v u

2

8

T

THE DRAMA

215

The theme o f nobility had taken dramatic shape on the Continent i n a play o f Sixt Birck, a native o f Augsburg who passed many years at Basle, and i n England, first i n Henry Medwall's Fulgens and Lucres, which was inspired by Bonaccorso, and later i n two interludes, Godly Queene Hester and Gentleness and Nobility. However, the play that stands nearest to All's Well i n subject-matter is Bernardo Accolti's Virginia, o f which the earliest edition appeared i n 1513, for i t too is drawn from Boccaccio's tale o f Giletta. I t has been suggested that Shakespeare was acquainted w i t h the Italian play, but this seems highly improbable. The usual assumption is that he found his theme i n Painter's Palace of Pleasure, but there are grounds for t h i n k i n g that he came across i t i n the French version of Antoine le Macon , which may have been brought to his attention when he was lodging w i t h Christopher Montjoy, a Huguenot refugee. I n his story Boccaccio does not make any of the characters, whether Giletta herself or any one else, expound the claims of the woman of merit. I t is mentioned that she has beauty, wisdom and wealth, but there are no speeches to justify a marriage between people of different rank. This may appear strange, for elsewhere Boccaccio discloses his point of view. A striking example occurs i n the Filostrato when Troilo defends Griseida against Cassandra's objections on the ground of her inferior rank: 1

2

3

Che p i u , d o n n a Cassandra, c h i e d e r e t e I n d o n n a o m a i ? i l suo s a n g u e reale? N o n son re t u t t i q u e l l i a c u i v e d e t e C o r o n a o scettro o vesta i m p e r i a l e ; Assai fiate u d i t o g i a l ' a v e t e , Re e c o l u i i l q u a l p e r v i r t u vale, N o n p e r p o t e n z a : e se costei potesse, N o n c r e ' t u c h ' e l l a c o m e t u reggesse?

{O.V.

v i i , st. 99, 11.

1-8)

And i n the first tale of the fourth book of the Decameron he dwells at length on this topic when he lets Ghismonda, the daughter of the prince of Salerno, uphold her choice of Guiscardo, ' a man of very humble origin, but pre-eminent for native w o r t h ' . I n a long and eloquent speech she maintains that 'whoso w i t h merit acts, does plainly shew himself a gentleman'. She therefore rebuts the charge that she has demeaned herself, for though Guiscardo is poor, 'many E d . A . C. Partridge and W . W . Greg, Malone Society, 1950. Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , ' T h e Indebtedness of Painter's Translations f r o m Boccaccio i n The Palace of Pleasure to the French Version of le Macon, M.L.R., 1951, x l v i , pp. 431—5 and ' H o w d i d Shakespeare come to know the Decameron?', M.L.R., 1955, xlix, pp. 4 5 - 8 . Cf. S. Lee, A Life of William Shakespeare, London, 1916, pp. 276—7. 1 2

3

214

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

kings, many great princes, were once poor', and 'poverty, though i t take away all else, deprives no man of nobility'. I n All's Well Shakespeare has deprived the heroine of the wealth that Giletta possessed and reduced her to ' a poor physician's daughter'. I t is obvious that he was fully capable of reducing her fortune i n order to throw her personal qualities into relief, but i f he was familiar with the French version of le Macon, he might well have read the words of Ghismonda i n the tale that was next but one after that of Giletta. I f this was so, he could hardly fail to be impressed by her speech, one of the most famous i n the whole Decameron, i n which the insistence on the merit of the individual in contrast to rank or riches finds such memorable expression. Though this is conjectural, it is certain that Shakespeare embodies i n a vital way Boccaccio's point of view, and brings out by various means what is implicit i n the tale. He invents the old countess of Roussillon, Bertram's mother, who has no prejudices about rank, approves of the marriage and condemns her son's misprising of Helena. When she learns of his desertion of her, she declares that he is her son no longer. Another new character is the old courtier Lafeu. He shares the countess's high opinion of Helena and finds it incomprehensible that any young man should fail to seize the opportunity to marry her and later, on hearing of her supposed death, he praises her as 1

2

a wife W h o s e beauty d i d astonish t h e survey O f r i c h e s t eyes, w h o s e w o r d s a l l ears t o o k c a p t i v e , W h o s e d e a r p e r f e c t i o n h e a r t s t h a t scorned t o serve H u m b l y called mistress.

(v. i i i . 15-19)

Lafeu's attitude is supported by the conversation of the two French lords i n the Florentine camp, from which it is evident that Bertram is considered much to blame for abandoning Helena. The other French nobles are quick to appreciate her qualities, and Shakespeare has devised Act I I , Sc. i i i , expressly to show their eagerness to marry her. There is then virtual unanimity about the qualities of Helena and about the desirability of securing her i n marriage. Only Bertram stands aloof, and i n his stubborn aristocratic pride he is as far apart from his fellow-noblemen as Coriolanus from the other patricians. I n order to bring out still more clearly Bertram's folly Shakespeare ascribes, 3

J. M . Rigg's translation. A l l quotations f r o m All's Well are taken f r o m the edition of A . Q u i l l e r Couch and J. Dover W i l s o n , Cambridge, 1929. For a discussion of the play see M . C. Bradbrook, ' V i r t u e is the true N o b i l i t y . A Study of the Structure of All's Well that Ends Well', R.E.S., N e w Series, 1950, i , pp. 289—301. Cf. J. Dover Wilson's interpretation of this scene i n the previously-mentioned edition of All's Well, p. 146. 1

2

3

THE

DRAMA

215

without, any hint from Boccaccio, the virtue of h u m i l i t y to his father. The king notes this quality i n the old count: W h o were below h i m He used as creatures of another place, A n d bowed his eminent top to their low ranks, M a k i n g t h e m proud of his h u m i l i t y . . . ( I . i i . 41-4)

This h u m i l i t y is a trait of Helena herself. She thinks of Bertram as a star shining above her and compares herself to the Indian that worships the sun. She is fully conscious that hers is but a ' l o w and humble name', and even when Bertram has treated her w i t h dis­ courtesy, she still speaks of h i m as ' my dearest master'. Though she does not lack courage, she is not a forceful, virile creature i n relentless pursuit of her quarry. Her words to Bertram, when she chooses h i m i n the presence of the king, are full of tact: I dare not say I take you, but I give M e and m y service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power . . .

(11. i i i . 105-7)

After the betrothal she maintains this attitude and asks of Parolles what Bertram's wishes are: I n every t h i n g I wait upon his w i l l , («• i - 55) v

and to Bertram himself she declares,

Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient servant. ( I I . v. 73-4)

Nowhere does Helena appear more attractive than just before she and Bertram separate, he to go to Florence, she to Roussillon. He is curt to the point of rudeness and talks i n short, abrupt phrases and churlishly rejects her t i m i d plea, so discreetly conveyed, for a parting kiss. I t is true that the modern reader or spectator, l i v i n g i n a very different society, w i l l find Helena almost too submissive to her lord, but h e r . h u m i l i t y is dignified i n comparison w i t h the grovelling selfabasement of Accolti's Virginia. I t may also be objected against Helena that the substitution trick which she plays on Bertram is hardly com­ patible w i t h the qualities ascribed to her elsewhere. But this is, of course, merely part of the machinery derived from a mediaeval tale that belonged to the incredible world of romance, and i n any case the 1

For a defence of the role of Helena see Emile Legouis,' La Comtesse de Roussillon', English, 1937, i , pp. 399-404. 1

216

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

total impression of Helena is not one of her excessive astuteness as in Virginia. More disturbing in some ways is the excessive familiarity of the virtuous Helena with Parolles, the chief figure i n the not very successful sub-plot that Shakespeare added to provide a few moments of laughter as a distraction from the serious plot. But his heart was not in Parolles as it had been in Falstaff. Even Bertram, who, i n associating with such a person as Parolles, shows the same lack of discernment as elsewhere, cuts a sorry figure, for Helena is exalted at the expense of her husband. As a whole therefore, i n view of its unsatisfactory hero and inferior sub-plot, All's Well is not one of Shakespeare's greatest comedies. The old romance is not blended to perfection with the problems of reality. It is the question of merit and nobility, as it is embodied i n Helena, which lends an air of gravity to the play. This is implicit in Boccaccio's tale, even as i t is i n Patient Grissell, and one indication of its signifi­ cance is the pronouncement of the king, the head of an aristocratic society, when Bertram with supercilious mien declines the royal proposal: 'Tis only t i t l e t h o u disdain'st i n her, the w h i c h I can build up . . . Strange is i t , that our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, poured all together, W o u l d quite confound distinction, yet stand off I n differences so m i g h t y . . . I f she be A l l that is virtuous (save what t h o u dislik'st, A poor physician's daughter) thou dislik'st Of virtue for a name; but do not so: From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by t h ' doer's deed: Where great additions swell's, and virtue none, I t is a dropsied honour: good alone Is good, w i t h o u t a name; vileness is so: The property by what i t is should go, Not by the title . . . She is young, wise, fair; I n these to nature she's immediate heir; A n d these breed honour: that is honour's scorn, W h i c h challenges itself as honour's born, A n d is not like the sire: honours t h r i v e , W h e n rather from our acts we t h e m derive T h a n our foregoers: the mere word's a slave, Deboshed on every tomb, on every grave A l y i n g trophy, and as oft is dumb Where diist and damned oblivion is the tomb Of honoured bones indeed.

( I I . i i i . 120-44)

This is the very essence of the humanist tradition, and Shakespeare knew that he could count on the interest of those among his audience

THE DRAMA

217

who were familiar w i t h i t , while at the same time this point of view could not fail to gratify the citizens of London. Blurt Master-Constable. Or the Spaniards Night-Walke, which was entered i n the Stationers' Register on 7 June 1602 and printed that year, belongs approximately to the same period as All's Well. I t too has a romantic main plot, the scene being laid i n Venice, whither Fontenella, a Frenchman, has been brought as a prisoner of war. He manages to escape to the house of Imperia, a courtesan, and Violetta, who has married h i m secretly, follows h i m there. The courtesan serves as a l i n k w i t h the sub-plot, i n which Lazarillo de Tormes, a Spanish soldier of fortune, becomes infatuated w i t h her. Lazarillo is an absurd figure who is made to look even more ridiculous by the treatment that he receives from Imperia. She promises to satisfy his desire at midnight, and i n the meantime he is escorted to a room. He is warned that the house is haunted and that strange sounds of music and singing and laughter are sometimes heard, but that he is not to move or be afraid. However, when he listens to music and singing, he does move, and when a Spanish pavan is played, he dances, then lies down to sleep, only to fall into a cesspool, to the accompaniment of the mocking laughter of Frisco, Imperia's servant. He contrives to get out and appears before the house, shivering, but Frisco responds to his en­ treaties for his clothes w i t h abuse. He leaves Lazarillo who vows that he w i l l be revenged, but amid his fury is arrested by Blurt. This sub-plot is derived from one incident i n the adventures of Andreuccio of Perugia on his visit to Naples i n the fifth tale of the second day of the Decameron, which belongs to the group that finds pleasure i n outwitting the simple or inexperienced. Frisco is not a bully like Scarabone Buttafuoco but he relishes the success of the trick. The transformation of Andreuccio into a Spaniard was calculated to satisfy an audience w i t h whom his countrymen were unpopular. The replacement of the contrivance of the tale by the mechanism of the trap-door was a necessary adjustment to the needs of the stage, and there was a certain justice i n the choice of the Spanish pavan that leads to Lazarillo's downfall. As the name Lazarillo de Tormes indicates, the author of the play was familiar w i t h Spanish picaresque literature, and the element of farcical comedy, combined w i t h a glimpse of the underworld, was clearly to the taste of the Elizabethan playgoer. The same bent was to be displayed a year or two later i n Measure for Measure, where Mistress Overdone and Pompey, her servant, appear i n Vienna w i t h Elbow, the constable. So too along w i t h Imperia and Frisco we find Blurt Master-Constable and his attendant Slubber. 1

Lazarillo de Tormes had been translated by D a v i d Rowland i n 1586, and the second p a r t by ' W . P . ' i n 1596, 1

218

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

Reminiscent as they are of Dogberry and Verges, they help to remind us that despite the foreign setting the dramatist was here depicting one stratum of contemporary English society. John Marston's Parasitaster, or The Fawne (1606), on the other hand, has Italian figures and relies for its success chiefly on the skilful plot. I t is based on the t h i r d tale of the t h i r d day of the Decameron i n which an amorous woman under cover of confession dupes a stupid friar and uses h i m to act unwittingly as a messenger to her lover. But instead of the middle-class environment of Florence, i n which city the husband is a merchant of woollen goods, The Fawne transports the spec­ tator to the court of Hercules, duke of Ferrara, and a widower, who wishes to marry his son Tiberio but finds h i m unwilling. Tiberio is sent to woo for his father Dulcimel, daughter of Gonzago, duke of Urbin. The princess detests the thought of marrying an elderly man and falls i n love w i t h Tiberio, to w h o m she manages to convey her feelings through the involuntary agency of her father, i n much the same way as the friar is used by Boccaccio. At first Tiberio feels nothing but astonishment, but when he receives a letter that he is supposed to have written to her and a scarf that he is accused of having sent, he begins to perceive Dulcimel's hidden meaning. However, i t is his reluctance to have dealings w i t h women that differentiates h i m from his counterpart i n the Decameron. On reading the letters he exclaims: O quick deuicefull strong braind Dulcimel T h o u art to full of witte to be a wife, W h y dost thou loue, or what strong heat gaue life To such faint hopes? O woman thou art made Most only of, and for deceit . . . ( I I I . i)

This reluctance, based on distrust of all women, is reinforced by his unwillingness to abuse his father's trust i n h i m . The two obstacles are put i n a nutshell, when he asks shall I that euer loathde, A thought of woman, now begin to loue, M y w o r t h y fathers right, breake faith to h i m that got me To get a faithless woman? (ill. i)

However, after a struggle he falls i n love w i t h her, and, as later i n Dryden's 'Sigismonda and Guiscardo', the intrigue ends w i t h their marriage by a priest. Duke Hercules, who i n disguise as Faunus has witnessed the growth of his son's affection, gives his blessing. Thus a successful amorous intrigue, w i t h a continuation of illicit love, is transformed into a play of true love that culminates i n matri­ mony. But The Fawne is not simply a moralisation of a tale i n which an

THE

DRAMA

219

astute woman by the keenness of her wits achieves her aim. I t retains the interest of this sharp intellect, but the plot is enriched by the reluctance of Tiberio to marry and to prove unfaithful to Hercules. Further, there is the healthy unwillingness of a young woman to accept an old widower, so that she is justified i n seeking to avoid a social ab­ normality. Flence the play has an inward as well as an outward morality that distinguishes i t from the carefree hedonism of Boccaccio's story. I n Cupid's Whirligig, entered i n the Stationers' Register on 29 June 1607 and printed that year, Edward Sharpham returned to the tale of Isabella, Leonetto and Lambertuccio which had been used by Tour­ neur. Once again the story is worked i n as a sub-plot, but the whole play is a comedy. The leading figure is Sir T i m o t h y Troublesome, so frantically jealous that the slightest t h i n g sets h i m aflame. His wife, who is perpetually harassed by his suspicions, is beyond reproach, and the early part of the play seeks to show how all attempts to w i n her from her husband fail. I n the fourth act Captain Wouldly tries to make love to her, but every time that she says her husband is coming, the typical swaggering captain changes his tone and wants to hide. He has just been put out of the way when Master Exhibition enters. The latter belongs to the Inns of Court and is making love i n a barbarous legal jargon when the return of Sir T i m o t h y is announced. He is overcome w i t h fear, and i t is Lady Troublesome who suggests what he is to do. On her advice he draws his sword and says nothing to Trouble­ some except that he w i l l be revenged i n another place. Wouldly is found quaking and trembling, for he is an arrant coward, and Lady Troublesome explains that he was pursued by Exhibition into the house. Troublesome thanks her, invites Wouldly to supper, and promises to escort h i m home. These incidents follow the original story i n all essentials, but there is a modification i n that Wouldly is the first to enter, whereas his counterpart, the blustering Lambertuccio, is the second. The reason for this change is that Sharpham, who was anxious to make the situation as farcical as possible, thought that more laughter could be created by depicting Wouldly as the craven who has to be rescued from an ignominious plight. I n point of fact, there is not much to choose between the two lovers, for the one is as panic-stricken as the other. The pedantic legal speech of Exhibition is another comic device and at the same time helps to establish the play i n its English environment. As i n Boccaccio, i t is the keen-witted woman who controls events, but her character is transformed, since she is a chaste wife, harassed by unwelcome suitors and tormented by that favourite figure i n the comedy of the period, the jealous husband. 1

1

Vide ante, pp. 3 0 4 - 5 .

220

T H E DECAMERON

I N THESEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

W h e n Shakespeare was l o o k i n g r o u n d f o r a subject i n 1609, he h a d no i n c l i n a t i o n t o p a i n t c o n t e m p o r a r y m a n n e r s b u t p r e f e r r e d t o t r e a t a r o m a n t i c t h e m e . H e r e c a l l e d t h e second day of t h e Decameron

which

dealt w i t h t h e f o r t u n e s of those w h o after v a r i o u s a d v e n t u r e s a t t a i n e d u n e x p e c t e d happiness. T h e r e was, i n d e e d , no l a c k of r o m a n c e i n t h e n i n t h tale o f Z i n e v r a w h o , after t h e foolish w a g e r o f h e r Bernabo

with

Ambruogiuolo

had

brought

about

their

husband

separation,

w a n d e r e d a b o u t u n t i l , i n disguise, as a t r u s t e d soldier o f t h e Soldan she e x t o r t e d a confession f r o m h e r t r a d u c e r a n d h a d h i m p u t t o d e a t h . Shakespeare too placed his h e r o i n e i n t h e service of a great c o m m a n d e r , t h e R o m a n g e n e r a l L u c i u s . H o w e v e r , t h e s e t t i n g o f h e r t r o u b l e s is n o t Genoa, A c r e a n d A l e x a n d r i a , b u t t h e palace o f C y m b e l i n e , i n ancient B r i t a i n , and the mountains of Wales. Y e t even t h o u g h the p l a y differs n o t a b l y f r o m t h e t a l e i n these respects, Shakespeare was f a m i l i a r w i t h t h e w h o l e story. T h e p u n i s h m e n t of A m b r u o g i u o l o by s m e a r i n g his b o d y w i t h h o n e y a n d t h e n t y i n g h i m t o a stake u n t i l he was d e v o u r e d b y s w a r m s of flies, wasps a n d gadflies is r e c a l l e d i n t h e t h r e a t of A u t o l y c u s t o i n f l i c t a s i m i l a r d e a t h o n t h e s h e p h e r d ' s s o n .

1

T h e r e are m a n y s i m i l a r i t i e s b e t w e e n t h e p l o t o f t h e e a r l y p a r t o f Cymbeline

a n d Boccaccio's n a r r a t i v e . I n each case, w h e n t h e w a g e r is

l a i d , a f o r m a l pact is d r a w n u p a n d s i g n e d . I a c h i m o has t h e t r u n k r e a d y i n w h i c h he is t o l i e concealed, j u s t as A m b r u o g i u o l o has a chest at h a n d . I m o g e n has a w a i t i n g - w o m a n , Z i n e v r a a l i t t l e g i r l . I n b o t h versions t h e b e d c h a m b e r is i l l u m i n a t e d , so t h a t t h e i n t r u d e r is able t o l o o k r o u n d . I a c h i m o is t e m p t e d b u t represses his passion f o r t h e sake of h i s scheme, a n d t h e same is t r u e o f A m b r u o g i u o l o . B o t h m e n observe t h e p i c t u r e s , t h e s i t u a t i o n o f t h e r o o m , b o t h c a r r y a w a y objects o f v a l u e , a n d b o t h n o t e a m o l e u n d e r t h e breast o f t h e s l e e p e r .

2

The

v i l l a i n ' s proofs i n t h e p l a y a n d i n t h e n a r r a t i v e are g i v e n i n t h e same sequence, a n d b o t h husbands are b e n t o n vengeance. T h e r e is also a parallel i n t h e disguising of the heroine w i t h the aid of h e r servant. I n Boccaccio h e hands over h i s d o u b l e t a n d h o o d i n exchange f o r h e r clothes; i n t h e p l a y w i t h s o m e w h a t g r e a t e r delicacy Pisanio produces a b a g c o n t a i n i n g d o u b l e t , h a t a n d hose w h i c h he has b r o u g h t w i t h h i m i n anticipation.

3

Shakespeare The Complete Works, ed. C. J. Sisson; The Winter's Tale, I V . iv. 811—20. Cymbeline, 11. i i . 57, ' O n h e r left breast': 11. i v . 134, 'under her breast'. I t is discrepancies such as these that harass Shakespeare scholars. T h e use of ' o n ' instead of ' u n d e r ' i n the first instance was probably on m e t r i c a l grounds. I n the second instance ' l e f t ' was perhaps o m i t t e d , because ' r i g h t p r o u d ' follows i n t h e next line. A l l quotations are taken f r o m Shakespeare The Complete Works, ed. C. J. Sisson. There are some features wdrich differentiate Cymbeline f r o m Boccaccio's tale, and these have caused a vast amount of speculation about Shakespeare's source. T h e wager story is widespread, and Gaston Paris t r i e d to group these many different versions i n Romania, xxxii, pp. 481—551, b u t i n Miscellanea di studi critici edita in onore 1 2

3

THE

221

DRAMA

However, of necessity the tale underwent a transformation because it was linked to the reign of Cymbeline and the invasion of Britain which inspired a succession of patriotic outbursts that associate this late work w i t h the earlier ones on English history. I t is Cymbeline who gives his name to the play, and the fate of his Queen and her son is linked w i t h that of his daughter Imogen and her missing brothers. I n this way the adventures of the heroine become far more involved than those of Zinevra. But Pisanio's words 1

F o r t u n e b r i n g s i n some boats t h a t are n o t s t e e r ' d

(iv. iii. 46)

may be applied both to Imogen and Zinevra and contain i n brief the theme enunciated for the second day of the Decameron. The royal b i r t h of Imogen had important consequences. I t raised her and inevitably Posthumus too from the mercantile atmosphere of the tale. The exposition i n the opening scene shows this clearly. Posthumus is ' a poor but worthy gentleman', descended from a family of famous soldiers. His father Sicilius had won glory and honour i n war, and his two brothers had died sword i n hand. Left an orphan, he had been brought up and made a gentleman of the bedchamber by Cymbeline. Imogen 'esteemed h i m and his v i r t u e ' and di Arturo Graf, Bergamo, 1903, he had already modified his views. T o some extent he was under the influence of R. Ohle, Shakespeares Cymbeline und seine romanischen Vorlaufer, B e r l i n , 1890, whose arguments were refuted by H . R. D . Anders, Shakespeare's Books, B e r l i n , 1904, pp. 60—4. Alois B r a n d l , i n his article ' I m o g e n auf den A r a n l n s e l n ' , Shakespeare Jahrbuch, 1917, l i i i , pp. 13—54, attempted a new analysis of the versions of the wager story. Considerable importance was attached to the c o n t r i b u ­ tions of B r a n d l and Gaston Paris by W . F. T h r a l l i n ' Cymbeline, Boccaccio, and the W a g e r Story i n E n g l a n d ' , S.P., 1931, x x v i i i , pp. 107-19. T h i s t h o r o u g h survey dis­ cusses at l e n g t h the hypothetical relationship of Cymbeline, Westward for Smelts and Frederyke of Jennen. T h e author is i n c l i n e d to postulate an old play used by Shakes­ peare, t h o u g h he is u n w i l l i n g to c o m m i t himself. J. R a i t h , Die Historic von den vier Kaufleuten, L e i p z i g , 1936, w h i c h contains the text of Frederyke of Jennen and a concise and l u c i d introduction, is suspicious of the lost play theory and devotes h i m s e l f chiefly to the relationship of Boccaccio and Shakespeare. For want of definite proof about this old play, i t seems advisable to pursue this course, for, as T h r a l l recognises, the tale i n the Decameron 'remains the most satisfactory analogue'. I n some measure the whole discussion is connected w i t h the p r o b l e m of Shakespeare's knowledge of Boccaccio. I t has generally been assumed t h a t for All's Well that Ends Well, he must necessarily have had recourse to Painter's Palace of Pleasure, b u t this is erroneous (cf. H . G. W r i g h t , ' H o w d i d Shakespeare come to know the Decameron"?', M.L.R., 1955, xlix, pp. 4 5 - 8 ) . T h e r e is a possibility t h a t w h e n Cymbeline came to be w r i t t e n , Shakespeare no longer had access to the Decameron as w h e n he wrote the earlier play and consequently eked out his knowledge by means o f Frederyke of Jennen. No convincing reason exists for t h i n k i n g that Cymbeline is indebted to Westward for Smelts (vide ante, pp. 192—3). Cf. the words of Posthumus (11. i v . 15—26) w h i c h act as a prelude to the great scene of defiance ( m . i ) . L a t e r comes the passage (iv. iv) i n w h i c h Guiderius, Arviragus and old Belarius resolve to share i n the resistance, and v . i , i n w h i c h Posthumus prepares for the battle. 1

222

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

B y h e r e l e c t i o n m a y be t r u l y r e a d W h a t k i n d o f m a n h e is. ( i - i - 53-4)

The situation resembles i n some measure the choice of Guiscardo by Ghismonda, and though Posthumus was of gentle birth, the king felt justified i n calling him 'Thou basest thing'. The sense of the gap i n rank between Imogen and Posthumus is expressed with even greater energy by Cloten: 1

For T h e c o n t r a c t y o u p r e t e n d w i t h t h a t base w r e t c h , O n e b r e d o f a l m s , a n d fostered w i t h c o l d dishes, W i t h scraps o' t h ' C o u r t , i t is n o c o n t r a c t , n o n e . A n d t h o u g h i t be a l l o w e d i n m e a n e r p a r t i e s — Y e t w h o t h a n h e m o r e m e a n ? — t o k n i t t h e i r souls, O n w h o m t h e r e is n o m o r e d e p e n d e n c y B u t brats a n d b e g g a r y , " i n s e l f - f i g u r e d k n o t ; Y e t y o u are c u r b e d f r o m t h a t e n l a r g e m e n t b y T h e consequence o' t h ' c r o w n , a n d m u s t n o t f o i l T h e precious n o t e o f i t w i t h a base slave, A h i l d i n g for a l i v e r y , a squire's cloth, A p a n t l e r , n o t so e m i n e n t .

(11. i i i . 117—29) This is the haughty disdain of Bertram for Helena, multiplied tenfold. However, a reply is forthcoming. Imogen rejects this point of view, as the king had done that of Bertram, and Posthumus is eulogised i n the opening scene by the two gentlemen, as Helena had been praised by the nobles of France. Thus one of the central features of Cymbeline is the justification of Posthumus who ultimately proves his worth by his deeds. But first of all he has to atone for the error into which he falls. I n anticipation of the final reconciliation Shakespeare depicts Posthumus i n as favourable a light as possible. However, we are given a glimpse of his passionate nature when, i n praising Imogen's chastity, Posthumus himself declares: M e o f m y l a w f u l p l e a s u r e she r e s t r a i n e d , A n d p r a y e d m e oft forbearance. (11. v . 9-10)

He is a full-blooded soldier, and his soldierly qualities, which i n the end redeem him, have much to do with his downfall at the hands of Iachimo. When he is banished, as i f by a natural instinct, he makes his way to Philario, his father's old comrade-in-arms. As i n the tale it is at a feast i n Philario's house at Rome that he encounters a number of strangers, but whereas i n Boccaccio the whole company consists of Italian merchants assembled at Paris, those whom Posthumus meets 2

1

1 . i . 125.

2

See Iachimo's words i n v . v. 155.

THE DRAMA

223

include not only Iachimo, but also a Frenchman, a Dutchman and a Spaniard, a group which is partially reminiscent of the Italian, French and Spanish merchants i n Frederyke of Jennen. Shakespeare's Dutch­ man and Spaniard do not utter a word, but the Frenchman has a dramatic function to perform i n that he recalls a dispute between Posthumus and another Frenchman at Orleans when Imogen was declared to be ' more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest of our ladies i n France'. As Posthumus himself admits, this quarrel at Orleans sprang i n some measure from the impetuosity of youth. At Rome he is more sedate and displays more self-control, 'sitting sadly' and 'calm as v i r t u e ' . He is also more discreet and tactful, not seeking i n any way to detract from the charms of women i n other countries. Nevertheless, i t is the Frenchman's account of Posthumus' conduct at Orleans that spurs Iachimo on to issue his challenge. The dialogue marks the gradual rise i n Posthumus' irritation, u n t i l Philario interposes a quiet appeal, ' L e t us leave here gentlemen', when i t seems as i f Posthumus would be appeased. However, the l u l l is only momentary, and as Iachimo goads h i m still further, i t is clear that his quick temper is roused. He begins to talk of the punishment that Iachimo would deserve after the failure of his attempt, and when Philario again interposes an entreaty: ' Gentlemen enough of this; i t came i n too suddenly, let i t die as i t was b o r n ' , his words fall on deaf ears. A moment later the wager has been laid. From this scene, which is admirable i n its concentration, Posthumus emerges, not as a foolish hothead, but as one driven to exasperation by the cynical disbelief of Iachimo. On the occasion of the second meeting i n Philario's house, the Frenchman whose dramatic task was done, and the Dutchman and Spaniard who never had any, are discarded. Philario alone remains w i t h Posthumus and Iachimo. At the beginning of the scene Posthumus is confident. The account of the bedchamber is far more detailed than that given i n Act I I , Sc. i i , for w i t h true artistic instinct Shakespeare avoided any mechanical repetition, and the new descriptions of the tapestry and the chimney-piece have been saved for this crisis. The figures of Antony's encounter w i t h Cleopatra on the Cydnus and of chaste Diana bathing have an oblique relevance to the accusation made by Iachimo, and his story acquires a specious air of t r u t h . Never­ theless, Posthumus remains calm, but as Iachimo continues w i t h his inventory, he begins to doubt. ' This is her honour!' he cries, but a moment later he thinks clearly again. However, this lucidity of judge­ ment is soon beclouded, and the ocular proof of the bracelet completes 1

2

3

4

1 2

Cf. J. R a i t h , Die Historic von den vier Kaufleuten, pp. 107—10. Iachimo's words i n v . v. 160, 174. I b i d . , 173. 3

4

I I . iv.

224

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

the destruction of his faith. I t is true that Philario's intervention and admonition to patience have a temporary effect, but it is short-lived, and, as at the first meeting, Philario's second exhortation is swept aside, and Posthumus's rage overflows all bounds. As a soldier he thinks of action: O that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal. (n. i v . 147)

which echoes Othello's cry: ' I will chop her into messes'. All restraint is lost, and i n the following scene he denounces all women as false and treacherous. A long period of repentance follows, and bitter remorse atones for the suffering that his too quick temper has inflicted on Imogen. I n the last scene he still speaks with the same violence, but it is now directed against himself, and his anguish is only dispelled by her forgiveness. In portraying Posthumus, Shakespeare also developed the importance of Iachimo. I n his hands the original Italian becomes a Machiavellian villain, even though the period is that of Augustus Caesar, so that there is nothing improbable i n Iachimo's statement that the trunk carried into Imogen's room contains rare plate and jewels, a gift for the em­ peror. However, the feeling that animates Shakespeare is the Renais­ sance Englishman's conviction that Italy was a land abounding i n women beautiful but dangerous, and i n men subtle of intellect and cunning beyond measure. Even when making his confession, Iachimo is conscious of his mental superiority: 1

mine Italian brain Gan i n your duller Britain operate Most vilely.

(v. v. 196-8)

Certainly, he is adroit i n his dealings with Posthumus, who i n all his straightforward soldierly honesty is at the mercy of the more nimblewitted Iachimo. Nor is it only Posthumus who is deceived, but Imogen also, for her innocence is exploited with the same skill by the astute Machiavellian who changes his ground with the utmost dexterity. Yet even i f Iachimo is a shrewd and cynical man of the world, he is no Iago. I t would seem as i f early in the play Shakespeare had decided that Iachimo should be spared at the close, and so at the end of Act I I , Sc. iv, when Posthumus has rushed out and Philario has cried: Let's follow h i m , and pervert the present w r a t h He hath against himself,

Iachimo, as i f anxious to avoid any mishap to Posthumus, says: ' W i t h all my heart'. The two meet again as antagonists on the battlefield i n

THE

DRAMA

225

Act V , Sc. i i , when Iachimo is disarmed by a Briton who, unknown to h i m , is Posthumus. He is burdened w i t h a sense of guilt: I have belied a lady, T h e Princess o f t h i s c o u n t r y , a n d t h e a i r o n ' t R e v e n g i n g l y enfeebles m e .

(v. i i . 2-4)

His defeat i n single combat combines w i t h his repentance to induce i n Posthumus a mood of magnanimity: Live, A n d deal w i t h o t h e r s b e t t e r .

(v. v. 419-20)

The part of Imogen also underwent a notable development by Shakespeare. I n Boccaccio's tale she is almost a nonentity u n t i l Bernabo resolves that she shall die. On the other hand, i n the opening scene of the play, by her bold defiance of her father, she reveals that strength of m i n d which is one of her distinctive traits, and on the occasion of her first interview w i t h Iachimo her chastity expresses itself i n a prompt recoil from his infamous proposal. The bedchamber scene reinforces this impression, when, before falling asleep, she prays for protection from 'the tempters of the n i g h t ' . The twofold mention of classical lore w i t h its allusion to Tarquin and Tereus emphasises her innocence and the danger to which she is exposed. I t is as i f Shakespeare could not bear the thought of this peril, and so the period of her sleep extends only from midnight to four o'clock, when the darkness gives place to the light of a summer dawn, and terror melts away at the sound of Cloten's aubade. The fact that Pisanio, unlike Zinevra's servant, does not accompany his master abroad but remains i n attendance on Imogen is of consider­ able significance. I t enables Shakespeare to omit a scene which might otherwise have been necessary i n order that the servant should be instructed to r e t u r n and lure his mistress away from home to a lonely place suitable for her murder. But i t is also important, because Pisanio, having witnessed her sorrow at Posthumus' absence and the pressure brought to bear on her to marry Cloten, can testify to her loyalty. Consequently, on receiving Posthumus' letter ordering h i m to put Imogen to death, he at once rebels, whereas his counterpart i n the tale complies readily enough. I f Shakespeare by various devices has lent greater prominence to Imogen's chastity, he has also emphasised her courage. Whereas Zinevra is not called upon to face a crisis u n t i l she is left alone to begin her wanderings, Imogen shows a stout spirit i n the very first scene and continues to do so to the end. I t is as though Shakespeare had made the courage of Zinevra i n the latter part of the tale permeate the Q

226

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

p l a y . U n l i k e h e r p r o t o t y p e she sheds no tears w h e n Pisanio discloses P o s t h u m u s ' c o m m a n d . O n t h e c o n t r a r y , i n s t e a d of p l e a d i n g f o r m e r c y she begs h i m t o d r a w his s w o r d a n d dispatch h e r q u i c k l y . W h e n h e suggests t h e e x p e d i e n t of t h e disguise, she is p r o m p t i n h e r d e t e r m i n a ­ tion: This attempt I am soldier to, and w i l l abide i t w i t h A prince's courage.

(m. iv. 185-7)

As these lines i n d i c a t e , t h e k n o w l e d g e of h e r r o y a l b i r t h sustains a n d a n i m a t e s h e r w i t h a f i r m resolve t o be w o r t h y o f h e r r a n k . She faces privation and hardship w i t h o u t faltering: hardness ever Of hardiness is mother, (ill. vi.

21—2)

a n d a l t h o u g h at h e a r t she s h r i n k s f r o m t h e s w o r d , she draws i t a n d , c o n q u e r i n g h e r n a t u r a l h e s i t a t i o n , p l u n g e s i n t o t h e darkness of t h e cave. T h u s

Shakespeare creates one o f t h e

heroines—chaste

most

a t t r a c t i v e o f his

and loyal, brave and undaunted by misfortune. H e r

supposed d e a t h i n t h e m o u n t a i n s of W a l e s has, of course, no place i n t h e o r i g i n a l t a l e b u t i t enables Shakespeare t o i n v e s t h e r w i t h p o e t r y o f flowers,

e v e n as h e h a d done w i t h

the

Juliet and Ophelia.

A r v i r a g u s v o w s t o deck h e r g r a v e w i t h ' pale p r i m r o s e s ' a n d ' azured h a r e b e l l ' , w h i l e ' f e m a l e f a i r i e s ' w h o h a u n t t h e w i l d s cast over i t t h e i r p r o t e c t i n g spell. I n t h i s w a y , e v e n t h o u g h t h e core o f t h e p l a y consists o f t h e clash b e t w e e n good a n d e v i l i n h u m a n n a t u r e , Cymbeline

acquires a c e r t a i n

d e t a c h m e n t b y t h e r e m o v a l o f t h e scene t o a n c i e n t days a n d

remote

places. A t t h e same t i m e t h e m o u n t a i n solitudes h e l p t o i n t r o d u c e a discussion on t h e m e r i t s a n d d e m e r i t s o f t h e s i m p l e l i f e i n contrast w i t h t h e sophisticated w o r l d o f t h e c o u r t . B e l a r i u s , w h o speaks f r o m k n o w ­ l e d g e b o r n of s u f f e r i n g , is t h e advocate o f t h e r u r a l l i f e . B u t G u i d e r i u s is i n d o u b t : Haply this life is best, I f quiet life be best.

(in. i i i . 29-50)

I n t h e e n d b o t h h e a n d A r v i r a g u s , w i t h a l l t h e eagerness of y o u t h , are b e n t o n e x p l o r a t i o n , w h a t e v e r B e l a r i u s m a y say. I t is t h e same p r o b l e m as is presented i n a s l i g h t l y d i f f e r e n t f o r m w h e n Prospero leaves his m a g i c i s l a n d at t h e c a l l of d u t y t o r e t u r n t o w h a t i n t h e eyes o f M i r a n d a is a ' b r a v e n e w w o r l d ' . B y r a i s i n g t h i s q u e s t i o n , w h i c h was one t h a t was m u c h debated i n t h e s e v e n t e e n t h c e n t u r y , Shakespeare p r o v i d e d y e t a n o t h e r source o f

THE DRAMA

227

i n t e r e s t . H i s r o m a n t i c t r a g i - c o m e d y was t h e r e f o r e no less t o t h e taste o f h i s audience t h a n B e n Jonson's p o r t r a y a l o f c o n t e m p o r a r y l i f e i n The Devil

is an Ass,

w h i c h also draws o n t h e Decameron,

adapting

episodes f r o m t w o tales t o a n E n g l i s h s e t t i n g . A t t e n t i o n is focused o n Fabian Fitzdottrel,

1

a N o r f o l k squire and a typical ' g u l l ' of t h e period,

w h o , w h i l e close-handed i n s m a l l m a t t e r s , is so credulous t h a t h e falls a v i c t i m t o u n s c r u p u l o u s projectors. I t is t h r o u g h his l o v e o f fine a t t i r e t h a t h e is l i n k e d t o t h e s u b - p l o t , i n w h i c h W i t t i p o l , a y o u n g g a l l a n t , a n d his f r i e n d M a n l y are p r o m i n e n t . I n A c t I , Sc. i i a n d i i i , Jonson has recourse t o t h e f i f t h t a l e o f t h e t h i r d day, w h e r e Francesco V e r g e l l e s i allows R i c c i a r d o t o speak t o h i s w i f e

o n c o n d i t i o n t h a t h e is t o be

present, i n r e t u r n f o r w h i c h V e r g e l l e s i is t o have his h a n d s o m e p a l f r e y . I n secret he orders his w i f e t o r e m a i n m u t e , w h a t e v e r R i c c i a r d o m a y say. A t t h e i n t e r v i e w , w h e n no answer f r o m t h e l a d y is f o r t h c o m i n g , R i c c i a r d o perceives t h a t a t r i c k has b e e n p l a y e d o n h i m a n d

with

r e a d y w i t he replies i n h e r n a m e , s u g g e s t i n g h o w t h e y can m e e t i n t h e absence of V e r g e l l e s i . Jonson makes a n u m b e r o f i m p o r t a n t changes. F i r s t , t h e r e w a r d is a l t e r e d . I t w o u l d seem as i f Jonson, h a v i n g r e a d t h a t R i c c i a r d o was a f o p p i s h g a l l a n t , s u b s t i t u t e d f o r t h e horse a v a l u a b l e cloak, since F i t z d o t t r e l ' s desire t o possess s p l e n d i d a t t i r e accords b e t t e r w i t h t h e d r a m a t i s t ' s i n t e r p r e t a t i o n o f h i m as a ' g u l l ' . A n o t h e r altera­ t i o n concerns W i t t i p o l ' s presence i n t h e same r o o m w h e n M r s . F i t z d o t t r e l is i n s t r u c t e d t o r e m a i n m u t e . I f h e nevertheless e x c l a i m s ' I taste a t r i c k i n ' t ' i n c o n f o r m i t y w i t h t h e t a l e , t h i s is p r o b a b l y n o t d u e t o a b l u n d e r o n Jonson's p a r t b u t t o a n a s s u m p t i o n t h a t t h e audience w o u l d 2

u n d e r s t a n d t h a t W i t t i p o l was supposed n o t t o have o v e r h e a r d . A n e w s t i p u l a t i o n is added i n t h e p l a y — t h a t t h e w o o e r is t o r e m a i n at a distance of one y a r d f r o m t h e l a d y . I n t h e first scene t h e c o m p a c t is m a d e ; i n t h e second t h e i n t e r v i e w takes place. O n t h e l a t t e r occasion t h e characters o f F i t z d o t t r e l a n d W i t t i p o l are set f o r t h c l e a r l y , a n d t h e y are less s h a d o w y t h a n t h e i r p r o t o t y p e s . Some l i g h t is also t h r o w n o n M r s . F i t z d o t t r e l , f o r e v e n i f she says n o t h i n g once t h e i n t e r v i e w has b e g u n , a n d u n l i k e h e r I t a l i a n c o u n t e r p a r t n e i t h e r b y sighs n o r g l o w i n g eyes responds t o W i t t i p o l , b e f o r e h a n d she c o m p l a i n s t h a t h e r h u s b a n d is m a k i n g h e r a n object o f d e r i s i o n as w e l l as h i m s e l f , and a f t e r w a r d s she compares h e r s e l f t o one i n a cage. Jonson l i k e w i s e creates a c e r t a i n t e n s i o n w h e n F i t z d o t t r e l i m ­ poses a t i m e - l i m i t o f a q u a r t e r o f a n h o u r r e c k o n e d b y t h e w a t c h t h a t he holds i n his h a n d . As a n e x p e r i e n c e d d r a m a t i s t he also recognises t h a t t h e l o n g speech o f t h e w o o e r i n t h e t a l e m u s t i n some w a y be m a d e T h e name suggests rusticity and stupidity, since the dottrel was a symbol of foolishness (cf. O.E.D., i i i , p. 610). Cf. W. S. Johnson i n his edition o f the play, New Y o r k , 1905, p. x l v i i . 1

2

228

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

more dramatic. Consequently, he interposes remarks by Manly and Fitzdottrel, chiefly the latter, who interrupts from time to time, especially when W i t t i p o l abuses h i m and when, speaking as i f he were Mrs. Fitzdottrel, he proposes an assignation. Fitzdottrel, chafing and fuming, has to be restrained by threats to strip h i m of his cloak i f he keeps on breaking i n . As a result the monologue develops into a dialogue which enlivens the scene. I n addition, Jonson appreciates the need for movement. I n contrast to t h e tale, where Ricciardo remains seated beside t h e lady, t h e play depicts W i t t i p o l as changing his posi­ tion. W h e n he speaks i n t h e name of Mrs. Fitzdottrel, he puts Manly i n his own place and addresses h i m . Moreover, when he goes hack to his place, t h e watchful Fitzdottrel bids h i m keep his ground, t h a t is, not pass t h e rush on t h e floor which he had fixed as t h e bound at the beginning. The precise form i n which the intrigue is to be carried on is not settled at the interview as i n Boccaccio. As Jonson wanted t o extend the sub-plot, he introduced i n Act I I , Sc. i an episode from the t h i r d tale of t h e t h i r d day, that of the dull-witted friar. Mrs. Fitzdottrel sends a message to W i t t i p o l by Pug, the stupid devil who gives the play its name, t h a t he is to cease paying his attentions to h e r from the window of t h e chamber i n Lincoln's I n n t h a t faces h e r gallery. I n t h e next scene Wittipol has taken t h e hint and appears i n Manly's room. His eloquent wooing culminates i n t h e famous lyric, which contains the lines: 1

H a u e y o u seene b u t a b r i g h t L i l l y g r o w , Before r u d e hands haue t o u c h ' d it? H a u e y o u m a r k ' d b u t t h e fall of t h e Snow, B e f o r e t h e soyle h a t h s m u c h ' d i t ? 2

The lines are not only beautiful i n themselves, but they suggest that the woman to w h o m they apply is worlds apart from the amorous intriguer of t h e tale and so they have a decisive significance i n the unfolding of the plot. The rest of the play is i n keeping w i t h this picture of immaculate purity, for i n A c t I V , Sc. i i i the heroine explains to W i t t i p o l t h a t , before they were interrupted, s h e h a d meant to ask h i m to be h e r friend, b u t not h e r lover. Urged on by Manly, he agrees to h e r request and helps to prevent h e r husband from r u i n i n g her fortunes by his credulity. Thus Jonson adapts Boccaccio's tale w i t h considerable skill to form an element i n an English comedy which laughs at folly and inculcates virtue. There is no certainty about t h e date when The T r i u m p h of Honor' and ' T h e T r i u m p h of Love' were composed, since Four Plays in One :

1 2

Vide ante, p. 218. Cf. Ben Jonson, ed. C. H . H e r f o r d , Percy and Evelyn Simpson, vol. v i , 1958, p. 204.

THE DRAMA

229

of which they form a part was not printed t i l l 1647. However, as they are generally ascribed to Beaumont, who died i n 1616, they may he considered at this point. I t has been maintained that ' The T r i u m p h of Honor' is derived from the fifth tale of the tenth day of the Decameron but the name of the heroine, Dorigen, and the nature of the test imposed on Martius, the removal of rocks, indicate that i t is inspired by Chaucer's Franklin's Tale. On the other hand, 'The T r i u m p h of L o v e ' is a free dramatic version of the seventh tale of the fifth day. The scene is transferred from Sicily to M i l a n , where the usurping duke of Mantua holds sway. Gerrard, whose parents were killed i n the attack on M i l a n , has been brought up by Randulpho, the brother of Benvoglio, who i n his t u r n has cared for Ferdinand, another youth of unknown parentage. The circumstances i n which Gerrard has come to love Benvoglio's daughter, Violante, are ignored i n the play, whereas the tale dwells at some length on the relations of Pietro and Violante. I n both cases Violante is discovered to be w i t h child. The lovers' fault is excused to some extent i n the tale by the chance that isolated them from others, whereas i n the play there is an atten­ dant, Dorothea, who furthers the intrigue, and the whole affair appears more sophisticated i n spite of Violante's declaration: 1

Heaven doth know, I f e v e r t h e f i r s t L o v e r s , ere t h e y f e l l , K n e w s i m p l y i n t h e state o f i n n o c e n c e , S u c h was t h i s act, t h i s , t h a t d o t h ask n o b l u s h . 2

I n fact, Beaumont's exposition is not altogether satisfactory because he is anxious to hasten on to all the complications w i t h which he has packed this one-act play. Benvoglio decides that Ferdinand shall marry Violante. Ferdinand is filled w i t h joy but this is changed to despair when Gerrard reveals to his friend, who has pledged secrecy, how matters stand. From a dumb-show, to which Beaumont has recourse because of the severe limits imposed upon the action, the spectator learns that a friar has married Gerrard and Violante, another innova­ tion by the dramatist. She withdraws, Gerrard walks i n meditation, and an infant is presented to h i m . Ferdinand, distraught w i t h grief, inadvertently discloses his friend's secret to Benvoglio. The enraged parent makes his way to the new duke who has succeeded the dead usurper. Again there is a dumb-show i n which duke Rinaldo hears Benvoglio's demands for justice, whereupon Ferdinand, having been made by Benvoglio to take an oath, is handed a cup by Dorothea and departs. The play is then resumed. Ferdinand brings a letter from 1 2

T h i s is rejected by E . Koeppel, Quellen-Studien, p. 49 and n . 4. Cf. The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher, ed. W a l l e r and Glover, 10 vols., vol. x,

1 9 ' P- 5!31 2

230

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

Benvoglio to Violante i n which she is urged to drink of the poisoned cup, but he himself tries to drain it. However, when he fails to do so, Violante drinks the rest, and both lie dead. This is in striking contrast to the corresponding scene in the tale, where the messenger brutally abuses Violante with foul words, when offering her the alternative of poison or the sword. However, Beaumont is preparing a startling close. For whereas i n the tale the servant is suddenly interrupted after Pietro's high rank has been revealed and all ends happily, the play maintains the suspense for some time. Gerrard is seen i n the presence of the executioner and makes a manly farewell speech, when his aunt Cornelia discloses that she is the missing wife of the duke, that Gerrard and Ferdinand are his sons, Gerrard being the elder. Simultaneously Dorothea confesses that she put opium, not poison, i n the cup, and at once Ferdinand and Violante awake. The discovery is followed by a series of broken ejaculations which one has difficulty i n taking seriously. Duke Ferd. Ger. Viol. Ger. Ferd. Duke

Cor.

Son, D a u g h t e r . Father, M o t h e r , Brother. Wife. A r e we not all i n Heaven? F a i t h , v e r y near i t . H o w can t h i s be? Hear i t . 1

The lovers receive the duke's blessing, and Dorothea is rewarded for disobeying orders, in that she is married to Ferdinand, who is not allowed to utter a word. It is obvious that Beaumont's purpose was to adapt a tale to the stage. Finding i t too slight, he expanded his material by the introduction of a rival lover with a considerable paraphernalia of attendants, servants and guards and built up a series of complications which are unexpec­ tedly resolved at the close. Thus a romantic story is developed into a world that is quite fantastic. In Fletcher's play Monsieur Thomas, probably written some time between 1610 and 1616, there is again a clash between love and friendship. Valentine, a man of middle age, intends to marry his ward Cellide. He introduces to her Francisco, a young friend whom he has met. Francisco becomes passionately fond of her and is so tormented by the conflict between his affection for her and his friendship for Valentine that he falls i l l . In the end it turns out that Francisco is Valentine's son, who had been lost at sea among the Genoa galleys, so that the way is prepared for Francisco to marry Cellide. Fletcher enlivens the play with a number of comic scenes. I n some of the most amusing he satirises the doctors who come to diagnose the cause of 1

Works of Beaumont and Fletcher, ed. c i t . , v o l . x, p. 553.

THE

DRAMA

231

Francisco's illness. However, the chief source of laughter is i n the sub­ plot which concerns Thomas, the son of Sebastian. Thomas is a scape­ grace who has been abroad and hence is called 'Monsieur'. He is now supposed to be a reformed character, but while this is pleasing enough to Mary, the niece of Valentine, it irritates his father, Sebastian. Quite unlike the usual sober-minded father who grieves over an unruly son and rejoices at his reformation, Sebastian now thinks of Thomas as a poor-spirited creature unworthy to be his heir. Thomas is i n a dilemma, and the play extracts good comedy from the scenes i n which, as a supposed model of sobriety, he tries to win Mary, and the contrasted scenes i n which, to satisfy his parent, he indulges i n wild pranks with his companions Hylas and Sam. For one of his escapades (Act V, Sc. ii) Fletcher probably used the fourth tale of the eighth day. Thomas, dis­ guised i n the clothes of his sister Dorothea, contrives to enter Mary's house, but Mary, having been warned by Dorothea, lures him into a bed with a negro girl whom he believes to be Mary. He is afterwards exposed to derision, just as the provost of Fiesole is with the hideous Ciutazza. Of course, the incident is freely adapted, but as Fletcher knew his Decameron well, there are good grounds for accepting this parallel. The suggestion that i n Act I I I , Sc. i i i and Act IV, Sc. i i there are reminiscences of the fourth tale of the seventh day and the second story of the ninth, cannot be dismissed out of hand. One might also surmise that even though the circumstances differ i n some respects, the illness of Francisco and the visit of the doctors is to be found i n embryo i n that of Giachetto Lamiens, the son of the marshal of England. I t is the existence of these incidents i n the same play, tenuously though they may seem to be attached to the original, that strengthens the case for Fletcher's indebtedness. Certainly, i n the Decameron there was matter congenial to the languishing love-element i n the main plot and to the battle of wits in the under-plot, i n which a man is outdone by a woman. Through the escapades of Thomas and his roystering companions Fletcher gives us a picture of contemporary manners and adapts Boccaccio to English surroundings. Closely related to Monsieur Thomas i n its general design is Women Pleas'd, though here the scene is laid i n Florence, and the only obvious English traits are morris-dancers and Bomby, a Puritanical cobbler, who is hostile to Maypoles, sports and dancing. The main plot relates to Silvio, who has as his rival the duke of Siena. They both seek to marry Bolvidere, the daughter of the duchess of Florence. The duchess favours the duke of Siena and exiles Silvio, but when the duke, think­ ing himself affronted, declares war on Florence, it is Silvio who gains the victory for the Florentines. He has been aided by a deformed 1

2

1

E . Koeppel, Quellen-Studien,

pp. 95—6.

2

Dec. i i , 8.

232

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

enchantress who after the battle requires that he shall grant her wish when she makes it known. I n the presence of the duchess she demands that he shall marry her. Reluctantly he agrees, and on the weddingday she removes her disguise and stands forth as Belvidere. With this romantic plot goes a sub-plot i n which the leading figure is Isabella, the wife of Lopez, a miserly jeweller, who half-starves Isabella and his servant Penurio. They are leagued against him, Isabella with the connivance of Penurio seeking consolation elsewhere. I t is i n this connexion that Fletcher has recourse to the Decameron. Two scenes are based on tales i n the seventh day. The first is the sixth tale which had already been popular with Tourneur and Sharpham. I n Act I I , Sc. vi, Claudio corresponds to Leonetto, and Bartello, the captain of the citadel, to Lambertuccio. They enter i n the same order as i n the tale, and make their exit i n the same fashion as i n Boccaccio. I t is, of course, Isabella who invents the story that is told to her husband. However, Fletcher departs i n one particular from the original. Lopez is suspicious and does not trust Claudio, who is much too handsome for his taste. In Act I I I , Sc. iv Fletcher interweaves the eighth tale. Here Isabella falls asleep as she is waiting for Rugio. She has tied a string to her finger, so that he may signal to her. Lopez returns unexpectedly and falls into a towering rage. As i n the tale Isabella substitutes her maid for herself while Lopez has gone out for a moment, and when he returns, i t is Jaquenet whom he thrashes i n the dark. He leaves the house to bring her relatives, only to find Isabella unhurt. The tables are turned on him, and they depart uttering threats. But once more Fletcher introduces a change i n the attitude of Lopez. He is not brow­ beaten and bemused like his prototype and, after they have gone, asks her to explain her scheme. She does so convincingly, but not truth­ fully, for she asserts that it was Bartello whom she was expecting. This prepares the way for Act IV, Sc. i i i , where Bartello visits her again. Once more he is interrupted and has to take refuge by climbing up the chimney. A moment later Lopez enters with Rhodope, Bartello's wife. When Isabella has left them, Lopez kisses Rhodope and begins to talk of love, all within earshot of Bartello. The situation is an obvious adaptation for stage purposes of that i n the eighth tale of the eighth day. I n the end, alarmed by the outbreak of war, Lopez has the chimney searched for the jewels that he has hidden there, and Bartello is discovered. Fletcher skilfully joins together three unconnected stories, the link being the shrewd character of Lopez which enables him i n the third of these scenes to triumph over Bartello. The under-plot as a whole pictures a world of sexual passion and coarse speech that stands out against the unswerving devotion and lofty idealism of Silvio and

THE

DRAMA

233

Belvidere i n the main plot. Bartello is an important figure, since he is the chief means of attaching the two plots to each other. A development of Lambertuccio, he becomes in Fletcher's hands something more than the swaggering captain. Despite his boisterous and jaunty assertion of his youthfulness, he is old and fat, and in his gullibility recalls the later Falstaff. He has neither wit nor resourcefulness in a crisis, as one may see from the farcical episode i n which he squeezes his way up the chimney. This incident is as ludicrous as anything in The Merry Wives of Windsor. The contrast between the earthy preoccupations of this very unmartial soldier and the high-hearted valour of Silvio suggests that Fletcher had in mind Falstaff and Prince Henry, so that i n working on the material from the Decameron, by a devious route he again associates Boccaccio with Shakespeare. Whereas lust and nobility are contrasted i n Women Pleased, they are pitted against each other i n The Knight of Malta, which was first acted before 1619. The scene is laid i n Malta, and the background is the struggle of the Knights of the Order of St. John against the Turks. Montferrat, one of the knights, carried away by his passion for Oriana, the sister of Valetta, the Grand Master of Malta, forgets his vows of chastity. When she rebuffs him, he accuses her of loving a Turk and of betraying military information to him. Valetta sentences her to death, but Gomera, a Spanish aspirant to knighthood, defends her in combat, and her innocence is established by his victory. Gomera marries her but cannot repress his jealousy of Miranda, an aspirant to membership of the Order, who has won fame by his exploits. A l ­ though Miranda has always loved Oriana, Gomera's suspicions are unfounded. Oriana, who is with child, is so overcome with emotion that she faints, and Gomera believes that she is dead. Her black attendant, the lover and the agent of Montferrat, to further her own designs administers a sleeping potion, and Oriana is buried i n the temple of St. John. I t is at this point that Fletcher makes use of an episode i n the fourth tale of the last day of the Decameron. There Messer Gentile Carisendi enters the tomb of Madonna Catalina and kisses the face of the dead woman. Even i n these surroundings his passion has not vanished altogether, and it is impossible not to feel repugnance at this situation. Fletcher's handling shows greater deli­ cacy. Miranda, who is about to enter the Order of St. John, visits the church to prepare himself spiritually for the ceremony of knightly dedication. His purpose therefore is pure and devout; he is about to take a vow of chastity. Nor does he come alone. He is accompanied by a fellow-soldier, Norandine. There is no question of his kissing Oriana, for he is unaware that she is dead, and only when she groans and awakens, do the others find her. Miranda kneels to offer a prayer of

234

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

gratitude before he conveys her to the fort that he commands. When she has given birth to a son, Miranda is about to arrange for her return to her husband, but at the last moment is sorely tempted by his passion, which is intensified when she confesses that she has always loved him. However, i n a famous speech (Act V, Sc. i) Oriana diverts his thoughts from earthly love to the spiritual and heavenly. Ulti­ mately, i n the presence of Valetta and the knights she lets fall her veil and Gomera is united to his wife and child. The play ends with the expulsion of Montferrat from the Order and the solemn admission of Miranda, after he has vowed ever to defend T h e virtuous fame of Ladies, and to oppugne Even unto death the Christian enemy.

There are characters i n this play that remind us of other typical Fletcherian figures. Gomera, though admirable i n some ways, is the jealous old husband, and Norandine, bluff and frank, has no exalted view about the relations between men and women. Above him in nobility stands Miranda. Yet even he has moments when he falters, just as Messer Gentile does, but both overcome their frailty and offer an example of restraint and generosity. Thus the figure of Miranda is inspired by Messer Gentile, though Fletcher, through the agency of Oriana, lifts the old theme to a higher plane and at times imparts a religious note which is alien to the tale and rare i n his own work. Another play i n which Fletcher is said to have had a hand, along with Jonson and Middleton, is The Widdow, which has been dated 1615 or 1616. Two stories from the Decameron are used i n connexion with Philippa, the young wife of an old judge, Brandino. She is enamoured of Francisco and, just as the heroine of the third tale of the third day sends the stupid friar as a messenger to her lover, Philippa dispatches Brandino to Francisco with a letter asking for a rendezvous, which the young man is said to have addressed to her, but which is really written by Philippa. Thus Francisco is apprised of her attitude towards him. He declares that he had merely wished to test her con­ stancy and so to clear her name of slander. Brandino accepts the ex­ planation and invites him to his house. Francisco is about to continue the intrigue when he is arrested with his friends Attilio and Ricardo, the last of whom is a suitor to Valeria, a widow, and has aroused the hostility of a rival. Francisco is bailed out by Brandino who presses him to use his house. Soon afterwards he is attacked and wounded by thieves. The same night Martia, disguised as a man, Ansaldo, is also set upon and robbed. I n the meantime, Philippa to her intense annoyance has been waiting in vain. Seeing a light i n her house, Ansaldo, who has been stripped

THE

DRAMA

235

to his shirt, gazes up at it. Francisco, whose experience has shaken him, begins to ponder: these wenching businesses Are strange unlucky things, and fatall fooleries, No m a r ' l so many gallants die ere thirtie, 'Tis able to vex out a mans heart i n five year, The crosses that belong to't . . . ( i l l . i)

He catches sight of Ansaldo and, thinking that he sees a ghost, is filled with superstitious alarm. His conscience pricks him, as he con­ siders Brandino's recent kindness and the friendship that had existed between him and his father. W h a t ere i t be, i t is made strong against me By m y i l l purpose. For 'tis mans own sin That puts on armour upon all his evils, A n d gives t h e m strength to strike h i m : were i t less T h e n what i t is, m y guilt would make i t serve; A wicked mans own shadow has distracted h i m : Were this a business now to save an honour, As 'tis to spoil one, I would pass this then, Stuck all hels horrors i'thee: now I dare not. W h y m a y ' t not be the spirit of m y Father That lov'd this man so well, w h o m I make haste Now to abuse? A n d have been cross'd about i t Most fearfully hitherto, i f I t h i n k well on't; Scap'd death but lately too, nay most miraculously; A n d what do's fond man venture all these ills for, T h a t may so sweetly rest i n honest peace? For that w h i c h being obtain'd, is as he was To his own sence, but remov'd neerer still To death eternall: what delight has man N o w at this present, for his pleasant sin Of yesterdaies committing? 'las, 'tis vanish'd, A n d nothing but the sting remains w i t h i n h i m . ( I I I . i)

While he is thus watching, Ansaldo decides to knock. Philippa, thinking that it is Francisco, is overjoyed. She is amazed to hear that it is not, but when her maid Violetta commends the beauty of Ansaldo, she consoles herself. The situation is obviously inspired by that of the second tale of the second day of the Decameron, where the lady of Castel Guiglielmo, frustrated i n her expectation of seeing the Marquis Azzo, consoles herself with Rinaldo who has been robbed by highway­ men and stripped to his shirt. Ansaldo, like Rinaldo, is provided with a suit of clothes, but here the play diverges, for Ansaldo declares that he must leave at once on an urgent errand, and Philippa is baulked once more. Later she arrays Ansaldo as a woman, thinking to deceive

256

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

h e r h u s b a n d . B u t t h e l a u g h t u r n s against h e r w h e n Ansaldo's sex is revealed a n d Francisco, f a l l i n g i n love w i t h A n s a l d o — M a r t i a , w a n t s to m a r r y h e r . T h e t r e a t m e n t o f the m a t e r i a l f r o m t h e Decameron i n t h i s p l a y is r e m a r k a b l e . One n e e d o n l y compare i t w i t h t h e h a n d l i n g o f s i m i l a r tales i n F l e t c h e r ' s u n d e r - p l o t s t o realise h o w g r e a t l y i t differs. T h e g r a v i t y o f t h e t o n e , t h e earnest p h i l o s o p h i s i n g about s i n a n d death, t h e sensitiveness to t h e p r i c k i n g o f conscience a n d t h e awareness of t h e t r a n q u i l l i t y t h a t comes f r o m a m i n d u n t r o u b l e d b y g u i l t , are i n c o m p a t i b l e w i t h t h e F l e t c h e r i a n a t t i t u d e , as i n d e e d t h e y are w i t h t h e carefree g a l l a n t r y of Boccaccio. I t is t h e i n t e r e s t i n t h e s t r u g g l e b e t w e e n desire a n d c h a s t i t y t h a t inspires The Two Merry Milke-Maids, p r i n t e d i n 1620 as t h e w o r k o f ' I . C , w h i c h is said t o stand for J o h n C u m b e r , one o f t h e actors o f t h e Revels b y w h o m t h i s c o m e d y was p e r f o r m e d before James I . The h e r o i n e is n a m e d D o r i g e n e , w h i c h recalls Chaucer's Franklin's Tale a n d ' T h e T r i u m p h o f H o n o r ' . B u t t h e p l o t indicates t h a t t h e a u t h o r , i n spite o f t h e change o f n a m e f r o m D i a n o r a to D o r i g e n e , was f o l ­ l o w i n g t h e f i f t h tale o f t h e t e n t h day i n t h e Decameron. T h e play opens w i t h a pastoral s e t t i n g w h i c h at once creates a n a t m o s p h e r e o f r o m a n c e . J u l i a a n d D o r i g e n e have dressed u p as m i l k m a i d s , a n d t h e l a t t e r i n t h i s rustic a t t i r e w i n s t h e h e a r t o f ' J o h n Earnest, D u k e o f S a x o n i e ' . A f t e r t h e i r m a r r i a g e D o r i g e n e is v i s i t e d b y D o r i l u s , t h e b r o t h e r o f J u l i a . H e h a d p r e v i o u s l y w o o e d h e r , a n d one day she h a d p r o m i s e d i n jest t h a t he s h o u l d h a v e his w i l l , i f ever she became a duchess. H e is s t i l l i n f a t u a t e d w i t h h e r , y e t far f r o m p u r p o s i n g t o keep h e r t o h e r w o r d , m e r e l y i n t e n d s to look u p o n h e r a n d bear his loss. H o w e v e r , o n l e a r n i n g f r o m D o r i g e n e t h a t she has always l o v e d a n d s t i l l loves h i m , a n d has m a r r i e d t h e d u k e o n l y because i n t h i s w a y t h e f o r t u n e s o f h e r i m p o v e r i s h e d f a t h e r m i g h t be restored, he declares: You haue afresh kindled the fire againe, A n d I must die a M a r t y r i n your loue. (11. i ) 1

2

T h e s i t u a t i o n is n o t u n l i k e t h a t o f O r i a n a a n d M i r a n d a , b u t D o r i g e n e is no O r i a n a , a n d t h e m o o d is d e p r i v e d of a n y e x a l t a t i o n w h e n J u l i a c o l d l y r e m a r k s t h a t i f t h e w o r s t comes t o t h e w o r s t w i t h h e r b r o t h e r , i t is ' b u t a foolish L o u e r cast a w a y ' . I n t h e e n d D o r i g e n e imposes o n h i m t h e task of o b t a i n i n g : 3

A Garland of the rarest Flowers on Earth, The choicest to the Eye, and to the Sent, 1

2

Schelling, i , p. 439. Vide ante, p. 229.

3

Vide ante, pp. 2 5 3 - 4 . Cf. The Knight

cf Malta, v. i .

THE

DRAMA

257

Set w i t h such F r u i t s t h e season o f t h e y e e r e Affoords n o t i n t h i s C l y m e , A n d i t m u s t h a u e T h e v e r t u e of c o n t i n u i n g euer fresh, As l o n g as y o u r e m a i n e c o n s t a n t i n l o u e . ( I I . i)

It is possible that the dramatist substituted the garland for Boccac­ cio's magic garden, because it was better suited to the capacity of the stage at that time. But the magician invoked is altered for another reason. The introduction of John Ernest, duke of Saxony, a con­ temporary ruler, was no doubt prompted by the popular marriage of Princess Elizabeth to the Elector Palatine, and the transference of the scene from northern Italy to a German court led the dramatist to Wittemberg, so well known to English theatre-goers through Mar­ lowe's Dr. Faustus and Shakespeare's Hamlet. I t is therefore a friend of Dorilus named Bernard who has acquired a knowledge of magic through his studies at Wittemberg who provides the garland. This is handed to her i n the second scene of Act I I . Dorigene is dumbfounded; the duke, seeing her distress, enquires its cause. He finds her story convincing but thinks that it may be a wile and so, in accordance with the familiar dramatic device of the period, he decides to test her. He therefore bids her fulfil her promise, his attitude being that of some cynical gallant: 1

2

I P y y M a k e no scruple o f t t h e n other W o m e n : I t is a C r y m e , t h a t n o t one N i g h t i ' t h e y e e r e , B u t some w h e r e or o t h e r s u c h a F a u l t is m a d e , N o r lookes t h e W i f e t h e n e x t d a y w o r s e f o r i t . (II. ii) r

t h

Dorilus is overcome by the duke's offer which he refuses, for he is swayed not only by his sense of the duke's generosity but also by his realisation of his obligation of loyalty to his ruler. The play has now reached the end of Act I I , and the author has to find material for three more acts. The duke, worked upon by a schem­ ing lord, Raymond, has an access of jealousy. He runs his sword through Dorilus and sends Dorigene to prison. But Dorilus is aided by Bernard, who has given his friend a ring to make him invisible. At the trial of Dorigene, he defends her, as a spirit, with such force that the duke perceives that he has wronged her. I n Act IV, however, he has another bout of jealousy but Raymond, who is taken i l l , confesses and clears Dorigene. I n spite of this penitence, he tries to ravish Julia and is condemned to death. Dorigene begs for pardon, and the duke Schelling, i , p . 437. T h e f o r m used i n the play, probably owing to an E n g l i s h confusion of W i t t e n b e r g w i t h W i r t e m b e r g , now W i i r t e m b e r g . 1

2

238

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

consents with some reluctance. Thereupon Raymond again repents, and at the close Dorilus regains the favour of his lord. The repeated jealousy of the duke and the repeated alternation of villainy and repentance i n Raymond are obviously employed to eke out the plot, and the greater use of the magic element than i n the tale can be accounted for i n the same way. The elevation i n rank of the chief characters provides scope for the favourite theme of loyalty to the monarch, and similarly Gilberto of Udine is transformed into the jealous husband of seventeenth-century drama. I n this process some­ thing of Boccaccio's purpose—to offer examples of notable generosity—• is lost. The duke acts as he does, partly to try his wife, and whereas the magician demanded his price and then renounced his claim because of the generosity of Gilberto and Ansaldo, Bernard aids Dorilus out of friendship, requiring and relinquishing nothing. Consequently, the conflict, so sharply defined at the beginning of the play, weakens into a succession of incidents without essential cohesion. Robert Davenport's tragi-comedy, The City-Night-Cap, which was licensed i n 1624, again has the chaste wife who is put to the test by a jealous husband. Lorenzo is married to Abstemia, the sister of the duke of Venice. Though he himself urges his friend Philippo to try the fidelity of Abstemia, he becomes convinced of her guilt and abuses and kicks her until she swoons. Even one of his attendants ventures to reprove him: 'You are too violent, my Lord'. The duke of Verona judges the case. Philippo is banished, and Abstemia is to be divorced. But the duke of Venice intervenes, and there is a new trial, at the end of which Lorenzo is banished, his office and revenues being granted to Philippo. I n the meantime, after a bewildering profusion of incidents, Lorenzo and Abstemia are brought together again i n a way that is reminiscent of Boccaccio's tale of Titus and Gisippus. Lorenzo has been searching vainly for Abstemia and i n despair draws his sword and is about to kill himself. At this moment he is seized and accused of a murder that has been committed. Longing for death, he pleads guilty. Now Abstemia enters and, recognising her husband, declares that she committed the crime. Lorenzo denies it, and as they vie with each other like Titus and Gisippus i n claiming to be the culprit, they are sent to prison, where they are reconciled. There now follows a situation which offers a parallel to the famous scene where Isabella visits Claudio i n gaol i n Measure for Measure. Antonio, the son of the duke of Milan, who holds under arrest the real malefactor, offers to free Lorenzo, if Abstemia will sacrifice her honour. Lorenzo weakly agrees, but she asks how he could live afterwards i n such disgrace. Antonio insinuates that she only appears virtuous. Once her husband is hanged, she will prove less difficult. Lorenzo, inflamed

THE

DRAMA

239

by jealousy once more, believes that she has some cunning scheme to get him out of the way and exclaims: O h she h y p o c r i s i e ! D u r s t y e b u t n o w d i e f o r me? g o o d h e a v e n s ! d i e f o r m e ! T h e g r e a t e s t act o f p a i n , a n d dare n o t b u y m e W i t h a poor m i n u t e s pleasure! (Act V ) 1

To this Abstemia replies: N o , S i r , I d a r e n o t ; t h e r e is l i t t l e p a i n i n d e a t h , B u t a great death i n v e r y l i t t l e pleasure: I had rather, trust m e , bear y o u r death w i t h honour, T h e n b u y y o u r l i f e w i t h baseness: as I a m e x p o s ' d T o th'greatest battery beauty ever fought, O h b l a m e m e n o t , i f I be covetous T o c o m e off w i t h g r e a t e s t h o n o u r ; i f I do t h i s T o let y o u live, I k i l l your name, and give M y soul a w o u n d ; I c r u s h h e r f r o m sweet grace, A n d c h a n g e h e r A n g e l s t o a f u r i e s face: T r y m e n o m o r e t h e n , b u t i f y o u m u s t b l e e d , boast T o p r e s e r v e h o n o u r , l i f e is n o b l y lost. (Act V )

As Davenport drew on Boccaccio for one incident i n his portrait of the virtuous Abstemia, so he had recourse to him for a woman who by her misconduct was to emphasise Abstemia's nobility. It is Dorothea, her waiting-woman and the wife of Lodovico, who acts as a foil by her wanton disposition. She has cast her eyes on one of Lodovico's men called Francisco. As i n the seventh tale of the seventh day Madonna Beatrice dupes her husband Egano i n the pursuit of her intrigue with Anichino, so Dorothea beguiles Lodovico. He is sent on a fool's errand to the garden, and Dorothea befools him so completely that he praises her chastity as he goes. The waiting Francisco cannot refrain from saying: W e l l n o w I see, as h e w h o f a i n w o u l d k n o w T h e r e a l s t r a i n o f goodness, m a y i n h e r r e a d i t ; W h o can seem chaste, a n d c a n be w h a t she seems: So, w h o w o u l d see h e l l s c r a f t , i n h e r m a y r e a d i t , W h o c a n seem t o o , b u t n o t be w h a t she seems: I n b r i e f , p u t h i m t o school ( w o u l d c h e a t t h e d e ' l o f ' s r i g h t ) T o a dainty smooth-fac'd female hypocrite. (Act I I ) r

He afterwards explains that he only took advantage of his lord's absence to try Dorothea and, feigning regret that his action may be misconstrued, he threatens to fall on his sword, so that Lodovico is convinced of his loyalty. However, Lodovico does not go on being deceived like his prototype Egano, who becomes a mere laughing-stock. 1

Quotations f r o m 1661 edition.

240

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

The truth comes out. Francisco is condemned to ride through Verona, facing the hindquarters of a donkey and holding its tail as a bridle. Dorothea is sent to 'the Monasterie of Matrones'. Davenport's general plan was not novel, as he himself admitted, but he keeps a firm hand on the central theme. The antithesis between the two chief woman characters in the main and the sub-plot is neatly maintained, and with genuine comic irony he makes Lodovico eulogise his supposedly virtuous wife at the expense of the supposedly faithless Abstemia. The design of the play is completed by the words of the duke of Milan at the close: bad w o m e n , A r e n a t u r e s clouds e c l i p s i n g t h e f a i r s h i n e ; T h e good all gracious, saint-like a n d d i v i n e . (Act V )

Italy is also the setting of Massinger's comedy, The Guardian, first performed i n 1633. It has an intricate plot, one element of which owes something to the tale i n the Decameron that follows immediately after that of Egano and Beatrice. Severino, a nobleman banished and living as a bandit chief, returns to his home, only to find that his wife Jolante has a lover for whom she has provided a banquet. He binds her while he goes into another room, carrying tapers with him, to study his vengeance. The waiting-woman Calypso takes Jolante's place, and Severino enters saying 1

I t is a d e e d of darkness, a n d I n e e d No light to guide me. (Act

III)

He stabs Calypso in the arms and cuts off her nose. She bears it without betraying her mistress. When he has gone, Calypso retires and Jolante resumes her place. Severino returns with a taper and to his astonish­ ment discovers her unharmed. She asserts that Heaven has heard her prayers and restored her as a miraculous proof of her innocence. The similarity with Boccaccio's story applies only to the latter part, and though there is the same keen-witted dupery as i n the tale, the episode in The Guardian is much more savage and brutal. John Jones's tragi-comedy, Adrasta:

or, the Woman's

Spleene,

and

Loves Conquest, which was never acted, was printed in 1635. The main plot deals with the theme of virtuous and faithful love. Lucilio, the son of Duke Orsino and his wife Adrasta, is devoted to Althea, a lady of noble rank. I n spite of all attempts to dissuade him, Lucilio refuses to give up Althea. Adrasta plots against her life, but Lucilio helps her to Vide ante, p. 232, where its use i n Fletcher's Women Pleased is pointed out. However, Langbaine, op. c i t . , 1698, p . 356, errs i n calling i t ' D a y 8. Nov. 7 ' , instead of v i i , 8. His e r r o r is repeated by Scott, p. 93. 1

THE

DRAMA

241

escape and takes her place in prison. He is about to be put to death, when his identity is discovered. He is banished, but ultimately he and Althea are reunited and gain the consent of the duke and duchess. As a contrast the sub-plot depicts the passion of Damasippus, who is described as 'a lecherous Stoike', for Mistress Frailware, the wife of the Constable. I n Act I I I , when Lucilio is i n Frailware's custody, Damasippus, at the suggestion of the ubiquitous and mischievous Page, visits Mistress Frailware. The Page informs the Constable of what is afoot, and on his prompting the representative of the law decides to repay Damasippus in kind by inviting Mistress Abigail, his wife, to supper. Consequently, Damasippus and Mistress Frailware are sur­ prised as they are sitting down to their meal. There is just time to hide Damasippus before the Constable enters with Mistress Abigail. The newcomers sit down to enjoy the excellent supper but Mistress Frailware, saying that she feels unwell, withdraws to her room. Damasippus, as he lies hidden, now hears Frailware making advances to his wife and has the mortifying experience of learning that she had many times wished him i n his grave. At this point the Page enters, disguised as a fiddler, and plays to them. Abigail is unwilling to listen but agrees to do so, saying: ' I can endure anything for your sake sweet M. Frailware'. At this Damasippus, who apparently is in a chest on which the others are seated, stirs uneasily, startling Frailware as he does so. When he emerges, the Page suggests that as a punishment his beard shall be shaved off. It is possible that i n the construction of Adrasta John Jones was influenced by Fletcher's Women Pleased, where the eighth tale of the eighth day was also used i n the sub-plot. However, the story of Zeppa and Spinelloccio is far more easily recognised i n the plot relating to Frailware and Damasippus. Nevertheless, i n adapting the narrative to the dramatic form, an important change was made by the introduc­ tion of the mischievous page, whose presence at the meeting of Frailware and Abigail as well as his proposal to punish the offending Damasippus moralise the episode. There is nothing original i n Adrasta, and one can only subscribe to Langbaine's remark: 'This Play the Actors refus'd, and I think with Justice; it being very indifferently written'. 1

2

On a higher literary plane is The Siedge:

or, Love's

Convert,

a

tragi-comedy which has been dated 1637. I t is the work of William Cartwright who held the office of proctor i n the university of Oxford. The scene is laid i n Byzantium which is besieged by Misander, the 3

Vide ante, p. 232. Op c i t . , p . 2 8 1 . Schelling, i i , p . 607. G . B . Evans, The Plays and Poems of William Cartwright, Madison, 1951, p. 335, suggests t h a t i t was seen by K i n g Charles d u r i n g the royal progress i n 1636 or a few months later i n London on the occasion of the court per­ formance of The Royal Slave. R 1

3

2

242

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

tyrant of Thrace. He demands that a virgin shall be sent to him from the city. Leucasia is ordered by her father to go and kill the tyrant i n his sleep. I n his tent she falters and upsets a lamp. Misander, awaking, stabs her, but later, overcome by her eloquence, makes her his queen. To offset this serious plot i n which a lustful tyrant is converted into a virtuous husband, Cartwright interweaves with it an under-plot. This is of a comic nature, but free from all bawdiness. It depicts how Pyle, a rich widow of Byzantium, is importuned by her suitors, upon whom she imposes various commands. Philostratus is ordered to shut himself i n a coffin in the temple, and he enters i n a winding-sheet, grumbling as he does so: I have not seen the inside of a Temple These twelve Months t i l this time, & now I come Commanded too: Hell's i n this damned W i d d o w . W h a t doth she mean to make me lye i n a Coffin? I am not fit for Death, although I t h i n k I ' m very forward towards i t : Somthing i n M y Bones doth tell me so. (V.

v)

In the next scene Prusias, dressed like an angel, enters with a ' Caduceus' i n one hand and a taper i n the other. He is uneasy at the thought of spirits haunting the temple but hopes that his rod and candle will ward them off. However, when he seats himself on the coffin which he is supposed to guard, he is terrified by a sudden rumbling. There follows a scene i n which Nicias slinks in and takes up his position behind a pillar as an observer, while Callimachus who is to carry away the coffin, appears i n the guise of a Fury. The fears of Nicias, Prusias and Callimachus are admirably portrayed i n this passage: Nic.

Pru.

Cal.

L o r d ! how m y hand doth shake. I set down one t h i n g . T h e n blot i t out again I know not how. Pray Jove he doth not sent me! I f he hath But any Nose, he hath th'Advantage of me. Heav'n bless me! Yonder's one I ' m sure's no Angel. 0 m y prophetick words! that I should promise T'encounter w i t h a F u r y ! H o l d ! yond's something T h a t is not one of us: I w o u l d I were A very F u r y now indeed, and had A l l qualities belonging to m y shape. The first t h i n g that I ' d do, should be to make M y self invisible. Widdow, you must pardon me; Sure I shall fall into a Thousand peeces I f that this shaking leave me not the sooner. 1 vow I ' m not afraid for all m y fooling— I—I—must on—

THE D R A M A

245

Good heaven! hee's coming towards me: How blew m y Candle burns! I see his feet, Th'are cloven ones for certain. Cal. Y-y-yet I dare not— "Tis safest to retire, m y joints are loose all, And yet I can scarce move 'em. A'z'c. He hath found me, He is upon the T r a i n : how his Nose shakes As he snuffs up the A y r e ! Cal. M y Teeth do ch-ch-ch-chatter As schoolboys i n cold weather. Pru. Heav'n defend me! How he doth gnash his teeth, and make hell here! I would I were i ' t h ' Coffin at a Venture. Nic. A l l m y left side's grown stupid. I ' m half stone; I feel a numness steal o'r all m y limbs: I shall augment the number of the Statues. I t w i l l be Niobe Nicias presently. Cal. Being i t is an Angel, ' t w i l l not h u r t me. I w i l l make towards i t however. Pru. Now, Now he comes open-mouth'd; L o r d , w h a t a smoak He belcheth like a Furnace! look! he claps His tail between his Legs, as dogs are w o n t W h e n they w i l l do shrewd turns; 'tis a sly Spirit; T h e y ' l never leave t h e i r cunning. Cal. Hee'l not suffer me To talk long w i t h h i m , hee's so us'd t ' A m b r o s i a , And to's Perfumes, w h i c h hee'l not find here sure. Pru. O!— Cal. O! Pru. You— Cal. Y o u — Pru. Your Honour— Cal. Blessed Spirit— Pru. Yes. Cal. I — m u s t have—that—Body—there. Pru. Y o u can Lay no claime—unto h i m — h e is not—yours— Cal. He is our due. Pru. H o w can you prove't? Cal. Dare you Dispute w i t h h i m that first invented Logick? Pru. No, no, I am no Scholar, I ' m a Captain. Cal. Y o u must not guard the dead then, he must down. (v. v i i ) Pru.

The dispute is abruptly ended when Philostratus, rising out of the coffin, casts off Prusias, and he and the others scatter i n terror. Philo­ stratus, running out, meets Misander and his attendants. I t is evident that this scene in the temple was inspired by the first tale of the ninth day of the Decameron, where Madonna Francesca de' Lazzari dispatches her wooers, Rinuccio Palermini and Alessandro Chiarmontesi, on an errand akin to that of Pyle's suitors, though the episode is modified

244

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

considerably i n order to harmonise with the change of setting from Pistoia to Byzantium. In Act V, Sc. viii Leucasia enters with her train and a priest. Then Pyle arrives and is compelled to select one of the suitors, her choice falling on Nicias. The two plots are thus linked together at the close. Earlier too they are connected when Pyle, aspiring to become queen, is induced to take part i n a plot against Misander. There are serious, even threatening moments i n the main plot, and the under-plot affords comic relief. The seventh scene of the last act i n particular presents the farcical situation skilfully, and here at least Cartwright shows that even if he was not a remarkable dramatist, he had a sense of humour. I n Richard Rhodes's comedy, Flora's Vagaries, which was acted at the Theatre Royal i n November 1663 and at court on 14 February 1667 the popular third tale of the third day i n the Decameron again plays an important part. However, the relationship of deceiver and deceived is that of daughter and father, not that of wife and husband. Otrante, who is kept under the closest supervision by her father, has fallen i n love with Lodovico, who had been instrumental i n rescuing her when she was carried off by Francesco. As Lodovico is a womanhater, she calls i n friar Domenico and persuades him to carry a mes­ sage to her rescuer. He is to say that she rejects Lodovico's letters, which, of course, he has never written, and to give him a bracelet which he is supposed to have presented her with. To make doubly sure that her meaning is understood Otranto asks her cousin Flora to explain to Lodovico her initiative i n wooing him. This is an addition by Rhodes to eke out the material of the tale. I n Act I I I he inserts still more padding. Grimani dresses up as a friar, hoping to discover the secrets of his daughter and niece. But they are aware of his plan and i n their confession abuse Grimani roundly till he can restrain his fury no longer and betrays himself, whereupon they declare that the spurious friar must be i l l . At the end of the act Otrante again dispatches Friar Domenico to Lodovico with a letter that he is accused of having written. By means of this letter she conveys to Lodovico that her father is to go out that afternoon. Further, she will hang a scarf out of her window and i f he knocks gently at her gate, he will be admitted. I t is possible that the device of the scarf as a signal was suggested by the fifth tale of the third day, as it appears i n the English translation of 1620. I n the end Lodovico and Otrante reveal everything to Friar Domenico, 1

2

3

Cf. A . N i c o l l , A History of Restoration Drama, Cambridge, 1925, pp. 305, 3 7 1 . I t was p r i n t e d i n 1670. As a curiosity i t may be noted t h a t even i n the uncongenial Restoration atmosphere the story of 'Patient Grissel' still lingered on, and t h a t Pepys i n his diary records having seen a ' p u p p e t - p l a y ' of this name on 30 August 1667. Perhaps suggested by Dec. v i i , 5. Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , The first English translation of the 'Decameron', p. 68. 1

2 3

THE

DRAMA

245

who with great complaisance agrees to marry them, and Grimani has to recognise the 'fait accompli'. However, this conclusion is not reached without considerable resis­ tance on the part of Lodovico. When his friends urge him to comply with Otrante's wishes, he says querulously: 1

Must I then forgo m y L i b e r t y , and effect the T i t l e of a good womans-man, the W o m a n is handsom, that is the t r u t h on't, and she w i l l have me love her, who can help i t , what must be, must be. (Act II)

But i n Act I I I , Sc. i i i he still hesitates: ' Curse on these Women, I am strangely tempted, yet I won't be i n Love'. When he receives the message about the scarf, he exclaims: The W o r l d , the Flesh, and the D e v i l met i n W o m e n . Honest she cannot be, that's impossible, she knows I cannot love her well enough to m a r r y her, besides no honest W o m a n would e're have made her Confessor her Pander. (Act III)

Nevertheless, at last he is convinced that Otrante is virtuous and is won over. Evidently Rhodes felt the need to show a gradual transformation of Lodovico's attitude. He gains time for this process by expanding the original tale through the episode of Flora as messenger and that of Grimani as confessor, and the overcoming of Lodovico's reluctance lends novelty to the old tale. This is again employed by Sir Francis Fane in his Love in the Dark, or the Man ofBus'nesse which was acted at Drury Lane i n May 1675 and printed that year. However, here it is a jealous husband, Cornanti, who keeps his wife Bellinganna i n seclusion, so that only her confessor Scrutinio can see her. She makes use of Scrutinio, as the lady of Florence employs the stupid friar, to take a message to Trivultio, a gentleman of Milan, i n which he is accused of having attempted her honour and afterwards molested her with music beneath her window looking on the Strada Nuova. Trivultio understands the hint, and soon arrives at her house with a boy who plays while he sings. Such an adventure appeals to him as 'an enterprise fit for a great Spirit'. He has a chance to marry Aurana, a wealthy lady, but he regards the match as 'a Golden Trap'. He decries marriage and exclaims: 2

M a t r i m o n y ! for Heaven's sake name i t not. I do not love to hear the sound of Fetters. (11. i )

So he prefers freedom. 1

Quotations f r o m the edition of 1670.

2

A . N i c o l l , op. c i t . , p . 363.

246

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

In view of this attitude he is induced far too easily to reconcile himself to marriage with Aurana. This is after Bellinganna grants access and then proceeds to entreat him to woo Aurana. Bellinganna succeeds i n persuading him to do so. However, though the connexion between Trivultio and Bellinganna turns out to be harmless enough, they decide i n Act I I I to cure Cornanti of his jealousy. Bellinganna places her husband with six or seven bravoes i n ambush i n a garden. Then Trivultio appears, and she addresses him i n the most seductive fashion, but he repels her and moves his cane as i f he were beating her violently. Cornanti is cured of his suspicions and ejaculates 'Such a Wife and such a Friend!' This incident was probably an adaptation of the popular tale of Beatrice and Egano. But here the husband, though misled for his own good, is not betrayed by Bellinganna. So far as the action goes, Love in the Dark is not immoral. The gallant does not have his will. Bellinganna is not unchaste, and Trivultio puts on the bonds of wedlock, despite his original aversion. However, the sudden change is unconvincing. I t is impossible to resist the feeling that what most truly reflects the temper of the period is the declaration of the early Trivultio: ' A man had need to have his wits about him, in this quick-sighted Philosophical Age, wherein whoring is improv'd to a liberal Science'. This preoccupation of those w ho frequented the Restoration theatre is mirrored by Aphra Behn's comedy, The Rover: or, the Banisht Cavaliers, which was first performed at the Duke's Theatre i n Dorset Garden i n March 1677 and printed that year. The scene is Naples in carnival time, and the theme is the amorous adventures of a number of Englishmen. Those of Blunt, a simple-minded country gentleman, are derived ultimately from the tale of Andreuccio of Perugia and more immediately from Blurt Master-Constable. Having left his companions lest they should follow him, Blunt is decoyed to the house of Lucetta. He is impressed by its richness and naively believes her statement that the mere sight of him has captivated her. Her jealous husband is supposed to be away from home. Nevertheless, i n the fol­ lowing scene she bids him put out the light to avoid suspicion. The bed on which she is lying descends, and as Blunt is groping about i n the dark, he falls through a trap-door into a sewer. His rich clothes, gold watch, well-filled purse, diamond rings and gold bracelet fall into the hands of Lucetta and her confederates. Blunt is furious at his own simplicity and, as he climbs back on to the stage, covered with dirt, makes this comment on his folly: 1

2

r

3

4

5

1 2

4

Vide ante, p. 259. A c t I , 1675 ed., p. 14. Dec. i i , 5.

3

A . N i c o l l , op. c i t . , p. 355. Vide ante, p. 217. 5

THE

DRAMA

247

1 am got out at last, and (which is a Miracle) without a Clue—and now to D a m n i n g and Cursing!—but i f that w o u ' d ease me, where shall I begin? w i t h m y Fortune, m y self, or the Quean that couzen'd me—what a Dog was I to believe i n Woman? oh Coxcomb—Ignorant conceited Coxcomb! to fancy she cou'd be enamour'd w i t h m y person! at first sight enamour'd!—oh, I am a cursed Puppy! 'tis plain, Fool was w r i t upon m y Forehead! she perceiv'd i t ! — saw the Essex Calf there—for what Allurements cou'd there be i n this Coun­ tenance? which I can indure, because I ' m acquainted w i t h i t — o h , dull silly Dog! to be thus sooth'd into a Couzening! had I been drunk, I m i g h t fondly have credited the young Quean!—but as I was i n m y r i g h t Wits, to be thus cheated, confirms i t I am a dull believing English Country Fop—but m y Camrades! death and the D e v i l ! there's the worst of all—then a Ballad w i l l be Sung to M o r r o w on the Prado, to a Lousie Tune of the Enchanted 'Squire, and the Annihilated Damsel. (ill. i i )

There is in these three scenes of the third act the same farcical comedy as in Blurt Master-Constable, hut, as Blunt's power of self-criticism indicates, even if he is gullible, he is not an utter simpleton. When his infatuation is abruptly terminated, he displays a robust common sense. As a country squire he is the butt of the keen Restoration intellect, but at the same time he is accorded a measure of sympathy which was denied to Lazarillo de Tormes, for after all he is a stout supporter of the Stuart dynasty and among his possessions that fall into the hands of Lucetta is a medal of the king. To satisfy the same kind of interest as that to which Aphra Behn had appealed, Thomas Durfey wrote his comedy Squire Oldsapp: or, the Night Adventurers, which was also produced at the Dorset Garden Theatre, some nine months after The Rover. The scene is moved, however, from the Neapolitan underworld to England. The four lead­ ing figures i n a complicated plot are Squire Oldsapp, credulous, old and infirm, who keeps Madam Tricklove as his mistress ' for the credit on't'. She favours a town gallant called Welford and arranges a meeting with him, but, owing to a misunderstanding, another lover, Henry, is taken to her. I n Act IV, Sc. i i i , i n order to elude the vigilance of the jealous Oldsapp, Henry is to wait in the street until Tricklove gives him a signal. Lest she should fall asleep, she ties a string leading from the balcony into the street, and to the string a bell is attached. When all is quiet, Henry is to ring the bell. This part of the play is obviously adapted from the eighth tale of the seventh day of the Decameron. The rest of the episode modifies the original story considerably. When Oldsapp stumbles over the string, he is on the alert. Consequently it is he, not Tricklove, who opens the door to Henry. Oldsapp calls for lights, and while they are coming, Tricklove's servant Pimpo replaces Henry who is escorted to a hiding-place. When the lights are brought, 1

1

Cf. A. Nicoll, op. cit., p. 361.

248

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

Pimpo pretends to be drunk, and Tricklove explains that he had been given permission to make merry with some friends, and the contri­ vance of the bell was solely to prevent his creating a disturbance by knocking. Linked to this episode there now follows another derived from the seventh tale of the seventh day. When Pimpo has reeled off the stage, Tricklove makes a feigned confession. She pretends to be expecting Welford and says that she has agreed to meet him i n the garden. Oldsapp is therefore induced to put on Tricklove's night attire, wait until Welford appears and then thrash him soundly. Barely has Oldsapp gone, when Welford presents himself to Tricklove. She is taken aback but quickly devises how to get rid of him. He is to behave as i f he thought Oldsapp really was Tricklove, and to thrash him soundly for unfaithfulness. The ruse is successful, and i n the first scene of Act V the jealous Oldsapp has been drubbed into the belief that Welford is his loyal friend. There is an element of farce i n the scene where Pimpo acts as i f he were drunk, but the play as a whole concentrates on the intrigue. The combination of the two tales provides two lovers, one of whom is outwitted, just as Oldsapp is duped. The jealous old man gets no sym­ pathy, despite the pitiless beating inflicted on him. I n this world his sixty-three years merely emphasise his folly, and no sentiment is wasted on him. The interest is focused on the battle of wits, and the last words of the play, spoken by Tricklove, are significant: to f o r g e plots i n a n e x t r e m i t y , L e t every Mistress learn of m e .

It was at the theatre i n Dorset Garden that Durfey's comedy, The Royalist, was acted i n January 1682, and i t was printed i n that year. Here the author harks back to the ninth tale of the seventh day, that of Lidia, Nicostrato and Pirro, but the setting is Cromwellian England, not ancient Greece. Camilla, the wife of Sir Oliver Oldcut, chairman to the committee of sequestrations, is secretly loyal and attracted to Sir Charles Kinglove, 'the Royalist, one of the King's Colonels at Worcester-Fight, a Lover of Monarchy and Prerogative'. To test her love for him, Sir Charles imposes three conditions. The demands in the original story that the favourite hawk of Nicostrato shall be killed and that Lidia shall pull a tuft of hair from his beard are discarded. They are replaced by the requirement that Camilla shall arrange for Kinglove to kiss and embrace her i n the presence of Oldcut and also to strike her husband three times on the nose. Further, whereas i n the original tale Lidia has to extract a sound tooth from 1

1

A , N i c o l l , op. c i t . , p . 3 6 1 .

THE

DRAMA

249

Nicostrato, i n the play Kinglove claims two teeth. The reason for the last change is that the scene is made more amusing, for when the surgeon, having removed one good tooth and palmed off a hollow one to show Sir Oliver, is trying to pull out the second, Oldcut himself snatches it from his mouth and sees that it is sound. Thereupon he complains bitterly that from now on he is 'doom'd never to bite any thing harder than a Custard' and swears that he will murder the surgeon. Not only does Durfey create this farcical episode but he avoids carrying the pear-tree incident to the limits of the tale. Moreover, the intrigue of Camilla, unlike that of Lidia, is not developed as had been agreed, for Kinglove discovers that the page who has followed him in all his misfortunes is really a lady named Philippa, and his affection is directed towards her. This play about Cavalier and Puritan, though hostile to Cromwell's party, ends on a note of reconciliation. By the Protector's commands Kinglove's sequestered lands are restored to him, and he can look forward to his marriage to Philippa with an easy mind. The adaptation of material from the Decameron to an English environment is illustrated once more i n The London Cuckolds by Edward Ravenscroft. This comedy, which was produced at the theatre in Dorset Garden i n November, 1681 and printed i n 1682, introduces Wiseacre and Doodle, two aldermen of London, and Dashwell, a London attorney, all of whom are duped by their wives and thus give the play its title. The most interesting of the women is Eugenia, Dashwell's wife, who is the typical keen-witted contriver of intrigues. Her admirer Loveday visits her when Dashwell is absent, but they are interrupted by the unexpected return of the husband. She hides Loveday by drawing the curtains round her bed, seats herself on a cushion and pretends to be at her devotions. After Dashwell has gone, a second interruption occurs. It is Ramble,' a great Designer on Ladies', who comes to see her at her request. But this is an awkward coinci­ dence, and Eugenia is anxious to get rid of him, though he is reluctant to depart. While they are still parleying, Dashwell reappears. Now Ravenscroft harks back to the sixth tale of the seventh day i n the Decameron. Eugenia tells Ramble to draw his sword and threaten to be i n pursuit of some one. But Ravenscroft makes the scene more tense than any other English dramatist who had exploited such a situation. Ramble is too zealous i n playing the role of the infuriated pursuer. Eugenia and her servant Jane both vow that no one is there, but Ramble keeps them on tenterhooks while he searches every corner. Then he throws open the curtains of the bed and discloses Loveday. A, Nicoll, op. cit., p. 570. 1

1

250

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

Eugenia has the presence of mind to swoon. Ramble controls his feel­ ings, but as he withdraws, cannot refrain from exclaiming ' Oh false, damned false woman'. It still remains for Eugenia to pursue her intrigue with Loveday. At this stage Ravenscroft draws on the seventh tale of the seventh day. Eugenia tells her husband that Loveday is importuning her and has asked her to meet him i n the summer-house in the garden. She persuades Dashwell to put on her night-attire and await the arrival of Loveday. I n due course he is soundly thrashed by Loveday who feigns to be inflicting punishment on Eugenia for thinking him capable of such an action towards ' so worthy a Gentleman' as Dashwell. For his part, Dashwell can only say ' I am convinc'd it was very well meant' and 'he did it but to try my Wife for my sake'. This is beyond doubt the least moral of the Restoration comedies that use the Decameron wholly or in part for their plots. The women have no trace of virtue and acquiesce only too readily in the betrayal of their husbands who i n their turn, while they see through their pretexts, appear to accept the situation. The atmosphere is created in the opening scene when Wiseacre and Doodle discuss the manners of their time. Wiseacre declares: ' Girles now at sixteen are as knowing as Matrons were formerly at sixty, I tell you i n these days they under­ stand Aristotle's Problems at twelve years of age', to which Doodle replies: ' 'Tis true indeed, nothing in the nature of man or woman is a secret to them . . . 0 to say the truth 'tis a very forward knowing age'. In view of the tone then prevailing i n the theatre, it is interesting to see how Durfey revised Shakespeare's Cymbeline in The Injured Princess, or the Fatal Wager, which was acted at Drury Lane Theatre about March 1682 and published the same year. The new title suggests which part of the play attracted Durfey. I t is the relationship of the jealous husband to a faithful wife whose fidelity is subjected to a test. I t may be observed that Imogen is renamed Eugenia, like the central figure of The London Cuckolds, and Durfey allows the specta­ tor at times to gain the impression that she is an intriguer of the same type. This is conveyed by Pisanio, who in The Injured Princess is slow to be convinced of her innocence. Hypocrisy and deceit are suggested by his exclamation: 1

Oh Woman, W o m a n ! Who ere cou'd learn t h y deep Philosophy, Or fathom t h y unsounded Sea of Craft? That look of her's has power to cause sound Faith Revolt, and make men fancy her a Saint.

(ill. iii)

A. Nicoll, op. cit., p. 3 6 1 .

THE DRAMA

251

A n d w h e n she f a i n t s , i t is as i f he h a d t h e s w o o n o f Ravenscroft's E u g e n i a i n m i n d , f o r h e says: There is another Fetch of female Policy, This Swouning: I have k n o w n a W o m a n swound A t the p u k i n g of her Monkey, or feign sorrow To see her Husband's nose bleed. Craft, Craft, damn'd Craft: I ' l e not believe ' u m . (in. i i i ) N a t u r a l l y , D u r f e y ' s Pisanio c o u l d n o t be a l l o w e d t o s h o w t h e same tenderness t o E u g e n i a , as h i s c o u n t e r p a r t h a d done t o I m o g e n . H e n c e these l i n e s are o m i t t e d : O gracious lady, Since I received command to do this business, I have not slept one w i n k . (Cymbeline,

I I I . i v . 101—3)

A c c o r d i n g l y , h e provides no disguise f o r h e r a n d leaves h e r s o m e w h a t c h u r l i s h l y . H e refrains f r o m k i l l i n g h e r b u t is s t i l l disposed t o believe her disloyal to her husband: from this moment Expect no further service; for Heaven forbid, The least grain of m y Love shou'd fall on her, Whose blameful L e v i t y w r o n g ' d m y dearest Friend. Thus then I t u r n away, and all alone W i t h i n this gloomy melancholy Desart, Leave you to Fortune: I f you are innocent, T h a t Innocence protect y o u ; b u t i f guilty, As I must doubt you are, let Thunder Punish the hated Falshood.—Fare ye well. (in. iii) N e v e r t h e l e s s , as she c o n t i n u e s h e r entreaties, despite h i m s e l f he is s t r a n g e l y m o v e d . Y e t e v e n n o w t h i s e m o t i o n does n o t shake his c o n ­ viction of her g u i l t : m y heart Bleeds for ye, altho' your abhorred Crimes deserve no p i t y . (ill. iii) T h i s persistent suspicion o f t h e l o y a l t y o f w o m e n is one o f t h e most s t r i k i n g features o f D u r f e y ' s a d a p t a t i o n . I t came n a t u r a l t o one w h o h a d presented s c h e m i n g w o m e n i n his o w n plays a n d was conversant w i t h t h e m i n t h e w o r k o f his c o n t e m p o r a r i e s . I t f o l l o w e d t h a t D u r f e y h a d d i f f i c u l t y i n p r e s e n t i n g E u g e n i a as a woman

animated

by the

powerful

indignation that

springs

from

i n n o c e n c e . I t is s i g n i f i c a n t t h a t h e abridges I m o g e n ' s l o n g speech, 1

A c t I I I , Sc. i v , 6 6 - 1 0 1 .

1

252

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

i n w h i c h she derives s t r e n g t h a n d courage f r o m t h e k n o w l e d g e t h a t she has always b e e n t r u e . I n its place he inserts h a l f a dozen l i n e s . Here Eugenia's

asseveration

has

n o t h i n g l i k e t h e same force

and

fades a w a y i n t o a p a t h e t i c w a i l : I swear I am not guilty, yet do not wish to live Vrsaces being false. Come, strike m y L o r d , Strike the innocent Mansion of m y Love, m y heart, And give a hapless, m u c h w r o n g ' d W o m a n , rest, As lasting as her woes. (m. iii) T h i s t e n d e n c y t o s e l f - p i t y becomes m o r e a n d m o r e a p p a r e n t as t h e p l a y develops. T h e e n e r g y o f I m o g e n ' s w o r d s , a l m o s t m a r t i a l i n t h e i r 1

b r e v i t y , evaporates i n t h e c o r r e s p o n d i n g l a c h r y m o s e passage o f Injured

Princess,

The

w h e r e t h e s e n t i m e n t is h e i g h t e n e d b y t h e h o r r o r o f

the background: Alas I know not where I am! The Place Is ruthless, w i l d and uninhabited; No friendly Path leads to a neighbouring Village, But all u n t r o d and savage, like the Covert Of some rude Satyr; here only Nettles grow, and I v y T h a t clings to th'dismall E w e ; and i n yon Rock, The dreadful spotted Toads and poysonous Serpents W i l l hourly f r i g h t me i n this horrid Place, For I shall die w i t h Fear! 2

(in. iii)

She moans o v e r h e r p l i g h t a n d i n contrast t o I m o g e n ' s terse r e p l y ' A m e n ! I t h a n k t h e e ' t o Pisanio's good wishes at t h e i r p a r t i n g , p o u r s forth this stream of rhetorical lamentations: Oh wretched state! Oh misery! I f Vertue be thus us'd, How are the vicious punish'd? W h a t shall I do, And w h i t h e r shall I turn? As some poor Slave, Accus'd of Crimes which he had never done, Is from his angry Patron's Favour t h r o w n . Hated altho' he faithfully did serve, Is cast on some w i l d Beach to pine and starve. I n vain bemoans himself, and makes defence, I n vain sighs, weeps, and tells his Innocence. Sits madly on some Rock, his Eyes to flow, Mourns his hard Fate, but knows not where to go. So I unskilful what strange Course to r u n , M u s t perish here, by faithless man undone. (ill. iii) 1

A c t I I I , Sc. iv, 168-70, 182-7.

2

T h a t is, of course, ' Y e w '

THE

DRAMA

253

Once her wanderings have begun, Eugenia complains of hunger and fatigue, and before she enters the cave bewails her wretched plight and prays to Heaven for mercy. Another notable feature of The Injured Princess is the omission of the lyrics 'Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings' and 'Fear no more the heat o' the sun', and the lament of Arviragus over Fidele. Evidently Durfey did not appreciate the beauty of these passages. Fairies and flowers were not to his sophisticated taste, and the exquisite fancy which pictured the robin covering the grave with moss i n winter was lost upon him. It is certain that the changes introduced by Durfey were i n keeping with the attitude of the Restoration theatre-goers, but his decision to make them may have been influenced by his knowledge of Boccaccio. From his tales i n verse we may conclude that he was acquainted with the Decameron i n the English translation of 1620, and it is legitimate to assume that he read the tale of Bernabo and Genevra i n that form. There was no poetic strain i n the tale, but there was i n the words of Ambruogiuolo all the suspicion of women which emerges from Durfey's adaptation. Such a writer as he could not fail to approve Ambruogiuolo's declaration to Bernabo: 1

I a m sure t h o u beleeuest, a n d m u s t needes confesse i t , t h a t t h y w i f e is a w o m a n , m a d e o f flesh a n d b l o o d , as o t h e r w o m e n a r e : i f i t be so, shee c a n n o t be w i t h o u t t h e same desires, a n d t h e weaknesse or s t r e n g t h as o t h e r w o m e n h a u e , t o resist s u c h n a t u r a l l appetites as h e r o w n e are. I n r e g a r d w h e r e o f , i t is m e e r e l y i m p o s s i b l e ( a l t h o u g h shee be m o s t h o n e s t ) b u t she m u s t needs do t h a t w h i c h o t h e r w o m e n d o : f o r t h e r e is n o t h i n g else possible, e i t h e r t o be denied or affirmed to the contrary . . . 2

Surely this is the very essence of the Restoration gallant's philosophy. As for the marked element of pathos i n Eugenia's character, this too already existed i n Boccaccio. At first Genevra lacks courage. She shrinks from the sword and weeps. Indeed, the translator of 1620 also shows her as kneeling and wringing her hands. I t is this pathetic, helpless woman that Durfey develops, whereas Shakespeare had laid his emphasis on her toughness and resolution i n distress, which were sug­ gested by the heroine who i n her later adventures became a soldier i n the Soldan's retinue and exacted retribution from her traducer. Characteristic of the late seventeenth century i n various ways is The

Lover's

Stratagem,

or Virtue

Rewarded.

I t is found i n MS. Rawl.

poet. 18 i n the Bodleian Library and is based on the 1620 English 3

Vide post, pp. 277—84. Quoted f r o m the first edition of 1620. Cf. The Decameron, ed. E . H u t t o n , i i , p . 207. T h e text is given w i t h an i m p o r t a n t i n t r o d u c t i o n and f u l l notes i n t h e edition of Alfredo Obertello, Genoa, 1952. 1

2

3

254

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

translation of the Decameron. The manuscript dates back to the last quarter of the century or possibly to the early eighteenth century. However, there is some internal evidence that is more precise. An allusion to Dryden's All for Love, which was acted at Drury Lane in December 1677 and printed in 1678, shows that the play must be later, and the use of the word ' Sbiries ' , first recorded in its English form in the London Gazette i n 1687 , may perhaps be another clue. Evidently the anonymous author belongs to that group of dramatists who between 1680 and 1700 display a greater consciousness of moral values. The choice of the fifth tale of the tenth day, which was devoted to outstand­ ing examples of liberality or magnificence, was in itself notable, for it had only once previously been handled i n dramatic form, and that 1

2

3

4

6

was as far back as 1620 in The Two Merry

Milke-Maids.

The changing

outlook is reflected in the prologue which opens thus: L o n g has y Husband here been RidicuPd, L o n g made a Cuckold, and too often ffool'd, and all because that Vice y Stage has R u l ' d . Can you for once fforgive a Modest Play, show i t by Gracing of us w i t h your Stay. e

e

6

(i-5)

The dramatist has this Day a loving Couple drawne, Such Counterparts they on each other ffawne. and tho' y ladie's D r i v e n to Distresse, She comes off Bravely that you must Confesse; I n Such a M a n n e r Scarce was k n o w n before, Just w h e n She was design'd to be a W h o r e . e

(H-!9) T h i s is proved by the names of places. T h e play reads ' U d i n a ' instead of ' U d i n e ' , and whereas Boccaccio spoke of ' F r i o l i ' , the English translator referred to ' F r e t u l i u m ' w h i c h was ' b e t t e r knowne by the name of Forum lulij', an error reproduced by the dramatist. T h e same is true of names of persons. T h e woman employed as a gobetween i n the Decameron is simply 'una f e m m i n a ' . T h e 1620 version, w h i c h dislikes all vagueness, calls her 'Mistresse M a q u e r e l l a ' , and ' M a c q u e r e l l a ' appears i n the play. T h e E n g l i s h translation is fond of using titles and for Boccaccio's p l a i n ' G i l b e r t o ' substitutes 'Signior G i l b e r t o ' , and again the p l a y w r i g h t follows suit. T h e r e are other parallels too. Ansoldo is described i n the Dramatis Personae as 'a Noble B a r o n ' w h i c h reflects 'a noble B a r o n ' of 1620 r a t h e r t h a n ' u n nobile e gran barone'. Boccaccio had related the persistence w i t h w h i c h the wooing of the lady was conducted: 'spesso per sue ambasciate sollicitandola'. T h e translator conveyed this by ' d a i l y solicitings, Letters, Ambassages and Love-tokens'. I n the play the words ' d a i l y ' and 'letters each day' indicate t h a t the I t a l i a n text was not the i m m e d i a t e source. Finally 'ffragrant m o w e r s ' for Boccaccio's ' f i o r i ' can be traced back to the 1620 version w h i c h , w i t h the same d e l i g h t i n a l l i t e r a t i o n as is shown i n 'Mistresse M a q u e r e l l a ' and i n many other ways, inserted the adjective. 1

2 4 5

6

A c t I I , Sc. i i . A c t V , Sc. iv. See O.E.D., v i i i (S-Sh), p. 155. Cf. A . N i c o l l , op. c i t . , pp. 244, 2 5 2 - 5 . Quotations are f r o m the M S . References are to Obertello's edition. 3

THE DRAMA

255

It is a kind of thing that he could not well pass by, for even i f it looks as i f the tale were a lie, ' 'tis Such as Boccace Told'. The play therefore offers a perfect pattern of marriage, but at the same time, the author confesses that he has had to make concessions to the taste of his period: He Spoiles y Tale to Gratifie y Age, Since Baudv's y Decorum of v Stage. e

e

e

e

" (28-9)

I n order to amplify the story for the needs of a five-act play the dramatist adds a number of characters. In addition to Gilberto, his wife Dianora and her admirer Ansoldo, he introduces Labona, sister to Dianora (who is wooed by Abafto, a kinsman of Ansoldo) and Roberto, brother to Dianora and the lover of Bellinda. She is a sister of Rodolpho, a kinsman of Gilberto. The two pairs of lovers are con­ trasted with the happy married couple. Both Labona and Bellinda are coy, the latter being the antithesis of romance and not eager to rush into matrimony. The protracted wooing of these young lovers serves to fill i n the intervals between the episodes i n the action relating to the three chief figures. Abafto is linked to this plot, because he hopes to become Ansoldo's heir and so promises to further his designs on Dianora. Thus a conflict arises within him, for he realises that he may in this way ruin his hope of winning Labona. Rodolpho is the faithful supporter of Gilberto and seeks to foil Ansoldo's plans. To further his purpose he obtains information from the Steward, who i n his turn receives news of what is going on in the household from the Curate who is Gilberto's chaplain. I t is Rodolpho who warns Gilberto when Dianora has been induced to break her plighted word, i f Ansoldo can produce a garden with all the flowers of May i n ' Nipping January', and it is he who contrives that Gilberto and himself shall be present at the interview when she persuades Ansoldo to forego his claim. The messenger sent by Boccaccio's ardent lover to Dianora is developed into a typical figure of seventeenth-century drama, the attendant of Dianora and the agent of Ansoldo, whose name Macquerella is an indication of her wanton, mercenary disposition. The magician is provided with a servant Rumbulo, who at the close of the play is married to Macquerella after she has been dismissed from Gilberto's service. Comedy is provided i n the very first scene by ' a Great Rabble i n Drunken postures with Wine and Glasses i n their hands. Some Drinking Some hilling', but this lively opening also helps i n the exposition, as they are i n Gilberto's house, celebrating his wedding anniversary. They appear again i n Act V to inspect the garden that the magician has caused to spring up. As they are debating how it has

256

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

been created, lie undertakes to make them dance with absolute regu­ larity. He causes ethereal music to play, and they are delighted to find that their movements are perfect. One even declares that he will no more be called a clown by his wife, now that he can dance so finely. But when the magician bids them try without his aid, they are all out of step. Panic seizes them and they hasten away, one calling out' ffarewel Mephestophilus'. However, this crowd scene is an essential part of the action, filling as it does the interval between Dianora's hearing about the magic garden and her arrival there. The magician has a more important function than i n the tale, practically the whole of Act IV and a part of Act V being devoted to his work. As Boccaccio presented the situation, Gilberto agreed that Dianora should keep her promise to Ansoldo. This consent is depicted as an act of generosity, but at the same time the tale does not attempt to disguise the fear of the magician which also sways Gilberto. On this account as well as on ethical grounds his action is therefore open to criticism. I t is evident that the dramatist was conscious of this weakness, and so, when Dianora goes to Ansoldo, he describes her conduct as being determined by the magician, against her will. The necromancer is a striking figure. He refuses payment i n advance for his work, and this prepares the way for his generosity at the end of the play when he annuls the bond signed by Ansoldo for two thousand ducats. Everything is done to make him impressive. His servant Rumbulo comes ahead of him and scares Ansoldo's servant Peter for his curiosity in prying into the magician's books. Donning a painted bullock's hide with two large gilt horns, he pursues Peter, who takes refuge with Ansoldo and Abafto, trembling with fear, so that 'his knees Salute each other like Two old friends at parting'. The scene provides farcical comedy, but it also helps to define the attitude of Ansoldo and Abafto who treat sceptically the reports i n circulation about the magician's powers. However, various incidents lead them to change their views, with the result that when the ceremony of the bond is performed, the status of the magician is greatly enhanced. He has previously declared that it will not be possible to furnish the wondrous garden completely with jessamines and greens in one day, but that it will be quite ready by noon of the next day. His haste because there is so much to be done, lends a sense of urgency to the fourth act, and there is an animated scene when at his demand Ansoldo sends many people to level the ground, equipped with pickaxes and shovels. This bustle is followed by the solemn moment when the garden is called into being. The magician has dismissed Rumbulo and is seen alone. He strikes the ground repeatedly with a white wand and conjures up Merlyn and asks for his aid. The necromancer is a Spaniard, but the dramatist finds nothing

THE DRAMA

257

anomalous i n his evocation of a British magician, for he is concerned only with the spectacle that follows. Merlyn's ghost rises out of the stage and after seeing the bond, sinks down again, while a cloud of smoke ascends to warm the air. Then spirits hover about the sky, some bringing greens, others flowers, which they fix i n the ground. Next demons rise and dance, and a song is sung i n parts by the spirits and demons, after which a garden suddenly springs up, the spirits fly away and the demons sink down, bringing the fourth act to a close. I n Act V the spirits appear once more and sing a song ' in Recitativo' to accom­ pany Abafto, Labona, Roberto and Bellinda, as they walk about the garden. By means of the music and the spectacle, which shows in passing what advances had been made i n stage machinery i n the Restoration age, the author transmutes fear into grace and beauty. As a contrast the Curate and the Steward are meant to emphasise the sordid aspect of everyday life, and at the same time are allotted a minor role i n the action. The Curate is an avaricious parasite and a dissembler, caring little for morality, if only appearances are preserved. But the Steward is a more robust figure. He is a shrewd man of the world who sees through the Curate, and when he notes the parson's eager interest i n the possibility of his death, observes: ' I may Remem­ ber you, i f when I do depart you give a heave, & dissipate Some Thoughts w may molest me'. He takes a cynical view of all mankind and of women i n particular. A professed libertine, he enjoys life and above all delights i n duping dull husbands. He is prepared to admit that Gilberto and Dianora are happy, but it is typical of him that he puts the worst possible construction on the relations of Dianora and Ansoldo. His conviction that every woman is at heart a rake emerges clearly i n a conversation with Rodolpho about Dianora: 1

c n

Rod. Stew. Rod. Stew, Rod.

Stew.

2

I Cannot T h i n k , but t h a t She's honest. She's a woman! M u s t She be therefore ffalse. have Patience & y o u ' l See. I f She be false then all her Sex are damn'd. for i n appearance Honour is her center, besides She has a M a n that cannot brook Such usage. Caesar & Pompey did. & woman w i l be woman Stil. ( I I I . i i . 89-96)

The Steward and, i n a lesser degree, the Curate reflect the Restoration atmosphere, and it is as if they were discussing a dashing gallant of the period, when they speak of Ansoldo: Cur.

1

W e l I Protest these hansome M e n w i t h ffair Estates & verst i n foreign Modes that tel their Story w e l have ways to Conquour where they Court

Cf. A . Nicoll, op. cit., pp. 3 5 - 4 9 .

S

2

i n . i i . 161-2.

258

T H E DECAMERON

Stew.

IN THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

Sure 'tis an I I R e t u r n upon his ffriend. b u t these Accomplisht M e n Ruine more women then al y vanities y world can ffurnish. e

e

( I I I . i i . 130-5) I t was perhaps s u c h passages as these t h a t t h e P r o l o g u e h a d i n v i e w w h e n i t d e p l o r e d t h e b a w d y e l e m e n t t h a t t h e a u t h o r h a d f e l t con­ s t r a i n e d t o foist o n Boccaccio's t a l e i n o r d e r to satisfy t h e c o n t e m p o r a r y t h e a t r e - g o e r . H o w e v e r , n o d o u b t i t also a l l u d e d t o t h e f i g u r e o f A n s o l d o w h o is developed i n t o a n i n t r i g u i n g g a l l a n t . H i s p r o t o t y p e h a d gone no f u r t h e r t h a n t o send messages b y m e a n s of a w o m a n , b u t A n s o l d o is s h o w n as a close f r i e n d

o f G i l b e r t o a n d exploits t h i s i n t i m a c y b y

i n s t a l l i n g a n agent as t h e

a t t e n d a n t o f D i a n o r a , so t h a t

she

may

a r r a n g e m e e t i n g s b e t w e e n t h e m . T h e s e t a k e place i n t h e absence o f G i l b e r t o o n business, a n i n c i d e n t o f w h i c h t h e t a l e k n o w s n o t h i n g . A n s o l d o prides h i m s e l f o n his s k i l l i n w r i t i n g letters t h a t h a v e a d o u b l e m e a n i n g a n d is c o n f i d e n t o f his success f o r W o m e n that are ffair, are Sildome D u l . (11. i . 8) A t t h e i n t e r v i e w he brushes aside D i a n o r a ' s objections. I f t h e affair is discreetly m a n a g e d , no one n e e d k n o w . M o r e o v e r , Were y T h i n g new or very rarely done, that were another Case b u t this is C o m o n . I Take not f r o m h i m ought that is his o w n . I only Borrow that w I Restore to h i m again, no Damage does accrew . . . e

1

c h

(11. i i . 125-9)

W h e n D i a n o r a tells h i m t o h o l d off his hands o r she w i l l call f o r a i d , he d e m a n d s : w i l you comply, I cannot brook denial. (11. i i . She r e m a i n s f i r m a n d , t a k i n g u p a h i n t i n t h e t a l e ,

138) 2

she urges h i m t o

d i r e c t his a t t e n t i o n t o his m i l i t a r y career: Bred up i n Armes, persue your wonted Course purchase new Honour to your growing ffame.

(11. i i . 157-8)

She r e m i n d s h i m o f g r e a t generals of t h e a n c i e n t w o r l d whose l o v e affairs l e d t h e m astray: M a r k A n t h o n y did y like losse Sustain, by lodging i n that ffair Egyptians Armes. He thereby lost y Empire of y world. e

e

e

(11. i i . 165-7)

Cf. t h e attitude of the D u k e i n The Two Merry Milke-Maids. ' p e r arme conosciuto', w h i c h is rendered 'actiue i n A r m e s ' i n the 1620 transla­ tion. 1

2

THE

DRAMA

259

To which Ansoldo, with an obvious allusion to Dryden's All for replies:

Love,

A n d 'twas wel lost to gain y Prize he had. ( i l . i i . 168) e

When Ansoldo again meets Dianora i n Act I I I , he redoubles his importunities. She appeals to his reason and points out that for the sake of a fleeting pleasure he will breed a lasting quarrel and that such conduct is sinful. But he is i n a state of feverish excitement, and al­ though she temporises, he threatens force, so that i n the end she agrees to comply with his wish, provided that he creates i n midwinter a garden full of spring flowers. When, to her dismay, it is completed, i n Act V she pleads with him to be generous and spare her, but he remains adamant and bids her receive him that night. T i l l now Ansoldo has been the cunning and experienced lecher, but there have been occasions when uneasiness came over him at the thought that he was violating Gilberto's hospitality. He stifled his conscience temporarily, but it revives i n the nocturnal scene when he meets Dianora for the third time. They both believe that they are alone, but i n reality Gilberto and Rodolpho are hidden i n the room. Dianora declares that she is there, not of her own volition, but impelled by the power of magic. She comes as a victim led to sacrifice and begs him not to take advantage of a woman, but he tells her that she might as well 'preach to a Pirate to release his prize'. There follows a pro­ longed discussion, and the tension is heightened by the running com­ mentary of Gilberto and Rodolpho which mirrors the fluctuating emotions of the speakers. At one moment they think that she will yield. Then, as she reinforces her appeal by reminding Ansoldo how Gilberto had saved his life when he was seized by the 'Sbiries' for wounding a young count, their hopes rise again. But soon the listeners once more have the impression that she will give way, when suddenly she breaks away from Ansoldo and says: 1

2

I T h o u g h t ffriendship like yours had been I m o r t a l , & w i l you for a M o m e n t a r y pleasure forfeit that Sacred Name.

(v. iv. 271—2)

Then, seeing how this affects Ansoldo, she redoubles her pressure: I am your ffriends Seignior Gilbertos wife your ffellow Traveller, your School Companion, your very self i n all thats good. y M a n to w h o m you Stand So much obleig'd. e

(v. iv. 274-7)

Though a hint of Ansoldo's indebtedness to Gilberto has been given 1

v. iv. 255.

2

Italian police.

260

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY

p r e v i o u s l y , t h e d r a m a t i s t s k i l f u l l y holds back t h e f u l l

e x t e n t o f his

o b l i g a t i o n t i l l t h i s crisis. As D i a n o r a plies h i m w i t h a r g u m e n t s t h i c k a n d fast, h e is seized w i t h s h a m e a n d renounces h i s p l a n . A t t h e close o f t h e p l a y h e acts o n h e r e a r l i e r s u g g e s t i o n a n d declares h i s i n t e n t i o n t o q u i t t h e c o u r t o f V e n u s a n d go off t o t h e n e x t c a m p a i g n , w h e r e perhaps a b u l l e t w i l l e n d h i s career. T h u s v i r t u e t r i u m p h s a n d t h e profligate reforms. T h e p l a y is b r i s k a n d l i v e l y a n d , apart f r o m

a certain obscurity

a b o u t t h e doings o f R o d o l p h o , w e l l c o n s t r u c t e d . T h e d r a m a t i s t shows his a b i l i t y t o adjust a mediaeval t a l e t o t h e needs o f t h e c o n t e m p o r a r y stage, a n d i n so d o i n g reflects t h e p e r i o d of t r a n s i t i o n f r o m t h e Restora­ t i o n theatre t o a m o r e decent t y p e of d r a m a .

V THE

DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

N E sign of the continued interest i n the Decameron was the appearance of new translations. The first of these was published in 1702 and was said to be 'accommodated to the Gust of the present Age'. I t is based on a French edition, printed at Amsterdam i n 1697 and again in 1699. The address to the reader explains that these tales 'being often obscure, by reason of the multiplicity of words; and three hundred and fifty Years, also making a great alteration i n the gust of Men, to render them more entertaining, it was absolutely necessary to abridge them, dress them after the modern Fashion, leave out the superfluous repetitions, and sometimes not only alter intire Periods, but to change the whole Structure'. The original form of the Decameron is certainly discarded. The 'Proemio' and ' Conclusione' are omitted. Each tale is a separate unit, and no attempt is made to link either the stories or the various days together. The doings of the narrators and the rural background are ignored. Some songs are omitted, but others are retained, even though this creates a certain awkwardness i n view of the alterations i n the framework. The songs themselves are i n the manner of the period, as may be seen from the following: 1

2

3

Near to a gentle p u r l i n g Crystal Spring, Whose fertile Streams enrich'd the N e i g h b ' r i n g Ground, The teeming E a r t h did fragrant Flowers bring, W h i c h Flora i n her richest Robes had Crown'd; Fit for a mournful Lover's sad Retreat, There wretched Cloe did lament her Fate. W h i l s t of bright Cynthia I a Follow'r was, No anxious thoughts disturb'd m y peaceful Breast, T h r o u g h obscure Groves regardless I did pass, M y innocence secur'd m y Ease and Rest; T i l l I grew fond of Pleasures which soon cloy, Enslave our Souls, and all our Peace destroy. W i t h engravings by R o m a i n de Hooge. T h i s makes i t possible to transfer the f i f t h tale of the t h i r d day, so t h a t i t becomes Novel L . Cf. Part I I , p. 2 0 2 . 1

2

3

262

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

F o r I ! p o o r C r e d ' l o u s N y m p h ! alas! P o o r I ! W a s C h a r m ' d b y a false S w a i n s d e l u d i n g V o i c e , W h o s e g r a c e f u l M i e n w o u l d please a D e i t y ; A l l o're o u r Plains t h e y d i d applaud m y Choice; B u t n o w too l a t e , t o m y g r e a t g r i e f , I f i n d H i m more unconstant t h a n the Waves and W i n d . G r e a t C u p i d , t o y o u r Vassal P i t y s h e w , I t ' s y o u r o w n I n t e r e s t , t h o u g h t h e Cause is m i n e , W h e n d e v o u t V o t a r i e s t h u s suffer, w h o W i l l v e n t u r e t o b u r n I n c e n s e at y o u r S h r i n e : B a d is t h ' E x c h a n g e w e m a k e o f L i b e r t y F o r S c o r n , d i s d a i n a n d abject S l a v e r y . 1

The regularity and the condensation of these stanzas are paralleled by the balance and epigrammatic quality of the prose, as may be seen from the preamble to Novel XXI: ' I t is a great mistake to think that as soon as a young Girl has put on the Veil, that she has neither Passion nor Desires, and breaths nothing but Piety and Devotion. The Heart cannot be changed so easily as the Habit'. One notes here a critical attitude towards the monastic system, and i n numerous places the translation displays an anti-clerical bias. I t emerges i n the address to the reader and, very clearly, i n the following observation prefixed to the tale of Fra Alberto di Imola: As t h e r e is n o t h i n g m o r e sacred a m o n g s t M e n t h a n R e l i g i o n , so t h e r e is n o t h i n g t h a t is m o r e abused t o base a n d s i n i s t e r ends. T h i s is t h e C l o a k , t h a t is g e n e r a l l y w o r n , t o h i d e t h e m o s t v i l l a i n o u s A c t i o n s , a n d t h i s p r o p h a n e L i b e r t y is i n a g r e a t M e a s u r e o w i n g t o t h e C l e r g y t h e m s e l v e s . 2

This version enjoyed some success, and i n 1712 a second edition was called for. However, by 1741 it was felt that a new translation was desirable which could claim greater fidelity to Boccaccio. The trans­ lator speaks with scorn of the two older English renderings, ' for such liberties are taken every where i n altering every thing according to the people's own taste and fancy, that a great part of both bears very little resemblance to the original'. He used the Italian text and, apart from the omission of the ' Proemio' and ' Conclusione', presented the Decameron to the English reader in a more accurate form than had hitherto been known, though he carries out a certain amount of expurgation. 3

4

5

6

P a r t I I , p . 203. p . 172. T h e B r i t i s h M u s e u m Catalogue records an edition of 1722, b u t on inspection I found t h a t this was really the edition of 1712, the n u m e r a l having been tampered w i t h by some one or other. A correction has been made i n the Catalogue, for i t is clear t h a t an edition of 1722 does not exist. He is said to have been Charles Balguy. Cf. D.N.B., Art. 'Balguy'. A c c o r d i n g to W . Roberts, The Earlier History of English Bookselling, London, 1889, p. 127, the lists of John Nicolson, Robert Knaplock and Samuel B a l l a r d include one containing ' a l l the novels of M r . John Boccace' w i t h cuts. I have never seen this. For example, i i i , 10 and i x , 10 are o m i t t e d . 1

3

4 5

6

2

THE

DECAMERON

I N THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

263

In addition to these translations, editions of the Italian or French text with numerous illustrations by famous artists like Gravelot, Boucher, Cochin, Eisen and Moreau were published with the London and Paris imprint i n 1757, 1757-61 and 1768. Another edition of the Italian text with the London and Leghorn imprint was issued i n 1789. Other editions published i n London only were those of 1762 (editor Vincenzio Martinelli) and 1774. There was also the Scelta di Novelle di Giovanni Boccaccio, edited by G. Giannini (1791), which contained twenty-eight tales. But the most important of all the London editions was that of 1725 which was reissued i n 1727. I t was a reprint of the famous Giunti text published at Florence i n 1527. I t had not only many patrons i n high society but also such persons as Sir Hildebrand Jacob, the dramatist, Richard West, the eminent constitutional lawyer and man of letters, Joseph Smith, the British Consul at Venice who i n 1729 himself prepared an edition of the Decameron, and Dr. Richard Mead, the famous physician who attended Pope and also, like Smith, was a great bibliophile. The poet Gray had a copy of the London edition of 1725 and in his notes mentioned the authors,' Chaucer, Shakespeare, Dryden, Fontaine, Moliere, Pope, etc., who have been indebted to Boccaccio, with the titles of the Poems, Tales, etc. which have originated with the Decameron.'" Topham Beauclerk, Dr. Johnson's friend, had a fine collection of 1

1

Boccaccio's writings. I n addition to De casibus

and De claris

mulieribus

in Betussi's version and most of the Italian works, it included six copies of the Decameron in French, Spanish, Italian and English. Eminent writers such as Sterne and Gibbon likewise included the work in their libraries, and in the historian's opinion Boccaccio's fame rested on the 3

4

Decameron.

h

In a roundabout way his reputation was enhanced by those of his tales which were retold by La Fontaine in his Contes et nouvelles. Some of them were translated in 1705 in Miscellaneous

Poetical

Novels

or

Tales, Relating Many pleasing and instructive Instances of Wit and Gallantry in Both Sexes: Suited to the Belle-Humeur of the Present Age.

6

A different translator was at work i n the Tales

London, 1735 and The Spectacles 7

and Novels

in

Verse,

i n 1753.

H e n r i Cohen, Guide de Vamateur de livres a gravures du XVIII siecle, 6 ed. par S. de R i c c i , Paris, 1912, pp. 158, 160, 161. Cf. W . Powell Jones, 'Thomas Gray's L i b r a r y ' , M.P., 1937-8, xxxv, p . 2 6 1 . This was t h e translation of 1620 i n the second edition of 1625. Cf. Bibliotheca Beauclerkiana, p . 85, nos. 2649 to 2662. Gibbon had an edition published at A m s t e r d a m i n 1761. The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, London, 1900, v i i , p. 120. T h e plates at the b e g i n n i n g of each tale are taken f r o m the F r e n c h edition of L a Fontaine's Contes et Nouvelles, A m s t e r d a m , 1701. R e p r i n t e d at E d i n b u r g h i n 1762. 1

2

3

4

5 6

7

e

e

264

T H E DECAMERON

I N T H EE I G H T E E N T H

CENTURY

The critics also concerned themselves with Boccaccio and were all the more readily drawn to his writings because he belonged to the same period as Chaucer. Pre-eminent among these was Dryden. As a critic of Boccaccio he was handicapped by his ignorance of the Filostrato and the Teseida. He was also at fault i n thinking that Petrarch, not Boccaccio, first wrote the tale of Griseida. Nevertheless, he was aware of Boccaccio's importance i n the development of Italian prose and of the ' familiar style, and pleasing way of relating comical adventures' which he shared with Chaucer. A writer i n The Monthly Review in 1768, agreed with Dryden i n praising his style: 1

I t must be acknowledged that he possessed the talent of story-telling i n the highest perfection; nothing, i n this respect, can be conceived more natural, perspicuous, or elegant; his words seem made on purpose for what he describes. 2

He goes on to picture Boccaccio's surprise at the popularity of a work that was far from being his main preoccupation and his astonishment, had he been told: your L a t i n and Italian works w i l l remain buried i n the dust of libraries, whilst your Decameron, printed upwards of t w o hundred times, translated into all the languages of Europe, read by every body, shall procure you the title of the Cicero of Tuscany, and the Father of the Italian Language! 3

Despite his enthusiasm, he was aware that the Decameron had its censurers and felt constrained to defend it on the grounds that it was meant only for amusement and that the circumstances of the time when it was composed justified the occasional freedom of its tone. Dr. Johnson would hardly have welcomed this argument i f we may judge by his comment on the tales from Boccaccio i n Dryden's Fables. As a scholar he tolerates ' Sigismonda and Guiscardo' for the celebrity of the story, and ' Cymon and Iphigenia' because he knew that a Renaissance humanist of repute like Beroaldo had set his stamp upon it, but he abstains from all praise. As for 'Theodore and Honoria', he concedes that it affords opportunities of striking description, but qualifies this slight approval with the complaint that ' i t contains not much moral'. I t is evident, that i f examined from this point of view, the Decameron could not hope to pass his severe scrutiny. However, his attitude was at least governed by zeal i n the pursuit of truth. On the other hand, when Boccaccio had penetrated through the medium of Dryden into the realm of art, Charles Churchill's attack on Hogarth's painting, 'Sigismonda mourning over the heart of Guiscardo', was animated by no general philosophical consideration. I n any case, the 4

5

6

1 5 6

V o l . xxxix. p . 559. p. 560. pp. 560—1. The Lives of the most eminent English Poets, London, 1781, i i , pp. 174—5. Now no. 1046 i n the Tate Gallery. 2

3

4

TALES I N VERSE

265

stir thus caused, no less than the picture itself, served to heighten Boccaccio's fame, and this was yet further enhanced by Sir Joshua Reynolds's painting, 'Cymon and Iphigenia'. 1

2

i . Tales i n Verse Even i f Dryden spoke of Boccaccio mainly as a diverting writer, the three tales that he included from the Decameron i n the Fables i n 1700 were all of a more serious kind. I t is certain that Dryden knew the original text, for i n his preface he quotes i n Italian the allusion to the story of Palamone and Arcita as it was sung by Dioneo and Fiammetta at the end of the seventh day. The translations themselves also suggest that Dryden had the Italian version before h i m , and a passage i n the dedication of the ALneis i n 1697 proves that he read the ' Conclusione' which was omitted i n the English translation of 1620. On the other hand, there are abundant traces of this earlier rendering in Dryden's work, and it is evident that he used the two texts concurrently. Dryden's task was not rendered any easier by his age and physical condition. He was approaching seventy and suffered from various complaints. I n a letter to Mrs. Steward, dated 2 February i6gg he says: ' betwixt my intervalls of physique and other remedies . . . I am still drudging on'. Again i n the preface to the Fables he speaks of being ' a cripple i n my limbs' and the illness which interrupted his enterprise. It is to these troubles that the poet refers i n the opening lines of ' Cymon and Iphigenia': 3

4

s

6

7

Old as I a m , f o r Ladies' Love u n f i t , T h e P o w ' r o f B e a u t y I r e m e m b e r yet,

W h i c h once inflam'd m y Soul, and still inspires m y W i t . (i-3)

and i n ' Sigismonda and Guiscardo' the grief of the aged Tancred, to which the English translator of 1620 had given a new poignancy, is intensified by Dryden i n a passage to which there is no counterpart in Boccaccio: To what has I l e a v ' n reserv'd m y Age? A h ! w h y Should M a n , w h e n Nature calls, not chuse to die, Rather t h a n stretch the Span of Life, to find Such Ills as Fate has wisely cast behind, T h e Epistle to William Hogarth r a n to four editions i n 1763. N o w i n B u c k i n g h a m Palace. Dec. iv, 1, v, 8 and v, 1. For a f u l l discussion see the f o r t h c o m i n g edition of Dryden's Poems by James Kinsley. Quotations f r o m the Fables i n the following pages are f r o m the first edition, Cf. Dryden's Essays, ed. W . P. Ker, Oxford, 1926, i i , p. 2 3 1 . See the edition of Dryden's Poems by James Kinsley. The Letters of John Dryden, ed. C. E . W a r d , Duke, N . C . , 1942, p . l o g . 1 2

3

4

5 6

7

266

T H E DECAMERON I N THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY F o r those t o f e e l , w h o m f o n d D e s i r e t o l i v e M a k e s covetous o f m o r e t h a n L i f e c a n g i v e ! E a c h has h i s S h a r e o f G o o d ; a n d w h e n ' t is g o n e , T h e G u e s t , t h o ' h u n g r y , c a n n o t rise t o o soon.

(3 5-3 ) 2

2

But old age and illness were not the only handicaps with which Dryden had to contend. The revolution of 1688 had sealed up his sources of income and he was only too well acquainted with poverty. Even earlier in the reign of Charles I I he had lived i n straitened cir­ cumstances and on the death of that king i n 1685 had gone so far as to insert i n the 'Threnodia Augustalis' a hint that writers had not received their full due: T h o ' l i t t l e was t h e i r H i r e , a n d l i g h t t h e i r G a i n , Y e t s o m e w h a t t o t h e i r share h e t h r e w .

(377-8)

At a time when royal patronage meant so much, when poets ' must live by Courts, or starve', Dryden was predisposed to sympathise with poverty. Consequently, when Sigismonda reproaches Tancred for his failure to recognise the merit of Guiscardo, she goes beyond anything that her prototype had said: 1

'tis n o t Baseness t o be P o o r ; His P o v e r t y a u g m e n t s t h y C r i m e t h e m o r e . U p b r a i d s t h y Justice w i t h t h e scant R e g a r d O f W o r t h : W h o m P r i n c e s praise, t h e y s h o u ' d r e w a r d . A r e these t h e K i n g s e n t r u s t e d b y t h e C r o w d W i t h W e a l t h , t o be d i s p e n s ' d f o r C o m m o n Good? The People sweat n o t for t h e i r K i n g ' s D e l i g h t , T ' e n r i c h a P i m p , o r raise a P a r a s i t e ; T h e i r s is t h e T o i l ; a n d h e w h o w e l l has s e r v ' d H i s C o u n t r y , has h i s C o u n t r y s W e a l t h d e s e r v ' d .

(547-5")

The last four lines i n particular have a personal note and it is manifest that Dryden had his eye on contemporary society rather than on Boccaccio's tale. In yet another respect the Fables reflect the conditions of his age. The publication of Jeremy Collier's Short View of the Profaneness and Immorality of the English Stage in 1698, just when Dryden was

engaged on the Fables, made him sensitive to the charges directed against him. I n the preface he replies to Collier and again i n the introduction to 'Cymon and Iphigenia', where he writes: W h a t needs h e P a r a p h r a s e o n w h a t w e m e a n ? W e w e r e a t w o r s t b u t W a n t o n ; he's Obscene. r

(21-2)

1

Epilogue to The Pilgrim,

1700.

267

TALES I N VERSE

Yet despite his rejoinder, Dryden felt himself obliged to take account of Collier's accusations. I t is this awareness which explains the nature of the tales selected from the Decameron. Hence Dryden's declaration: ' I have written nothing which savors of immorality or profaneness.' He then adds, as i f after all he had some misgivings, that i f perchance there was anything wanton, it was due to inadvertence. I t is possible that he had i n mind 1 1 . 156-80,11. 230-2 and 1 1 . 245-51 of' Sigismonda and Guiscardo'. These passages have a sensual quality that is not due to Boccaccio, but to Dryden. On the other hand, a concession is made by the introduction of a priest who celebrates the marriage of the princess and the squire. Yet this is but a veneer of morality, and Dryden continues to speak and to think of them as lovers and to bestow on them his sympathy. Consequently, it comes as a surprise when the poet, contrary to his express intention i n the preface not to point the moral for fear of becoming tedious, imposes on the tale an instructive ending: 1

Thus she for Disobedience justly d y ' d ; The Sire was justly punish'd for his Pride: The Y o u t h , least guilty, suffer'd for th'Offence, Of D u t y violated to his Prince.

(750-3) This cold summing up clashes with the rest of the poem and, so far as the hero and heroine are concerned, runs counter to Dryden's earlier attitude. Such a dissonance is in the last resort due to the hostile influence of Jeremy Collier, and Dryden's preoccupation with the current of opinion that he had set moving also explains a number of changes i n 'Cymon and Iphigenia'. Thus one observes a somewhat greater restraint than i n Boccaccio's description of the sleeping Iphigenia. Still more important is the alteration in the relationship of Cymon to her. In the original, her father Cipseo, when arranging for her marriage with Pasimondo,is merely behaving like an honourable man who keeps his promise, and the hero has no warrant for carrying off the solemnly plighted lady except his own passion. For Boccaccio that was the only justification needed, since 'Amor vincit omnia', a view which is set forth elsewhere by Guiscardo with moving simplicity i n his reply to the reproachful Tancred: 'Amor puo troppo piu che ne voi ne io possiamo'. However, Dryden grows uneasy and adopts various devices to exonerate Cymon. Prejudice is stirred up against Pasimond i n the reader's mind by the statement that Iphigenia is 'to wed a foreign spouse'. On the other hand, he is attracted towards Cymon when he discovers that fate has proved an obstacle to the hero's happiness, i n 1

I n the text of the tale he is called ' Guiscard'.

268

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE

EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

that 'tho' better lov'd', he was unable to declare his affection. Cymon himself is able to reject Pasimond's demand for the completion of the marriage contract as a 'lawless Bargain' and to represent this as null and void, since T h e P a r e n t c o u l d n o t sell t h e D a u g h t e r ' s L o v e .

( 99) 2

The later reiteration of this attitude when he maintains that he deserves Iphigenia far more than Pasimond: to w h o m y o u r formal Father t y ' d Y o u r V o w s ; a n d sold a Slave, n o t sent a B r i d e

(316-17)

transforms the story into a romantic exploit i n which the irresistible ardour of youth triumphs over the sordid calculations of age. Dryden prudently decided not to attempt to justify the conduct of Lysimachus i n carrying off Cassandra, the bride of Ormisda. As the magistrate of Rhodes, elected to administer the law, he committed a doubly heinous offence. He makes no attempt to exculpate himself but admits that he has no title to Cassandra and that i n fleeing with her from Rhodes he is asserting that might is right, whatever others may say. Dryden refuses to condone this rape and introduces a passage, at variance with Boccaccio, to condemn Lysimachus: T h i s Y o u t h p r o p o s i n g t o possess, a n d scape, Began i n M u r d e r , to conclude i n Rape: U n p r a i s ' d b y m e , t h o ' H e a v ' n s o m e t i m e m a y bless A n i m i p o u s A c t w i t h u n d e s e r v ' d Success.

(467-70)

Quite apart from this concern with moral issues which with some probability may be ascribed to the intellectual climate of his age, Dryden comments on various features of contemporary life. He expresses the dislike of a standing army when he shows his distrust of the 'men inur'd to blood and exercis'd i n i l l ' who executed Tancred's orders for the murder of Guiscardo, for (Slaves t o P a y ) W h a t K i n g s decree, t h e S o l d i e r m u s t o b e y : W a g ' d against foes; a n d , w h e n t h e W a r s are o'er, F i t only to m a i n t a i n Despotick P o w ' r : D a n g ' r o u s t o F r e e d o m , a n d d e s i r ' d alone B y K i n g s , w h o seek a n A r b i t r a r y T h r o n e .

(596-601)

I n a less serious vein Dryden introduces the forces of the Rhodians who, after satisfying themselves that they outnumber Cymon and his shipwrecked followers, proceed to attack them. This enables him to poke fun at the militia of the day:

TALES I N VERSE

269

The Country rings around w i t h loud Alarms, A n d raw i n Fields the rude M i l i t i a swarms; Mouths w i t h o u t Hands; maintain'd at vast Expence, I n Peace a Charge, i n W a r a weak Defence: Stout once a M o n t h they march a blust'ring Band, A n d ever, but i n times of Need, at hand: This was the M o r n when issuing on the Guard, D r a w n up i n Rank and File they stood prepar'd Of seeming Arms to make a short Essay, T h e n hasten to be D r u n k , the Business of the Day.

(399-408)

Here Dryden is i n a genial mood, but perhaps less so i n an oblique criticism of the Church of England because of its failure i n a crisis to uphold its doctrine of passive obedience. There are other shrewd thrusts of a more general kind which are prompted by Boccaccio's tales. Thus the withdrawal of Theodore from Ravenna affords an opportunity for a comment on the parasitical companions who hindered his tranquil communion i n the forest: 1

He w ould have l i v ' d more free; but many a Guest, Who could forsake the Friend, pursu'd the Feast. ('Theodore and Honoria', 70—1) r

And the unscrupulous action of Lysimachus inspires the epigram: The Great, i t seems, are privileg'd alone To punish all Injustice but their own. ,

,

* ' (47 " ) The satirical portraits of individuals, an art i n which Dryden had long excelled,,are not less notable. That of Cymon, before his under­ standing had been awakened by love, is clear and sharp of outline: 1

2

He look'd like Nature's E r r o r ; as the M i n d A n d Body were not of a Piece design'd, But made for two, and by Mistake i n one were join'd. The more informed, the less he understood, A n d deeper sunk by flound'ring i n the M u d .

(58-60, 63-4)

The same keen barbs are placed at the disposal of Tancred when he wishes to express his contempt of Guiscard: A M a n so smelling of the Peoples Lee, The Court receiv'd h i m first for Charity; A n d since w i t h no Degree of Honour grac'd, But only suffer'd, where he first was plac'd: A grov'ling Insect still; and so design'd By Natures Hand, nor born of Noble k i n d : A T h i n g , by neither M a n nor W o m a n priz'd, A n d scarcely k n o w n enough, to be despis'd. , 1

0

1

U- 4 3 ~ 4 2

y

(3 7- 4) 1

2

.

270

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

Indirectly Dryden here draws another portrait, that of Tancred himself, the haughty monarch, incapable of appreciating anything but aristocratic lineage. From the beginning he is depicted as a ruthless tyrant. Even the account of the cave is used to suggest a ruler abusing his power and anxious for his safety. Oppressed by care, he suffers from insomnia, and when he has surprised his daughter with Guiscardo, this 'Royal Spy' appears sinister and malevolent, as he retires unseen, To brood i n secret on his gather'd Spleen, A n d methodize Revenge.

(257-8)

He is the 'gloomy Sire', the 'sullen Tyrant', whose repressed anger finally finds vent i n 'a bloody Sacrifice'. At the same time he is not without dignity, and Dryden rejects as inappropriate Boccaccio's com­ parison of the weeping Tancred to a child that has been severely thrashed. However, he is never allowed to gain our sympathy. I t is true that for a moment, by a projection of his own personality, Dryden brings home the pathos of old age, but any impulse i n favour of Tancred is soon dispelled. I n the final scene, when Sigismonda lies dying, we have no description such as that given in the English translation of 1620 of the 'teares streaming downe his reuerend beard', for that might soften the reader's heart towards the penitent king. Indeed, all that we learn of this manifestation of his remorse is from Sigismonda's curt words: 'Restrain thy tears', and as death draws near, she ignores his very presence. Even i f he is unattractive, Tancred is a striking figure, whereas Guiscardo, though pleasing, is relatively insignificant. Boccaccio had described him as a servant, so that the wrath of his master was under­ standable. I n Dryden, however, he is said to be Of gentle Blood; but one whose niggard Fate Had set h i m far below her h i g h Estate.

(49-50) This statement regarding his rank was no doubt inspired by the application of the word ' Gentleman' to him i n the English version of 1620, but it does make Tancred's contemptuous denunciation of his plebeian status appear unreasonable and inconsistent. I n other respects Dryden does little with this character, except to place i n his mouth a bold reply when he is haled before the king. In Sigismonda Dryden sees i n the early part of the tale one who is typical of her sex, keen-witted and full of subtle devices: W h a t w i l l not W o m e n do, w h e n Need inspires T h e i r W i t , or Love their inclination fires!

(127-8)

TALES I N VERSE

271

But later the woman is transformed into the heroine. Dryden adds a trait here and there. Thus Sigismonda receives the goblet with a severe smile, and, after she has taken the poison and lain on her bed, she refuses to open her eyes. I n this way the impression of her indomi­ table, inflexible will is heightened. Dryden has certainly done justice to Sigismonda and created a memorable heroine, but i n their way Honoria and Iphigenia are equally striking. These are women of a less virile type, akin to Sigis­ monda i n her early stage, but incapable of her heroic fortitude. Dryden's attitude to women i n general is suggested by his remark on Honoria's meditation as she considers the possibility of yielding to Theodore's suit: Her Sexes Arts she knew, and w h y not then, M i g h t deep Dissembling have a Place i n Men?

(397-8) The upshot was that She w i t h no w i n d i n g turns the T r u t h conceal'd, But p u t the W o m a n off, and stood reveal'd.

(408-9)

The decision was arrived at as the result of fear, and Dryden exhausted all his resources in tracing the mental anguish that Honoria endured after seeing the pursuit of the lady by the spectral horseman and his hounds: A t ev'ry little Noise she look'd behind, For still the K n i g h t was present to her M i n d : A n d anxious oft she started on the way, And thought the Horseman-Ghost came t h u n d r i n g for his Prey: R e t u r n ' d , she took her Bed, w i t h little Rest, But i n short Slumbers dreamt the Funeral Feast: A w a k ' d , she t u r n ' d her Side, and slept again; T h e same black Vapours mounted i n her Brain, And the same Dreams r e t u r n ' d w i t h double Pain. Now forc'd to wake, because afraid to sleep, Her Blood all Fever'd, w i t h a furious Leap She sprung from Bed, distracted i n her M i n d , And fear'd, at ev'ry Step, a t w i t c h i n g Spright behind. D a r k l i n g and desp'rate w i t h a stagg'ring pace, Of Death afraid, and conscious of Disgrace; Fear, Pride, Remorse, at once her Heart assail'd, Pride p u t Remorse to flight, but Fear prevail'd. Friday, the fatal Day, w h e n next i t came, Her Soul forethought the Fiend would change his Game, And her pursue, or Theodore be slain, And two Ghosts join their Packs to h u n t her o'er the Plain.

(359-79) I n his analysis of her conflicting emotions and the portrayal of the fears working on her overheated imagination Dryden is masterly.

272

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

When he comes to depict Iphigenia, the emphasis on the artfulness of women is even stronger. I t appears i n two scenes, the first of which concerns the removal of Iphigenia by Cymon from the ship on which she was sailing to Rhodes for her marriage to Pasimond. I n the original she sheds tears of genuine distress and Dryden retains this display of emotion. But as he had altered the tale and depicted her love for Cymon, he explains her tears as a cloak to disguise her true feelings: To seeming Sadness she compos'd her Look; As i f by Force subjected to his W i l l , Tho' pleas'd, dissembling, and a W o m a n still. Faintly she scream'd, and ev'n her Eyes confess'd She rather would be thought, than was Distress'd. (3°9-n, 3 - ) 2 0

1

The second scene is that of the storm. I n the Decameron the heroine weeps and, quite justifiably, curses the passion of Cimone which has brought her to this pass. But again Dryden seeks to describe a more complicated state of mind. He does so i n a brilliant passage where Iphigenia's fluttering fears and shifting emotions are analysed with a skill that is mingled with contempt: Sad Iphigene to Womanish complaints Adds pious Pray'rs, and wearies all the Saints; Ev ' n i f she could, her Love she would repent, But since she cannot, dreads the Punishment: Her forfeit Faith, and Pasimond betray'd, Are ever present, and her Crime upbraid. She blames her self, nor blames her Lover less, Augments her Anger as her Fears increase; From her own Back the Burden would remove, A n d lays the Load on his ungovern'd Love, T h a t for his daring Enterprise she dy'd, Who rather not resisted, than comply'd. T h e n impotent of M i n d , w i t h alter'd Sense, She hugg'd t h ' Offender, and forgave t h ' Offence, Sex to the last. (349"5 > 364-8) 8

There are many signs that the author of the Fables not only pos­ sessed insight into human nature but also the power to present characters as active figures i n a play. Sometimes the description of the setting recalls the stage. For example, there is the pavilion of Theodore in the forest W i t h Flow'rs below, and Tissue over-head. ( 58) 2

TALES I N VERSE

273

Again we are reminded of stock dramatic figures, when Sigismonda conveys her message to Guiscardo with the utmost caution, for fear to be betray'd By some false Confident, or Fav'rite Maid.

The bow with which he receives it is but i n keeping with the need for action i n the theatre. Repeatedly Dryden the dramatist comes to the aid of Dryden the translator and introduces movement that is lacking in Boccaccio. Thus i n the final scene of 'Sigismonda and Guiscardo' Tancred opens the curtains round his daughter's bed, only to reveal her lying with firmly closed eyes. And when Theodore's guests with­ draw, the courteous host says farewell to them all but passes by Honoria unheeding. Another feature that Dryden introduces is the ceremonious behaviour of Tancred and Sigismonda i n the presence of her attendants. He kisses her cheek and blesses her as she kneels before him. Facial expression is not overlooked as a means of disclosing person­ ality. Who can forget Cymon with his 'stupid Eyes, that ever lov'd the Ground' or the spectacle when The slavering Cudden, prop'd upon his Staff, Stood ready gaping w i t h a g r i n n i n g Laugh?

(179-80)

The anger of the spectral knight is suggested by the flashing flames of his ardent eyes and by his fierce stare. No wonder that the spectator quails before this menacing figure: Stern look'd the Fiend, as frustrate of his W i l l , Not half suffic'd, and greedy yet to k i l l . (193-4)

Similarly, the uneasiness of Honoria is augmented when she has noted the stern look of her lover, as i f he were hatching some deep design. Dryden also expresses emotion by a sigh or a groani or by some other outward manifestation. The pent-up wrath of Tancred finds an outlet i n his 'lonely walking by a winking Light', sobbing, weeping, groaning and beating his withered beard. The anxiety of Sigismonda, as she lies vainly waiting for the arrested Guiscardo, is equally con­ vincing. She long expecting lay, for Bliss prepar'd, L i s t ' n i n g for Noise, and griev'd that none she heard; Oft rose, and oft i n vain employ'd the Key, A n d oft accus'd her Lover of Delay.

(292-5) As an experienced dramatist, Dryden knew full well the importance 1

T

'Sigismonda and Guiscardo', 11. 639, 650.

274

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

of keeping things moving on the stage, and that holds good of groups as well as individuals. Consequently, when the baffled crowd of Rhodians arrive at the harbour, only to see Lysimachus and Cymon sailing away, instead of standing about as i n Boccaccio, i n Dryden's version they hurl their darts until the fugitives are out of range. It is perhaps i n his descriptions that Dryden the poet is most free to range at will. I n ' Sigismonda and Guiscardo' he does not find much scope for his mastery i n this sphere, though the account of the dimlylit rift in the mountain-side gives some idea of what he could achieve. On the other hand, the use of light-imagery in ' Cymon and Iphigenia' to relate the gradual dawn of intelligence i n the hero is a remarkable performance, and the picture of the sleeping Iphigenia, invested with all the grace of an ancient goddess, is among the most exquisite poetry that Dryden ever wrote. I f this passage is outstanding i n its languorous charm, the dramatic representation of the storm is outstanding in its vigour: 1

Scarce the t h i r d Glass of measur'd Hours was r u n , W h e n like a fiery Meteor sunk the Sun; T h e Promise of a Storm; the shifting Gales Forsake by Fits, and fill the flagging Sails: Hoarse M u r m u r s of the M a i n from far were heard, And N i g h t came on, not by degrees prepar'd, But all at once; at once the Winds arise, T h e Thunders roul, the forky L i g h t n i n g flies. I n vain the Master issues out Commands, I n vain the t r e m b l i n g Sailors ply their Hands: T h e Tempest unforeseen prevents their Care, And from the first they labour i n Despair. T h e giddy Ship, betwixt the Winds and Tides Forc'd back, and forwards, i n a Circle rides, Stun'd w i t h the diff'rent Blows; then shoots amain, T i l l counterbuff'd she stops, and sleeps again.

(327-42) I n ' Theodore and Honoria' the descriptions occupy a place of special importance. The brief account of the spring scene i n the forest where the disconsolate lover wanders has a lyrical quality. The song of the birds provides Musick unbought, that minister'd Delight To Morning-walks, and l u l l ' d his Cares by Night.

(62-3) There is again a rare melody i n the lines that follow shortly after: 'Twas i n a Grove of spreading Pines he stray'd; The Winds w i t h i n the q u i v ' r i n g Branches plaid, And Dancing-Trees a m o u r n f u l Musick made.

(78-80)

1

1 1 . 117-23, 139-48.

TALES I N VERSE

275

Using the pathetic fallacy, Dryden associates the doleful mood of Theodore with these sombre surroundings. However, the most powerful effects are those created by the descrip­ tion of the hunt. I t has to be borne i n mind that Dryden takes from the English version of 1620 and ultimately from Salviati the interpre­ tation of the chase as a diabolical illusion intended to lead astray the soul of man. Thus the spectral horseman is a demon or the devil himself. Consequently, regarding him as no ordinary ghost, Dryden lets his imagination play on the ominous silence and then the convul­ sion of Nature that foretell his approach towards the solitary Theodore: 1

W h i l e l i s t ' n i n g to the m u r m ' r i n g Leaves he stood, More than a M i l e immers'd w i t h i n the Wood, A t once the W ind was laid; the w h i s p ' r i n g sound W as d u m b ; a rising Earthquake rock'd the Ground: W i t h deeper Brown the Grove was overspread: A sudden Horror seiz'd his giddy Head, A n d his Ears tinckled, and his Colour fled. Nature was i n alarm; some Danger n i g h Seem'd threaten'd, though unseen to mortal Eye: Unus'd to fear, he summon'd all his Soul, A n d stood collected i n himself, and whole; Not long: For soon a W h i r l w i n d rose around, A n d from afar he heard a screaming sound. r

r

(88-100) As i f to heighten the eerie atmosphere, Dryden briefly repeats the description, though i n varied terms, on the second appearance of the horseman, as he repeats the description of the hunt. All this is but a preparation for the depiction of the terror that seizes Theodore's friends. They are aghast, and the shrieks of the women mingle with the hoarse baying of the hounds and the piercing laments of the lady they pursue. T h e Gallants to protect the Ladies r i g h t , T h e i r Fauchions brandish'd at the grisly Spright; H i g h on his Stirups, he provok'd the F i g h t . T h e n on the Crowd he cast a furious Look, A n d w i t h e r ' d all their Strength before he strook:

(282-6)

They recoil i n alarm, and their paralysing fear is most vividly por­ trayed: The pale Assistants on each other star'd, W i t h gaping Mouths for issuing Words prepar'd; T h e still-born Sounds upon the Palate h u n g , A n d d y ' d imperfect on the faltring Tongue. (3 -9) o 6

1

Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , The first English

translation

of the 'Decameron',

pp. 155—6.

276

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

T h u s b y a n act o f poetic d i v i n a t i o n D r y d e n conjures u p a l l t h a t was l a t e n t i n Boccaccio's tale a n d develops i t i n t o a s t u d y of t h e effects o f fear o n t h e h u m a n m i n d . A l l t h e resources a c c u m u l a t e d d u r i n g a l o n g experience of t h e l i t e r a r y art are e m p l o y e d i n t h e Fables. I n ' Sigismonda a n d G u i s c a r d o ' one cannot f a i l t o notice t h e repeated use of t h e epic caesura, a n d o f t h e w e l l - k n o w n f o r m u l a c o n t a i n i n g ' t h r i c e ' . I t has b e e n p o i n t e d o u t t h a t t h e lines 1

Thrice he began, and thrice was forc'd to stay, T i l l Words w i t h often t r y i n g found their W a y (3° ~7) 6

are i m i t a t e d f r o m Paradise Lost. Guiscardo knocks o n t h e door:

2

T h e same device occurs

when

Thrice w i t h a doleful Sound the jarring Grate R u n g deaf, and hollow, and presag'd their Fate. (227-8) B y these means D r y d e n i m p a r t e d a loftiness w h i c h s u i t e d t h e t r a g i c theme. A n t i t h e s i s lends p o i n t t o m a n y passages, as i n these t w o f r o m ' Theodore and Ffonoria': Renew'd to Life, that she m i g h t daily die, I daily doom'd to follow, she to fly. (176-7) But i n the Dead they damn'd the l i v i n g Dame. (358) As i n these instances, a l l i t e r a t i o n f r e q u e n t l y plays a n i m p o r t a n t p a r t . I t m a y be e i t h e r s i m p l e as i n ' C y m o n a n d I p h i g e n i a ' To rest by cool Eurotas they resort (94) or c o m p l e x as i n ' T h e o d o r e a n d H o n o r i a ' Two Mastiffs g-aunt and g r i m her .Flight pursu'd A n d oft their Fasten'd Fangs i n iSlood e m i r u ' d . ("3-H) T h e a l l i t e r a t i o n is sometimes c o m b i n e d w i t h r e p e t i t i o n as i n t h i s passage f r o m t h e same p o e m , w h e r e 'feeds' a n d ' l o o k i n g ' are repeated. Looking he_/eeds atone his _/amish'd Eyes, Feeds Zingring Death, but /ooking not he dies. (39-40) A g a i n i n t h e m e l o d i o u s verses t h a t describe t h e sleeping I p h i g e n i a , 1

11. 582, 635, 681, 705.

2

Book i , 6 1 9 - 2 1 .

TALES I N VERSE

277

'the fanning wind' appears in three successive lines i n an alliterative combination of ' b ' and ' r ' . T h e fanning W i n d upon h e r 5 o s o m Slows, To meet the fanning W i n d the .Bosom rose; The fanning W i n d and p u r l i n g Streams, continue her rlepose. (104-6)

The qualities of the Fables lent to them a popularity which lasted until the middle of the nineteenth century, and the example that Dryden had given of mingling descriptions and allusions to con­ temporary affairs with stories from Boccaccio inspired a long series of tales i n verse. 1

In his preface to Tales

Tragical

and Corniced

2

Durfey acknowledges

his indebtedness to Dryden's Fables: ' I t was by Reading the Inimitable Mr. Dryden's last Work, that Curiosity grew in me to attempt these following Tales'. He asserts that Dryden had previously commended his ' Lyrical Genius' and now he turns to writing tales i n verse, confi­ dent that even i f he cannot attain to Dryden's smoothness and elegance, the reader will find that he possesses the gift of narrative. He considered that one of the stories i n which he had been most successful was the fourth i n his collection, this being derived from the Decameron* of 'the Ingenious Boccace'. Durfey took especial pride i n the 'Large Additions and Embelishment' that he had made and claimed that the reader would appreciate his ' Fancy' and his ' Improving' of the original. Among the embellishments are a number of descriptions such as that of the hurried dressing of Nicoletta and her parents when Adrian and Pannuchio arrive, the lighting of the brushwood fire and the preparations for supper. He conveys the excitement of Nicoletta and gives a spirited account of the subsequent quarrel between Pannuchio and his host. Again he relates how the angry father was appeased by Adrian's fantastic invention of his friend's nocturnal dreams and sleep­ walking: 3

A Week is yet scarce past, since I Reliev'd thee from the Jeopardy Of ending all Intrigues at once, By fairly breaking of t h y Bones; W h e n thou did'st up the Chimney climb, Led by t h y D r e a m to things Sublime, See H . G . W r i g h t , 'Some Sidelights on the Reputation and Influence of Dryden's " F a b l e s " ' i n R.E.S., 1945, x x i , pp. 23—37. (A t r i b u t e was paid to Boccaccio by Thomas Russell i n his Sonnets and Miscellaneous Poems. Vide ante, p . 58. T h e sixth sonnet, on Boccaccio, serves once more to illustrate the supreme importance of the Decameron for eighteenth-century writers. A l l his other works had been eclipsed by t h e h u n d r e d tales.) London, 1704. T H E N i g h t - A d v e n t u r e s : OR A Country Intrigue. ix, 6. Durfey used the E n g l i s h version of 1620, as numerous verbal parallels show. 1

2

4

3

278

THE

DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

A Phoenix-Nest was i n t h y Brain, T i l l thou cam'st t u m b l i n g down again, Contus'd w i t h many a Jolt and Rub, And smear'd as black as Belzebub; W h e n , had not I , amidst the Soot Rose up, and p u l l ' d thee by the Foot, T h o u would'st no doubt have Scal'd the Top, And from the outside had a drop; A n d just as then thou didst devise Of Nests, and Birds of Paradise; T h o u now art D r e a m i n g of Amours, And m a k i n g Plighted Virgins Whores, Prating as i f t h o u had'st t h y Sence Of Love-toys, and Incontinence; W h e n , Heaven help thee, all the Bliss T h o u hast, or art like to possess, Whene'er t h y frantick F i t begins, Is i n the D a r k to break t h y Shins; Climb Chimneys amongst Grease and Soot, And break t h y Neck perhaps to boot. 1

(pp. 208-9)

Durfey develops this theme when he lets Pannuchio dream aloud and finally, before his departure, explain to the credulous host how his habit could be traced back to the iron discipline of his tutor which roused him from sleep to pore over his book and thus laid the founda­ tion of his irregularities. Another adornment that Durfey introduces is the use of similes of epic dimensions. Thus the good wife, startled by the discovery that she has made an error about the bed, is compared to a fawn quietly browsing i n a park, suddenly terrified by a peal of thunder. More original is the simile of the tempestuous joy of a spaniel at his master's return to express Nicoletta's emotion on the appearance of Pannuchio: Who'er has seen, at least to m i n d , A Creature of the Spaniel k i n d , W h e n his lov'd Master, who has been For some t i m e absent, enters i n , Leap, Skip, and W riggle, bound up h i g h , R u n , t h r o w down all things i n his way, And show such w i l d , u n r u l y Joy, As i f by some mad Fiend possess'd, Or Quicksilver had fill'd his Breast. So w i t h our love-sick G i r l i t fares. r

CP-

m)

Another simile which would appeal to many of Durfey's readers was that i n which he glanced satirically at a Puritanical preacher of the T h e page references appended to the quotations are to the first edition.

279

TALES I N VERSE

late seventeenth century. I t is brought i n to portray the embarrass­ ment of Pannuchio as he tries to bamboozle the host: 1

Here for some t i m e he Coughing stood, As one not at I n v e n t i o n good; Or like our d u l l Tub-canting Drones, Or bold Welch Stickler, David J s, W h o would Convert us Sinful M e n W i t h H u m and ha and, for, to - - then, Tautologies of three Hours speaking, On dreadful Dooms for Sabbath-breaking, T i l l like h i m having clear'd his way F r o m R h e u m , that stop'd what he wou'd say, Renewing w h a t he late begun, His new Discourse, he thus went on.

(pp. 212-13)

I n various ways Durfey tries to find reasons for features of the original tale. Thus he evidently asked himself how Pannuchio first became acquainted with Nicoletta. He provided an answer which came readily enough to any one living a generation after the great plague of 1665. I t was that when the Black Death descended on Florence, Pannuchio was placed for safety i n the cottage of a herdsman and there fell i n love with his daughter Nicoletta. This provides a glimpse of a rural idyll. But Durfey had no sympathy for rustics, and this is illustrated by his attitude to the host who is made a figure of fun from start to finish. He is a ' Churl' and ' Clodpate' who swears by ' Crumple Horn' his 'Dappl'd Heifer', dreams 'Of Cattle that in Thickets Brows'd' and when wakened, like a Hog T h a t rouz'd from Fellows of the Stye, Yells out a furious g r u n t i n g Cry, Soon as he could his Snowt uprear, Crys oh! (p. 201)

He has difficulty in pronouncing ' Pannuchio': the Gentleman, Your Modest Lodger, Seigniour Pan. Pan. Pan. A Pox upon his Name (p. 205)

and listens open-mouthed to a tall story: David Jones was notorious for the eccentric violence of his sermons. In 1700 he quarrelled with a man for mowing hay on a Sunday, and when the matter came before the court of the vice-chancellor of Oxford University, Jones's conduct was such that he was sent to gaol for contempt of court (D.N.B., xxx, p. g j ) . He is satirised in Novus Reformator Vapulans : or, The Welch Levite tossed in a Blanket. In a Dialogue between Hick — of Colchester, David J-nes and the Ghost of Wil. Trjn. Printed for the Assigns of W i l . Pryn, next door to the Devil, i 6 g i . 1

280

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

he gaping stood, Just like an Image made i n Wood, T h e upper Jaw stretch'd wide from Lower, As i f he would t h e Tale Devour. (p. 216)

The truth is that Durfey wrote as a city-dweller, and, as his preface admits, this tale was chiefly meant to 'divert the Youthful and Gay part of the Town'. He was uneasily aware that it was ' of a light wanton kind' hut trusted that it would be ' Guarded from Capricious Censure, by the Authority of that Antique Author', Boccaccio. However, he evidently felt that this authority would hardly suffice to protect him from the criticism of the more serious reader, and he was all the more conscious of his vulnerability, because Jeremy Collier had rebuked him personally i n his Short

View

of the Profaneness

and Immorality

of the

English Stage. Boccaccio's tale was characteristic of the author's delight in the outwitting of the simple-minded, and this pleasure was shared by the keen-witted young man of society, but Durfey attempted to make some concession to the reaction set up by Collier. Hence he depicts the relationship between Pannuchio and Nicoletta as a genuine love-affair thwarted by her father's resolve to marry her against her will to a stupid rustic. On these grounds the intrigue of Pannuchio and Adrian is defended. But such a justification of their conduct only serves to reveal the superficiality of Durfey's attitude. He pays lipservice to morality but the prevailing temper of the tale is that of the cynical gallant. At the end of the preface to his Tales

Tragical

and Comical

Durfey

held out the prospect of another such volume, among its contents being a number of stories on antique themes. The new collection, Stories, Moral

and Comical

contained ' Titus

and Gissippus

. . . Done from a

Hint out of the Italian Prose of the Famous Boccace. Concluding with a Supplement, alluding to the Queens late Gracious Speech, Exhorting all to Amity'. The tale, which was dedicated to Queen Anne, was probably published i n 1706. Durfey devoted some care to the characters of the tale and to Titus in particular. The emotional conflict within him between love and 1

T h e D.N.B. A r t . ' D u r f e y ' gives 1706 as the date, the C.B.E.L. 1707. T h e r e is some i n t e r n a l evidence to serve as a guide. Reference is made to the duke of M a r l ­ borough and the bestowal of Woodstock on h i m . T h e b i l l enabling Queen Anne to do this passed t h r o u g h P a r l i a m e n t i n February and M a r c h 1705 (cf. Journals of the House of Commons, x i v , pp. 510, 515). T h e r e is also an allusion to the queen's patronage o f the stage and to the erection of a new theatre. T h e Queen's T h e a t r e i n the Haym a r k e t , w h i c h Durfey had i n m i n d , was opened on 9 A p r i l 1705. Finally, the ' l a t e gracious Speech' of the queen refers to her address to b o t h Houses of P a r l i a m e n t on 12 November 1705, i n w h i c h she had appealed for national union (cf. Journals of the House of Commons, xv, p . 7 ) , 1

TALES I N VERSE

281

friendship is elaborated, for it involved honour as well, and the clash between love and honour was calculated to interest Durfey's con­ temporaries. The long speech in which Boccaccio's Titus harangues Sophronia's relatives contained certain elements which the English narrator felt obliged to modify. I n the circumstances Titus had to make out a strong case for the recognition of his marriage by her kinsmen, but despite Boccaccio's efforts he left an impression of selfcomplacency. Durfey strengthens his apology for praising his own merits and reduces to a minimum his reference to the fame and antiquity of his family. Later he tones down Titus's arrogant insistence on his position as a Roman and his disparaging, not to say insulting remarks about the Greeks. After his return to Rome Durfey's Titus takes steps to find his friend and thus escapes the charge, from which Boccaccio's hero cannot be exonerated, that i n his conjugal happiness he allows the friend to whom he owes so much to slide into oblivion. As for the faithful Gissippus, his emotion is heightened, and his dis­ tress i n misfortune leads him to rail at all mankind both before he has left Greece and during the trial scene i n Rome. Nor does Durfey over­ look Sophronia. Her prototype is a passive figure who has to be told of the stratagem practised against her; she remains i n complete ignorance until Titus's departure for Rome when she has to be informed that he and not Gissippus is her husband. As Durfey presents the situation, she herself discovers the truth on the morning after her nuptials, and he takes some pains to portray her violent resentment and her gradual acquiescence. Durfey accounts for Titus's failure to remain in contact with his friend by means of a change that he makes i n the tale. After a series of misfortunes has overtaken him, Gissippus leaves Athens and retires to a gloomy wood where Plato and Socrates had been wont to meditate. 1

'Twas hither to a Grott, w i t h Bryers o'regrown, Gissippus, sad, forsaken and alone, Fled one relentless night, and laid h i m down: Th'ungentle Winds bluster'd around his Head, The baleful place was dark and full of dread. (P- 138)

For three months he dwells there, living on roots and wild berries, haws and sloes, and Durfey invests his abode with an almost romantic horror that harmonises with the hero's melancholy despair: The B i r d of Pallas pearching o're his Head, N e ' r fail'd to give h i m M i d n i g h t Serenade; A n d oft, w h e n Bears and Tygers, w a n t i n g Food, His Neighbours were, by scent of humane Blood, l Purfey's spelling of the name is followed.

282

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

A double Terror seiz'd his anxious M i n d , To be surpriz'd, i f these his Cave should find; Or by his Foes, the Brutes of humane k i n d . (p. 140)

In keeping with this exaggeration we observe that when Gissippus sets out for Rome, even though he is worn and emaciated by grief and hardship, he completes the journey in three days! A minor change now becomes necessary, because the cave where, i n the original, Gissippus witnessed the nocturnal murder at Rome has already been introduced, and so i n Durfey's version he has to lie on the cold floor of a ruined house. The name of the criminal is altered from Publius Ambustus to Brunivolgo, probably for metrical reasons. Such a name has a theatrical ring, and the same effect is produced when Titus brooding over his love for his friend's betrothed, compares himself to the 'wild Banditti'. Durfey's grasp on the setting of the ancient world is precarious, and he thinks no more of the associations evoked by ' Banditti' than he does of the balls and plays at which Titus seeks to drown his cares. I t is indeed his own environment that colours his portrayal of Titus and Gissippus, as may be seen clearly enough if we recall that he had i n 1686 published a play called The Banditti. The theatre is never long absent from his mind, and i n ' A Supplement, Parallel to the Story, and Address'd to my Countrymen of England' he combines a tribute to Queen Anne's patronage of the theatre with a fling at his old enemy, Jeremy Collier: But Annas gracious Beams, that Influence Declining W i t , and give new Life to Sense. (That w h e n t h ' I m m o r a l Moralist his Rage T h u n d e r ' d , i n Exclamation on the Stage; Veyling w i t h Robe D i v i n e the Hypocrite, And pressing T r u t h beneath fallacious W i t ; W h i c h to the Sons of Blinded Zeal gave Laws, And made t h e m preach down the Poetick Cause; False Reason against Charming Numbers bring, Mistaking oft Description for the t h i n g . ) W i t h Rays indulgent to the Poets A r t , Shed k i n d l y W a r m t h , and cherishing Desert, Now make New Theatres more h i g h aspire, As once did Thebes, by fam'd Amphions Lyre. 1

(p.

160)

It is, however, with the political aspect of his own world that Durfey is chiefly concerned. Bearing i n mind the friendship of Titus and Gisippus, Boccaccio had eulogised amity at large. Durfey modifies this somewhat: 1

T h e Queen's Theatre i n the H a y m a r k e t (vide ante, p . 280, n . I ) .

TALES I N VERSE

285

Discording Romans, touch'd w i t h w h a t t h e y heard No longer Jar, b u t U n i t y p r e f e r r ' d , (P-

156)

a n d i t is t h i s e x a m p l e w h i c h spreads far a n d w i d e . I n t h e ' S u p p l e m e n t ' D u r f e y steps f o r w a r d i n person t o emphasise t h e Shall gracious Anna Exhorting

ye to Union

parallel:

then no period reach;

in each

Speech:

Confirm'd i n Sacred Sense, you ne're can be Securely happy, w a n t i n g A m i t y . Must She each Session waste her Heavenly Voice Commending precious Union to your Choice Yet no Gissippus of the Commons hears, Nor any Noble Titus 'mongst the Peers, Possest w i t h her Angelick Inspiration, W i l l dole the Cordial to the Sickly Nation; Such Lunacy thTnfected L a n d does feel, 111 to take Counsel, and much worse to heal. (P-

158)

T o m a k e his p o i n t s t i l l clearer he addresses to every one w h o m Faction sways, Whose byass'd Heart is not entirely bent To Union (p. 163) a fable a b o u t t w o pots, f i l l e d r e s p e c t i v e l y w i t h m i c e a n d frogs w h i c h , as t h e y floated d o w n a r i v e r , l o n g e d for t h e food aboard a b a r k , w h i l e o n t h e b a r k ' A R a v e n o u s C r a n e , of Gallick b o t h . T h e w h o l e ends w i t h t h e

k i n d ' planned to sink t h e m

moral,

This is your case, ye Britains all, By Feuds you still your selves undo; And like Old Rome, make Albion fall; W h i c h nought besides could overthrow. T h u s Boccaccio's o l d t a l e is pressed i n t o t h e propaganda w h i c h D u r f e y

1

service o f p o l i t i c a l

u n i t e s w i t h his e u l o g y of t h e q u e e n , a n d

I n h e r speech to Parliament on 1 November (o.s.) 1705 Anne touched on the negotiations proceeding for union w i t h Scotland: ' I a m persuaded, t h a t an Union of the two Kingdoms w i l l not only prevent many Inconveniences, w h i c h may other­ wise happen, b u t must conduce to the Peace and Happiness of b o t h N a t i o n s ' . She continued: ' T h e r e is another Union I t h i n k myself obliged to r e c o m m e n d to you i n the most earnest and affectionate Manner, I mean an Union of Minds and Affections amongst ourselves: I t is that, w h i c h would, above a l l Things, disappoint and defeat the Hopes and Designs of our E n e m i e s ' . A f t e r dwelling on the machinations of those who cast doubt on her devotion to the C h u r c h of England, she ended: ' I must be so p l a i n as to t e l l you, the best Proofs we can a l l give, at present, of our Zeal for the Preservation of the C h u r c h , w i l l be, to j o i n h e a r t i l y i n prosecuting the W a r against an Enemy, who is certainly engaged to extirpate our Religion, as w e l l as to reduce this K i n g d o m to Slavery' (cf. Journals of the House of Commons, xv, p. 7). 1

284

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

there is reason to believe that by the adroitness of this appeal to his contemporaries he contrived to gain a notable success. Mary Pix, who was to some extent under the influence of Congreve, resembled Durfey in that she wrote plays as well as trying her hand at a tale in verse. Her comedies were not without a strain of coarseness but evidently, like so many of her contemporaries, she was affected by the hostility of Jeremy Collier towards the drama of the time, and so her adaptation of a story from the Decameron reflects the changed atmo­ sphere. She adjusted herself all the more readily because she had Dry­ den's example in the Fables before her eyes and also because she was a clergyman's daughter. Her father, the Rev. Roger Griffith, was apparently of Welsh descent, and the fact that Wales was the scene of one episode of the tale that she selected may i n some degree have governed her choice. She certainly speaks with pride of the martial deeds of the ancient Britons and with interest of Merlin's prophecies. But her chief motive is revealed by the title of her poem—Violenta, 1

2

or the rewards

which appeared in 1704.

of virtue,

The didactic interpretation of the tale was not entirely without foundation in Boccaccio, who makes several allusions to the divine care that watched over the hero and his children. However, his main pur­ pose was to relate a romantic narrative which should conform to the theme laid down by Filomena, 'the fortune of such as after divers adventures have at last attained a goal of unexpected felicity'. The French princess, who in the absence of her husband the dauphin at the wars, becomes enamoured of the regent, is characteristic of a group of passionate women i n the Decameron who permit no obstacle to the realisation of their desires. So unscrupulous is she that when from a sense of loyalty, he repels her approaches, she accuses him of dis­ honourable conduct and compels him to flee to England. After the lapse of many years the princess, now queen of France, confesses the truth and dies penitent, and the count is reinstated. The largest part of the tale is taken up with the varying fortunes of the count and his children i n England, W ales and Ireland. Mrs. Pix looked upon this plot with the eye of a dramatist and modified it accordingly. Thus at the close the queen instead of confes­ sing her offence to the archbishop of Rouen and to other men of note, herself discloses to the king the great wrong inflicted on Angiers. I t T

1 have i n m y possession a copy of the tale w h i c h is p r i n t e d separately f r o m the volume i n w h i c h i t originally appeared. T h e pagination at first differ? f r o m t h a t of Stories, Moral and Comical. B u t after p. 48 there is a sudden leap f o r w a r d to p . 155, and the pagination down to p. 167 follows t h a t of the complete w o r k . I t w o u l d seem therefore t h a t the tale was r e p r i n t e d to meet a popular demand, and t h a t the p r i n t e r by an oversight, w h e n following the original version, o m i t t e d to make the pagination consistent, i i , 8. 1

2

TALES I N VERSE

285

was perhaps t h e same fondness f o r t h e a t r i c a l effect w h i c h i n d u c e d h e r to l e t A n g i e r s i n person r e v e a l his i d e n t i t y t o t h e k i n g r a t h e r t h a n t h r o u g h t h e m e d i u m o f his son. A g a i n i t is t h e d r a m a t i s t w h o adds characters to account f o r t h e actions of A n g i e r s . T h e first o f these is a f a i t h f u l o l d servant, E r n e s t o . I t w o u l d seem as i f M r s . P i x h a d f e l t i t u n w o r t h y of so o u t s t a n d i n g a f i g u r e as A n g i e r s t h a t , w h e n u n j u s t l y accused, he s h o u l d flee i n a f i t o f panic. I n h e r v e r s i o n he t h e r e f o r e l i n g e r s i n his palace, d e l i b e r a t i n g w h a t t o do. As i n a p l a y , some one is r e q u i r e d t o rouse h i m t o i m m e d i a t e a c t i o n , i f his c h i l d r e n are n o t t o be sacrificed t o t h e f u r y of t h e s l i g h t e d princess. Ernesto p e r f o r m s t h i s f u n c t i o n a n d is t h e n c o n v e n i e n t l y r e m o v e d w h e n he dies o f t h e c o m ­ b i n e d effects o f o l d age a n d a s t o r m i n t h e C h a n n e l . O n h i s a r r i v a l i n E n g l a n d t h e b e w i l d e r e d A n g i e r s is at a loss, b u t a n o t h e r character is b r o u g h t f o r w a r d b y M r s . P i x to a i d h i m . H a u n t e d b y ancestral reminiscences o f B r i t a i n , she makes t h i s aged m a n a b a r d . H e counsels A n g i e r s t o proceed t o L o n d o n a n d prophesies t h a t t h e r e he w i l l f i n d a benefactor f o r his son a n d d a u g h t e r . T h e l a t t e r , h a v i n g assumed t h e n a m e F l o r e l l a instead of V i o l e n t a , receives h e l p a n d t h e n t h e b a r d appears once m o r e t o d i r e c t A n g i e r s . H e is to go to W a l e s w h e r e , i t is f o r e t o l d , his son P e r r o t w i l l be e q u a l l y f o r t u n a t e . T h e w o r d s o f t h e v e n e r a b l e sage o n t h i s occasion disclose t h a t he feels d e a t h n e a r at h a n d , a n d w h e n he appears f o r t h e last t i m e , i t is i n a v i s i o n . T h e s p i r i t of t h e b a r d c o m m a n d s A n g i e r s t o r e t u r n t o E n g l a n d . H i s last p r o p h e c y is t h a t before l o n g A n g i e r s shall see his n a t i v e l a n d . O t h e r substantial changes w e r e m a d e i n t h e p a r t o f t h e p l o t r e l a t i n g to M a n d e v i l a n d F l o r e l l a . W h e r e a s i t h a d f o r m e d less t h a n a t h i r d o f Boccaccio's t a l e , M r s . P i x increased t h e p r o p o r t i o n t o o v e r one h a l f . T h i s was done b y a d d i n g v a r i o u s episodes. F i r s t M a n d e v i l meets F l o r e l l a a n d declares his l o v e , a n d w h e n she m i s u n d e r s t a n d s a n d declares t h a t she is resolved t o m a i n t a i n h e r h o n o u r a n d v i r t u e , he e x p l a i n s t h a t he w a n t s a w i f e , n o t a mistress. I n t h e n e x t n e w scene F l o r e l l a is m o v e d t o tears at t h e s i g h t of h e r sick l o v e r . A n o t h e r episode shows M a n d e v i l ' s m o t h e r p l e a d i n g w i t h h e r h u s b a n d . H e y i e l d s o n l y to t h e e x t e n t t h a t his son is t o be soothed w i t h promises w h i c h w i l l n o t be k e p t . T h e n t h e e x c e e d i n g happiness o f t h e lovers is depicted. B u t a s w i f t t r a n s f o r m a t i o n is w r o u g h t b y t h e f a t h e r ' s r e v e l a t i o n t h a t his consent was m e r e l y a device t o restore his son t o h e a l t h . M a n d e v i l , n o w aware t h a t his p o s i t i o n is hopeless, shuns F l o r e l l a , w h o i n t u r n fears t h a t h e r l o v e r is a dissembler. H o w e v e r , w h e n he comes t o b i d h e r f a r e w e l l , he discloses t h e marshal's e v i l design. T h e n he leaves h o m e , i n t e n d i n g t o go abroad. B u t his absence is discovered a n d t h e m a r s h a l r e l e n t s . M a n d e v i l is p r e v e n t e d f r o m e m b a r k i n g , and letters 1

1

O u t of a total of 128 pages i t takes up pp. 36 to 100.

286

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

from his parents and Florella induce him to return f o r the marriage. Undeniably Mrs. Pix, the dramatist, heightens the tension by these numerous fluctuations and by the clash of personalities, but Boccaccio's tale as a whole is dislocated. Some of the characters i n the original are likewise developed or transformed. Among these is Angiers. I n Mrs. Pix's hands he acquires a pious air. For a moment at the outset he is overtaken by despair, but as a rule he bears adversity nobly, and however painful the contrast between his former state and his present lot, Piety forbids t h a t he should H e a v ' n a r r a i g n , H e knows the only W a y to vanquish there, Is P a t i e n c e , F a i t h u n m o v ' d , a n d f e r v e n t P r a y ' r . . . ( p . 24)

1

Hence i n London he prostrates himself on the pavement of St. Paul's, while his children, 'early taught to pray', kneel beside him. For the same reason he shrinks from ending his suffering by suicide, since 2

O u r Priests p r o n o u n c e e t e r n a l Pains T o those w h o w e a r i e d o u t w i t h L i f e ' s Disease, S h a l l d a r e t o c u r e t h e m s e l v e s e'er N a t u r e please. (P- 34) And he meekly bears all the calamities which Mrs. Pix heaps up as i f to prove that N o t Hebrew Job at l e n g t h t o I l l s i n u r ' d So m u c h , o r h a l f so p a t i e n t l y i n d u r ' d . (P- 35)

One of the sources of these woes is the lord whom Angiers serves in Ireland. Boccaccio had related that the count had entered the household of a knight and that he found the menial tasks of a groom or lackey irksome. But for Mrs. Pix this is not enough. The count's master is a 'haughty Lord', 'fierce and severe', whom no service, however dili­ gent, can please, and so Angiers F a u l t l e s s is c h i d , n o r dares h e t o c o m p l a i n . . . (P- 35) Another haughty figure whom Mrs. Pix creates is the marshal into whose family Florella is received. He is depicted as proud and avaricious, Page references appended to the quotations are to the original edition. T h i s reference to St. Paul's shows t h a t M r s . Pix d i d not read the tale i n I t a l i a n . Boccaccio speaks of a c h u r c h b u t does not name i t . T h e E n g l i s h translation of 1620, w h i c h was evidently the version known to M r s . Pix, tells how Angiers and his c h i l d r e n stood ' a t the Cathedrall C h u r c h doore'. A n o t h e r feature t h a t points to the E n g l i s h translation of 1620 is the name of the heroine Violenta who i n the Decameron is called Violante. S i m i l a r l y , the name M a n d e v i l comes f r o m the E n g l i s h version, for Boccaccio styles h i m Giachetto Lamiens. Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , The first English transla­ tion of the 'Decameron', p. 94. 1

2

TALES I N VERSE

287

valuing his wealth and possessions more than the happiness of his son. Again and again he exhibits a furious rage and, when thwarted, From his fierce Eyes the fiery Tempest came, Tumultuous Passion set h i m i n a Flame . . . (p. 61)

This cruel, crafty and worldly parent is utterly unlike the gentle father i n Boccaccio who acquiesces i n the proposal of his wife. But Mrs. Pix was determined that Mandevil's father should bear the responsibility for thwarting the marriage, and so his place is i n the category of villains. Her male characters are either entirely bad like the Irish knight and the marshal or unbelievably good like Angiers. The latter's son is rendered even more laudable than i n the original. Boccaccio had described how the plague had carried off all but a few servants, and so Perotto, famed for his prowess, was chosen as the husband of the Lord President's daughter. Mrs. Pix, however, estab­ lishes a personal relationship between them, for Perrot, hearing of the outbreak of the plague, hastens back from the wars i n France to face all the horrors of the pestilence by her side. As for Mandevil, he is as perfect a hero as Sir Charles Grandison, faultless i n word and deed. His native merit has been enhanced by the Grand Tour which Mrs. Pix, looking at the world with the eyes of the eighteenth century, assumes to have been part of a mediaeval nobleman's education! At any rate, he is i n one respect an improvement on his counterpart i n the Decameron. Instead of pining and languishing passively, on occasion he can act. His calm reply to his infuriated father is not unimpressive; it certainly disconcerts the marshal: W i t h Looks compos'd, he left the hateful Room; Nor cou'd his Father guess the Fate to come. (P- 7 i )

It is significant that Mrs. Pix should exhibit Mandevil's mother i n a favourable light. Boccaccio depicted her as one whose love would stick at nothing to promote her son's welfare. She discreetly puts the heroine to the test and only when her astuteness has been baffled by the firmness of virtue does she begin to entertain the possibility of a marriage. Perhaps Mrs. Pix felt that this unscrupulous attempt to exploit the situation of a defenceless girl was incompatible with the kindness that the marshal's wife had previously shown her. Possibly her womanly instinct rebelled against it. At any rate, she puts the blame on the marshal and presents Lady Mandevil as a submissive wife who, only when driven to despair, ventures to confront and even to rebuke him. One notices another shift of emphasis i n the character of the dauphin's wife. Though the latter was not likely to command

288

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE E I G H T E E N T H CENTURY

the respect of Mrs. Pix, she was not denied all sympathy. Her defence of her passion is not the individualistic argument of a frank voluptuary; on the contrary, she claims to be the victim of the social system. Like all her sex, she was allowed no say in the choice of a husband, and now the public interest which compelled her to marry the dauphin has summoned him to the wars and left her i n solitude. Even i n this form the character of the princess can have no personal connexion with Mrs. Pix, but one suspects that Florella is to some extent a projection of the narrator's own personality. She is something of a scholar, composes poetry, takes her Horace with her on an evening walk and finds consolation for the apparent unfaithfulness of Mandevil by reading the story of Theseus and Ariadne. Florella's delight i n solitude is not unique. Thus Mandevil, when stricken by love, retires to a 'Melancholy Grove', there to vent his grief and carve the signs of his passion on the trees. Later, on learning that he is not to be allowed to marry, he resolves to enter a monastery, just as Florella is bent on secluding herself i n a nunnery. Nor is it only the young lovers who are ready to shut themselves off from the world. On the death of his wife Angiers seeks consolation i n retirement and obeys with great reluctance the summons to act as regent during the absence of the king and dauphin. He flees to the dark groves and silent caves, for The W o r l d to h i m had now no pleasing Charms, Nor w a k ' d he w i t h the once l o v ' d Sound of Arms: Thus l i v ' d the Count to eating Grief a Prey . . . (P- 3)

This sensibility of Angiers assumes a more active and extravagant form when the princess is incensed against him and he considers the plight of his children: But oh! w h e n he beheld his little Pair, The Mothers Darlings, and the Fathers Care, I n vain upon their Nurse and Servants call, The Floods so long restrain'd, i n Torrents fall; A t their sad Wants he cou'd no more forbear, I n d u l g ' d his Grief w i t h many a p i t y i n g Fear . . . (p. 18)

In a frenzy of despair he casts himself on the ground and curses the malignant star that ruled his birth. So intensely does Mrs. Pix feel for him that she interrupts the tale to appeal to the reader's emotions: I ' d sing, m y Muse, his Woes i n such a Strain, That no sad reader m i g h t from Tears refrain: Sure all the generous W o r l d must weep to see Exalted V i r t u e i n such Misery. (p. 24)

TALES I N VERSE

289

Her tender womanly heart certainly makes the tears flow copiously on many occasions. The reader will think it natural enough that Florella and Cammilla should pour forth their sorrow when their husbands depart for the wars, but he may be forgiven i f he finds the sentiment of Mandevil and Florella excessive. The hero sighs and blushes with the same frequency as his beloved. Sometimes he is seized with 'Convulsive Transports' at her approach and tells her: A l l N i g h t , on Beds of D o w n , I restless rave, On this cold Earth, I measure out m y Grave . . . (p. 44)

He is prone to faint i n her presence, his lips tremble as he raises her hand to kiss it, and one feels that his misery must end i n death. Indeed, the crisis when his mother comes with the news that his father has relented appears to be leading to the same conclusion as Mackenzie's Man

of

Feeling: Too much transported at this Change of Fate, He cry'd, Your proffer'd Kindness is too late. The m i g h t y Tides of Joy come on too fast, And weaken'd Life is gone too far to last; A dreadful Sound adds Terrour to their Fears, And fills the Room w i t h piercing Shrieks and Tears; The Mother from the Pillow snatch'd her Son, And cry'd, Help all, or I am lost, undone. (pp. 65-6)

However, at the touch of Florella's hand Mandevil revives with astonishing celerity, and nowadays these scenes awaken not pity but laughter. It is obvious that this display of sentiment unconsciously illuminates one facet of the era that was opening when Violenta was written. Elsewhere Mrs. Pix of set purpose tries to throw light on the manners of her own by idealising those of bygone generations: Few W a n t o n Dames, no broken Nuptial Bed. (p. 28)

The contrast is plain, though implicit. Other passages reflect the age more directly. I n particular, the striking description of the plague i n the episode of Perrot and Cammilla was calculated to appeal to a generation which knew either at first hand or from eye-witnesses the horrors of the great outbreak i n 1665. Mrs. Pix herself was born the following year and i n her childhood must have heard of the grim scenes enacted i n England. As Defoe's Journal of the Plague indicates, there was a keen interest i n the subject, and the following description of the sights witnessed by Perrot proves that Mrs. Pix also appreciated the macabre fascination of the deadly epidemic: U

290

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

T h r o ' all the Avenues, eagerly he flies, Still complicated H o r r o u r meets his Eyes, And noysome Steams, from the unburied Dead arise. Here, lifted hands, i n vain, for help do call, T h e Servant at his Master's Feet does fall. I n one promiscuous Heap, lay Old and Young, T h e Rich, the Fair, the Healthful and the Strong; T h e n angry Heav'n sends the Destroyer forth, Who can express the Terrours of his W rath! The Plague, w i t h rapid Force, devouring Rage, Seems as ' t w o u ' d clear this crowded busie Stage Of all that t h i n k i n g Stock of humane K i n d , Infects the Body, sinks the f o r m i n g M i n d ; Dispair, and Black Idea's fill the Soul, Such Thoughts as all Religion w o u ' d controul. r

(pp. 103-4)

Afterwards the account portrays the psychological phenomenon noted long before by Thucydides and in the introduction to the Decameron: A l l ties are broke, the Fathers flies the Sons, The M o t h e r from her bosom'd Infant runs; D i r e Hate, i n each infected Breast presides, And new made Bridegrooms shun their charming Brides: Death's grown so common, none w i l l shed a Tear, Nature and Love are both o'ercome by Fear. (p. 104)

Then the birth of new hope is depicted, as the plague wanes with the passing of summer, and men resume their wonted lives: Bleak W i n t e r , now, w i t h nipping Frost draws near, Courted, desir'd, and hollow Winds that clear The hot, unwholsome, and polluted A i r : T h i n l y the peopl'd Towns appear agen, T h e r u i n ' d Clime begins to look Serene; The u n t i l l ' d Land's, again the Labourers Care, And Temples now, resound w i t h Praise and Pray'r. (p. 106)

I n a tale of adventure there was little scope for the satirical bent of the early eighteenth century, but Mrs. Pix cannot refrain from a gibe at those physicians who u n m o v ' d , can see the Parents Cry, L a m e n t i n g W i f e , or Friend stand sighing by, A n d gravely Answer, Man was born to dye, W h e n they, perhaps, have hasten'd Natures Date, And lay their own Mistake, on guiltless Fate.

54) By contrast she holds up for praise the doctor attending Mandevil. Incidentally, she eulogises Sir Samuel Garth, while at the same time (P-

T A L E S I N VERSE

291

r e n e w i n g t h e attack o n less c o m p e t e n t p r a c t i t i o n e r s . T h e p h y s i c i a n i n t h e tale, she says, w i t h utmost care, consulted Health, L i k e generous Garth a i m ' d not alone at wealth; The Mean, the Great, his equal influence find, As sent by Heav'n, to heal and bless M a n k i n d . I n h i m the Graces w i t h the Arts combin'd, L i k e Poetry and W e a l t h , b u t seldom Joyn'd, Yet here they T r i u m p h all, w h i l e he w i t h Ease, Can Charm, Relieve, and Conquer a Disease; A Stranger to the N e w Phantastick way, W h i c h dresses first, and bids the D y i n g stay, He w e i g h ' d each Circumstance e'er gave his Vote, Took not the common way, and k i l l ' d by Rote; A n d by his nice Observances, could find The Body strugling w i t h a t o r t u r ' d M i n d . (PP- 54~5)

T h e satire o n doctors is n o t u n i v e r s a l , b u t t h e c o n d e m n a t i o n o f t h e p r o f l i g a c y o f t h e t i m e is u n q u a l i f i e d . For t h i s purpose M r s . P i x uses M a n d e v i l , a n d she is h a r s h i n h e r

condemnation:

Scarce w i l l this wanton Age m y Tale Believe; A Constant Y o u t h their Vice w o u ' d ne'er forgive. Now Love is grown the Universal Sport, The M e n design to leave, e'er they begin to Court; Fickle their Nature's; r o v i n g their Desire, I n various Heats, there is no real Fire. Of old, to one the Passion was Confin'd, T h e y ' d wait an Age to make the Fair one R i n d ; Changing's the Mode; a Lover is a Fool, A n d to be very Faithful's, to be very D u l l . (P- 49)

T h i s attack o n dissolute l i v i n g is t h e essential t r u t h o f M r s . P i x ' s poem.

The

v i r t u e o f constancy i n l o v e is l a u d e d t i m e a n d

again.

M a n d e v i l h i m s e l f aspires o n l y t o be k n o w n t o p o s t e r i t y as a p a r a g o n o f constancy; A n g i e r s a d m i r e s h i m o n t h i s score, a n d t h e

authoress

h e r s e l f declares t h a t M a n d e v i l ' s e x a m p l e s h a l l atone f o r t h e falseness of t h e sex as a w h o l e . A l l i e d t o t h i s d i d a c t i c i s m is t h e m o r a l i s i n g t o n e o f v a r i o u s passages. M r s . P i x m e d i t a t e s o n t h e i n s t a b i l i t y o f f o r t u n e a n d t h e c e r t i t u d e o f d e a t h . T r u e happiness, she t h e r e f o r e contends, can be f o u n d o n l y i n pious f a i t h a n d t h e u p r i g h t l i f e . She takes a glance at such a p r o b l e m as t h e f r e e d o m of t h e h u m a n w i l l . B u t i t is o n l y a glance,

f o r she fears t o p o n d e r deeply.

I n fact, she

s e a r c h i n g a s c r u t i n y a n d regards as t r u l y blest t h e

man

whose calm Breast, No deep I n q u i r y makes, to break his Rest. (p. 108)

deprecates too

292

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

Her meditations are therefore narrow and superficial; she lacks the philosophic mind. The slightness of her thought is matched by the feebleness of her lines i n a crisis. The dauphin's farewell to Angiers as he sets out for the wars is ludicrous: O h ! t h o u m y D e a r a n d l o n g t r y ' d F r i e n d h e said! A n d o n his Bosom k i n d l y l e a n ' d his H e a d . (P- 4)

And the plight of the unfortunate Angiers, hard pressed by the princess, all aflame with sexual passion, is related i n terms not less absurd: A m a z ' d , h e spoke i n t h ' m i l d e s t P h r a s e h e c o u ' d , I n s t r u c t s t h e C h a r m i n g Princess t o be g o o d . ( p . 12)

Yet nowhere is there such inadequacy as i n Angiers' remark on the death of the faithful Ernesto: 'There was no need of this'. It would, how ever, be unjust not to recognise that much of the verse is on a higher level. Like so many of her contemporaries Mrs. Pix had the gift of the telling phrase, and some of her lines are keen and pointed. For example, the portrait of Mandevil's mother, anxiously awaiting the opinion of the physician about her son, is not without effect: r

L o n g i n g t h e t r u t h t o k n o w , y e t t r u t h she fears, H e r t r e m b l i n g V o i c e is c h o a k ' d w i t h r i s i n g T e a r s . (p- 5 7 )

Thus i n Mrs. Pix's hand, Boccaccio's romantic tale is transformed into a sentimental story which inculcates virtuous and constant love as a lesson to a dissolute society, and, like Durfey, she takes Dryden as her model i n combining the narrative with a commentary on her ageThough the heroic couplet under Dryden's powerful influence was used as the medium for many verse tales derived from Boccaccio, Matthew Prior went his own way. Among some fragments that he left behind is ' A Tale from Boccace' which, as it pays a tribute to Queen Anne as the sovereign still reigning, must have been written before her death i n 1714. Prior's intention to follow Milton rather than Dryden, for whom he cherished an imperfect sympathy that is notorious, manifests itself i n the opening lines of the ' Prelude' that he addressed to the Duchess of Shrewsbury: 1

See Dialogues of the Dead and other Works in Prose and Verse, ed. A . R. W a l l e r , Cambridge, 1907, pp. 539—44. T h e tale is v, 9. This volume is often referred to as volume i i , The Writings of Matthew Prior, ed. A . R. W a l l e r , 1905-7, Cambridge. T h e page references appended to the quotations are to this edition. 1

TALES I N VERSE

293

W h a t Bocace w i t h superior Genius Cloath'd I n Tuscan dress, and ludicrous Fontaine (Modern Anacreon) well has imitated I n Gallic Style, Himself i n i m i t a b l e : H o w e'er unequal to the glorious Task, Yet of the noblest Heights and best Examples, Ambitious, I i n English Verse attempt. B u t not as heretofore, the line prescrib'd To equal cadence, and w i t h semblant Sounds Pointed, (so Modern H a r m o n y advises) B u t i n the Ancient Guise, free, uncontroll'd, The Verse, compress'd the Period, or dilated, As close discourse requires, or fine description. (P- 339)

It is evident also from the 'Prelude' that he was conscious of the exquisite harmonies of Boccaccio's prose and so felt constrained to defend an attempt to render it into English. He does so by claiming that English, far from being harsh, is semblant to our Native Streams, O'er l i t t l e Flints and scatter'd Pebbles r o l l i n g Its curled Wave, unequal not unpleasing The Surface (P- 3 4 ) 1

and that on occasion, when sensitively handled, Softer t h a n D o w n from Venus fav'rite birds, Or flakes of feather'd Snow, the Accents fall! (P- 3 4 i )

It could hardly escape a poet with such aesthetic sensibilities that if he were to write i n the grand epic manner he would have to make some changes i n the tale. Hence his preference for Clitia rather than Giovanna as the name of the heroine, though by contrast his retention of 'Frederic' seems inconsistent. He also introduced Thestylis, who appears to be the nurse of Frederic, upholding his procedure by Virgil's mention of Caieta, the nurse of Mneas. I n view of the frag­ mentary nature of Prior's tale, one can only surmise what her part was to be. Most likely she was to tend Frederic i n his cottage, when his fortunes had declined. The scope for 'fine description' which Prior had associated with blank verse is exemplified by his picture of Frederic watering the rose and jessamine, propping the fig-tree and gazing at the clusters of halfpurple grapes around the green elm. Such a scene blended well enough with the classical tradition and so did the account of the tourna­ ment and the revels on which Frederic squandered his money i n the hope of winning his mistress's affection. 1

2

1

Boccaccio's ' F e d e r i g o ' .

2

Aeneid, v i i , 11. 1-2.

294

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

C l i t i a Seated S u b l i m e , c o m m a n d s t h e sports. C l i t i a ' s D e v i c e P o r t r a y ' d o n F r e d e r i c s S h i e l d declares h e r C h a m p i o n . M u s i c t h e s p l e n d i d B a l l a n d costly b a n q u e t F i r s t f r u i t s t o h o p e f u l L o v e b y a l l his Zealots O f f e r ' d e m p l o y t h e softer H o u r s o f N i g h t , Q u e e n o f t h e Feast r e i g n s C l i t i a , C l i t i a ' s N a m e , A d o r n s t h e S o n g , a n d at h e r H e a l t h a l o n e B r e a t h e s t h e s h r i l l H a u t b o y , a n d t h e C l a r i o n sounds. ( p p . 342-3) T h o u g h a l l F r e d e r i c ' s l a v i s h d e v o t i o n was u n r e w a r d e d at t h e t i m e , i t was

n o t f o r g o t t e n , a n d l a t e r she

relented. The

passage i n wdrich

t r a n s f o r m a t i o n is described i l l u s t r a t e s a l m o s t b e t t e r t h a n any

the

other

P r i o r ' s a p p r o x i m a t i o n t o t h e g r a n d s t y l e o f epic i m a g e r y : N o t S n o w m e l t s faster o n t h e c r a g g y m o u n t T h e A l p , or A p p e n [ n ] i n e , w h e n Sol i n S p r i n g A r i s i n g cheers t h e W o r l d , n o t W aves a n d w i n d s Subside m o r e s u d d e n , w h e n g r e a t N e p t u n e rears His awful T r i d e n t , and commands a C a l m T h e n i n one m o m e n t f e l l f r o m C l i t i a ' s breast T h e coldness o f D i s d a i n , t h e W i d o w s P r i d e A n d P r u d e r y o f t h e Sex. r

(P- 3 4 3 ) P r i o r ' s e x p e r i m e n t is n o t w i t h o u t i n t e r e s t , b u t 1

this m e t h o d to the

any a t t e m p t to apply

t r a n s l a t i o n o f Boccaccio's tales as a w h o l e w o u l d

h a v e b e e n m i s g u i d e d . A d m i r a b l e i n itself, t h e epic m a n n e r w o u l d h a v e clashed w i t h t h e s u b j e c t - m a t t e r o f t h e n u m e r o u s tales w h i c h m o v e o n a h o m e l y plane. T h e

spurious exaltation could o n l y have produced a

sense o f b u r l e s q u e a n d e v e n o f bathos. Classical i n f l u e n c e , t h o u g h o f a d i f f e r e n t o r d e r , is a g a i n p e r c e p t i b l e in

The

of the

Nightingale f i f t h day.

(1721), a n a n o n y m o u s v e r s i o n o f t h e f o u r t h t a l e

A s t o r y o f passionate l o v e , i t r e c a l l e d C a t u l l u s t o

the

t r a n s l a t o r ' s m i n d , a n d o n t h e t i t l e - p a g e he quotes T h e t h e m e found many admirers. I t gave rise to a verse-tale by Hans Sachs and to a comedy by Lope de Vega. A f t e r the appearance of L a Fontaine's version there followed a whole series of comedies and comic operas on the subject i n eighteenthcentury France. I n Germany, under the influence of L a Fontaine, Hagedorn turned the story into verse, and his rendering was used for a comedy, first acted at Vienna i n 1776. I n this year, as Goethe's letters to Frau von Stein indicate, he was pre­ occupied w i t h Boccaccio's tale. I t would seem t h a t his w o r k was meant to be i n dramatic f o r m , and t h a t the love of Federigo for Giovanna was to reflect Goethe's devotion to his correspondent (cf. R. Anschiitz, Boccaccios Novelle vom Falken und ihre Verbreitung in der Litteratur, Erlangen, 1892, pp. 1-25). I n England the great age for the popularity of the falcon story was the nineteenth century (vide post). However, inspired by L a Fontaine's ' L e Faucon' i n his Contes et nouvelles, as is shown by his t r i b u t e to his predecessor and by his b o r r o w i n g of the name ' C l i t i a ' , P r i o r was well ahead of his countrymen. 1

TALES I N VERSE

295

Passer, Deliciae Puellae mea? Quern, ilia plus Oculis suis, amabat.

1

However, the motto is only superficially apposite, for the preceding line i n Catullus speaks of the death of the sparrow, which is irrelevant to the tale of the nightingale. Nor is there any essential similarity between the adolescent passion of Ricciardo and Caterina and the unhealthy eroticism of Catullus and Lesbia. Catullus was recalled to the English poet by an allusion to him in ' Le Rossignol'. His tale is in fact derived, not from the Italian original, but from this French source. The generalising introduction is omitted, but in other respects La Fontaine is followed closely. Thus 'Lizio da Valbona' is replaced by ' Verambon', and both in the French and English versions ' Giacomina' is declared to have been left nameless by Boccaccio, no doubt because the Italian name was too stubborn for metre. I n accordance with La Fontaine also, the heroine is sometimes called ' Catherine' and sometimes ' Kitty', the latter corresponding to' Cataut'. The familiar form agrees with the conversational manner of the poem which is modelled on the style of La Fontaine. Thus Catherine's complaint about the heat of the bedchamber in the warm season is framed as follows: 2

W h e n M o r n i n g came Mamma, she cry'd, Last N i g h t , I thought I should have d y ' d ; This Room more stifling grows than ever, I certainly shall have a Fever, (p. 8) 3

and her father's testiness, when she has begged her mother to let her move into the gallery, is expressed i n these simple words: The Gallery! what idle Tale! Your Daughter! and a Nightingale! Last N i g h t , 'tis true, was hot; what then? The next i t may be cool again. I sleep there well enough, is she More delicate and nice than W e . (P- 9 )

There is practically no embellishment i n the form of description, but when Catherine is pleading with her mother for permission to sleep in the gallery, we have a glimpse of a southern background: I n this most sultry Season there Comes from the Citron Grove, an A i r T h a t w i l l refresh me, w i t h its Breese; The Nightingale among the Trees, There chaunts its Love-song too . . . (P- 9) 1 3

i i i , 11. 4—5. Passer mortuus est meee puellae. T h e page references appended to the quotations are to the 1721 edition. 2

296

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

Similar qualities are displayed i n The Crane which is derived from the fourth tale of the sixth day of the Decameron. I t was written i n 1730 but did not appear until 1787, when it was published i n the March number of The Gentleman's Magazine. The name of the author is not given, but it is stated that he had been a student of Merton College, Oxford. Verbal parallels show that the English transla­ tion of 1620 was his immediate source. The scene is transferred from Florence to Venice, for no other reason than that Chichibio is a Venetian, but the alteration does involve an allusion to the clock of St. Mark's striking eight. The names of Chichibio and his love Brunetta are anglicised as 'John' and 'Sukey', which lends a more homely atmosphere to the tale. I n keeping with this is the simplicity of the household i n which John serves. I t is impossible to think of Boccaccio's Currado Gianfigliazzi i n person handing over the crane to his cook or of his summoning him to rise next morning, as John's master does. The conflict in John's mind, torn as he is between his duty to the knight and his affection for Sukey, is developed, and a preamble is added which lays emphasis on this love theme: 1

T H E power of love, to guard the heart Against all dread of future smart, How bold the veriest coward proves, By one poor kiss from her he loves; How w i t from danger sets us free,— Madam, lay down your work, and see.

(1-6)

I n fact, this theme becomes a central feature, whereas in Boccaccio's tale, i n accordance with the conditions for all stories of the sixth day, the stress is laid on the ready answer with which an astute person extricates himself from a dilemma. The poem is written i n octosyllabic couplets which, despite an occasional faulty rhyme, are well managed. The verse flows agreeably, and the dialogue, which is freely used, moves with ease. The colloquial tone accords with the domestic setting i n which the hero is a cook. Here is a passage which may serve as an illustration and Avhich at the same time is interesting because of its allusion to Thomas Hearne, the great scholar, who was still living in Oxford when the 'Student of Merton College' composed his version: A t Venice l i v ' d , i n days of yore (The time let studious Hearne explore) A Knight, full hospitably bent, To give all h u n g r y jaws content: 1

PP-

2

56-7-

TALES I N VERSE

297

Redundant plenty deck'd his board, W i t h liquids fit for any lord: No matter whence you came, or when, Welcome to cut and come again. His cook was John, a waggish blade, As ever pie or pudding made; W i t h quibbles at his finger ends, To nonplus foes, or tickle friends: Nor scratch'd his head for Aye or No, But answer'd smart, and d-propos: Such w i t t y answers would he give, T h a t folks would cry, 'John conno' l i v e ' . r

(7-22)

One year after The Crane was composed, there appeared A Collection of Poems which contained two tales inspired by the Decameron. Despite the innocent-looking title-page, one of these tales was a con­ tribution to contemporary politics. For some time past a violent feud had been raging between Robert Walpole and William Pulteney, the leader of the opposition. Lord Hervey was drawn in, and on 25 January 1731 he fought a duel with Pulteney. But the controversy with Walpole was of greater moment, for as the result of a rejoinder to an attack made on him in print by Walpole, Pulteney was struck off the roll of privy councillors. Amid the excitement generated by this antagonism an anonymous supporter of Pulteney joined i n the fray. He had read the English translation of 1702 which had 'an A R G U M E N T and M O R A L added to each N O V E L ' . The argument for the seventh tale of the first day ran 'The Covetousness of Great Men genteelly Banter'd' and the moral, ' Covetousness, above all other Vices, is most blameable in a Great Man, who ought to be good and generous to A l l ' . This gave the English poet an idea for a means to censure Walpole. In his dedication he speaks of the corruption that had overspread the age and was visible also i n transactions of state, and he sought to criticise Walpole's acquisition of wealth, his lavish expenditure and his lack of generosity towards men of letters. The times were changing, and the aid of writers was less eagerly desired by a minister who believed that every man had his price and therefore preferred more direct methods of winning partisans. The early part of the original story is considerably altered. Indeed, in the English version it becomes the chief feature. Boccaccio had told how Bergamino, by relating to Cane della Scala the generosity of the abbot of Cligni to Primasso, induced him to exercise a like munificence. In the preamble to the tale it is made clear that the meanness of Cane della Scala to Bergamino was nothing but a momentary deviation from 1

Vide ante, pp. 261—2.

298

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

his n o r m a l c u s t o m . H o w e v e r , t h i s passage was o m i t t e d i n t h e t r a n s l a ­ t i o n o f 1702, a n d so t h e r e was no obstacle h e r e t o a n attack o n W a l p o l e . T h e poet settles d o w n t o h i s task at once, t h o u g h he m e n t i o n s n e i t h e r person n o r c o u n t r y : I n days of Old, no matter where, There dwelt at Court a Minister; I n highest State by Fortune plac'd, W i t h Riches blest, w i t h Titles grac'd; I n Pomp, i n Plenty so excelling, T h a t Kings m i g h t envy well his dwelling: His real M e r i t would ye know, M y Author says, 'twas but so, so: Of m i d d l i n g Parts, immensely vain, Lavish, yet greedy still of Gain. I n fine, impartially to speak i t , Was very Great,—and very Wicked. To give of's Bounty an Example, Or rather, of his W ealth a Sample, He chose to live at Country Seat, A n d all i n splendid F o r m to treat, A t vast Expence,—some Authors speak Of fifteen hundred Pounds a W eek. r

7

1

(PP- 3 - 3 ) 2

I f i t h a d n o t b e e n p a t e n t against w h o m t h i s was d i r e c t e d , t h e last l i n e w o u l d r e v e a l w h o was a i m e d at, f o r P u l t e n e y ' s o r g a n , The on 7 November

1730

had affirmed

Craftsman,

t h a t t h e housekeeping bills

H o u g h t o n , W a l p o l e ' s h u g e m a n s i o n i n N o r f o l k w h i c h was

at

erected

b e t w e e n 1722 a n d 1735, a m o u n t e d t o £1500 w e e k l y . M o r e o v e r , i n 2

ballads a n d broadsides he was r e p r e s e n t e d as p l u n d e r i n g t h e T r e a s u r y ,

3

a n d t h e r e is an echo of these accusations i n t h e q u e s t i o n where's the Wonder? T h a t he who robs, should waste the Plunder. (P- 33)

H o w e v e r , to make the m e a n i n g p l a i n beyond all doubt, the E n g l i s h c o u n t e r p a r t o f Cane d e l l a Scala is n o w m e n t i o n e d b y n a m e .

H e is

' P o l m u r u s ' w h i c h a n y r e a d e r w i t h t h e slightest t i n g e o f L a t i n c o u l d recognise as a disguise f o r ' W a l p o l e ' . ' F l o r i o ' , w h o corresponds

to

B e r g a m i n o i n t h e o r i g i n a l , resolves t o see w hat he can get by l i t e r a r y T

adulation. M u c h of P O L M U R U S he had heard, How he rewarded every Bard, For O D E , or S O N G , or such-like Matter, T h a t did but cry h i m up, and flatter. (P- 33) 1

2

Page references are to the 1731 edition. D.N.B., A r t . ' S i r Robert W a l p o l e ' .

3

Ibid.

TALES I N VERSE

299

But his expectations come to nothing: He w r o t e , — P o l m u r u s read and smil'd W h i l e Time's i n R u r a l Sports beguil'd. Good FLorio, (quoth the courteous Lord) You're always welcome at m y Board. Sir W I T L I N G bow'd, thought he i n t i m e , Something more w e i g h t y ' l l pay m y Rhime. W e l l on he writes—'tis still the same. I n v i t e d still,—still Florio came; Where i n the Parlour or i n H a l l He d i n ' d and supp'd,—and that was all. (P- 34)

However, when the tale of the abbot's liberality to Guido, as Primasso is here called, is over, Polmurus is stirred to generosity and bestows an annual pension on Florio. Such an ending was i n accordance with Boccaccio but inconsistent with the unfavourable portrait of Walpole already drawn. Realising this, the English narrator smiles sceptically and hints how improbable it was that Walpole could be moved to act in this fashion: Some Reader, now methinks I hear, W h a t T i t l e does your Story wear? The Miracle,—my Muse replies, Or, Statesman by Reproof made Wise. (P- 38)

The dedication to Pulteney, to which allusion has already been made, maintained that none of the tales i n the collection could offend the strictest virtue. Possibly the writer was uneasily aware that he might be criticised for translating his other tale from 'gay Boccace'. His treatment of the tale itself is light-hearted enough, and his sympathy is on the side of the young gallant who triumphed over all obstacles to win the love of Isabell. He compares it to the passion of Hero and Leander. To enlist the support of the reader he also empha­ sises the malevolence of the old nun who discovers the secret of Isabell and hurries away to fetch a guard of female spies: 1

as Carrion-Crows they watch, Or Bloodhound-Bayliffs on the Catch. (P- 7 ) 2

At the scene i n the chapter-house these envious onlookers 'twitter with a malicious Joy' which clearly does not spring from virtue, and the writer spares no pains to make them unpleasing. He also heightens the outward austerity of the abbess and presents her as harsh and forbidding. When her sanctity is proved to be no more than superficial, the way is open for him to elaborate the moral of his source, that 'No 2

1

ix, 2.

2

The translation of 1702.

300

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

body ought to accuse another of Crimes they are guilty of themselves', and with an air of gravity to denounce vice and cant: Prepost'rous then i t is to preach Of Faults i n Others, w h e n we know That W e the same things daily do. For tho' Hypocrisy a while May screen us, and the W o r l d beguile, A Shame where e'er the Devil's i n debt, 'Tis ten to one but he cries quit, And by some Accident reveals, A l l that the would-be Saint conceals; Whips off the Vizard i n a trice, And shews the naked Face of Vice. (pp. 23-4)

The octosyllabic couplets flow smoothly, and the story gains i n its easy style by the colloquial reporting of speeches which find no place i n Boccaccio's rigidly condensed narrative. The writer uses the tale to satirise hypocrisy. However, there was a marked anti-clerical leaning in the English translation of 1702, and despite the general terms used in this passage, the poem as a whole bears clear traces of this bias. Akin to this poem i n some ways is The Saint, a translation by William Ayre from the original Italian of the first tale i n the Decameron. I t was published i n 1734 and is on the whole a faithful, though not literal version. The part of Musciatto is somewhat reduced, and his instruc­ tions to his rascally agent Ciapperello are omitted i n order to focus attention on the kernel of the story, Ciapperello's illness, confession and death. A similar concentration can be traced i n the list of sins regarding which he is questioned before receiving absolution. A number are transposed and grouped together. Through this economy it is possible to lend more prominence in the confession to a few sins without impeding the narrative. I n particular, more space is given to Ciapperello's admission that as a child he once swore at his mother. The nature of the offence is not revealed at once, and the feigned penitent's horror at its heinousness leads the reader to wonder what it can be. Through the expansion of this passage Ayre ingeniously pro­ longs the suspense until at last the disclosure is made: 1

He fetch'd up Sighs, as from a broken Heart; He wept aloud, he shudder'd w i t h his Tears, He groan'd, Contrition at its Height appears. Son, said the pious Priest, t h y lab'ring M i n d , Has doubtless to some fav'rite Sin been b l i n d ; T h y Sorrow shews i t ; W h a t can this have been? W h a t Snare has t h y poor Soul been taken in? I t may be noted that the last line of the poem is an almost literal transcript of the opening words of the tale in the version of 1702. 1

TALES I N VERSE

301

W o r s e t h a n before he w e p t : T h e honest Priest Stood m u t e , e x p e c t i n g B l a s p h e m y at least; B o t h t r e m b l e d , C H I A P P E R E L L O shook t h e B e d , A n d f a u l t ' r i n g i n his Speech, h e , s i g h i n g , s a i d : " T h i s S i n has l a i n a C a n k e r i n m y Breast, " I t n e v e r i n m y L i f e has b e e n confess'd; " S h a m e has p r e v e n t e d : O h ! t h a t I s h o u l d do " T h i s T h i n g , w h i c h P a r d o n w o n ' t be g r a n t e d t o : " N o ; it's too heinous, t h a t I always t h o u g h t , " E x c e p t almost a Miracle were w r o u g h t . " A h ! cross m y B o s o m ; O h ! I q u i t e despair, " M y S o u l is lost, unless r e d e e m ' d b y P r a y e r . " L o s t ! said t h e F r i a r , p u t a l l s u c h Fears a w a y , " A S o u l so p u r e , m a y b e a r a s m a l l A l l a y : " I ' l l a n s w e r t o m u c h m o r e , f o r c o u l d i t be, " T h a t ev'ry m o r t a l Sin had l i v ' d i n thee; " A l l w h i c h t h e W o r l d has acted h i t h e r t o , " A l l t h a t ' t i l l Doomsday i t shall ever do: " H a d s t thou ( k n o w i n g h i m Christ) w i t h o u t Remorse " B e e n one, w h o l i f t e d , n a i l ' d h i m o n t h e Cross, " T o t h y C o n t r i t i o n he w o u l d l e n d an Ear, " A n d cancel t h e e a S i n f o r e v ' r y T e a r : " F e a r n o t , confess i t , k e e p t h y Faith a l i v e , "Believe that I m y Power from Heav'n derive; " A b s o l v ' d b y m e , t h y Sins are b l o t t e d o u t , " B l i s s is t h y P o r t i o n , Son, b e y o n d a D o u b t . " M y Soul's P h y s i c i a n , I a m m u c h m o r e c a l m , " M e t h i n k s , i n e v ' r y W o r d y o u speak, t h e r e ' s B a l m ; " M y Case r e q u i r e s i t m u c h : — I was b u t y o u n g , " Y e t old enough to gain an evil T o n g u e ; " J curs''d my Mother . . . 1

(pp. 15-16) Ayre's sense of design is again displayed at the close of the poem which ends with the same line as it began. This device gives a feeling of com­ pleteness and unity. In detail as i n the general outline of the poem Ayre produces artistic effects. The addition of a cross of massive gold, placed on the body of Chiapperello, heightens the pomp of the interment, and the picture of the crowd cowering under the rebuke of the priest as he contrasts their sinfulness with the virtues of the dead man is most effective. Ayre's dialogue is simple and natural, and he employs antithesis with skill. 2

3

Page references appended to t h e quotations are to the first edition. T h e r e is a similar effect, for example, i n Coleridge's 'Frost at M i d n i g h t ' and Keats' ' L a Belle Dame sans M e r c i ' . T h e anglicised f o r m used by Ayre. 1

2

3

302

T H E DECAMERON

I N T H EEIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

Incidentally the original tale had criticised the friars; Ayre redoubles the attack on their incontinence. Boccaccio's main object, however, was to turn a sceptical eye on the miraculous works ascribed to some holy men. But he did not call in question the intercession of saints. On the contrary, he is careful both at the opening and the close not to expose himself to a charge of unorthodoxy. I t is here that Ayre differs m o s t notably. I n the preamble he says that prayers addressed to the saints 'on whom fond Men rely' may miss their goal because of the frailties of some reputed saints, though God i n his mercy may neverthe­ less hear them. And in the conclusion he elaborates his opinion: I undertook, at first, to prove, That Pray'rs were safest made to God above: Saints made by M e n , some Veneration claim, I f such i n L i f e preserv'd an honest Name. But for our Pray'rs, those to the Dead address'd, M a y chance to miss the Number of the Blest. W o u l d you be taught of God? to h i m apply, His Ear is open to the Sinner's Cry: He to himself first learnt you how to pray, Distinguish'd Praises mark that gracious Day. (p. 2 0 )

The point of view is that of a Protestant, but Ayre maintains a dignified restraint and will not stoop to vituperative propaganda. Three years after Ayre's translation there appeared an anonymous version of another tale of roguery, F r a Cipolla, the last i n the sixth day of the Decameron. The sub-title, 'Translated from the Original Manuscript, with Notes Historical, Critical and Moral', draws attention to a prominent feature. I n an age remarkable for editorial work the writer claims to have i n preparation an edition of Boccaccio which will make all others out of date. 'Tonson, i n all his Pride, will be turn'd out of the most elegant Libraries to illustrate the Rails of Moorfields, and the Giunti themselves, the admir'd 1527, . . . for which some Gentlemen, of my Acquaintance, have paid Twenty Pistoles, will then hardly be worth Twenty Pence'. He expresses his regret that he should be about to lower the value of such ornaments in the library of the bibliophile, but the public interest demands it, for his edition is based on a manuscript, 'found i n the Ruins of a Villa of Queen Joan's, near Capoua'. The tale of F r a Cipolla is supposed to be a specimen, issued i n advance, to satisfy a clamorous demand from the connoisseurs, and the pretence is maintained i n the text b y the insertion of 'Ingens Hiatus i n M.S.' and 'Alter Hiatus i n M.S. etiam valde deflendus'. A critical 1

1

A famous edition of the Decameron. Vide ante, p . 263.

TALES I N VERSE

305

apparatus is provided in the notes on particular lines or words. The nominal editor defends his refusal to observe heroic style and invoke a pagan muse by quoting Sir Richard Blackmore. T h e g o o d M a n , f r o m his S o u l , a b o m i n a t e d t h e H e a t h e n M i t h o l o g y , as appears f r o m h i s e x c e l l e n t Prefaces t o his W o r k s ; a n d as h e says v e r y w e l l , What have we to do with A p o l l o , is there not the good King D a v i d always ready to tune our Harps for us. ( p . 6) 1

Writing i n the same vein, when he is i n trouble over a rhyme, he cites the authority of Boileau's second satire and of Hudibras, 'who play'd the Game of Crambo better than most of us', to prove how grievous is the task of rhyming. I n his concluding note he expresses confidence that the reader whom he has thus taken into his confidence will approve his work: 'How many curious Readings restor'd! What a number of beautiful Passages brought to light that were lost!' There is certainly one such curious reading, a passage i n Italian which purports to come from the manuscript. Actually, it is the writer's invention, though with his tongue i n his cheek he claims that it possesses a 'curiosa Felicitas', which 'few, i f any, of our modern Wits can attain to'. Here and elsewhere he reveals his knowledge of Italian and also of editions of Boccaccio such as that of Salviati. Behind the facade of learning a lively mind can be perceived and a keen sense of form. No wonder then that a footnote indulges i n some criticism of Boccaccio's tale, which is not without its weaknesses. When Fra Cipolla comes to Certaldo with his supposed feather from the wing of the Angel Gabriel, he leaves it i n the care of his servant Guccio at the inn while he eats a meal before the service. Guccio, however, becoming enamoured of the kitchen-wench, Nuta, devotes all his attention to her and fails to keep a watchful eye on his master's precious relic. Owing to his negligence two practical jokers are able to remove the feather and substitute for it a coal from the fire. I t is incontestable that the episode of the amour between Guccio and the hideous Nuta is both dull and repellent, and though it serves to account for the theft of the relic, many of the details could well have been dispensed with i n the interests of the main theme. The translator therefore omitted i t as tedious and disagreeable, and he declares that here Boccaccio 'nodded a little'. I n order to concentrate upon Fra Cipolla's own adventure he also leaves out the names of the two jesters and suppresses all mention of Guccio i n the later phase of the story. Evidently he felt that Boccaccio's remark concerning the ignorance of the people of Certaldo about the world overseas was superfluous and also that many of the fantastic names of places recorded by Cipolla 2

1

Page references to first edition.

2

p . g, note.

304

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

i n his account of his travels would be unintelligible to the English reader. He therefore limits the places visited by the friar to Jerusalem and the realm of Prester John. As the latter indicates, he took certain liberties i n adding to the wonders related by Cipolla, others being ' Cath'rine

of Sienna's

Bib',

' T h e genuine Manuscripts of Jude, A n d of the Song of Solomon'. (p.

and

16)

' one of the Dice W h i c h did decide the great Contest, W h o was to have our Saviour's Vest'. (p. 16)

But as a rule such changes are made only as a substitute for the rig­ marole with which the ready-witted friar gulls the peasants of Certaldo and baffles the men who had played the trick on him. The translator does, however, expand the central scene which he assimilated to an English environment. Instead of addressing the crowd at the church door, the friar mounts the pulpit, and light is required as i f for an evening service. The situation, as he opens the box, is well described: . . . i n this Box I have a Feather, P u l l ' d from one W i n g of his, but whether F r o m R i g h t or Left, I am not sure, A n d l y i n g I cou'd ne'er endure. Here w e ' l l admire his steady Face; T h e Box he opens w i t h a Grace. No Feather . . . only Coals he sees; Bless me! (he mutters) how come these! However, w i t h o u t Blush or Pause, T h e ready Trickster boldly draws Himself out of a Scrape that m i g h t Confound an over-modest W i g h t , T h e Box he shuts, and w i t h a M i e n So sanctify'd and so serene, Says he, T h e Ways of Providence Are not perceiv'd by H u m a n Sense, T h e y often are perplex'd i n Mazes, W h i c h M a n , no more than Beasts that grazes, Can e'er find out, tho' I can prove, T h a t Things are wisely r u l ' d above.

(pp. 12-13) The claim of Cipolla to truthfulness i n the very midst of his men­ dacity is a trait added by the English translator. He again goes out of his way to stress the mendacity of ecclesiastics when he elaborates a hint by Boccaccio i n a passage about Cipolla's journey i n foreign lands:

T A L E S I N VERSE

305

I pass'd a Country, wide indeed! I t makes m y very Heart to bleed, To t h i n k the People are all Lyars, And i n great Numbers Priests and Fryars. (P- 13) But his attitude is dictated not so much hy doctrinal animosity as by intellectual scepticism. We are conscious of this once more when he refuses to believe i n a vial containing the sweat of the Archangel Michael which, as he had read, was preserved at the Vatican and was reputed to be a wonderful sudorific. Always, however, it is the man of the world rather than the religious zealot who speaks. He condemns the clergy for their excessive preoccupation with politics and secular affairs and admires Boccaccio as

the Scourge of wicked M o n k , I n t r i g u i n g Priest, and wanton Punk. (P- 5)

Yet i n all this he appears to be the detached observer who sees through the knavery of his fellow-men and, far from overflowing with indigna­ tion, laughs at the stupidity of those who allow themselves to be duped. Thus he ridicules the simple-witted Certaldesi, Who only Melons knew from Pumkins, (p. 10)

and at the close scoffs at their gullibility: Who cou'd contain from laughing loud, To see the ign'rant silly Croud, So eager to be cross'd, that they, ' T i l l he came down, wou'd hardly stay. There was not any one Curmudgeon Who did not now become a Gudgeon. (p. 18)

The moral with which his poem ends is that i n all ages there have been knaves and fools, and there always will. I n Christian, as i n Pagan, Times we find Some Priests are cunning, and some L a y m e n b l i n d ; And that the Pleasure, often, is as great Of being gravely cheated as to cheat. (P- 19) In 1748 F r a Cipolla was published i n a revised form as The Popish Impostor. There were some verbal alterations, a few omissions, and an indirect tribute to Pope is added, when the name of Cipolla is first mentioned:

Not Pope himself cou'd make i t chime. C I P O L L A wou'd elude the Skill Of the late Sov'reign of the Q u i l l . (P-

x

9)

506

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE E I G H T E E N T H CENTURY

The main change, however, lies elsewhere. All the scholarly apparatus is discarded with the sole exception of the reference to the gaps in the manuscript. The appeal to the bibliophile and the fashionable young man about town vanishes, and instead of the discreet ridicule of the intellectual we find the grave warning of the Protestant pamphleteer. There is no means of deciding whether the original author carried out the transformation, but the altered purpose is unmistakable. The title itself gives the first indication and the sub-title, ' A N A R R A T I V E V E R Y P R O P E R To be Read i n Protestant Families of all Denominations', bears it out. The motto 'Tantum Haec Religio potuit suadere Malorum' again emphasises the intention, and the preface drives home the lesson with emphasis: ' Beware of the Jesuits'. I t is true that the writer exonerates them from certain charges which he examines one by one. I n his opinion they have no share i n the pamphlets of political scribblers ' who would by malicious Insinuations alienate our Affections from the best of Princes, and misrepresent the Efforts of the greatest of Ministers'. Nor does he accuse them of causing mischief as financiers, for if 1

by Brokers are meant Transactors i n Stocks, who may h u r t the Publick Credit by spreading false News, this I m p u t a t i o n w i l l also appear groundless to who­ ever reflects that the most considerable are Israelites f i r m l y attached to the Government; and indeed (to do 'em Justice) the Jews i n general behave like good Subjects, they promote Trade at Home, and are instrumental i n i m ­ proving i t Abroad. (Preface, v)

Lastly, he rejects the view of a dissenting preacher that the Jesuits were responsible for the South-Sea Bubble, a scheme more pernicious than the Gunpowder Plot. 'The good Man', he continues, bitterly bewails the Vicissitudes i n 1720, and wishes for his Soul that a Year of such infamous Changes cou'd be expung'd out of our Annals; Footmen skipp'd into their Masters Chariots, Brokers were transform'd into Senators, and Matrons . . . sacrific'd themselves and their Daughters to Moloch, a leading Director having debauched almost as many W o m e n as Muly Abdallah the Emperor of Morocco. (Preface, vi—vii)

The refutation of these charges appears sensible enough, but the writer maintains accusations equally fantastic. The Jesuits ' lurk about in Town and in Country, seeking whom they may seduce' and he ' that can enumerate the Dresses at a Masquerade, may tell the various Disguises of these wily Missionaries'. They are, he asserts, even to be found raving among the Methodists or teaching young girls to sing and dance, so that 'where they don't recommend their Idolatrous 1

T h e text reads ' R e l l i g i o '

TALES IN VERSE

507

Worship, they corrupt our Morals'. And the preface ends with an admonition to every father of a family to pay good heed to his wife and children. Assuredly i n this poem we have travelled a long way from the author of F r a Cipolla and from Boccaccio himself. For how­ ever much Boccaccio may criticise ecclesiastical abuses and direct his satire against rogues and hypocrites, such blood-curdling propaganda was altogether alien to his genial tolerance. There is a trace of anti-Catholicism even i n George Ogle's Gualtherus and Griseida, which appeared i n 1739, for in the letter to a friend by which it is prefaced he comments unfavourably on the preponderance of the clergy i n Chaucer's day, talks of 'the Yoke of Rome'', and rejoices that i n his time circumstances are changed for the better, so that the clergy devote themselves to their spiritual call and leave temporal affairs to the laity. However, this is but a passing outburst. Ogle's chief design i n his preface, which is more interesting than his translation, was to give an account of the story of Griseida, as it had been treated by Boccaccio, Petrarch and Chaucer. He corrects Dryden's statement in the Fables which ascribed the authorship to Petrarch, pointing out simultaneously that Boccaccio 'was rarely the Inventor, tho' always the Improver, of the Stories He relates'. But the correction is made i n no carping spirit, for Ogle thought of Dryden with venera­ tion and alludes to him more than once as a great man. What he himself set out to do is explained i n the following passage which also displays his appreciation of the work of his predecessors: By W h a t has been said, i t is evident, that this Tale . . . has already pass'd thro' the Hands of B O C C A C E , P E T R A R C H , and C H A U C E R ; that is, t h r o ' the Hands of three M e n of as great Genius as ever appear'd i n one Age. B O C C A C E may be suppos'd to have i m p r o v ' d on Those He follow'd; P E T R A R C H most certainly improv'd on H i m ; and our Countryman undeniably i m p r o v ' d on t h e m Both. At the same T i m e that I say This, I must ingenuously confess, that tho' upon the Whole, I give the Preference to C H A U C E R ' S Manner of treating this Story, yet, here and there, I thought He had omitted some Beauties discernible i n PETRARCH; and still t h i n k , there are Others remaining i n B O C C A C E , which P E T R A R C H has omitted. I have compared t h e m One w i t h the Other; and have endeavoured to glean after T h e m , and found Occasion rather to add than to diminish'. 1

As a critic Ogle is mainly concerned to expound Chaucer's qualities, as they had already been indicated by Dryden. However, he does incidentally praise Boccaccio's skill i n linking one story with another, ranking him above Ovid in this respect, though he places Chaucer still higher. On the whole Boccaccio is considered only i n a general fashion, but Ogle's letter is nevertheless valuable as an early attempt at the comparative study of literature. 1

Gualtherus and Griseida,

1739, p. vii.

308

T H E DECAMERON

IN THEEIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

The same story was again turned into verse by Miss Sotheby, whose Patient

Griseida.

A Tale

From

the Italian

was published

of Bocaccio

at Bristol i n 1798. I t is a straightforward version which i n itself calls for no comment. However, the opening is worth a glance because Miss Sotheby, writing at the end of a period which had seen a pro­ gressive extension of women's cultural interests and only six years after the appearance of Mary Wollstonecraft's Vindication of the rights of Woman, makes an entirely new approach to the age-old theme. She sees in it a record of ' mad brutish deeds, and folly wild' and frowns upon the hero: great his guilt, whose t y r a n t acts I tell, T h o ' fortune f a v o u r ' d , and he prosper'd w e l l .

1

(p- 0

At the close this sentiment is blended with the contemporary belief in the worth of the humble man: A n d now, since hard Gualterio's future life Past undisturb'd by jealousy and strife, Crown'd by each bliss he thus unjustly sought A n d by Griselda's pangs so dearly bought, W h a t shall we say?—But that all pow'rful heav'n Imperial souls i n lowly huts has g i v ' n , W h i l e some, o'er nations born to rule and reign, Are fitter far to t i l l the r u r a l p l a i n — For who like Gualterio, had assign'd Such unheard trials to a gentle mind? (P- 3 ) 2

2

2. Tales i n Prose Just as Dryden had mingled grave and gay i n his Fables and had been imitated by Durfey, so the same technique is applied i n prose by the anonymous author of A Banquet for Gentlemen and Ladies, Consisting of Nine Comick and Tragick Novels which appeared i n 1703. The

preface displays the concern for morality which is typical of the age. It declares, 'there's no Room for Obscenity; therefore let not the Letcher expect to put his Bawdy Fist i n our Dishes'. On the contrary, the reader will find everything 'very Pleasant, Harmless, and Inno­ cent; no ways tending to Debauch your Manners, nor Corrupt your Reason'. Page references appended to t h e quotations are to the 1798 edition. A. C. Lee, The Decameron, its sources and analogues, London, 1909, p . 141, men­ tions a verse tale, ' T h e unfortunate lovers, or t h e history of Girolamo and Sylvestra', dated 1706, b u t says t h a t he has no further particulars. I have not been able to trace this. I t must have dealt w i t h Dec. i v , 8, and is distinct f r o m ' T h e Unfortunate Lovers' referred to below. 1

2

T A L E S I N PROSE

309

T h r e e tales are b o r r o w e d f r o m t h e Decameron, the translation of 1620 b e i n g f o l l o w e d , at t i m e s v e r y closely. T h e f i f t h is ' T h e C u c k o l d t u r n ' d Confessor', t h o u g h t h e scene is t r a n s f e r r e d f r o m R i m i n i t o Paris. T h e s e v e n t h , ' T h e U n f o r t u n a t e L o v e r s ' , weaves t o g e t h e r t w o stories. T h e characters o f t h e s e v e n t h t a l e o f t h e f o u r t h day assemble i n a g a r d e n , n o t i n Florence, b u t i n Paris, a n d t h e r e D i a n a , Cleomenes, A r i a n a a n d F r e m o n t , as t h e y are n a m e d h e r e , w h i l e a w a y t h e t i m e i n s t o r y - t e l l i n g . D i a n a relates t h e m i r t h f u l tale of F e r o n d o i n a condensed f o r m w h i c h calls t h e abbot B e r n a r d o a n d t h e l a d y D o n a M a r i a Esperansa, a n d has B o l o g n a as its b a c k g r o u n d . Cleomenes is t h e n e x t n a r r a t o r , a n d after he has c o n c l u d e d , t h e a u t h o r i n t e r v e n e s . H e says t h a t t h e f o u r f r i e n d s l i t t l e i m a g i n e d ' w h a t sudden Scene w o u l d d i s t u r b t h e m i n a f e w M i n u t e s : B u t alas, t h e V i c i s s i t u d e o f F o r t u n e is so u n c e r t a i n , t h a t w h e n w e i m a g i n e D a n g e r afar off, or t h i n k n o t at a l l of i t , t h e n is i t most n e a r ' . T h i s is i n t e n d e d t o prepare us f o r t h e d e a t h of t h e u n f o r t u n a t e lovers w h o , after A r i a n a has c o n c l u d e d h e r t a l e , die s u d d e n l y b y t h e agency o f t h e poisonous sage, o n a b a n k o f w h i c h t h e y are s i t t i n g . T h i s w o r k seems t o have been w i d e l y read, f o r a f i f t h e d i t i o n was p r i n t e d i n 1718. 1

2

3

T h e t r a n s f e r o f Boccaccio's tales to a n o t h e r s e t t i n g , sometimes France, b u t m o r e u s u a l l y E n g l a n d , is f o u n d also i n A l e x a n d e r S m i t h ' s History of the most Noted Highway-Men, Foot-Pads, House-Breakers, Shop-lifts and Cheats. H e r e too t h e r e is a n o u t w a r d p r e o c c u p a t i o n w i t h m o r a l i t y , t h o u g h , l i k e m u c h o t h e r picaresque l i t e r a t u r e o f t h e seven­ t e e n t h a n d e i g h t e e n t h centuries, i t a t t e m p t e d t o satisfy t h e love o f adventures i n l o w l i f e , c o m b i n i n g glimpses o f t h e u n d e r w o r l d w i t h a d m o n i t i o n s t o f o l l o w good a n d s h u n e v i l . I n t h e preface t o t h e first v o l u m e t h e a u t h o r c l a i m s t h a t his book w i l l deter f r o m vice a n d p r o m o t e v i r t u e , a n d he repeats his assertion i n t h e second: I believe no Body of common Sense, who sees how miserable these Wretches have made themselves by their evil Courses, w i l l be tempted to tread i n the same Steps, which lead so directly to the Gallows; therefore I only shew which W a y they took, how they stumbled, and hope that no M a n i n his Wits w i l l be incited to follow t h e m . 4

O n occasion he i n t e r w e a v e s a d e n u n c i a t i o n of d r u n k e n n e s s : Thus we may evidently see the fatal Consequences of Drunkenness; which odious Vice is now become so fashionable, that we may too often behold Sots contending for Victory over a Pot, and taking the measure of their Bravery by the Strength of their Brains, or Capacity of their Bellies. Taverns and 1

Dec. v i i , 5.

3

Dec. i v , 7. T h i s tale became very popular i n the nineteenth century. Vide post,

2

PP- 34 > 395-7> 4 ? - , 435Quoted f r o m the f i f t h edition, London, 1719-20, i i , Preface, p. i i . 8

4

1

2 1

Dec. i i i , 8 .

310

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

Alehouses are t h e c o m m o n A c a d e m i e s o f S i n , w h e r e D r u n k a r d s m a k e t h e m ­ selves e x p e r t i n a l l those A r t s w h e r e b y t h e y g r a t i f y Satan, a n d , as i t w e r e , i n so m a n y o p e n Bravadoes, c h a l l e n g e t h e Almighty i n t o t h e Field, and dare h i m t o do t h e w o r s t h e c a n . 1

A t t h e close o f his w o r k he p a i n t s a t e r r i f y i n g p i c t u r e o f t h e e n d of these ' m o s t w i c k e d W r e t c h e s ' and, f a r f r o m s e e k i n g t o g l o r i f y t h e i r deeds or a w a k e n s y m p a t h y f o r t h e m , declares: T h e m i s e r a b l e F a t e w h i c h t h e y s u f f e r ' d was b u t t h e i r d e s e r v e d D u e , since a l l t h e R o y a l I n d u l g e n c e w h i c h some o f ' e m h a v e r e c e i v ' d , was o n l y a n I n l e t t o t h e P e r p e t r a t i n g m o r e a n d g r e a t e r V i l l a n i e s , e v e n t o a D e f i a n c e o f Justice d r a w i n g h e r S w o r d ; w h e r e f o r e as t h e i r U n p a r a l l e l e d I n s o l e n c e i n s u l t e d o v e r the Laws of God and M a n , by t a k i n g an Unaccountable Pride and A m b i t i o n i n b r e a k i n g b o t h , w e o u g h t n o t t o be s o r r y at t h e H a n g - m a n ' s M e r i t o r i o u s A c t o f s e n d i n g such c a s e - h a r d e n ' d V i l l a i n s o u t o f t h e L a n d o f t h e L i v i n g . 2

3

Such a n e d i f y i n g o u t l o o k seems to h a v e l i t t l e i n c o m m o n w i t h t h a t of t h e Decameron.

I t m u s t , h o w e v e r , he r e m e m b e r e d

E n g l i s h t r a n s l a t i o n of 1620

that i n

e v e r y t a l e is p r o v i d e d w i t h

the

a moral.

4

C o n s e q u e n t l y , t h e E n g l i s h reader w o u l d i n t e r p r e t m a n y stories i n a w a y n e v e r i n t e n d e d b y Boccaccio. T h u s t h e a d v e n t u r e s of A n d r e u c c i o da P e r u g i a are t a k e n t o p r o v e ' h o w n e e d f u l l a t h i n g i t is, f o r a m a n t h a t t r a u e l l e t h i n affaires o f t h e W o r l d , t o be p r o u i d e n t a n d

w ell r

aduised, a n d c a r e f u l l y t o keepe h i m s e l f e f r o m t h e c r a f t y a n d d e c e i t f u l l a l l u r e m e n t s of S t r u m p e t s ' .

5

I t cannot be ascertained w h e t h e r

Smith

used t h i s t r a n s l a t i o n or n o t , b u t he b o r r o w e d t h i s v e r y t a l e a n d relates i t as a n episode i n t h e l i f e of W i l l B e w . T h e l a t t e r , after c o m m i t t i n g ' a v e r y g r e a t R o b b e r y a n d Rape o n t h e R o a d '

6

is c o m p e l l e d t o flee t o

F r a n c e , w h e r e he meets w i t h a series o f a d v e n t u r e s , w h i c h are m e r e l y those of A n d r e u c c i o . A p a r t f r o m a s l i g h t a b r i d g e m e n t h e r e a n d t h e r e , t h e t r a n s f e r e n c e of t h e s t o r y f r o m Naples t o Paris, a n d t h e u l t i m a t e r e t u r n of W i l l B e w t o E n g l a n d , t h e o r i g i n a l is i m i t a t e d almost w i t h o u t disguise. E v i d e n t l y S m i t h felt t h a t he had discovered

7

a source w h i c h o u g h t

to be e x p l o i t e d m o r e t h o r o u g h l y , a n d he afterwards d r e w a g a i n u p o n t h e Decameron.

T h u s i n t h e f i f t h e d i t i o n w e f i n d a condensed v e r s i o n

of t h e e i g h t h t a l e o f t h e e i g h t h day. T h e t r e a t m e n t is considerably f r e e r t h a n i n t h e s t o r y o f W i l l B e w . T h e l e a d i n g f i g u r e is J o n a t h a n S y m p s o n , a n d t h e i n t r i g u e of his w i f e w i t h a g a l l a n t is e x p l a i n e d b y Second edition, 1714, i , p. 102. T h e text has a m i s p r i n t ' U n p a r a l l e d ' . E d . 1714, i i , pp. 2 8 7 - 8 . Vide ante, p. 191. Dec. i i , 5 (cf. The Decameron, London, 1620, f. 58 verso). See H . G . W r i g h t , The first English translation of the 'Decameron', pp. 185—8. E d . 1714, i , p. 134. T h e r e is a parallel to a tale i n the Decameron i n R i c h a r d Head's The English Rogue, h u t the resemblance is too vague for one to feel confident t h a t i t is derived f r o m Boccaccio. 1

3 5

6

7

2

4

TALES I N PROSE

311

the fact that she was the daughter of a wealthy merchant who, solely on financial grounds, had prevented her from marrying the man whom she loved. Thus a certain justification is provided for the intrigue. Another striking change is Smith's rejection of Boccaccio's facile reconciliation of the two pairs of husbands and wives. I n his version the aggrieved Sympson, i n spite of the rich dowry that he has received with his wife, discards her and sends her home to her relatives. Another tale that is given a somewhat different turn is associated with Thomas Rumbold, who, at the request of an innkeeper, agrees to transform his wife into a mare for a sum of fifty guineas. Unlike her prototype she is a shrew, and the landlord's object is to silence her scolding tongue. But, like his forerunner, the worthy Pietro da Tresanti, he interrupts the proceedings, and in doing so forfeits his money. Strangely enough, i n view of the fact that he had so much to choose from, Smith reintroduced the story of Andreuccio da Perugia, this time connecting it with a female rogue, Joan Bracey. The scene is now transferred to Bristol, and Mr. Day, her dupe, is an eminent merchant of that city. As he had previously used the tale, Smith is obliged to hide the traces of the original more thoroughly, and so after the episode i n the house of Joan Bracey he omits all other incidents and imposes a rapid conclusion. Day, finding himself stripped naked, decides to feign madness, 1

2

3

4

a n d passing t h r o u g h t h e Streets, h e d i d s i n g a T h o u s a n d Songs a n d Catches. M e n , W o m e n a n d C h i l d r e n i n A m a z e m e n t b e g a n t o flock i n g r e a t C r o u d s a b o u t h i m , h o l l o w i n g a n d w h o o p i n g a f t e r h i m t i l l h e a r r i v e d at a F r i e n d ' s H o u s e , w h e r e b e i n g p u t t o B e d , t h e M o b b e g a n t o disperse; a n d a f t e r w a r d s s e n d i n g f o r C l o a t h s , h e w e n t h o m e i n t h e E v e n i n g w i t h a g r e a t deal o f Ridicule and Shame. 5

This humiliation of a respectable citizen for his deviation from the path of moral rectitude again betrays a temper quite foreign to that of Boccaccio. In 1734 Smith's collection inspired Charles Johnson to publish A General

History

Highwaymen,

Of The Lives

Murderers,

and Adventures

Of the Most

Famous

&c. Here too there is

Street-Robbers,

occasional moralising, as when Johnson maintains that a young man ought to take care in choosing his associates, lest he should find himself entering on an evil life, even though he might before have had no vicious inclinations. He once more emphasises the fatal consequences of the first wrong step i n his account of Jonathan Simpson, and the experience of Jack Withrington is made to prove that not even a 6

1

3 4

i i , pp. 163-4. Vide ante. I n the f i f t h ed., see i i i , pp. 1 7 8 - 8 1 . F i f t h ed., i , pp. 103-7. i i i , p. 181. 5

2

iii, pp. 3 6 - 8 . Cf. Dec. i x , 10. 6

H e spells the name thus.

312

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

genuine, idealistic love can rescue the delinquent from his evil ways, strive as he w i l l . Despite the gravity of his manner, however, Johnson's pose as a reformer does not carry conviction. He had a strong picaresque vein, and some of his tales are bloody, cruel and savage. I t is significant that the title of his book refers not only to the lives but also to the adventures of his characters, and when he describes the doings of Isaac Atkinson, the pretence to veracity barely conceals their fictitious nature. The reader, he observes, may think the incident i n question 'very odd, and perhaps a little improbable'. 'However', he goes on: 1

if he considers the Characters of the Persons concern'd in the Adventure, he w i l l find nothing related b u t what may be supposed to have been really acted. Boccace, La Fontaine, and other celebrated Writers have met w i t h universal Applause for Histories less reconcileable to T r u t h than this. But, be that as it w i l l , no reasonable M a n can be angry w i t h an A u t h o r for g i v i n g what he has received. The Writers of the Lives of H i g h w a y m e n who have gone before, are a sufficient Apology for this and many other unaccountable Relations, w h i c h must of necessity be interspersed in this W o r k . A Reader that cannot relish these Passages, w i l l find enough for his Diversion w i t h o u t t h e m , and those who have a pretty deal of Faith may easily stretch it to our Standard. At least w h a t w i l l not pass for real T r u t h , may please by the same Rules as many of our modern Novels, w h i c h are so m u c h a d m i r e d ' . 2

As the above passage suggests, Johnson was more sophisticated than Smith. Not only did he know Boccaccio hut also the numerous Contes et nouvelles of La Fontaine that were derived from the Decameron. He was likewise familiar with those Fables of Dryden that were taken from Boccaccio. And among the celebrated contemporary writers of whom he speaks Defoe can safely be reckoned as one with whose work he was acquainted. Certainly, Johnson displays an ingenuity worthy of Defoe, when he casts doubt on the reliability of Smith, even though he borrows much of his matter from his predecessor and often follows him word for word: 3

4

Captain Smith indeed . . . has generally found something to relate of every one he mentions, b u t then most of his Stories are such barefac'd Inventions, that we are confident those who have ever seen his Books w i l l pardon us for omitting them. 5

This criticism served another purpose: it skilfully explained why Johnson had no detailed account to give of Will Bew. Perceiving that Smith had used the tale of Andreuccio da Perugia twice, he determined 'p- 34 ' _ P- 4 T h e t i t l e of the 1705 translation f r o m L a Fontaine is typical i n its appeal: Miscellaneous Poetical Novels or Tales, Relating Many pleasing and instructive Instances of Wit and Gallantry In Both Sexes : Suited to the Belle-Humeur of the Present Age. See p. 340, when he quotes from Dryden's Cymon and Iphigenia. p. 323. 0

2

3

4

5

J 1

TALES I N PROSE

313

to suppress one of the variations on this theme. Hence, with his keener sense of technique, he omitted the adventure ascribed to W i l l Bew, since it too obviously resembled Boccaccio's version. He embodied in his work Smith's tales of Thomas Rumbold and Jonathan Sympson. But he modified the ending of the second, carrying a stage further Sympson's hostility to his wife: f o r w h e n she c a m e b a c k f r o m t h e Place h e h a d sent h e r t o , h e r e f u s e d h e r A d m i t t a n c e ; a n d t h e n e x t D a y sold o f f his Stock, s h u t u p Shop, a n d w e n t off w i t h a l l t h e M o n e y h e c o u l d raise, r e s o l v e d n e v e r m o r e t o l i v e i n BristoV ,

x

and this crisis is the beginning of Sympson's downfall. Similarly, Johnson alters somewhat the conclusion of the tale about Day and Joan Bracey. Day is able to return home without exposure to a jeering crowd. He himself tells of his mishap to some of his friends, who, while diverting themselves with him for the rest of his life, loyally keep the secret. From this it would seem that Johnson was less con­ cerned than Smith to point the moral, an impression which is con­ firmed by certain additions that he made, all of them derived from the Decameron. Thus he ascribes to Claude Duvall and a companion the adventure of Pinuccio and Adriano, the young gallants of Florence, without any disapproval of their conduct. He also relates three escapades of Phillip Stafford, the highwayman, and each time the unscrupulous ingenuity of a man who lives by his wits is allowed to pass unchallenged. The first is i n all essentials the account of how Gulfardo overreached Madonna Ambruogia, who nevertheless was unable to utter any complaint. However, the fact that whereas Guasparruolo readily lends Gulfardo the sum for which he asks, it is taken for granted that Stafford must provide security, indicates clearly enough that the Englishman belongs to a world where men habitually prey on their fellows. Another striking difference may be traced i n the contrasting attitudes of Gulfardo and Stafford towards the women they have outwitted. I t is true that Gulfardo rejoices i n the success of his stratagem, but he does not mock Ambruogia by spreading the news of her discomfiture. Stafford, on the other hand, 'took Care to get this Adventure whispered all over the Neighbourhood'. The same change of tone may be detected i n the second exploit attributed to him. This occurred when he had ridden across country into Buckinghamshire after a robbery on the high road. His adventure in the house of the lady who gave him hospitality is obviously based on that of Rinaldo at Castel Guiglielmo. The song by which Stafford 2

3

4

5

8

7

8

1 3 6

P- 343Dec. i x , 6. p. 79.

2

See t h e lives of E d w a r d and Joan Bracey, p. 321. p. 94. Dec. v i i i , 1. pp. 81-2. Dec. i i , 2. 4

7

6

8

314

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

wins over his hostess is certainly quite in keeping with his character, as may be seen frcm the first stanza, which is typical of the whole: W h e n first P r o c r e a t i o n b e g a n , E r e F o r m s i n t e r r u p t e d t h e Bliss, Each W o m a n m i g h t love a n y M a n ; E a c h M a n a n y W o m a n m i g h t kiss. (p. 8!)

And the rest of Stafford's behaviour is no more than might he expected after his conduct in the first tale. Having carried out this design, he suddenly bound her i n bed and threatened her with death, i f she did not give him her keys and direct him to the place where the valuables of the house were kept. She began to exclaim at such ingratitude but had to submit. Stafford secured the valuables, tied up the maid, lest she should give the alarm, and rode off to London. Such callous and ruffianly duplicity is, of course, consistent with Stafford's mode of living, but it would have seemed revolting to Rinaldo and his creator Boccaccio. Just as the Restoration mood lingers in Stafford's song, so i n his third adventure we are carried back to a time when the Cavaliers were tempted to employ almost any device against the hated and despised Roundheads. The victim of Stafford's wiles on this occasion is ' A n antient rich Republican, who was pretty deep in the Iniquity of the Times'. Having married the daughter of a relative, a worthy cavalier, the republican is depicted as profaning 'the sacred Ordinance of Wedlock, purely to keep the Substance of his deceased Kinsman to himself, and to gratify the lecherous Remains of his carnal Appetite'. Johnson's point of view is revealed by his question: 'Who could blame a Woman of Taste for being dissatisfy'd i n such Circumstances?' To achieve his ends Stafford dons the garb of a Puritan and obtains a post as the lady's servant. So well does he succeed i n winning his master's confidence that any conversation which he may have with her is interpreted as the discussion of spiritual themes for their mutual edification. The culmination is reached i n the incident of the peartree, which ultimately goes back to the third episode i n the tale of Pirro and Lidia i n the Decameron. The immediate source, however, is Thomas Durfey's play, The Royalist, where Camilla, the wife of Sir Oliver Oldcut, chairman to the committee of sequestrations, is secretly loyal to Sir Charles Kinglove, the ' Royalist, one of the King's Colonels at Worcester-Fight, a Lover of Monarchy and Prerogative'. The comedy used three episodes as i n Boccaccio's story of Pirro and Lidia, and Johnson detached the last from Act V, Sc. i and substituted the disreputable Phillip Stafford for the dashing cavalier. 1

2

3

1

See pp. 7 7 - 8 .

2

Dec. v i i , g.

3

Published 1682. Vide ante, pp. 2 4 8 - g .

TALES I N PROSE

315

N o t h i n g c o u l d b e t t e r i l l u s t r a t e h o w w e l l Boccaccio was acclimatised and

h o w successfully he was adapted to a n E n g l i s h e n v i r o n m e n t . Y e t

i n no tale was t h e a s s i m i l a t i o n c o m p l e t e . T h e n a r r a t i v e m a t e r i a l m i g h t be s k i l f u l l y adjusted

to t h e E n g l i s h cities a n d c o u n t r y s i d e , b u t

the

m e n t a l i t y t h a t shaped i t was v e r y d i f f e r e n t . T h e h a r d , c y n i c a l t o n e of the Restoration, echoing on i n t o the early eighteenth century,

and

t h e didactic, e d i f y i n g s t r a i n w e r e alike incapable o f b l e n d i n g w i t h t h e w o r l d l y , y e t i n t h e m a i n g e n i a l t e m p e r o f Boccaccio. Occasionally his figures a n d those of S m i t h a n d Johnson h a v e s o m e t h i n g i n c o m m o n , because t h e y are types f o u n d i n e v e r y l a n d a n d e v e r y age. B u t m o r e o f t e n t h a n n o t t h e s c h e m i n g o f k e e n m i n d s w h i c h Boccaccio loves is c o n f i n e d t o a n amorous a d v e n t u r e ,

a n d his adepts i n t h e a r t o f o u t ­

w i t t i n g others i n t h i s sphere are w o r l d s apart f r o m t h e rogues o f t h e seventeenth and eighteenth

centuries.

1

Boccaccio is a g a i n r e p r e s e n t e d i n The Agreeable in

1745.

I t c o n t a i n e d one h u n d r e d

Companion,

a n d s i x t y p o l i t e tales a n d

printed fables,

' I n w h i c h are d i s p l a y ' d T h e most m a t e r i a l I n c i d e n t s i n H u m a n L i f e . The

w h o l e collected f o r t h e

young GENTLEMEN

and

Entertainment

LADIES'.

The

and

Improvement

second v o l u m e contains

of the

a d d i t i o n a l i n f o r m a t i o n t h a t t h e c o m p i l a t i o n was done ' B y a L a d y ' . A l l t h a t she d e r i v e d d i r e c t l y f r o m t h e Decameron

was a condensed

account o f t h e f i f t h tale of t h e first d a y , based u p o n t h e E n g l i s h t r a n s ­ 2

l a t i o n o f 1702.

H o w e v e r , t h e r e is a n o t h e r story w h i c h , a l t h o u g h i t

differs w i d e l y f r o m t h e n i n t h t a l e o f t h e second day, m a y be connected r e m o t e l y w i t h t h e l a t t e r p a r t , w h i c h relates t h e p e n a l t y i n f l i c t e d o n A m b r u o g i u o l o . I t describes h o w , w h i l e a M a l a b a n p r i n c e was p a y i n g a courtesy v i s i t t o t h e c o m m a n d e r o f a D u t c h f o r t , his m e n k i l l e d t h e s e n t i n e l . T h e p r i n c e sentenced t h e r i n g l e a d e r

' t o be s m e a r e d over

w i t h H o n e y , a n d m a d e fast t o a Cocoa-nut T r e e i n t h e S u n t i l l he d i e d ' . T h e tale t h e n p i c t u r e s w h a t h a p p e n e d : T h o s e C o c o a - n u t T r e e s p r o d u c i n g a sweet L i q u o r c a l l e d Toddy, b r i n g vast N u m b e r s of Wasps and large r e d Ants to d r i n k t h e L i q u o r . Those A n t s bite as p a i n f u l l y as t h e S t i n g i n g o f W a s p s . W h e n t h e S u n b e g i n s t o be h o t , t h e y leave t h e T o p o f t h e T r e e , and b u r r o w i n Holes about t h e Root. I n t h e i r Passage d o w n w a r d t h e y f i x e d o n t h e Carcass b e s m e a r e d w i t h t h e H o n e y , and soon b u r r o w e d i n t h e F l e s h . T h e p o o r M i s c r e a n t was t h r e e D a y s i n t h a t sensible T o r m e n t before he e x p i r e d . T h e Dutch C a p t a i n b e g g e d e v e r y D a y f o r a P a r d o n , o r at least f o r a m i l d e r o r q u i c k e r D e a t h ; b u t t h e P r i n c e was inexorable. 3

T h e connexion between the Decameron and stories of E n g l i s h low life is glanced at by F. W . Chandler, The Literature of Roguery (London, 1907). T h e idea of investigating the subject i n greater detail was suggested by this work. Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , 'Boccaccio and English H i g h w a y m e n ' , R.E.S., N e w Series, 1950, i , pp. 17—22. Cf. i , pp. 2 3 9 - 4 0 . Tale Ixxi. Cf. i , p. 386. Tale exxv. 1

2

3

316

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

It is not clear what improvement the young gentlemen and ladies of the mid-eighteenth century were expected to derive from this polite tale. But there could be no doubt regarding the story of Alcander and Septimius, which Goldsmith included in The Bee for 6 October 1759 and again i n the Essays of 1765. Ostensibly taken from a Byzan­ tine historian, i t is none other than the tale of Titus and Gisippus. It is a lucid and concise version; Goldsmith was clearly anxious not to lose time over details, as may be seen from this passage: I t would but delay the narrative to describe the conflict between love and friendship i n the breast of Alcander on this occasion; i t is enough to say, that the Athenians were at that t i m e arrived at such refinement i n morals, that every virtue was carried to excess. I n short, forgetful of his own felicity, he gave up his intended bride, i n all her charms, to the young Roman. They were married privately by his connivance, and this unlooked-for change of fortune w r o u g h t as unexpected a change i n the constitution of the now happy Septimius. I n a few days he was perfectly recovered, and set out w i t h his fair partner for Rome.

The lengthy and eloquent apologia of Titus, on which Boccaccio had bestowed so much labour, is therefore eliminated, i n order that the miseries of his Athenian hero Alcander may be more fully traced. Accused of having yielded Hypatia (the counterpart of Sophronia) to Septimius for money, he is heavily fined and, being unable to pay the sum within the required time, is stripped of his possessions and sold as a slave. He is carried off to Thrace and compelled to live in bondage and toil and hunger until he manages to escape to Rome. There the hardships that he has undergone make him unrecog­ nisable to Septimius, who has i n the meantime become praetor. The situation is described by Goldsmith with a pathos that is not free from a touch of sentimentality: i n the evening, w h e n he was going up to the praetor's chair, he was brutally repulsed by the attending lictors. The attention of the poor is generally driven from one ungrateful object to another; for night coming on, he now found himself under a necessity of seeking a place to lie i n , and yet knew not where to apply. A l l emaciated, and i n rags as he was, none of the citizens w o u l d harbour so m u c h wretchedness; and sleeping i n the streets m i g h t be attended w i t h i n t e r r u p t i o n or danger: i n short, he was obliged to take up his lodging i n one of the tombs w i t h o u t the city, the usual retreat of g u i l t , poverty, and despair. I n this mansion of horror, laying his head upon an inverted u r n , he forgot his miseries for a w h i l e i n sleep; and found, on his flinty couch, more ease than beds of down can supply to the guilty.

When the true criminal confesses, Alcander is declared innocent, Septimius, who as prastor was his judge, descends dramatically from his tribunal, and all ends in 'tears and joy'. Hypatia, whose role is of the slightest, is not even mentioned at the close, and the w hole tale is given a new bias. The emphasis is not on liberality or magnificence, r

T A L E S I N PROSE

317

which was the theme for the tenth day of the Decameron, but on suffering and distress overcome at last. I t is therefore fitting that the inscription engraved on Alcander's tomb after his final years of happiness and ease should be: 'no circumstances are so desperate, which Providence may not relieve'. It may have been the example of The Agreeable Companion that inspired the compilation of A Companion

for

the Fire-Side;

or,

Winter

Evening's Amusement, which appeared i n 1772. The editor claims for his work 'the laudable design of conveying instruction under the delightful dress of entertainments'. 'Here', he continues, 'the giddy youth may be taught to avoid snares of the most pernicious nature, whilst their minds may enjoy a relaxation from the incumbent duties of their station'. The connexion between this aim and the story of 'Friar Philip's Geese' is rather obscure. The tale is derived from the Decameron, though it is not one of the hundred but is inserted in the preamble to the fourth day. One is at first tempted to think that the editor bor­ rowed it, not from the original, but from the English translation of 1702, where it was removed from its place and substituted for the indecent tale of Alibech and Rustico, the last of the third day. The argument in the 1702 version tells how 'Philipello renounces the World, and brings up his Son in a Wood, from his tender infancy . . . where he had no Companions but Birds and Beasts'. The picture thus presented, which differs somewhat from that of Boccaccio, is reflected in 'Friar Philip's Geese'. However, it acquires dimensions far beyond anything in the translation and, on further investigation, one can see that the story is derived through the medium of La Fontaine's 'Les oies de Frere Philippe'. The English prose adaptation omits the opening, i n which the French poet defends himself against his critics, and concentrates on the tale itself. The youthful solitary, who grows up surrounded by birds and wolves, is suggested by the reference to 1

Point d'autres que les habitants De cette foret, c'est-a-dire Que des loups, des oiseaux,

and it is the lines On l'avoit des l'enfance eleve dans u n bois. La son unique compagnie Consistoit aux oiseaux; leur aimable harmonie Le desennuyoit quelquefois. Tout son plaisir etoit cet innocent ramage; Encor ne pouvoit-il entendre leur langage

that inspire this passage: 1

pp.

107—10.

318

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

T h i s y o u t h h a d f r o m his i n f a n c y i n h a b i t e d t h e woods a n d groves, w h e r e t h e w i n g e d choristers w e r e his c o m p a n i o n s , w h o s e d e l i g h t f u l h a r m o n y used s o m e t i m e s t o cheer h i s l o n e l y h o u r s ; t h e i r i n n o c e n t m e l o d y was his sole d e l i g h t , n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g he was w h o l l y u n a c q u a i n t e d w i t h t h e m e a n i n g of t h e i r t u n e f u l language.

Thus under the influence of La Fontaine the son of Boccaccio's Filippo Balducci, a substantial citizen of Florence who withdraws to the neighbouring Monte Asinaio,, is depicted as spending his early years in a sequestered glade without name or location, a natural man who is in keeping with the age of Rousseau. 1

3. The Drama The story of Guiscardo and Ghismonda again aroused interest because of its dramatic potentialities. However, the original tale undergoes considerable modification. I n Mrs. Susannah Centlivre's The Cruel Gift, first published i n 1717, it is assumed that Leonora is not a widow when she falls i n love with Lorenzo; her affection for him is legalised by a secret marriage, and there is nothing unduly sensuous i n their relationship. Lorenzo, as the reputed son of Lord Alcanor, is always understood to be of noble rank, and at the close it is revealed that he is actually the son of the duke of Milan, uncle to the king of Lombardy. Lorenzo has further claims to distinction, because he is an eminent general who has successfully defeated Lombardy and merited the gratitude of his king and his country. Thus Boccaccio's story of the passionate amour of an obscure page and a princess is elevated into a decorous love i n the highest circles, with a background of international politics. At the same time Mrs. Centlivre transforms the original simple plot into one far more intricate. She adds another pair of lovers. Learchus, the rival of Lorenzo at court and on the battlefield, wishes to marry his sister Antimora. Quite apart from this rivalry, obstacles stand i n the way of their union. Lorenzo's friend Cardono is also devoted to Antimora, and there is bitter hostility between the family of Lorenzo and that of Learchus's father Antenor, which has become still more intense since Antenor tried to win the hand of Leonora for his son, with the result that both he and Learchus fell into disgrace. At the moment he again stands high i n the king's favour and is bent on the ruin of Lorenzo. Spying on his movements, he learns of his secret visits to Leonora through the cave. At his suggestion the duke of Tuscany sends ambassadors to negotiate a marriage. Leonora having I t stands between the Sieve and the Mugnone (cf. Emanuele R e p e t t i , geografico finco storico della Toscana, Florence, 1853, i , p. 157). 1

Dizionario

THE

DRAMA

519

rejected the proposal, Anterior awakens the king's suspicions, arranges for him to witness a meeting between her and Lorenzo, and supervises the arrest of the offender. After an abortive attempt by Lorenzo's friends to set him free, Antenor incites the king to severe measures. He agrees to the summary execution of Lorenzo and Cardono, and when he defers the punishment of Antimora, Antenor commands that she shall be put to death. However, he is thwarted by his own son, who as governor of the citadel holds a key position. He refuses to yield to Antimora's entreaties to let her brother escape, but he does spare Lorenzo and conveys to Leonora the heart of one who has been slain during the struggle to release the general. A deus ex machina i n the guise of a hermit now appears, to announce that he is the duke of Milan who had been driven from his land by the Tuscans, and that Lorenzo is his son. The king is i n despair at what he has done, where­ upon Learchus brings forth Lorenzo, who is restored to his wife. Cardono dies of his wounds, thus opening the way for the union of Learchus and Antimora, while the sinister Antenor falls i n quelling a rising of the people on behalf of Lorenzo. The hero is almost i n every respect a noble and lofty character. His love for Leonora is sincere and disinterested; he thinks more of safe­ guarding her reputation than of what he stands to gain from her royal rank. The saviour of his country, he is the idol of the people and the soldiers. On occasion, as when Antenor's machinations seem to have triumphed, his wonted restraint can be shaken; but his quiet strength asserts itself i n these lines: No, t h o u ' r t not w o r t h m y Breath; and I disdain thee: T h o ' none can guard against a Villain's Arts, Fortune can ne'er subdue a brave Man's Soul: I n Love and W a r , I've reach'd the top-most S u m m i t , A n d Ages hence I shall be read w i t h Wonder; W h i l s t thou, the most detested of t h y K i n d , Shalt be w i t h Horror mention'd—Lead on. (ill. ii)

Every inch a soldier, he prepares for death with calm dignity and i n this last great crisis even forgives Antenor: Fain I i n Peace wou'd Life's Remains employ, And as I bravely l i v ' d , wou'd bravely die. Beyond the Grave no Enemy can come, A n d I shall rest at Quiet i n m y Tomb. Death is a Debt we all to Nature owe, No matter then how soon or late we go: But dying well, is what we should propose, And leave to Heaven the Vengeance on our Foes. (iv. i i )

320

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

Leonora is a more emotional character. On the one hand, she is less stubborn i n her attitude towards her father and with tears in her eyes asks his forgiveness for marrying without his consent; on the other, this gentleness can be transformed into violent denunciation of Antenor for his intrigues or into raving grief when the supposed heart of Lorenzo is brought to her. Yet i f on this occasion she wildly calls on Heaven for vengeance and attempts suicide, she is capable of selfcontrol, boldness and resourcefulness i n most of her trials. Like Boccaccio's heroine, she displays great constancy and resolution, but it is all the stronger i n her because it is based not only on depth of passion but also on the consciousness of her virtue. Like his daughter, the king is human enough. His chief defects are not pride and ferocity, but credulity and irascibility. He is far too easily convinced of the guilt of the lovers, and the fact that they are married seems almost to add to their offence i n his eyes and stir him to frenzy. Yet when his resentment has abated, he recalls his duty as a king to act like a judge and not a ruthless avenger. He has fallen a victim to Antenor's wiles, but he refuses to do more than send Lorenzo into exile. Not until the rising of the people appears to threaten the state does he agree to more serious penalties. Even then he keeps his head. He deals with Lorenzo, the immediate source of danger, and defers action against Antimora. I t is only in this alarming situation that he commands that the heart of Lorenzo shall be torn from his breast and presented to Leonora. His later remorse, when Lorenzo's identity is disclosed, and his joy on finding that the prisoner is still alive, round off a character who after all is not unattractive, because the dramatist has loaded much of the responsibility for the sufferings of Lorenzo and Leonora on the unscrupulous minister, Antenor. Of the figures who have no counterpart i n Boccaccio, one of the most important is Learchus. He is almost flawless and even his opponent Lorenzo admits that by general consent 'his Mind is rich i n ev'ry Virtue'. He earnestly seeks reconciliation with the house of his rival and, when torn between love and duty, maintains his loyalty to the king. Far from rejoicing over the plight of Lorenzo, he dislikes the task of informing Lorenzo of his approaching death, especially when he has learnt that the doomed man is Leonora's husband. So too he per­ forms with gentleness and tact the mission of conveying the heart to Leonora, afterwards bidding her attendants to watch over her with every solicitude. Strongly conscious that he has resisted all temptation to yield to love and turn against the king, he feels entitled to admonish him for the misery that he has created. Learchus's goddess is ' Superior Virtue', and he prefers to be known as good rather than great. One

THE

DRAMA

321

feels that in his position Sir Charles Grandison himself could hardly have done better. The cult of virtue, so typical of the age when the play was written, inspires Learchus to reject fame, honour and wealth, if divorced from moral rectitude. Above all he sets the welfare of his country: H e w h o f o r I n t e r e s t , or f o r base R e v e n g e , S h o u l d i n a p r i v a t e Q u a r r e l f e l l his Foe, Deserves t h e Scorn of every good m a n f o r ' t ; B u t h e w h o w o u l d enslave his n a t i v e L a n d , G i v e u p t h e r e v e r e n d R i g h t s o f L a w and Justice, T o t h e d e t e s t e d L u s t o f boundless T y r a n n y , Pollute our Altars, change our holy W o r s h i p , D e s e r v e s t h e Curses b o t h o f H e a v e n a n d E a r t h , A n d , f r o m Society o f h u m a n R i n d , T o be cast f o r t h a m o n g t h e Beasts o f P r e y , A m o n s t e r f a r m o r e savage . . . I k n o w no G l o r y , b u t m y Country's Good, N o r A n g e r b e a r ' g a i n s t a n y , b u t h e r Foes; B u t a l l h e r E n e m i e s are m i n e ; f o r h e r I ' d m a k e t h i s B o d y one e n t i r e Scar, E r e I w o u l d see m y C o u n t r y m a d e a P r e y , O r k n o w t h e K i n g , to w h o m I've s w o r n , distress'd; A n d t h i s I h o l d t o be a l l b r a v e M e n ' s D u t y .

(I. i )

Some parts of this speech are hardly relevant to the plot. I n particular, the allusion to a possible change of religion by a despotic ruler is superimposed upon the dramatic material. Of this there is not the slightest hint in Boccaccio's tale. Mrs. Centlivre again stresses the value of upright and disinterested patriotism i n her portrait of Lorenzo, the ideal leader: T h e M a n , t h o ' n e ' e r so m e a n l y b o r n i n B l o o d , T h a t , n e x t his S o u l , prefers his C o u n t r y ' s G o o d ; W h o m o r e t h a n I n t e r e s t , does his H o n o u r p r i z e , A n d scorns b y secret T r e a c h e r y t o r i s e ; T h a t can t h e base a n d g i l d e d B r i b e d i s d a i n , P r e v e n t R e f l e c t i o n s o n his P r i n c e ' s F a m e , A n d p o i n t o u t g l o r i o u s V i r t u e s f o r his R e i g n : T h a t M a n s h o u l d be a M o n a r c h ' s chiefest Care, A n d none b u t such should R o y a l Favours wear. (m. iv)

This repetition is deliberate, for Mrs. Centlivre intended Learchus and Lorenzo to stand out i n contrast to Antenor, the scheming politician who is without conscience and without ideals. He knows nothing of pity, love or friendship. For him men and women are so many pawns in a game. He is a past master i n dissimulation and uses affairs of state for his personal aims; he dupes the king as Iago did Othello, first Y

322

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

dropping hints and then offering proof. His mind moves swiftly, and even though his plans may sometimes receive a check, he is never dis­ concerted. Intellectually he surpasses all the rest and as he gloats over the defeat of his enemies, unswerving i n the pursuit of his revenge and ambition, he is a dark and menacing figure whom no one can ignore. I t is with his exposition of his philosophy of life that the play opens, and it ends with the king's comments on his counsellor's doom: But oh! be w a r n ' d by his unhappy Fate, W h a t Dangers on the doubling Statesman wait! Had he prefer'd his Ring's and Country's Good, This public Vengeance had not sought his Blood; But w h i l e the secret Paths of G u i l t he treads, W here L u s t of Power, Revenge, or E n v y leads, W h i l e to Ambition's lawless Height he flies, Hated he lives, and unlamented dies. (v. i ) r

The prominence thus given to Antenor makes it obvious that Mrs. Centlivre intended the part to be a leading one, and this is confirmed by the fact that when The Cruel Gift was first produced in 1716, the role was given to no less an actor than Quin. At times one has the feeling that the dramatist has envisaged Boccaccio's tale against the background of contemporary England. Only in this way can one account for the intrusion of the reference to the possible overthrow of the established religion by a tyrannical sovereign. Another remarkable feature is the insistence on the hostility between the prime minister and Lorenzo, and on the efforts of the politician to oust the famous general from the royal favour. Inevitably one recalls the intrigues of Harley against Marlborough, which had been terminated by the death of Queen Anne only two years before the play was first acted. There is indeed much in common between Harley and Antenor. Like the latter, Harley was a shrewd and unscrupulous manipulator of public affairs, notorious for his indifference to truth, his constant scheming for the advancement of himself and his family, and his skill i n swaying his monarch with an eye to his own advantage. For the same purpose he entertained secret relations with foreign courts, and though out­ wardly well-disposed towards his rivals, he was an unreliable friend. It is obvious that Antenor is no mere replica of Harley, any more than Lorenzo can be equated with Marlborough. But the parallel was sufficiently close for it to interest the audience i n 1716, and it is likely that one of the features that appealed to the prince of Wales at the first performance was the resemblance of Antenor to the politician whom George I had so steadfastly distrusted. There is all the more reason for believing this, because the Epilogue, written by Nicholas Rowe and

THE

DRAMA

323

spoken by Mrs. Oldfield, who took the part of Leonora, after a spirited denunciation of duplicity and intriguing with the court of Avignon, singled out the prince as the embodiment of the contrasting virtues: See h o w his Looks his honest Heart e x p l a i n , A n d speak t h e Blessings o f his future Reignl I n his each F e a t u r e , T r u t h a n d C a n d o u r t r a c e , A n d r e a d Plain Dealing w r i t t e n i n his Face.

It is possible that Mrs. Centlivre's play was inspired in some measure by Dryden's 'Sigismonda and Guiscardo', which contained the motive of the secret marriage of the lovers and a hint for the introduction of the politics of the day into a tale from the Decameron. This can only be a surmise, but Frederick Howard, earl of Carlisle, openly avows the indebtedness of The Father's Revenge to Dryden, whom, unlike Mrs. Centlivre, he follows in retaining the tragic close. I n the Prologue to his play, which was first published in 1783, Howard says: 1

He f r o m Italia's fount, w o u l d frequent b r i n g T h e dismal tale, t h e tender heart to w r i n g ; E a c h s t o r m y passion o f t h e breast t o m o v e , By Guiscard's fate, and Sigismonda's love; I f , f o l l o w i n g h i m , a B a r d should dare explore, A n d search t h a t m i n e w h i c h h a d b e e n p i e r c e d b e f o r e : I f , o n t h e Stage, h e n o w p r e s u m e s t o shew, B y s u c h g r e a t masters t o u c h ' d , d a r k c r i m e s a n d w o e ; T h e b o l d a t t e m p t f o r g i v e , t h e P o e t spare, N o r , t h o u g h y o u w e p t before, d e n y t h e t e a r . A n d if, i n varied f o r m , and order new, He brings again the w r e t c h e d to y o u r view, 'Tis t o those masters b u t f r e s h w o r s h i p p a i d , A n d added incense o n t h e i r altars l a i d .

However, the liberties taken by Howard in manipulating Boccaccio's tale are more extensive than those of Dryden. Like Mrs. Centlivre's heroine, Segismonda is not a widow, and her relationship to Guiscard is a normal one. The sole purpose of the secret meeting between them is to consider the possibility of marriage, which is later performed by a friar. But Howard lends a romantic colour to their love. Guiscard is I t was privately p r i n t e d and d i d not contain the Prologue. T h e latter was added i n 1800, w h e n the tragedy appeared w i t h Carlisle's poems i n an edition w i t h plates f r o m designs by R. W e s t a l l , l i m i t e d to twenty-five copies. O t h e r editions followed (cf. Lowndes, i i , p. 574, and D i b d i n , i i , p. 388). No doubt the author was encouraged to p r i n t the play so often by the fact t h a t w h i l e criticising i t i n some respects, the aged Johnson had praised i t i n others (cf. Boswell's Life of Johnson, ed. G . B . H i l l and L . F. Powell, Oxford, 1934-50, i v , pp. 2 4 7 - 8 ) . Horace W a l p o l e also t h o u g h t w e l l of i t . He r e m a r k e d t h a t certain situations were like w h a t had been seen on the stage and i n saying this he was no doubt t h i n k i n g of M r s . Centlivre's The Cruel Gift; but he considered the language and imagery beautiful and t h e t w o c h i e f scenes very fine (cf. Letters, ed. M r s . P. Toynbee, Oxford, 1903—5, x i i i , pp. 38 and 70). 1

324

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

a foundling, discovered by Tancred on the sea-shore, and, growing up side by side with Segismonda, has been her constant companion. During his absence on a crusade he has been spurred on to great deeds by his devotion to her. One difficulty confronts him. His commander Manfred also wishes to marry Segismonda but generously withdraws because Guiscard had saved his life i n battle. One obstacle still remains in the person of Monfoiti, Tancred's minister, who also aspires to win Segismonda. He exploits the dissatisfaction of the people with their ruler by stirring up a conspiracy. Tancred is enraged by this plot and by the secret marriage of Guiscard, a mere foundling, to his daughter. Surprise follows surprise. Guiscard ascertains that his father is a noble Turk, named Hassan, but when Hassan proves to be Conrad, the hated enemy of Tancred, the ruler's fury knows no bounds. He orders the execution of Guiscard and himself hands the vase to Segismonda. On finding that it contains her husband's heart she dies of shock, and the remorseful Tancred falls i n despair upon her body, resigning the throne to Manfred. The latter is brave and magnanimous, but he is outshone by Guis­ card. A model warrior, he is the essence of modesty, gentleness, chivalry and loyalty. His only fault lies i n loving too well, and his last thoughts are of Segismonda. The princess too is notable for her gentleness. A delicate, shrinking creature, poles apart from her proto­ type i n the Decameron, she is a prey to fear and forebodings of evil. Her timidity joins with her sense of propriety to make her hesitate, before she consents to Guiscard's plan for marriage and flight. When her husband is carried off by the guards, she leans half-swooning on her uncle's arm, so that we are prepared for the end when her frail nature gives way under the strain and she dies, breathing forgiveness. There is a similar lessening of rigorous passion i n the character of Tancred. He is not devoid of nobility and tenderness. But his violent temper and his readiness to take the advice of evil counsellors lead him to hasty acts of tyranny which anger the people and bring sorrow upon his own family. He is even more unbalanced than his prototype i n The Cruel Gift and indulges in wild accusations of libidinousness and bestial sensuality, for which there is no warrant i n the relations of Guiscard and Segismonda as they are depicted by Howard. Yet at times he is a pathetic figure as when he declares to his daughter: O my child, Long as these eyes, unveil'd with clouds, may gaze Upon thee, long as my dull'd hearing wakes To that enchanting voice, a little sun-shine Still faintly trembles on my evening landscape. ( I I . ii)

THE DRAMA

325

W h e n his w r a t h has abated, his n a t u r a l goodness asserts itself, a n d he is f i l l e d w i t h r e g r e t , w h i c h is a l l t h e m o r e p o i g n a n t , because i t comes too late. T a n c r e d ' s errors are due i n large measure to t h e b a n e f u l i n f l u e n c e of M o n f o r t i . H e is his master's e v i l genius. H e is n o t so o u t s t a n d i n g or so p o w e r f u l a f i g u r e as A n t e n o r , b u t t h e y are alike i n m a n i p u l a t i n g t h e i r m o n a r c h to s u i t t h e i r purposes a n d i n t h e i r s u b o r d i n a t i o n of t h e p u b l i c i n t e r e s t t o t h e i r o w n designs. T h e people l o o m far l a r g e r i n i m p o r t a n c e t h a n i n The Cruel Gift, a n d M o n f o r t i feigns s y m p a t h y w i t h t h e m , b u t at h e a r t disdains t h e m . T h e y are ' g u l l ' d f o o l s ' whose f a v o u r m u s t be c o u r t e d so l o n g as i t is needed, b u t afterwards can be cast aside. I n contrast t o M o n f o r t i , t h e k i n g ' s b r o t h e r , t h e aged archbishop of Salerno, seeks to g u i d e T a n c r e d i n t h e r i g h t d i r e c t i o n , a n d he speaks o f t h e people w i t h g e n u i n e f e e l i n g : O t h a t p r o u d - h e a r t e d m e n b u t once c o u l d k n o w T h e p e n e t r a t i n g t h r o b , one g e n e r o u s p a n g O f t h e breast h e a v i n g at t h e p o o r m a n ' s blessing, O r at t h e i l l - a r t i c u l a t e d t h a n k s Of modest w o r t h r e l i e v ' d ! (I. i)

H e sees o n l y too c l e a r l y t h a t T a n c r e d is i g n o r a n t o f his subjects' lives a n d recognises t h e perils t h a t l u r k i n such aloofness. H e n c e his plea t h a t T a n c r e d s h a l l base his t h r o n e , n o t o n fear a n d v i o l e n c e , b u t o n esteem a n d d e v o t i o n , for t h e p r i n c e is secure wdiose p o w e r is estab­ l i s h e d i n t h e people's l o v e : T h a t is t h e c i t a d e l f o r k i n g s : 'tis t h e r e , Safe as o u r A l p i n e eagle w h o looks d o w n O n storms t h a t combat i n the aetherial p l a i n , M a y ' s t t h o u look d o w n u p o n all w o r l d l y mischief; ' T i s f r o m t h a t h e i g h t t h o u ' l t see t h e s t o r m s o f e n v y , T h e plots o f desperate g u i l t , th'assassin s c h e m e Of disappointed pride, and all the rage Of frustrated a m b i t i o n break beneath thee. (ill. ii)

H e couples t h i s a d m o n i t i o n w i t h a w a r n i n g of t h e fate t h a t lies i n store f o r monarchs w h o o v e r t a x t h e patience o f those c o m m i t t e d to t h e i r care: There's a judgement-seat W h e r e p u r p l e k i n g s , h i g h as t h e i r f u l l - b l o w n p r i d e O r f l a t t e r y can set t h e m , w i l l be s u m m o n ' d : ' T i s i n t h e i r subjects' r i g o r o u s i n q u i s i t i o n T h e y m u s t f o r e s t a l l t h e m o r e t r e m e n d o u s process T h a t waits b e y o n d t h e g r a v e — T h i n k ' s t t h o u t h y people,

326

T H E DECAMERON I N THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY Because t h e y bear, d o n ' t feel t h e i r i n j u r i e s ? T h e t i m e m a y c o m e w h e n w r o n g s l i k e these m a y t e a c h t h e m T o w r e a k just vengeance o n t h e i r h a r d oppressor. 1

(III.

ii)

These words have a peculiar significance i f we recall that The Father's Revenge was published two years before Cowper's denunciation o f despotism i n France and six years before the outbreak of the French Revolution. The archbishop embodies the growing awareness of that mounting sense of injustice which, as all those who had any political intuition could divine, must soon find an outlet i n elemental violence. Not less closely connected with the spirit of the age is Howard's use of the argument advanced by Ghismonda i n favour of merit rather than hereditary rank. I t is true that he conforms to the usual practice of the dramatists who have treated the theme by revealing at the close that Guiscard is of distinguished ancestry. But when Segismonda first falls i n love with him, she knows nothing of this. What is still more remarkable, when Guiscard discovers his origin just before the marriage ceremony and informs Segismonda, she forgets all about the letter containing the news, which does not affect her decision to accept him as her husband. So little does Guiscard's rank weigh with her that she brushes it aside, saying: B u t w h a t has b i r t h , o r t i t l e d p a r e n t a g e , A l o n g - d r a w n l i n e a g e , o r a p r o u d descent, W i t h real love? D i s c l a i m t h y noble b i r t h , For t h a t m e t h i n k s d e p r i v e s m e o f a p r o o f O f w h a t I d a r e do f o r t h e e . (iv. h )

Such sentiments, expressed by the earl of Carlisle, indicate how strong was the equalitarian current of the period, and illustrate his power of interpreting Boccaccio's tale in accordance with the political pressure of his time. David Garrick's Cymon, though its connexion with Boccaccio's tale is but tenuous, is another play i n all likelihood inspired by Dryden. It was printed again and again. After it first appeared i n 1766, there followed editions i n 1767, 1768, 1770, 1778, (1784) and (1786), as well as a Dublin edition i n 1771- The title-page styles the play 'a dramatic romance', and the story is certainly given a romantic turn by the introduction of Merlin and Urganda, with whom the enchanter is in love. She too has magic powers and uses them i n an effort to win 2

T h e last t w o lines of this quotation are to be found i n the 1783 edition b u t not i n t h a t of 1800. T h e omission is significant. Cf. Allardyce N i c o l l , A History of Late Eighteenth Century Drama, Cambridge, 1927, pp. 202, 265. T h e edition of 1766, not recorded by N i c o l l , was probably pirated. Cf. P i c k e r i n g and Chatto's catalogue 533, i t e m 216. 1

2

THE DRAMA

327

Cymon. But the idiot Cymon falls in love with Sylvia, an Arcadian figure who is envied by all the shepherdesses. They intrigue against her, and Urganda employs all her arts to remove her from Cymon's presence. All is ended by the intervention of Merlin, who reveals that Sylvia is not a shepherdess but a princess, and the lovers gain the throne of Arcadia, so that there is fitness i n the dance of shepherds and shepherdesses at the close. A certain amount of comedy is provided by Dorus, the governor of Arcadia, and his mirthful deputy Linco. But the emphasis throughout is on spectacle. The Prologue states this frankly enough: As f o r t h e p l o t , w i t , h u m o u r , l a n g u a g e — I B e g y o u s u c h t r i f l e s k i n d l y t o pass b y ; T h e m o s t essential p a r t , w h i c h s o m e t h i n g m e a n s , As dresses, dances, s i n k i n g s , f l y i n g s , scenes!— T h e y ' l l m a k e y o u stare!

With a wave of her wand Urganda transforms the stage into a mag­ nificent garden and i n Act IV causes an old castle to vanish and the demons of revenge to appear and perform their rites. I n the fifth act she turns a grotto into black rocks and conjures up the Black Tower where she plans to hold Sylvia prisoner. But to the accompaniment of thunder the tower and rocks give place to a magnificent amphitheatre, and Merlin emerges where the tower had sunk. Round this amphi­ theatre are grouped all the characters at the close, including the knights of the different orders of chivalry who are sent to protect the marriage of the lovers. Cymon, Sylvia and Merlin 'are brought i n triumph drawn by Loves,

preceded by Cupid

and Hymen

arm i n arm'.

There is also a strong musical element i n the play, solos, duets and choruses being freely interspersed. The music, composed by Michael Arne, is so prominent that, as the printed text indicates, certain omis­ sions had to be made i n the stage version. The Epilogue tries to ward off criticism of this type of entertainment: I see some m a l e c o n t e n t s t h e i r f i n g e r s b i t i n g , S n a r l i n g , " T h e ancients never k n e w such w r i t i n g — • " T h i s d r a m a ' s l o s t ! — t h e m a n a g e r s e x h a u s t us " W i t h opera's, monkies, mab a n d Dr. Faustus"

and expresses the hope that the variety it provides will 'keep the critics under'. As the numerous editions of the play show, despite its dramatic weakness it enjoyed great popularity. I n 1792 another version appeared in which the operatic effect was heightened by the insertion of new airs and choruses. At the same time the procession at the close was made more elaborate. I n addition to all conceivable sorts of knights and squires, a motley crowd of figures took part—an Indian chief and

528

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

Indians, a huntress with greyhounds, Turkish soldiers, a Scythian warrior, an Amazon with her attendants, Arcadian shepherds, a Cupid leading a knight, covered with a silver net, a fairy and a troop of Fairies, six virgins chained, piping fauns, Hymen, a band of Cupids drawing an altar, more Cupids hovering over it and others feeding doves below. The procession was followed by a tournament, first between two Moors, then between the Giant of the Burning Mountain and a dwarfish knight, and finally between a Spanish and an English Knight, the latter remaining victorious! I t would be absurd to judge this Christmas pantomime too seriously, for its dramatic value is but slight—as Horace Walpole says, 'only Garrick's ginger-bread double-gilt'. The musical appeal is also strong i n The Cooper, which was pub­ lished i n 1772. I t is i n fact described as a musical entertainment, the airs being composed by Dr. Thomas Arne. The ultimate source is the second tale of the seventh day of the Decameron, but it is derived 1

immediately from Le

Tonnellier,

Opera-Comique,

mile

aVariettes,

which was acted and printed i n Paris i n 1765. I t is obvious that Boccaccio's tale is completely unsuitable for the stage, and The Cooper is a free adaptation of the situation that it describes. The scene is laid in the shop of a cooper, old Martin. With him lives Fanny, a young country girl, whom he has brought up since the death of her parents. Martin talks of marrying her, but her affection is set on Colin. After a number of incidents, including the entry of a drunken farmer called Twig and the flight of Colin from the irate Martin, the old cooper enters the tub and begins to work on it. Colin returns and stands laughing with Fanny, especially when Martin says that he does not think that Colin will have much desire to come there again. Martin asks Fanny to tell him a comical story to pass the time more merrily. She sings him a song which is nominally a gibe at another old cooper called Jacques who had wooed a young girl but was ousted by a youth named Cymon who kissed her while Jacques stood in a tub, cleaning it from inside. Unaware of the irony of the situation, Martin laughs uproariously. However, raising his head over the edge, he sees Colin kissing Fanny. At first he is enraged, but when Colin offers to take over a debt of £50 that Martin owes, agreement is reached on the marriage of Colin and Fanny, and all drink and sing together. I n a modified form Boccaccio's tale is thus inserted into a dramatic framework. The process of adaptation was applied also to older English plays, 2

Letters, ed. M r s . P. Toynbee, Oxford, 1903-5, x r , p. 102. A c c o r d i n g to the B r i t i s h Museum Catalogue the authors were N . M . A u d i n o t and F. A . Quetant. 1

2

THE

DRAMA

329

and so in 1790 Mrs. Aphra Behn's The Rover was revised by J. P. Kemble and acted at Drury Lane. He altered the part i n which Blunt, the Essex squire, figures. On more than one occasion allusions to sexual passion are eliminated, and words like 'whore' and 'pimp' are avoided. In the third act the scene where Blunt is decoyed by Lucetta is changed and instead of falling into the noisome ' Common Shoar' he descends into a 'passage'. The subsequent episode i n which Blunt emerges to curse himself for his simplicity i n being thus beguiled, is omitted. It would seem as i f Kemble aimed at greater refinement and as i f the jovial but coarse Blunt was no longer considered likely to please the audience. But the modification did involve the rejection of one essential feature of the tale i n the Decameron. The role of Blunt was a mere incident, touched with farce, but Mrs. Centlivre's play The Busie Body, which was first published in 1709 and reached its seventh edition i n 1787, based its structure to a much larger extent on the Decameron, Act I I being derived from the fifth tale, and Act I I I from the third tale, of the third day. There is a notable difference, however. Instead of Francesco Vergellesi and his wife and her lover Ricciardo, we have Miranda, Sir Francis Gripe, her aged guardian, and Sir George Airy who seeks to marry her, a relationship which makes the story more probable. I n Act I Gripe agrees to let Sir George see Miranda for ten minutes i n return for a hundred guineas, provided that Gripe remains in the same room. At the beginning of Act I I Sir George is expected. I n contrast to Boccaccio's tale, where the husband imposes silence on his wife, Miranda i n an attempt to convince Gripe that she prefers him suggests that she shall remain silent. Sir George soon understands that she is dumb by arrange­ ment and manages to converse with her by the same kind of device as i n the tale. However, variety is lent to the old theme in a number of ways. Thus Sir George first kisses and then embraces Miranda, Sir Francis rushing forward angrily, each time to be repelled by Sir George with his sword. Again, at the end of the interview Sir George pretends to read a letter from her which he makes up on the spot. Further, whereas Ricciardo contrives to indicate to Vergellesi's wife how they are to meet, in the play it is Miranda who formulates the plan. I n Act I I I i n the very presence of Gripe she sends a message to 1

2

3

1

2

Vide ante, pp. 2 4 6 - 7 . Cf. Allardyce N i c o l l , A History

of Early

Eighteenth

Century Drama, Cambridge,

! 9 5 , P- 3°4T h e name makes i t likely t h a t M r s . Centlivre used t h e 1620 version of the Decameron. ' F r a n c i s ' corresponds to 'Francesco', and ' G r i p e ' is suggested by the adjective ' g r i p p l e ' applied to h i m for his avarice. T h e t i t l e of the play may also have been derived f r o m the use of the w o r d early i n the E n g l i s h translation of the story of Vergellesi. 2

3

330

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

Sir George which, under cover of a warning not to molest her, notifies him of an assignation, which is the same technique as that employed by the lady of Florence i n the third tale of the third day. It is interesting to observe that Mrs. Centlivre, not unnaturally, has attached far greater importance to Miranda, who repeatedly takes the initiative. I n keeping with this is the speech i n Act IV when she justifies her conduct as she awaits Sir George. She weighs her 'rigid knavish Guardian', who would have married her 'to his nauseous self, or no body', against the young and generous Sir George, and she concludes that her action is not so rash as i t may seem. Thus a tale of amorous intrigue is transformed into a battle of wits, i n which the sympathy of the spectator is enlisted on behalf of youth triumphing over grasping old age. Incidentally, at the same time the play con­ forms to the demand for greater morality in the theatre.

VI THE

DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

H E works of Boccaccio, the Decameron in particular, had long been an object of interest for bibliophiles, but on 17 June 1812 - L an event occurred which not only made a stir among collectors but also created a sensation in the general public. On that day the edition of the Decameron printed by Christopher Valdarfer i n 1471 was offered at auction as part of the duke of Roxburghe's library. I t is a remarkable fact that although one week later Napoleon was to open his ill-fated Russian campaign by crossing the Niemen with half a million men, he took care to send his representative to the sale. However, it was knocked down to the marquis of Blandford, after a long struggle with Earl Spencer and his son Lord Althorp, for £2,260. 'The echo of that fallen hammer', says Dibdin, 'was heard i n the libraries of Rome, of Milan, and St. Mark. Boccaccio himself startled from his slumber of some five hundred years'. In England the effect was seen i n press reports and in such a periodi­ 1

cal as The Gentleman's Magazine, and i n a series of works, one of the most notable being The Bibliographical Decameron. As the title 2

indicates, it is concerned with rare books, and Dibdin's account is cast in a form suggested by Boccaccio. The conversations take place at the country house of Lorenzo who has just returned with Philemon from a continental tour. They have bought precious books which they show to Lisardo and Lysander, accompanied by their wives, Almansa and Belinda. The visitors, not to be outdone, also bring their treasures. A monarch, provided with a sceptre and wreath, is elected for each of the ten days. As the season is autumn, when 'the leaves of the forest had put on their marygold tints', and 'the tranquillity of the air was only broken by the melancholy note of the robin', the discussions take place indoors, but they alternate, much in the manner of the Decameron Cf. D i b d i n , i i i , pp. 64—5. Only four copies are now extant. Those i n the B r i t i s h Museum and the Bibliotheque Nationale are imperfect. T h e two perfect copies are i n the Biblioteca Ambrosiana i n M i l a n and the John Rylands L i b r a r y , Manchester. (Cf. Gesamtkatalog, v o l . i v , i t e m 4441.) T h e Rylands copy is the one sold i n 1812 to the marquis of Blandford, later duke of M a r l b o r o u g h , f r o m w h o m i t was acquired hy E a r l Spencer i n 1819 for £918 15s. August 1812. 1

2

332

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

with outdoor scenes, walks i n the garden at sunset or in the moon­ light, and a ride to the abbey of St. Alban's. References to Nature lend relief, and i n general there is a similarity to the framework of the Decameron. I n passing, a tribute is paid to Boccaccio's narrative powers and to his humour, wit and invention. In 1820 J. Payne Collier followed with The Poetical Decameron;

1

2

or,

Ten Conversations

the Reigns

on English

of Elizabeth

and James

Poets

and Poetry,

particularly

of

I . He claimed that the general

scheme of the work was formed long before The Bibliographical Decameron appeared. I t opens with a description of a journey of three friends by boat on a serene August evening from Westminster Bridge to Mortlake. After their arrival at the house of one of the party it was agreed that, as the weather was intolerably hot, they should spend the middle of each day i n the library, while the mornings and evenings were devoted to other occupations and amusements such as sailing. After this, however, nothing more is heard of the setting, and there is a mere sequence of ten days' heterogeneous talk on old books, until at the close Collier adds that because of the beautiful weather and the lovely surroundings the guests were 'prevailed upon to prolong their stay, and to continue their enquiries'. The book, which ends thus lamely, has nothing to do with the Decameron, though there is a faint reflection of Collier's familiarity with it i n the induction. A similar work was planned by the antiquary Joseph Hunter, writing under the name of Martin Field i n 1829. The fragment of A Shakespear Decameron begins with a dialogue between ' A' and ' B ' in the ' Alpine cell' of the latter who lives i n retirement, cut off from the world and 'communing with it only through books'. He has been joined by ' A ' who has come to the mountains for sport but has developed a sudden enthusiasm for Shakespeare. They are to be joined by another enthusiast, and a plan is drawn up to devote ten days to the discussion of various aspects of Shakespeare's work. I t is likely that Hunter was inspired by Collier. His scheme has but a vague association with the Decameron, but at least something is there, whereas loseph 3

Lunn's Horae

Jocosae;

or the Doggerel

Decameron*

is simply a collec­

tion of ten facetious tales i n verse and nothing more. On the other hand, Joseph Downes's The Mountain Decameron, which appeared in 1836, has a connexion with Boccaccio, though it is but loose. The work is divided into ten days. The author writes i n the character of a Quaker whose physician has advised him to make a tour i n Wales. He addresses this doctor and describes some of the landscapes that he sees, i n the company of a major, a clergyman and a physician. He also 1 3

;

i , P- 457__ A d d . M S . 24,884 i n the B r i t i s h M u s e u m .

i i i , P- 469London, 1825. 2

4

THE

DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

335

relates the tales that are told. On some days, however, none are told. Occasionally a tale is spread over two days and sometimes, even within the day, the flow of the narrative is interrupted, so that the author may intersperse his opinions on politics, poetry, society, solitude—in short anything that ' mountain-air or mountain-quiet may set us thinking about'. Nevertheless, eccentric and shapeless though this book may be, it bears clear marks of the work from which it originated. Another sign of the interest i n Boccaccio at the beginning of the nineteenth century is the publication of the Decameron i n Italian i n 1802 and again in 1825. Each edition bears the London imprint, and the second has an introduction by the famous Italian poet Ugo Foscolo. I n addition, there appeared in 1802 Novelle scelte del Boccaccio and in 1806 Italian Extracts* which also contained some of Boccaccio's tales. There was likewise great activity i n publishing translations of the Decameron. The version of 1741, still further expurgated, was reissued with a valuable introduction by E. Dubois i n 1804, and this edition was reprinted i n one volume i n 1820. Two years later followed an edition which restored the tales omitted by Dubois, giving certain passages i n French and Italian. A substantial part of the introduction is stolen from Dubois. The year 1822 saw the publication of another edition with coloured aquatint plates by J. Findlay. There is a textual connexion with the edition of Sharp, but the introduction differs, though it too draws on Dubois. In the latter part of the nineteenth century there was a revival of the old translation of 1620, when Henry Morley edited a selection of forty stories. He retains the whole framework, and it makes a curious impression when one reads the connecting matter that leads on to a tale, only to find ' O M I T T E D ' on page after page and now and then several times on one page. However, the edition of Dubois was the dominant influence, as may be seen from the text employed by W. K. Kelly i n 1861, though he approximates to the Sharp edition of 1822 with regard to expurgation. I n 1872 the last-mentioned edition was taken over i n unscrupulous fashion by Thomas Wright without any acknowledgement. The only point of interest is the insertion of the 1

2

3

5

6

7

8

Published by W i l l i a m P i c k e r i n g . Some copies contain ten plates after T . Stothard. T h e n a refugee i n England. E d i t e d by Leonardo N a r d i n i . Cf. M a r s h a l l , p. 357. E d i t e d by Antonio M o n t u c c i . Cf. M a r s h a l l , p. 337. I n two volumes. Published by W i l l i a m Sharp i n four volumes. Published i n two volumes by James G r i f f i n . T h i s edition is very rare. M y copy contains eleven plates, six i n vol. i , five i n vol. i i . One of the plates illustrates the tale of Lorenzo and Isabella. T h e title-page gives no year of publication, b u t the preface is dated 2 December 1872. 1

2

3

4

6

7

8

5

334

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

ten designs by Stothard. Dubois is again the ultimate source of an edition of twenty-one tales, of which twenty are from the Decameron, published i n 1887. The group is divided into ten days which have nothing to do with the original. The introduction, which, incidentally, appropriates a good deal from Dubois, explains that the conversations which precede the narratives have been discarded as irrelevant. Despite his pose as a liberator from ' the ignorant and bigoted Puritans' the editor is chiefly concerned with erotic stimulus, as his additions to the tales clearly prove. Of a very different order is the translation of the Decameron by John Payne i n 1886. The introduction owes nothing to Dubois and though it is perhaps too speculative, it shows personal acquaintance with such a work as Fiammetta, which enables Payne to write in a fresh and agreeable fashion. His translation also is original, and he set himself to do what his predecessor of 1620, with whom he was familiar, had done—to render Boccaccio into a highly-wrought literary style which would attract the connoisseur. Payne's Pre-Raphaelite idiom, archaic to the point of affectation though it may seem to us nowadays, is comparable to the elaborate alliterative manner of the Jacobean translator. Q u i t e apart from the accounts of Boccaccio and his writings given in various translations of the Decameron, there were appreciations of his work by the critics. Eminent among these was an anonymous writer i n The London Magazine, He alludes indirectly to the sale of the Valdarfer Decameron i n 1812 and remarks that 'a single copy of some of the earlier editions has sometimes fetched a price which would purchase a useful collection of books sufficient for the purposes of a man of letters'. While resisting the fanatical admiration of some devotees, the author of the review concedes the merits of Boccaccio as a stylist and his contribution to humanism. Another important essay was that which discussed Thomas Roscoe's Italian Novelists in The Edinburgh Review. After a valuable general survey the critic examines in detail some of the tales selected from the Decameron. 1

2

3

4

5

Vide post, p . 5 4 1 . W r i g h t ' s edition m e t w i t h some success. Thus i t was published again at Derby i n 1894. I n his Biographical Note he refers to Boccaccio, ' " t h a t first refiner of I t a l i a n prose", as one of his o l d E n g l i s h translators quaintly styles h i m ' . T h e phrase is found on the title-page of the first five days i n the 1625 edition of the 1620 version. 1 June 1826, pp. 145—57. He was probably Ugo Foscolo. A t any rate, the article was chiefly based on his earlier w o r k and contains a review of his preface to his edition of the Decameron, w h i c h would explain w h y he here remained anonymous. Cf. E . R. Vincent, Ugo Foscolo An Italian in Regency England, Cambridge, 1955, p. 200. 1

2

3

4 5

P- H 5 Vol. x l i i , no. l x x x i i i , A p r i l 1825, pp. 174-206.

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

555

Up to a point he disagrees with Roscoe's choice, his own preference being for certain of those which Hazlitt had praised so highly. I n pictorial art themes derived from the Decameron were also popular. More than anyone else Stothard found delight i n the rural background rather than i n the stories. I n 1811 he exhibited at the Royal Academy 'The Scene of Boccaccio's Tales' and i n 1818 'Fete Champetre'. These were followed i n 1819 by 'The First Part of the Decameron' and 'The Second Part of the Decameron'. I n 1820 came 'The M i l l ' , 'The Garden', 'The Supper by the Fountain', 'Pampinea elected Q u e e n , and receiving the Crown of Laurel from Philomena' and 'The Meadow'. Finally, i n 1826 he exhibited a new composition with the title ' Fete Champetre'. But the tales themselves, especially those in Dryden's Fables, proved a source of inspiration to artists. The Swiss painter, Johann Heinrich Fuessli, who settled in England and went by the name of Fuseli, found the story of 'Theodore and Honoria' entirely congenial to his romantic taste, and i n 1817 his work on this subject appeared at the Royal Academy. The Pre-Raphaelites also found pleasure in these themes. About the middle of the century G. F. Watts was attracted to the tale of the avenging spectral huntsman, and his enormous painting remained on the walls of his studio after it had been taken over by the Cosmopolitan Club. Millais turned to 'Cymon and Iphigenia', painting a first study i n 1847 and completing it i n 1851. Leighton too, fascinated by the legend of the transforming and ennobling power of beauty, depicted 'Cymon and Iphigenia' i n 1884. The poetry of Keats inspired paintings, based on the tale of 'Isabella', by Millais, Holman Hunt and Watts, and W. B. Johnstone likewise treated the subject in a work shown at the Royal Scottish Academy in 1854. The fresco of C. W. Cope for the House of Lords in 1848 and his painting 'The Marriage of Griseida' indicate the interest still taken by the Victorians i n the mediaeval tale of self-sacrificing woman­ hood. I n conclusion, mention should be made of Rossetti, i n whom 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

See pp. 183—4. Vide post, pp. 344—8. M r s . Bray, The Life of Thomas Stothard, London, 1851, pp. 2 4 0 - 2 . A m o n g t h e pictures still i n Stothard's possession at his decease and sold at Christie's i n June, 1834, were a n u m b e r suggested by the Decameron (cf. M r s . Bray, op. c i t . , pp. 242—3) Samuel Rogers acquired some of Stothard's w o r k , i n c l u d i n g a 'Fete C h a m p e t r e ' (cf. M r s . Bray, op. c i t . , p. 255). Vide post, p. 344. John Knowles, The Life and Writings of Henry Fuseli, London, 1831, i , pp. 416—17. Sir Mountstuart E . G r a n t Duff, Notes from a Diary, 1851—72, London, 1817, i , p. 100. M . H . Spielmann, Millais and his Works, London, 1898, p . 167. M r s . Russell Barrington, The Life, Letters and Work of Frederic Leighton, London, 1906, i i , pp. 258, n . 1, and 389. 1849. I n the W a l k e r A r t Gallery, Liverpool. 1868. I n the W a l k e r A r t Gallery, Liverpool. 1

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

2

536

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

poetry and painting unite with peculiar intimacy to convey the impressions left on his sensitive mind by Boccaccio. 1

1 . Comments on Boccaccio, more particularly on the

Decameron

I n one way or another the knowledge of the Decameron became widespread among men of culture i n the nineteenth century. I t is therefore not surprising to find an entry i n Thomas Moore's Diary which describes how at Lord Lansdowne's country house the conversa­ tion after dinner included a discussion of the merits of Dryden's ' Cymon and Iphigenia'. Other writers like Wordsworth read the Decameron, for this is probably the work that he meant, when he said that 'Roccaccio' figured i n his library at Racedown in 1797. With Sir Walter Scott he shared an admiration for Dryden's Fables.* Shelley too was a reader of Boccaccio, but not through any intermedi­ ary. I n a letter to Leigh Hunt on 27 September 1819 he praises him and quotes: ' Bocca bacciata non perde ventura, anzi rinnuova, come fa la luna'. He introduces these words when Nature addresses Peter Bell and observes: 2

3

6

6

So t h o u g h t Boccaccio, whose sweet works m i g h t cure a Male prude, like you, from w h a t you now endure, a Low-tide i n soul, like a stagnant laguna. 7

Shelley's sensitive ear had caught the music of Boccaccio, and 'ven­ tura' and 'luna' echo i n 'cure a', 'endure, a' and Taguna', though with deliberately burlesque effect. His friend Byron, after he had removed from Venice to Ravenna, was continually reminded of Boccaccio's tale of Nastagio degli Onesti as he rode daily i n the neigh­ bouring forest, and when, as a sympathiser with Italian aspirations for liberty, he was invited to a dinner in the Pineta by a local patriotic society, he half-expected to hear the sound of the ghostly rider hunting his prey. Every time that Byron mentions this tale, he couples with it a reference to Dryden's 'Theodore and Honoria' which had clearly left a deep impression upon him. This is the only tale from the Decameron that Byron touches on, and it is possible that when reading 8

9

Vide post, pp. 3 6 3 - 5 . 30 December 1818. Letters, 1841-50, p. 1335. Early Letters, 1797—1805, pp. 540—1; Letters, 1806—11, p. 458c. F r o m the end of Dec. i i , 7. Vide post, pp. 350, 363. Cf. Shelley's Works, Julian E d i t i o n , London and N e w York, 1926—30, i i i , p . 272. Peter Bell the Third, book i v , st. xiv. Cf. Letters and Journals, ed. R. E . Prothero, London, i v , p . 320 and v, pp. 140 and 206. H e notes t h a t D r y d e n had substituted Guido Cavalcanti for Boccaccio's hero. W r i t i n g f r o m m e m o r y , he wrongly calls h i m ' Ostasio degli O n e s t i ' . 1 3

4

6

6 7

8

9

2

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS ON BOCCACCIO of t h e harshness of a w o m a n and h e r by

his u n h a p p y m a r i t a l

relations.

punishment,

337

he was n o t unaffected

H o w e v e r , his i n t e r e s t i n Boccaccio

was n o t n a r r o w l y l i m i t e d . H i s protest at t h e v i o l a t i o n o f his t o m b i n

1783, w h e n religious b i g o t s prohibiting b u r i a l i n c h u r c h e s t o sepulchre a n d cast i t o u t into t h e

t h e c h u r c h o f St. M i c h a e l a n d St. James i n took

advantage

of a recent

edict

break t h e stone t h a t covered t h e adjoining

cloisters, is

filled

with

g e n u i n e i n d i g n a t i o n at t h i s i n s u l t t o

a dead genius: Boccaccio t o his p a r e n t e a r t h b e q u e a t h ' d H i s d u s t , — a n d lies i t n o t h e r G r e a t a m o n g , W i t h m a n y a sweet a n d s o l e m n r e q u i e m b r e a t h e d O'er h i m w h o f o r m ' d t h e Tuscan's siren tongue? T h a t m u s i c i n itself, w h o s e sounds are song, T h e p o e t r y o f speech? N o ; — e v e n his t o m b U p t o r n m u s t b e a r t h e hyaena b i g o t ' s w r o n g , N o m o r e a m i d s t t h e m e a n e r dead f i n d r o o m , N o r c l a i m a passing s i g h , because i t t o l d f o r whom.

1

The condemnation of this act, combined with the eulogy of Boccaccio as the shaper of the melodious Italian tongue, is followed by a tribute to the three great writers Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio i n which Byron ranks him almost as high as the others: B u t w h e r e repose t h e a l l E t r u s c a n three—• D a n t e , a n d P e t r a r c h , a n d , scarce less t h a n t h e y , T h e B a r d o f Prose, c r e a t i v e S p i r i t , h e O f t h e H u n d r e d Tales o f L o v e — w h e r e d i d t h e y l a y T h e i r bones, d i s t i n g u i s h e d f r o m o u r c o m m o n c l a y I n d e a t h as l i f e ? 2

Coleridge's approach to Boccaccio differs completely from that of Byron. I t is characteristic of his far-reaching mind that i n his reading of Boccaccio he should penetrate into regions unknown to most of his English contemporaries. Few indeed were those who had turned the pages of De genealogia deorum, a work which even i n the Middle Ages was not the most popular of Boccaccio's writings. Yet a casual reference i n one of his note-books shows that Coleridge was acquainted with the strange figure of Demogorgon. Watching the cloud effects on a dim November night in 1803, he speaks of 3

w h i t e v a p o u r t h a t , e n t i r e l y shapeless, gave a w h i t e n e s s t o t h e c i r c l e o f t h e s k y , b u t s t a i n e d w i t h e x c e e d i n g l y t h i n a n d s u b t l e flakes o f b l a c k v a p o u r , m i g h t be h a p p i l y said i n l a n g u a g e o f Boccace ( d e s c r i b i n g D e m o g o r g o n , i n his Genea­ logia De Gli Dei) t o be v e s t i t o d ' u n a p a l l i d e z z a affumicata. 4

Evidently it was Betussi's Italian translation that Coleridge used, 6

1

4 5

Childe Harold, Canto i v , st. I v i i i . I b i d . , st. l v i . Vide ante, pp. 57—41. Cf. Anima Poetae, ed. E . H . Coleridge, London, 1895, p . 46. T h e words occur i n the opening lines of Book i . 2

Z

3

538

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

but nothing seems to be ascertainable about the edition. On the other hand, it is known that he possessed four volumes of the Opcre pub­ lished at Florence in 1723—4, among the contents of which was the life of Dante. Attracted to this by his admiration for the great epic poet, Coleridge was struck by a passage which i n his opinion could only have sprung from the violent prejudice of a woman-hater. The ani­ mosity which is openly displayed i n the Corbaccio does i n fact peep through i n the lines where Boccaccio comments on the error of Dante's relatives i n persuading him to marry after the death of Beatrice, with the result that the genius who had been wont to move among emperors and princes, to converse with poets and philosophers, to devote himself to his studies and to brood over the mysteries of the universe i n soli­ tude, was now limited to the society of a jealous woman with whom he had to live, grow old and die. A thousand and one petty, material preoccupations absorbed his energies t i l l he rebelled against this domination. Boccaccio therefore maintained that since a husband is thus fettered to a being who is not what he would like to have, but what Fortune grants, marriage should be left to rich fools, lords and labourers. Those of philosophical mind should give themselves up to philosophy, a better spouse than any other. I n spite of his own unfortu­ nate experiences of married life, Coleridge rejected this counsel and in the Biographia Literaria, mingling his criticism with practical advice to young authors, he warns them not to isolate themselves from the rest of the human species but to be men first, and writers only in the second place: I n s t e a d o f t h e v e h e m e n t a n d a l m o s t slanderous d e h o r t a t i o n f r o m m a r r i a g e , w h i c h t h e Misogyne, Boccaccio, addresses t o l i t e r a r y m e n , I w o u l d s u b s t i t u t e t h e s i m p l e a d v i c e : be n o t merely- a m a n o f l e t t e r s ! L e t l i t e r a t u r e be a n h o n o u r ­ able augmentation t o y o u r a r m s ; b u t n o t c o n s t i t u t e t h e coat, o r f i l l t h e escutchion! 1

It was presumably Coleridge's interest in the less known writings of Boccaccio that led him i n 1815 to plan a translation. I n May of that year he told Samuel Rogers that i f a publisher could be induced to buy the manuscript when it was ready for the press, he would embark on the enterprise. However, in spite of Rogers' good offices the project fell through, and by 7 October Coleridge had abandoned his intention. It is significant that from the outset he had excluded the Decameron, for, unlike most contemporary critics, he viewed this work with disapprobation. As his comments on English writers i n various places indicate, he strongly disliked anything that savoured of coarseness or impurity. Consecmently, it is not surprising to find that in his lecture Biographia i , p. 158. 1

Literaria,

C h . x i . Cf. 2-volume edition by J. Shawcross, Oxford, 1907,

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS ON BOCCACCIO

559

on 3 February 1818 he censured the Decameron i n no measured terms for the same defect as 'poisons Ariosto', 'interposes a painful mixture in the humour of Chaucer' and ' once or twice seduced even our pureminded Spenser'. With a complete lack of discrimination he ignored the tales of an idealistic bent and rejected the book as a whole. He made no allowance for a difference of manners i n earlier stages of society and condemned 'the gross and disgusting licentiousness, the daring profaneness, which rendered the Decameron of Boccaccio the parent of a hundred worse children, fit to be classed among the enemies of the human race'. Possibly it was the distaste with which he regarded these tales that caused him to pass over Boccaccio i n discussing such plays of Shakespeare as are derived from this source. I t was highly inconvenient to recognise any obligation on his part, and Coleridge preferred the distorting silence of the partisan to the unflinching truthfulness of the critic. Yet he is known to have been deeply moved by the story of Lorenzo and Isabella. I n his essay 'On consistency of Opinion' Hazlitt records: I h a v e h e a r d h i m t a l k d i v i n e l y ( l i k e o n e i n s p i r e d ) o f Boccaccio, a n d t h e s t o r y of t h e P o t o f B a s i l , d e s c r i b i n g ' h o w i t g r e w , a n d i t g r e w , a n d i t g r e w , ' t i l l y o u saw i t spread its t e n d e r leaves i n t h e l i g h t o f his eye, a n d w a v e i n t h e t r e m u l o u s s o u n d o f his v o i c e . 1

Moreover, when in a reasonable frame of mind, he was willing to concede that w e o w e t o h i m (Boccaccio) t h e subjects o f n u m e r o u s poems t a k e n f r o m his f a m o u s tales, t h e h a p p y a r t o f n a r r a t i o n , a n d t h e s t i l l g r e a t e r m e r i t o f a d e p t h a n d fineness i n t h e w o r k i n g s o f t h e passions. 2

And despite his hostility to the Decameron, he must have read it attentively, for he singles out the fantastic name ' Schinchimurra' from the long ninth tale of the eighth day as being appropriate for a fool. Towards Boccaccio's style, however, which had always been highly praised, Coleridge was not favourably disposed. He took exception to it on the ground that it was too much influenced by classical models and had a cramping effect on later writers; the fact that it had found imitators all over Europe only intensified his disapproval. To Boccaccio he says, 3

w e o w e t h e d o u b t f u l m e r i t o f h a v i n g i n t r o d u c e d i n t o t h e I t a l i a n prose, a n d b y t h e a u t h o r i t y o f his n a m e a n d t h e i n f l u e n c e o f his e x a m p l e , m o r e or less t h r o u g h o u t E u r o p e , t h e l o n g i n t e r w o v e n periods, a n d a r c h i t e c t u r a l s t r u c t u r e London Magazine, 1821. Cf. W a l l e r and Glover, x i , 517. 1811 Lectures, no. 5. Cf. Shedd, i v , 2 4 1 . See his Notebook x v i i i , p. 2, to w h i c h m y attention has been directed by Miss Kathleen Coburn. 1 2 3

340

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

which arose from the very nature of their language i n the Greek writers, but which already, i n the L a t i n orators and historians, had betrayed a species of effort, a foreign something which had been superinduced on the language, instead of growing out of i t ; and which was far too alien from that i n d i v i ­ dualizing and confederating, yet not blending, character of the N o r t h , to become permanent, although its magnificence and stateliness were objects of admiration and occasional imitation. This style diminished the control of the w r i t e r over the inner feelings of men, and created too great a chasm between the body and the l i f e . 1

To the ' hyperlatinization' which Coleridge found uncongenial i n Sir Thomas Browne no less than i n Boccaccio, there was a further objection —the barrier that it raised between the author and the ordinary man. If, as Coleridge admitted, the Decameron enjoyed a wide circle of readers, he considered that its popularity was due to the fascination of the subject-matter triumphing over the obstacle of the style. About Boccaccio's poetry Coleridge had little to say, for he thought it of slight interest, apart from the possibility that the eight-line stanza used i n the Teseida was the invention of the author. But the romances did appeal to him powerfully, partly because of their skill i n exhibiting the human passions, partly for 'the wild and imaginative character of the situations'. The selection of the last reason, which is as typical of the romantic critic as his dislike of too rigid a style because of the restraints thus imposed on the overflow of the inmost feelings, suggests that it was probably the Filocolo which Coleridge had in view and which he would have wished to rescue from an undeserved neglect. It was comprised i n the edition of the Opere that he possessed, and by no mere coincidence the only comments i n the four volumes relate to this romance. In a note on the last leaf of the first volume he remarks: r

Boccaccio from a sense possibly of poetic justice; herein followed by a goodly company of poetic sons—Ariosto, Camoens etc.—reversed the scheme of the early Church and the Fathers of the First Century—they, namely transferred the functions and attributes of the Pagan Godlings & Goddesses & Nymphs to deified Bishops, Monks & Nuns. Boccaccio the functions and histories of Hebrew Prophets & Prophetesses and of Christian Saints and Apostles—nay the highest mysteries and most aweful objects of Christian Faith to the names & drapery of Greek & Roman Mythology.

In support of his statement he refers to a passage early i n the Filocolo, where mention is made of the struggle waged by Jove, the ruler of the heavens, with Pluto, w ho, aspiring to greater power than was fitting, was exiled for ever with his companions i n the gloomy realms of Dis. Furthermore, Boccaccio continues, Jove created Prometheus, to whom he gave dear and noble company. This was obviously what Coleridge r

1

1811 Lectures, no. i i i . Cf. Shedd, i v , 2 4 1 .

r

CONTEMPORARY

COMMENTS

ON BOCCACCIO

541

was envisaging when i n his lecture on 3 February 1818 he assigned to Boccaccio the responsibility for 'a large portion of the mythological pedantry and incongruous paganism which for so long a period de­ formed the poetry, even of the truest poets'. 'To such an extravagance did Boccaccio himself carry this folly', he adds, 'that i n a romance of chivalry he has uniformly styled God the Father Jupiter, our Saviour Apollo, and the Evil Being Pluto'. I t was again the pagan element i n Boccaccio's work, so characteristic of Renaissance Italy, that inspired Coleridge to enter a note on the fly-leaf of Volume I of the Opere. It refers to the scene i n the Filocolo where the wise instructor Racheo, as soon as the young prince and the fair Biancafiore have learnt to read, puts before them Ovid's Ars amandi—'il santo libro'. And Coleridge exclaims: ' The Holy Book Ovid's Art of Love!! This is not the result of mere immorality. Multum multum hie jacet sepultum'. What lay buried there Coleridge defined in a footnote to ' The Garden of Boccaccio'. Alluding to the above scene, he observes: I k n o w f e w m o r e s t r i k i n g o r m o r e i n t e r e s t i n g proofs o f t h e o v e r w h e l m i n g i n f l u e n c e w h i c h t h e s t u d y o f t h e G r e e k a n d R o m a n classics exercised o n t h e j u d g m e n t s , f e e l i n g s , a n d i m a g i n a t i o n s o f t h e l i t e r a t i o f E u r o p e at t h e c o m ­ mencement of the restoration of l i t e r a t u r e . 1

The poem to which these words are appended was meant to illus­ trate a design by Stothard. I t formed part of the series which the artist had exhibited at the Royal Academy. Attention was thus drawn to them, and when Ugo Foscolo edited II Decamerone, to make the edition more valuable, ten plates engraved by Augusto Fox from Stothard's designs were included in some copies. I t was probably these illustrations that gave an idea to Frederick Mansel Reynolds, the editor of The Keepsake, who, like other editors of annuals about this time, scoured the studios for pictorial material. A letter by Coleridge speaks of ' a few epigrams which Mr. Reynolds selected from an old memorandum book of mine, and a poem written for one of the engravings—•"Boccaccio's Garden" '. From this it is clear that Rey­ nolds must have approached Coleridge and asked him to write a poem to go with the engraving by F. Englehart after Stothard's drawing which appeared i n The Keepsake i n 1829. However, as the poet reveals, the illustration was not handed to him by Reynolds, but by a friend, who, as E. H . Coleridge informs us, was Mrs. Gillman. Entering the room and seeing Coleridge i n one of those moods of dejected reverie with which she was only too familiar, she placed the design quietly on his desk. At first he but half saw: 2

3

Cf. Shedd, v i i , p. 520. Vide ante, p. 334. Cf. Unpuilished Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. E . L . Griggs, London, 1932, i i , p. 4 2 1 . 1

3

2

342

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

Boccaccio's Garden and its faery, The love, the joyaunce, and the gallantry! A n I d y l l , w i t h Boccaccio's spirit w a r m , Framed i n the silent poesy of f o r m . 1

(15-18) Roused from his despondency by the stimulus thus received, Coleridge depicts the scene i n lines that answer well to the details of the design, though ' the high tower' with its ' tinkling bells' can hardly be dis­ cerned i n The Keepsake. Then, inspired by 'old Boccaccio's soul', and breathing 'an air like life', the poet escapes from the garden to the surrounding countryside of Tuscany. And now, freed from the dreary numbness of the present, he no longer calls i n vain upon the past for relief, but blends his own memories of the Tuscan landscape i n the spring of 1806 with his impressions drawn from Boccaccio, i n a delicate evocation of the urbane charm and cultured grace of Italy: The brightness of the world, O thou once free, A n d always fair, rare land of courtesy! O Florence! w i t h the Tuscan fields and hills, A n d famous Arno fed w i t h all their rills; T h o u brightest star of star-bright I t a l y ! Rich, ornate, populous, all treasures thine, The golden corn, the olive, and the vine. Fair cities, gallant mansions, castles old, A n d forests, where beside his leafy hold The sullen boar hath heard the distant horn, And whets his tusk against the gnarled t h o r n ; Palladian palace w i t h its storied halls; Fountains, where Love lies listening to their falls; Gardens, where flings the bridge its airy span, A n d Nature makes her happy home w i t h m a n ; W h e r e many a gorgeous flower is duly fed W i t h its own r i l l , on its own spangled bed, A n d wreathes the marble u r n , or leans its head, A m i m i c mourner, that w i t h veil w i t h d r a w n W eeps l i q u i d gems, the presents of the d a w n ; — T h i n e all delights, and every muse is t h i n e ; A n d more than all, the embrace and i n t e r t w i n e Of all w i t h all i n gay and t w i n k l i n g dance! r

r

(73-95) Finally, against this background with its long tradition of civilisation he conjures up Boccaccio himself, seated with a manuscript of Homer on his knees and i n the folds of his mantle, near the heart, 'Ovid's Holy Book of Love's sweet smart'. And i n this happy mood he recap­ tures something of Boccaccio's half-pagan gaiety: ' T h e Garden of Boccaccio'. Cf. Shedd, vol. v i i ,

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS O N BOCCACCIO 345 O a l l - e n j o y i n g a n d a l l - b l e n d i n g sage, L o n g b e i t m i n e t o c o n t h y m a z y page, W h e r e , h a l f concealed, t h e eye o f f a n c y v i e w s F a u n s , n y m p h s , a n d w i n g e d saints, a l l gracious t o t h y m u s e !

(101-4)

This is Coleridge's last word ahout Boccaccio. Earlier he had declared that Italy for him meant Dante, Ariosto and Giordano Bruno. Yet i n the twilight of his life the earnest Christian thinker and subtle meta­ physician, to whom Boccaccio had seemed a stranger, yielded to the joyous vitality of this incarnation of the Renaissance spirit. Though he was not unfamiliar with the life of Boccaccio and singles out his falling i n love with Fiammetta i n the church of St. Lorenzo and his dedication of his life to the Muses, Samuel Rogers was like Coleridge i n that he was specially interested i n the setting of the 1

Decameron.

I n his Italy"

1

he speaks of Florence where the graceful

spire of Santa Maria Novella catches his eye. I t carries his mind back to the company of ladies and gentlemen who assembled there during the plague and W h o , w h e n V i c e r e v e l l e d a n d a l o n g t h e street T a b l e s w e r e set, w h a t t i m e t h e b e a r e r ' s b e l l R a n g t o d e m a n d t h e dead at e v e r y door, Came o u t into t h e meadows; and, awhile W a n d e r i n g i n idleness, b u t n o t i n f o l l y , Sat d o w n i n t h e h i g h grass a n d i n t h e shade O f m a n y a tree sun-proof—day after day, W h e n a l l was still a n d n o t h i n g to be heard B u t t h e cicala's voice a m o n g t h e o l i v e s , R e l a t i n g i n a r i n g , t o b a n i s h care, T h e i r h u n d r e d tales. 3

Of these tales Rogers mentions only one—that of Frate Cipolla. But the places where they were supposed to have been told excited his curiosity, and one bright November morning he set out and followed the movements of the narrators, beginning and ending i n Santa Maria Novella. He saw the Villa Gherardi with its painted rooms, open galleries and middle court, fragrant and gay with flowers; then the Villa Palmieri, W h e r e A r t w i t h N a t u r e v i e d — a Paradise W i t h verdurous walls, a n d m a n y a trellissed w a l k A l l rose a n d j a s m i n e , m a n y a t w i l i g h t - g l a d e Crossed b y t h e d e e r . 4

See ' T h e Pleasures of M e m o r y ' i n Poems, 1834, pp. 51 and 106. He visited I t a l y i n 1815. T h e first p a r t of t h e poem was published anonymously i n 1822. T h e second p a r t appeared i n 1828, b u t as i t d i d not sell w e l l , Rogers issued i t i n a revised f o r m , w i t h illustrations by T u r n e r and Stothard i n 1830. N o t i n 1822 section. Quotations f r o m 1840 ed., p. 22. Ibid. 1 2

3

4

344

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

a n d so o n t o t h e V a l l e delle d o n n e w i t h its clear l a k e . T h e designs b y S t o t h a r d i n his possession h e l p e d Rogers t o visualise t h e scene, a n d 1

his o w n d e s c r i p t i o n p i c t u r e s n o t less g r a c e f u l l y t h e m o d e o f l i f e o f t h e narrators: The morning-banquet by the fountain-side, W h i l e the small birds rejoiced on every bough; The dance that followed, and the noon-tide slumber; T h e n the tales told i n t u r n , as round they lay On carpets, the fresh waters m u r m u r i n g ; And the short interval of pleasant talk T i l l supper-time, w h e n many a siren-voice Sung down the stars; and, as they left the sky, The torches, planted i n the sparkling grass, And every where among the glowing flowers. B u r n t b r i g h t and b r i g h t e r . 2

E v e n m o r e t h a n Rogers, H a z l i t t was a g r e a t l o v e r o f Boccaccio a n d on

his v i s i t t o I t a l y i n 1825

was c o n t i n u a l l y h a u n t e d b y his shade.

A t M a i a n o h e f e l t e n r i c h e d b y t h e v i e w of his house a n d t h e V a l l e y of L a d i e s , a n d at T u r i n h e t h o u g h t t h a t i n t h e g r a c e f u l , looks o f t h e y o u n g w o m e n he c o u l d r e a d t h e v e r y soul of t h e But

downcast Decameron.

l o n g before t h i s date he h a d declared r e p e a t e d l y his passionate

a d m i r a t i o n f o r Boccaccio. T h e earliest reference

occurs i n a l e t t e r t o

Miss S t o d d a r t at t h e b e g i n n i n g o f 1808. I n his use of t h e characters o f t h e Decameron

t o f u r t h e r his l o v e - m a k i n g h e is u n i q u e a m o n g E n g l i s h

w r i t e r s . B e i n g i m p a t i e n t t o h a v e n e w s o f h e r , h e asks: Are you gone into a nunnery? Or are you fallen i n love w i t h some of the amorous heroes of Boccaccio? W h i c h of t h e m is it? Is i t w i t h Chynon, who was transformed from a clown into a lover, and learned to spell by the force of beauty? Or w i t h Lorenzo, the lover of Isabella, w h o m her three brethren hated (as your brother does me), who was a merchant's clerk? or w i t h Federigo Alberigi, an honest gentleman, wdio ran t h r o u g h his fortune, and won his mistress by cooking a fair falcon for her dinner, though i t was the only means he had left of getting a dinner for himself? This last is the m a n ; and I am the more persuaded of i t , because I t h i n k I won your good l i k i n g myself by g i v i n g you an entertainment—of sausages, w h e n I had no money to buy t h e m w i t h . Nay now, never deny i t ! D i d not I ask your consent that very n i g h t after, and did you not give it? W e l l , I should be confoundedly jealous of those fine gallants, i f I did not know that a l i v i n g dog is better than a dead l i o n : though, now I t h i n k of i t , Boccaccio does not i n general make much of his lovers: i t is his women wdio are so delicious. 3

As t i m e passed, H a z l i t t r e v i s e d t h i s o p i n i o n a n d came t o l i k e Boccaccio's lovers, as he d i d those o f Shakespeare, f o r t h e i r tenderness a n d m a n l y s p i r i t a n d t h e i r f r e e d o m f r o m i n s i p i d i t y a n d cant. I n o t h e r respects, however, 1 3

his a t t i t u d e t o Boccaccio u n d e r w e n t

no change. O n

Vide, ante, p. 333. Ibid. Cf. P. P. Howe, The Life of William Hazlitt, London, 1922, p. 106. 2

the

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS ON BOCCACCIO

545

c o n t r a r y , w i t h characteristic t e n a c i t y h e c l u n g t o h i s o l d f a v o u r i t e . I n his essay ' O n N o v e l t y a n d F a m i l i a r i t y ' h e tells o f t h e sheer happiness, t h e h e a r t ' s ease w i t h w h i c h h e u s e d t o r e a d t h e Decameron.

T h e tale

o f F e d e r i g o A l h e r i g h i i n p a r t i c u l a r m o v e d h i m as i f i t h a d b e e n h i s o w n experience. T r e a t i n g a s i m i l a r t h e m e i n t h e essay ' O n

Reading

O l d Books' he says: T h e o n l y w r i t e r a m o n g t h e I t a l i a n s I c a n p r e t e n d t o a n y k n o w l e d g e of, is Boccacio, a n d o f h i m I c a n n o t express h a l f m y a d m i r a t i o n . H i s s t o r y o f t h e H a w k I c o u l d r e a d a n d t h i n k o f f r o m d a y t o d a y , j u s t as I w o u l d l o o k at a picture of T i t i a n ' s ! 1

Boccaccio's characters became p a r t a n d parcel o f h i m , so t h a t i n o r d e r to c o n v e y his t h o u g h t s i n a t o t a l l y d i f f e r e n t sphere f r o m t h a t o f l i t e r a ­ t u r e , t h e i r figures came t o h i m u n s o u g h t . T h u s w h e n h e h e a r d

that

K e l l e r m a n h a d l e f t his h e a r t t o be b u r i e d o n t h e b a t t l e f i e l d o f V a l m y , w h e r e t h e i n v a d i n g A l l i e s h a d b e e n r e p u l s e d i n t h e e a r l y days o f t h e F r e n c h R e v o l u t i o n , he e x c l a i m e d : O h ! m i g h t t h a t heart prove t h e root f r o m w h i c h the tree o f L i b e r t y m a y spring u p a n d f l o u r i s h once m o r e , as t h e b a s i l - t r e e g r e w a n d g r e w f r o m t h e c h e r i s h e d h e a d o f Isabella's l o v e r ! 2

F o r h i m Boccaccio was t r u l y m o r e t h a n a n a m e . H e t r i e d t o s u m m o n u p a p i c t u r e o f t h e o l d n a r r a t o r a n d t h o u g h t t h a t one w h o was n o t o n l y a g r e a t r e v i v e r o f l e a r n i n g b u t also a m a n o f t h e w o r l d m u s t h a v e h a d s o m e t h i n g i n his features t o d i s t i n g u i s h h i m f r o m t h e m o d e r n s . T h i s personal i n t e r e s t i n Boccaccio m a d e t h e account o f his i n t e r v i e w w i t h Petrarch

d o u b l y a t t r a c t i v e t o H a z l i t t , b u t he w o u l d h a v e b e e n s t i l l

b e t t e r pleased i f he c o u l d h a v e seen C h a u c e r i n c o m p a n y w i t h a u t h o r o f t h e Decameron

the

a n d h e a r d t h e m exchange t h e i r best stories,

t h e Squire's T a l e against t h e story o f t h e f a l c o n , a n d , i n a v e r y differ­ e n t v e i n , t h e W i f e o f Bath's P r o l o g u e against t h e a d v e n t u r e s o f F r i a r A l b e r t . I n his o l d age, w h e n l i f e h a d l i t t l e m o r e t o offer h i m , H a z l i t t f o u n d solace f o r his cares b y r e c a l l i n g f o r m e r pleasant m e m o r i e s . O n his w a l k s h e w o u l d i m a g i n e t h e g r o u n d covered w i t h primroses

and

p u r p l e h y a c i n t h s , a n d t h e air f u l l o f s i n g i n g - b i r d s as m a n y s u m m e r s before,

and even the w i n d sighing t h r o u g h the tall wood had

its

associations. I n fancy, he says, I d i s t i n g u i s h t h e c r y o f h o u n d s , a n d t h e f a t a l g r o u p i s s u i n g f r o m i t , as i n t h e t a l e o f T h e o d o r e a n d H o n o r i a . A m o a n i n g g u s t o f w i n d aids t h e b e l i e f ; I look once m o r e t o see w h e t h e r t h e trees b e f o r e m e a n s w e r t o t h e i d e a o f t h e h o r r o r - s t r i c k e n g r o v e , as a n a i r - b u i l t c i t y t o w e r s o v e r t h e i r g r e y tops. The Plain Speaker, 1826, Essay xx. Cf. W a l l e r and Glover, v i i , p . 227. T h i s story was popular w i t h many nineteenth-century writers (vide post). N o r was i t forgotten i n the t w e n t i e t h (cf. Angela T h i r k e l l , The Brandons, 1939, p . 273). Table-Talk. Cf. W a l l e r and Glover, v i , p. 121. 1

2

346

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

' O f a l l t h e cities i n R o m a n i a n l a n d s , T h e c h i e f a n d m o s t r e n o w n ' d R a v e n n a stands.' I r e t u r n h o m e resolved to read t h e e n t i r e p o e m t h r o u g h , and, after d i n n e r , d r a w i n g m y c h a i r t o t h e f i r e , a n d h o l d i n g a s m a l l p r i n t close t o m y eyes, l a u n c h i n t o t h e f u l l t i d e o f D r y d e n ' s couplets (a s t r e a m o f s o u n d ) , c o m p a r i n g his d e s c r i p t i v e a n d d i d a c t i c p o m p w i t h t h e s i m p l e pathos a n d p i c t u r e s q u e o f Boccaccio's s t o r y . 1

Still more pathetic in tone is 'The Sick Chamber', in which, in the very presence of death, with a strong consciousness of his precarious tenure of existence and the rapidity with which his vitality was ebbing away, he evokes the past and longs once more to turn the pages of the Decameron.

Often as Hazlitt speaks of Boccaccio i n his personal essays, the allusions to him in the formally critical writings are still more numer­ ous. Indeed, from the beginning of his literary activity hardly a year passes without some reference to the Decameron. As early as January 1814, in an article for The Morning

Chronicle

on 'Why the Arts are

not Progressive?' he claims Boccaccio as one of the great artists who tower above their successors and who, relying entirely on nature, possess a strength of imagination which enables them, unlike the scientist, to reach the utmost summit of perfection in one stride. I n the same year he twice protested against the estimate of Boccaccio as a mere purveyor of lewd tales. The vulgar ear, he felt, had been caught by these critics, while it remained deaf to so delicate a portrayal of sentiment as the story of the falcon. Such gross-minded readers i n his opinion simply revealed their own mentality and travestied the Decameron. With passionate conviction he asserted that only the unclean of heart or the ignorant, commonplace critic who accepted his ideas ready-made, could possibly maintain an unfavourable attitude towards Boccaccio. He would have wished to see Byron trying to rescue him from this undeserved obloquy rather than eulogising the poetic genius of Pope. For his own part, he did not shrink from proclaiming the view that English literature had profited far more from contact with Italian literature as a whole and from Boccaccio in particular, than by what it had learnt from French literature, the one borrowing being successfully grafted on the national genius and lending it new strength and vitality, while the other enfeebled and impoverished it. There was one period of English literature i n which Hazlitt discerned a special affinity with the world of Boccaccio. I n the Elizabethan age, no less than i n that of Boccaccio, men lived dangerously; adventure was ever present, and catastrophe lurked round the corner. Marlowe, the lover of beauty, was stabbed in a tavern brawl, and the richness 1

London Weekly Review, 1828. Cf. W a l l e r and Glover, x i i , pp. 522—3.

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS ON BOCCACCIO

347

and animation of the hundred tales stand out against the grim scenes of the pestilence at Florence. And when Hazlitt came to individual authors, he found i n Heywood's Pardoner a kinsman of Fra Cipolla, while Dekker's command of simple pathos seemed comparable to that of the Decameron. I t was Boccaccio's mastery of pathos and of senti­ ment that Hazlitt especially admired, and he held that from this point of view Chaucer was his inferior. On the same ground the episodes i n Don Quixote, in spite of the praise bestowed on them, appeared to him trifling beside the serious tales of Boccaccio. Similarly, he declared that his own contemporaries might learn the meaning of true sentiment from such a story as that of the falcon, and he recommended it to Byron, so that he might ' get rid of his hard bravura taste, and swash­ buckler conclusions'. 'Had Frederigo Alberigi had an aviary of Hawks, and preserves of pheasants without end', Hazlitt adds, h e a n d his p o o r b i r d w o u l d n e v e r h a v e b e e n h e a r d of. I t is n o t t h e expence a n d o s t e n t a t i o n o f t h e e n t e r t a i n m e n t h e set before his mistress, b u t t h e p r o d i ­ g a l i t y o f affection, s q u a n d e r i n g a w a y t h e last r e m a i n s o f his once p r o u d f o r ­ t u n e s , t h a t stamps t h i s b e a u t i f u l i n c i d e n t o n t h e r e m e m b r a n c e o f a l l w h o h a v e ever read i t . 1

There are many such tributes scattered among Hazlitt's writings, but for the fullest and most coherent exposition of his opinions about Boccaccio we must turn to his review of Sismondi's Literature of the South of Europe in 1815. He begins by criticising the author on the ground that he seems to be more devoted to the modern writers of Italy than to 'those who appear to us objects of greater curiosity and admira­ tion', namely, Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio. Then he proceeds to blame Sismondi for losing so fine an opportunity of doing Boccaccio the justice which the world had till then denied him. H e has i n g e n e r a l passed f o r a m e r e n a r r a t o r o f lascivious tales o r i d l e jests. T h i s c h a r a c t e r p r o b a b l y o r i g i n a t e d i n t h e e a r l y p o p u l a r i t y o f h i s attacks o n t h e m o n k s , a n d has b e e n k e p t u p b y t h e grossness o f m a n k i n d , w h o r e v e n g e d t h e i r o w n w a n t o f r e f i n e m e n t o n Boccacio, a n d o n l y saw i n his w r i t i n g s w h a t s u i t e d t h e coarseness o f t h e i r o w n tastes. B u t t h e t r u t h is, t h a t h e has c a r r i e d s e n t i ­ m e n t of every k i n d to its v e r y highest p u r i t y a n d perfection. B y s e n t i m e n t w e w o u l d h e r e u n d e r s t a n d t h e h a b i t u a l w o r k i n g s o f some o n e p o w e r f u l f e e l i n g , w h e r e t h e h e a r t reposes a l m o s t e n t i r e l y u p o n itself, w i t h o u t t h e v i o l e n t e x c i t e m e n t of opposing duties or u n t o w a r d circumstances. 2

After this definition Hazlitt indicates those tales which best seem to illustrate his opinion: I n t h i s w a y , n o t h i n g e v e r c a m e u p t o t h e s t o r y o f F r e d e r i g o A l b e r i g i a n d his f a l c o n . T h e perseverance i n a t t a c h m e n t , t h e s p i r i t o f g a l l a n t r y a n d g e n e r o s i t y d i s p l a y e d i n i t , has n o p a r a l l e l i n t h e h i s t o r y o f h e r o i c a l sacrifices. T h e f e e l i n g 1 2

London Magazine, 1821. Cf. W a l l e r and Glover, x i , 5 0 1 - 2 . Edinburgh Review, 1815. Cf. W a l l e r and Glover, x, p . 68.

348

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

is so unconscious too, and involuntary, is brought out i n such small, unlookedfor, and unostentatious circumstances, as to show i t to have been woven into the very nature and soul of the author. The story of Isabella is scarcely less fine, and is more affecting i n the circumstances and the catastrophe. D r y d e n has done justice to the impassioned eloquence of the Tancred and Sigismunda; but has not given an adequate idea of the w i l d preternatural interest of the story of Honoria. Cimon and Iphigene is by no means one of the best, not­ withstanding the popularity of the subject. The proof of unalterable affection given i n the story of Jeronymo, and the simple touches of nature and pic­ turesque beauty i n the story of the two holiday lovers, who were poisoned by tasting of a leaf i n the garden at Florence, are perfect masterpieces. The epithet of D i v i n e was well bestowed on this great painter of the h u m a n heart. 1

Even i f by any chance Hazlitt's previous championing of Boccaccio had passed unnoticed, so stirring a plea could hardly escape the atten­ tion of men of letters. But, as i f to make doubly certain, two years later Hazlitt transferred these remarks bodily to his Characters of Shakespeare, where, in spite of the effort to relate them to AIVs Well That Ends Well, they form an obvious digression. On consideration of what he had already said of Boccaccio, it seems to have occurred to Hazlitt that there was one trait i n the tales which had been neglected, and that was their poetic quality. He hastened to make good the omission i n his Lectures on the English Poets w hich he delivered i n the first two months of 1818. Speaking of poetry in general, he asserted that metre does not constitute the whole difference between verse and prose, and as instances of prose works which bordered on 2

r

poetry he quoted The Pilgrim's

Progress,

Robinson

and

Crusoe

the

tales of Boccaccio. 'Chaucer and Dryden', he goes on, have translated some of the last into English rhyme, but the essence and the power of poetry was there before. T h a t which lifts the spirit above the earth, w h i c h draws the soul out of itself w i t h indescribable longings, is poetry i n k i n d , and generally fit to become so i n name, by being ' m a r r i e d to i m m o r t a l verse'. 3

Since the poetic spirit was thus inherent i n Boccaccio's stories, it was but natural that an attempt should be made to lend them poetic form, and Hazlitt recommended that the example set by Chaucer and Dryden should be followed in his own day: I should t h i n k that a translation of some of the other serious tales i n Boccaccio and Chaucer, as that of Isabella, the Falcon, of Constance, the Prioress's Tale, and others, i f executed w i t h taste and spirit, could not fail to succeed. 4

As a critic of Boccaccio, Hazlitt has limitations which are readily per­ ceived. Of his works other than the Decameron he knew little or r

1 3

Edinburgh Review, 1815. I b i d , v, pp. 13-14.

2

Cf. W a l l e r and Glover, i , pp. 5 3 1 - 2 . I b i d . , v, p. 82. 4

CONTEMPORARY

COMMENTS

ON BOCCACCIO

349

n o t h i n g , a n d o n t h e one occasion w h e n h e a l l u d e d to t h e m , h e dis­ missed t h e m a i r i l y as ' e p i c poems a n d t h e o l o g y ' . E v e n i n d e a l i n g w i t h t h e Decameron

his r a n g e is n a r r o w . H e confines h i m s e l f t o some t e n

o u t of t h e h u n d r e d tales. M o s t o f these h a v e r o m a n t i c l o v e as t h e i r t h e m e , a n d i t is u p o n t h i s slender basis t h a t he b u i l d s u p his generalisa­ t i o n s . I t has also t o be r e m e m b e r e d

t h a t f o r t h e most p a r t

Hazlitt

f o u n d e d his o p i n i o n s , as is s h o w n b y t h e f o r m s o f t h e n a m e s t h a t he uses, o n t h e E n g l i s h t r a n s l a t i o n w h i c h was first p u b l i s h e d i n

1620.

As a r e s u l t he sees t h i s w o r k o n l y t h r o u g h t h e v e i l cast o v e r i t b y t h e translator. T o some e x t e n t t h i s explains t h e n o t a b l e difference b e t w e e n his e s t i m a t e a n d t h a t o f C o l e r i d g e . Y e t e v e n i f a l l o w a n c e be m a d e f o r t h e d i s t o r t i n g effect o f t h e E n g l i s h i n t e r m e d i a r y , H a z l i t t ' s p i c t u r e is o b v i o u s l y one-sided, t h e c o n c e p t i o n o f a n advocate a n d n o t o f a j u d g e . B u t so d o u g h t y a c h a m p i o n c o u l d n o t f a i l t o leave a m a r k . T h e r e i t e r a ­ t i o n of his personal impressions exercised a p o t e n t i n f l u e n c e o n t h e choice o f t h e m e s b y v a r i o u s n i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y poets i n m a k i n g t h e i r adaptations f r o m

Boccaccio, a n d h e l p e d to shape t h e o p i n i o n s o f a

critic like L e i g h H u n t . I t is u n c e r t a i n w h e n H u n t first b e g a n t o r e a d Boccaccio, b u t he h a d l e a r n t I t a l i a n before

h e was arrested f o r his attack o n t h e

R e g e n t , a n d t h e pages o f t h e Parnaso

Italiano

Prince

h e l p e d to w h i l e a w a y

t h e t e r m o f his i m p r i s o n m e n t . B y 1818 his k n o w l e d g e was sufficient for h i m t o p i c k a n d choose a m o n g I t a l i a n w r i t e r s . H e p r e f e r r e d Boiardo a n d P u l c i t o A r i o s t o , b u t i t seemed t o h i m t h a t P e t r a r c h , Boccaccio a n d D a n t e w e r e t h e greatest of t h e m a l l . I n his e n t h u s i a s m

he

urged

S h e l l e y to become f a m i l i a r w i t h t h e a u t h o r o f t h e Decameron.

Hence

his r e q u e s t t o M a r y S h e l l e y t h a t she s h o u l d m a k e h e r h u s b a n d c a r r y o u t his p r o m i s e . I n p a r t i c u l a r S h e l l e y was to r e a d t h e tales o f t h e F a l c o n : o f t h e P o t o f B a s i l , o f t h e k i n g w h o c a m e t o kiss t h e y o u n g g i r l t h a t was sick f o r l o v e o f h i m ; a n d o f t h e l o v e r w h o r e t u r n e d a n d f o u n d h i s mistress m a r r i e d o n a c c o u n t o f false r e p o r t s o f h i m , a n d w h o c o m i n g i n u p o n h e r at n i g h t - t i m e , a n d b e g g i n g h e r t o l e t h i m l i e d o w n a l i t t l e b y h e r side, w i t h o u t d i s t u r b i n g h e r h u s b a n d , q u i e t l y b r o k e h i s h e a r t t h e r e . 1

T h i s a d m o n i t i o n bore f r u i t , a n d a l e t t e r f r o m Shelley i n 1819 shows t h a t t h e Decameron

was k n o w n t o h i m i n t h e o r i g i n a l . H e was about

to set o u t f o r Florence a n d w i s h e d t h a t H u n t w o u l d j o i n h i m t h e r e . T h e y w o u l d t r y , h e says, to m u s t e r u p a ' l i e t a b r i g a n t a ' , w h i c h , l e a v i n g b e h i n d t h e m t h e pestilence o f r e m e m b e r e d m i s f o r t u n e s , m i g h t act o v e r a g a i n t h e pleasures o f t h e I n t e r l o c u ­ tors i n B o c c a c c i o . 2

3

A f t e r t e l l i n g H u n t t h a t h e has o f l a t e b e e n r e a d i n g ' t h i s most d i v i n e Cf. The Correspondence of Leigh Hunt, ed. by his Eldest Son, London, 1862, 2 vols.! i , 150. i.e. ' b r i g a t a ' . The Correspondence of Leigh Hunt, i , 1501

2

3

350

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

writer', he announces that Boccaccio's 'serious theories of love' agree with his own. Hunt may well have felt some astonishment at Shelley's discovery of this community of ideas, but, on the birth of his son Percy, made a jesting allusion to the matter, saying, 'kiss my new friend for me twenty times, and its mother (Boccaccione volente) twenty more'. In the spring of 1820 someone lent to Hunt Count Baldelli's Vita di Boccaccio. The views which this little volume contained of places described i n the poet's works, doubtless contributed to Hunt's decision in the autumn of the following year to escape from his troubles at home to the land of such pleasing memories. At Pisa he saw the Arno, 'the river of Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio', and although it was shrunken in the summer drought and sandy-coloured, it was 'the river of the great Tuscan writers, the visible possessor of the name we have all heard a thousand times'. The name of Byron's house in which Hunt stayed at Genoa set him wondering whether this Casa Saluzzi had any connexion with the 'Markis of Saluces' who married Griseida, for 'classical and romantic associations abound so at every turn i n Italy that upon the least hint a book speaketh'. Hunt was conscious of this when he lodged at Florence i n the Via delle Belle Donne, hard by the church of Santa Croce; he was aware of it again as he walked outside the city, when 'Fiesole and Boccaccio burst upon me from the hills', and he was doubly aware of it once he had settled at Maiano. Such was his veneration for Boccaccio that he regretted the changes which the landscape had undergone since his time and w ould gladly have sacrificed some of the vines and olives for the restoration of the woodland and the lake i n the Valley of Ladies. Speaking of the intimate relation between Boccaccio's works and Maiano, he says: 1

r

T h a t m a n y - h e a r t e d w r i t e r . . . was so f o n d o f t h e place, t h a t h e has n o t o n l y l a i d t h e t w o scenes o f t h e Decameron o n each side o f i t , w i t h t h e v a l l e y w h i c h his c o m p a n y r e s o r t e d t o i n t h e m i d d l e , b u t has m a d e t h e t w o l i t t l e streams t h a t embrace M a i a n o , t h e Affrico and the Mensola, t h e hero and heroine of his Nimphale Fiesolano. A l o v e r a n d his mistress are c h a n g e d i n t o t h e m , a f t e r t h e f a s h i o n o f O v i d . T h e scene o f a n o t h e r o f his w o r k s [ t h e Ameto~\ is o n t h e b a n k s o f t h e M u g n o n e , a r i v e r a l i t t l e d i s t a n t ; a n d t h e Decameron is f u l l o f the neighbouring villages. 2

Out of the windows of one side of Hunt's home he saw the turret of the Villa Gherardi, to which, according to Boccaccio's biographers, his 'joyous company' retired i n the first instance from plague-stricken Florence. From the other side he could see Fiesole, where Boccaccio's father had owned a house; at his feet lay the Valley of Ladies, and He t h e n quotes f r o m the end of Dec. i i , 7, the words already mentioned. Vide ante, p . 336. Autobiography, C h . 2 1 . A useful m o d e r n edition of Hunt's Autobiography is t h a t edited by J. E . M o r p u r g o , London, 1949. 1

2

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS

ON BOCCACCIO

551

farther away the Mugnone and the mountains of Pistoia. From his study, where Baldelli's Life- lay on the table, he looked over the castellated top of Boccaccio's house to vineyards and olive groves, with the valley of the Arno and the Apennines i n the distance. The view of Florence from the terrace, 'clear and cathedralled', was declared by Hazlitt 'a sight to enrich the eyes', but Hunt for his part clung to his Boccaccian haunts as to an old home. I lived w i t h the true h u m a n being, w i t h his friends of the Falcon and the Basil, and m y own not u n w o r t h y melancholy; and went about the flowering lanes and hills, solitary indeed, and sick to the heart, but not unsustained . . . M y almost daily walk was to Fiesole, t h r o u g h a path skirted w i t h w i l d m y r t l e and cyclamen; and I stopped at the cloister of the Doccia, and sat on the pretty melancholy platform behind i t , reading or looking t h r o u g h the pines down to Florence. 1

Owing to illness and anxiety, Hunt was plunged at times into dejec­ tion. He forgot his early conception of Italy as an earthly Paradise, ' the land of perpetual sunshine, and fruits, and flowers, and mountain walks, and Petrarch, and Ariosto, and Boccaccio, 'for he had seen lemon and orange groves languishing i n a bitter wind and olives yearning this way and that, and bristling with cold. Even i n Tuscany clouds veiled the skies i n June, and heavy showers were not the less drenching, nor the gusts less boisterous, because they sped from behind Boccaccio's house. On other occasions he grew weary of the long sum­ mer and would gladly have exchanged the dusty vineyards for leafy lanes and green meadows. He missed the towering oak and elm, and longed for a stroll through hayfields in June, to revel i n woods and grass and wild flowers. I n such a mood he would exclaim: W e have the best part of Italy i n books; and this we can enjoy i n England. Give me Tuscany i n Middlesex or Berkshire, and the Valley of Ladies between H a r r o w and Jack Straw's Castle. The proud names and flinty ruins above the Mensola may keep their distance. Boccaccio shall build a bower for us out of his books, of all that we choose to i m p o r t ; and we w i l l have daisies and fresh meadows besides. 2

However, Hunt was not always thus engaged in translating himself from his exile back to England. The discovery of some English trees and even a meadow i n the Valley of Ladies enabled him to effect a compromise, for these, while I made t h e m furnish me w i t h a b i t of m y old home i n the n o r t h , did no i n j u r y to the memory of Boccaccio, who is of all countries, and who finds his home wherever we do ourselves, i n love, i n the grave, i n a desert island. 3

Another sight which gave Hunt a singular pleasure was that of a flock of pigeons careering about the hamlet of Fiesole and flashing 1

Autobiography, Ch. 2 1 .

2

Ibid.

3

Ibid.

552

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

white in and out of the green trees. As he watched, he could not help fancying that they were the souls of the gentle company i n the Decameron, come to enjoy their old haunts i n peace. I t seemed to him that no falcon would attack them, because of the beautiful story which they had told of him. Yet even with these graceful literary associations Hunt could not repress a longing now and then for a walk over the fields at Hampstead, and when the time of his departure came, he left Maiano without regret. But he was steeped i n Boccaccio, and the scenes about him on the homeward journey were coloured by his reminiscences. Thus at Poirino he saw issuing from two coaches a group of Dominican friars, each holding a bottle of wine i n his hand, while the abbot at their head held two, and the spectacle recalled some of the jovial figures in the Decameron. There w ere, however, other works of Boccaccio with w hich Hunt was acquainted, and in this respect he occupies a remarkable position among English writers after the Jacobean age, for since that period attention had for the most part been directed to the hundred tales. I n addition to the Ninfale Fiesolano, to which he refers i n connexion with his account of Maiano, he had read Boccaccio's life of Dante. He likewise knew the Ameto, which he had before him as he wrote to Shelley in the spring of 1820. I n his 'Criticism of Female Beauty' he afterwards drew from it illustrations of the mediaeval ideal of womanly beauty. He had also read De genealogia deorum, and one is led to surmise whether it was not through him that Shelley heard about the figure of Demogorgon. Hunt describes the book as 'a work of prodigious erudition for that age, and full of the gusto of a man of genius', and while he points out that Boccaccio could not help laughing at the credulity of the ancients i n making a god of so squalid a creature as Demogorgon, he thinks that he must have had a lurking respect for him, 'inasmuch as mud and dirt are among the elements of things material, and therefore partake of a certain mystery and divineness'. The Teseida was yet another work that came to Hunt's notice. I n 1820 he had not seen i t , and i n speaking of Chaucer's Knighfs Tale he mentions how greatly neglected the Italian source had been, so that the Italians, according to his belief, were as unfamiliar with it as foreigners. His ignorance at this stage, however, did not deter Hunt from the following comment: r

r

1

Chaucer thought i t w o r t h his while to be both acquainted w i t h i t , and to make others so: and we may venture to say, that we know of no Italian after Boccaccio's age who was so likely to understand h i m to the core, as his English admirer, Ariosto not excepted. Still, from what we have seen of Boccaccio's poetry, we can imagine the Theseide to have been too lax and long. I f Chaucer's 1

Vide ante, pp. 37—41.

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS ON BOCCACCIO

353

P a l a m o n a n d A r c i t e be a l l t h a t h e t h o u g h t p r o p e r t o d i s t i l f r o m i t , i t m u s t h a v e b e e n g r e a t l y so; f o r i t was a l a r g e epic. B u t at a l l events t h e essence is a n e x q u i s i t e one. T h e t r e e m u s t h a v e b e e n a fine o l d e n o r m i t y , f r o m w h i c h such a h o n e y c o u l d be d r a w n . 1

When Hunt had actually seen the Teseida, its prolixity merely served to heighten his admiration of Chaucer's skill as a narrator and to establish the conclusion which before he had arrived at mainly by guesswork. I t was now clear to him that Boccaccio was not a great poet, though he was great and of a poetical nature, for his ' heart and nature were poems; but he could not develop them well in verse'. For Boccaccio as a writer of prose and for the personality that lay behind it, Hunt nevertheless felt the highest respect. He was attracted to this tender genius, the 'lover of books and gardens', whose 'sweet­ ness of nature' was everywhere manifest. At the sight of roses covering the front of a cottage in winter his thoughts would wander to Boccaccio's tale of the magician who conjured up a fragrant garden i n January, and when imagining a heaven for himself, he desired to hear another Decameron, told by the master of simple pathos. I t was his great pleasure to recall these tales, whether i n the original or i n the adapta­ tions of Dryden, Keats or Barry Cornwall, while Landor's Pentameron, 'a book of the profoundest humanity', with its portrayal of Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio, was for him an unfailing source of delight. In his insistence on ' the nobler character of Boccaccio' Hunt openly acknowledged himself a follower of Hazlitt, whom he regarded as a torch-bearer who had dispelled the darkness i n which the true spirit of the great writer had long been enshrouded. This achievement was all the more remarkable, because i n his opinion the modern Italians had shown no understanding of Boccaccio's real merits: 2

H i s greatest a d m i r e r s t a l k o f l i t t l e b u t h i s m i r t h , his k n o w l e d g e o f t h e k n a v i s h p a r t o f t h e w o r l d , a n d h i s s t y l e . I f a n ecclesiastic defends h i m , i t is u p o n t h e g r o u n d of his affording w a r n i n g s t o y o u n g m e n , and of his n o t m e a n ­ i n g a n y t h i n g against t h e c h u r c h . E u l o g i u m s o n h i s s t y l e a l w a y s f o l l o w as a m a t t e r o f course. N o t h i n g is said, or said w i t h a n y r e a l c o n v i c t i o n , o f a l l those d e l i g h t f u l p i c t u r e s o f i n n o c e n t l o v e , tenderness, a n d g e n e r o s i t y , w h i c h are e n o u g h t o keep some o f t h e finest parts o f o u r n a t u r e y o u n g a n d h e a l t h y . 3

Like most of his English contemporaries, Hunt was above all drawn to Boccaccio's tales of high sentiment, and he believed that in this respect he was recapturing what had .appealed to Petrarch and Chaucer but what had eluded Dryden with all his brilliance. I n his praise of Boccaccio, Hunt at times appears faintly cloying, and one misses the Cf. ' M a y - D a y ' i n The Indicator, xxix, 26 A p r i l 1820. Cf. Essays by Leigh Hunt, ed. A . Symons, London, 1887, p. 8 1 . Bacchus in Tuscany, A Dithyrambic Poem, from the Italian of Francesco Redi, notes original and select. By Leigh Hunt. See the ' N o t e s ' , pp. 135—6. 1

2 3

2A

with

S54

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

definite critical principles of Coleridge and the virile appreciation of Hazlitt. Nevertheless, he wrote with considerable knowledge of Boccaccio's works as a whole and with intimacy and charm of their Tuscan setting. It was i n 1823 that Bryan Waller Procter, a friend of Leigh Hunt, published 'The Letter of Boccaccio', using, as was his practice, the pen-name 'Barry Cornwall'. The letter is supposed to be addressed to Fiammetta from Florence i n the latter part of Boccaccio's life. I t has very little relation to reality and gives a romantic interpretation of his life and mind. I t may be granted that far less was known about him at the beginning of the nineteenth century than at present, but Corn­ wall did not exert himself i n the least to provide a solid foundation of such information as was then available. In this epistle, which reflects the personality of Procter far more than his own, Boccaccio recalls his last meeting at Naples with Fiam­ metta and his promise to tell her the story of his life. This is merely an awkward device to introduce the survey which Boccaccio proceeds to make. After a vague account of his childhood he tells of his studies with Cino, of his becoming a monk and his abandonment of the monastic calling to lead a dissolute life i n Florence. He rejected the Carthusian's counsel and would hear nothing of faith or true love: 1

So, misted by a strange voluptuous air, I travelled on i n intellectual g l o o m . 2

(P- J37)

A transformation was wrought by his genuine love for Olympia who lived not far from Florence. The simplicity of her cottage and the beauty of her silvan environment were i n keeping with the purity of her character. The personality of Olympia is invested with the frag­ rance of citron woods that shook out vast perfume, A n d myrtles dowried w i t h their richest bloom. (P- 3 9 ) J

Her premature death left Boccaccio a sad and serious man. His visit to Naples served to distract his mind from its grief, and Procter describes vividly what a revelation it was for this native of northern Italy to see Its blue skies and Palladian palaces, (Like Eastern dreams,)—statues and terraces, A n d columns lustrous w i t h poetic thought; A l l filled w i t h groups arrayed i n antique dress, (Nymphs and Arcadian shapes, gods, goddesses) 1 2

I n The Flood of Thessaly, The Girl of Provence, and other Poems. Quotations from the first edition.

C O N T E M P O R A R Y C O M M E N T S ON BOCCACCIO

355

F r o m base t o p a l m y c a p i t a l m a r b l e - w r o u g h t , A n d colonnades o f m a r b l e , f o u n t a i n - c o o l , A m o n g s t w h o s e l a b y r i n t h i n e aisles t h e breeze R o a m e d at i t s w i l l , a n d g a r d e n s g r e e n , a n d trees F r u i t e d w i t h g o l d , a n d w a l k s o f cypresses, W h e r e R e v e l h e l d h e r r e i g n (a g a y m i s r u l e ) N i g h t l y b e n e a t h t h e stars. A n d t h e r e t h e seas W h i c h w a n d e r i n a n d o u t t h y s u n n y bay, Soothe I s c h i a a n d t h e c r o w n e d P r o c i d a , B r i g h t islands, w i t h a t h o u s a n d h a r m o n i e s . . . (p. 141)

Finally, Boccaccio traces his development after leaving Naples and indulges in a prophetic vision of the future. Incidentally, Procter analyses Boccaccio's relations with Fiammetta who is exhibited i n a light alien to the author of Amorosa Fiammetta. Though her beauty is extolled, it is above all her spiritual qualities that are emphasised. The church wTiere Boccaccio first saw her affects the whole conception of her nature. With the solemn sound of the pealing organ is blended a song that appears to come from the lips of a priestess, lost i n holy aspiration. Her gaze is turned skywards, and Boccaccio is spellbound until A t last, a f i n e a n d u n d u l a t i n g m o t i o n , L i k e t h a t o f some s e a - b l o o m w h i c h w i t h t h e ocean M o v e t h , surprized thee i n t h y holy lair, A n d stole t h e e o u t o f silence, l a d y f a i r ! I saw t h e e go,—scarce t o u c h i n g t h e c o l d e a r t h , As b e a u t i f u l as B e a u t y at h e r b i r t h , Sea-goddess, w h e n f r o m o u t t h e f o a m she s p r u n g F u l l deity, and all the w i d e w o r l d h u n g M u t e a n d i n m a r v e l at p e r f e c t i o n b o r n . (P- H 5 )

The acquaintance that followed ripened into love, but not sensuous passion. Rather Boccaccio figures as a grave humanist who, with Fiammetta as his disciple, reads Petrarch as well as Homer and other great writers of Greece. He develops her intellect and guides her to truth. She stands forth to all time, not as a notable example of fierce sexual desire, but as one whose function it was T o l i f t l o w passion f r o m i t s b r u t e despair, A n d save t h e p o e t r y o f l o v e f r o m d y i n g . (p. 150)

Consequently, when Boccaccio departed from Naples, though separation from Fiammetta cost him many a pang, he mastered pain and found that his mind was free and that he could scan with piercing sight. The humanist becomes the philosopher. He

the his life has

356

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

forgotten the past, but now and then the old memories return, and he is filled with longing for bygone, happy days. It is significant that when Boccaccio recalls Fiammetta it is against a background of natural beauty, even as he had done with Olympia, and the time when these memories steal upon him is usually the hour of sunset. Then he conjures up the bay of Naples and its islands, washed by a sunlit, glassy sea, or Fiammetta i n the palace garden culling flowers for a garland, the rising moon seen through the cedartree at twilight, riding among stars and clouds. More than once Boccaccio contrasts the scenery of Florence with that of Naples, always to the advantage of the latter, because he prefers the sea to an inland landscape of wood and hill, meadow and river. I n all these passages Procter is obviously injecting his own feelings into the soul of Boccaccio. More directly he ascribes to the mediaeval writer the sensibility of the nineteenth century when he explains his flight from monastic life as the longing of a nature-lover to escape into the open: I was f o r e s t - b r e d , A n d loved to w a n d e r i n m y infancy, A n d made a y o u n g acquaintance w i t h t h e sky, W i t h rocks a n d streams, r i c h f r u i t s a n d b l u s h i n g f l o w e r s , A n d f e d u p o n t h e looks o f M o r n i n g , w h e n She p a r t e t h w i t h the b e a u t y o f t h e H o u r s .

(PP- 135-6) Attractive as some of these episodes are, they tend to disturb the balance of the poem. I n other respects the discursive tendency is still more evident. The homage to Petrarch i n connexion with the account of Fiammetta's reading is disproportionate. The praise of the Decameron is also too long, though Boccaccio may be forgiven for his confident declaration that it will prove an inspiration to future generations. He maintains that great men will treasure it and that their fame will mingle with his for all time. He predicts that his renown s h a l l be seen f r o m shore t o shore, A n d h e r a l d e d b y s p i r i t s w h o s h a l l soar O n t h e i r o w n w i n g s a n d m i n e u n t o t h e sky, S u p r e m e s t poets, w h o c a n n e v e r d i e . (P-

135)

Though one may feel that such passages could profitably have been curtailed, they are not altogether irrelevant. However, there are parts of the poem which destroy the artistic unity of the whole. Thus on the pretext that Florence i n comparison with Naples was a bellicose state, Procter indulges i n a long tirade against war. Here and again at the close, when Boccaccio looks forward to an age of universal peace and social equality, it is manifest that he is simply the mouthpiece for

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS ON BOCCACCIO

357

Procter's opinions and aspirations. There is indeed some affinity be­ tween Procter and Shelley, but the honest sentiment of the one is of very different potency from the fervent idealism of the other, and the prophecies attributed to Boccaccio are trivial compared with the visions of Shelley i n Hellas

and Prometheus

Unbound.

Landor resembles Procter i n the adoption of a fictional device to present his interpretation of Boccaccio, hut he had the advantage of knowing more about him and the scene of his activities, for circum­ stances had cast his own lot i n the surroundings which were closely associated with Boccaccio's name and work. When Hunt was living at Maiano, Landor occupied the Palazzo Medici at Florence, and i n 1 8 2 9 he bought the Villa Gherardescha at Fiesole 'upon the spot where Boccaccio led his women to bathe when they had left the first scene of their story-telling'. Above stood the convent of the Doccia, over­ shadowed with cypress, the Valley of the Ladies formed part of his estate, and i n his grounds, luxuriant i n vine, fig and olive, ran the Affrico and Mensola. He describes the spot thus: Where the hewn rocks of Fiesole i m p e n d O'er Doccia's dell, and fig and olive blend. There the t w i n streams i n Affrico unite, One d i m l y seen, the other out of sight, But ever playing i n his smoothen'd bed Of polisht stone, and w i l l i n g to be led Where clustering vines protect h i m from the sun, Never too grave to smile, too tired to r u n . Here, by the lake, Boccaccio's Fair Brigade Beguiled the hours, and tale for tale repaid. 1

This spot, so rich i n memories, was to Landor an inestimable treasure, and he prized its possession greatly. He speaks of the splendour of Italian skies that o'er Boccaccio's happy valley shone, Valley which I , as happy, call'd my own, and would fain have remained there with friends and children. But 2

Its quiet was not destined to be m i n e ; 'Twas hard to keep, 'twas harder to resign. 3

Before he took a final leave of this tranquil scene, he wrote these lines: R u n glibly on, m y l i t t l e Affrico, Content to cool the feet of weary h i n d On t h y smooth pavement, strown for h i m w i t h moss; Regretting not t h y vanisht lake, and maids Aside its bank, each t e l l i n g tale for tale; Revert thee rather, and w i t h pride record Here blythe Boccaccio led his Fair Brigade.* 1 3

Cf. W e l b y , x v i , p. 56. I b i d . , xvi, p. 56.

2 4

I b i d . , xv, p. 297. I b i d . , xv, p. 236.

358

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

To have lived long years i n this environment engendered i n Landor a peculiar sense of intimacy with the author of the Decameron. The fact that Boccaccio had criticised the conduct of the monks and had been criticised in return also helped to win the sympathy of one who was even more consistently anti-clerical. How highly Landor esteemed Boccaccio may be gathered from his praise of the Decameron as an immortal work, next i n rank to The Divine Comedy, and although i n power of uttering his thoughts i n metrical form, Boccaccio seemed inferior to Petrarch, Landor maintained that he was more liberally endowed with fancy and imagination. 'There are stories i n the Decameron',

he says,

w h i c h r e q u i r e m o r e g e n i u s t o conceive a n d e x e c u t e t h a n a l l t h e p o e t r y o f P e t r a r c a , a n d i n d e e d t h e r e is i n Boccaccio m o r e v a r i e t y o f t h e m e n t a l p o w e r s t h a n i n a n y o f his c o u n t r y m e n , g r e a t l y m o r e deep f e e l i n g , g r e a t l y m o r e mastery over the h u m a n heart, t h a n i n any other h u t D a n t e . 1

Landor does not hesitate to condemn some of the tales which appeared to him so coarse that modesty must cast them aside and only the depraved can receive any amusement from them. But ' i n the greater part' he exclaims, w h a t t r u t h f u l n e s s , w h a t t e n d e r n e s s , w h a t joyousness, w h a t p u r i t y ! T h e i r l e v i t i e s a n d gaieties are l i k e t h e h a r m l e s s l i g h t n i n g s o f a s u m m e r s k y i n t h e delightful regions t h e y were w r i t t e n i n . 2

Other impressions of Boccaccio are conveyed indirectly i n the imaginary conversations between Boccaccio and Petrarca and between these two and Chaucer. I n the first the humanity of Boccaccio is emphasised, when he tolerantly declares that a man without vices and infirmities would not be worth knowing, for he would be void of tenderness and compassion, and so his friends could expect no allowance to be made for their own frailties, nor sympathy i n their misfortunes. I n the second Landor brings out the preoccupation of Boccaccio with the world about him rather than with the supernatural. Doubtless he felt that i n this respect there was an affinity between him and Chaucer, and he would have understood Keats's confession 'Wonders are no wonders to me. I am more at home amongst men and women. I would rather read Chaucer than Ariosto'. I n view of Boccaccio's lively interest i n his fellows it is only natural that Landor should make him dismiss the marvellous as 'the commonest pedlary of the markets, and the joint patrimony of the tapsters', whereas he admits his preference for such events as will admit us into the recesses of the human mind. Landor also seeks to indicate what early English 1

2

The Foreign Quarterly Review, 1845, 'Francesco Petrarca'. Cf. W e l b y , x i i , p . 42'Francesco Petrarca'. Cf. W e l b y , x i i , p. 46.

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS ON BOCCACCIO

359

literature had to learn from Boccaccio, when he places these w ords i n Chaucer's mouth: r

I w i l l a t t e m p t t o s h o w E n g l i s h m e n w h a t I t a l i a n s a r e ; h o w m u c h deeper i n t h o u g h t , intenser i n feeling, and richer i n i m a g i n a t i o n , t h a n ever f o r m e r l y : a n d I w i l l t r y w h e t h e r w e c a n n o t raise p o e t r y u n d e r o u r fogs, a n d m e r r i m e n t among our marshes. 1

The most elaborate presentation of Boccaccio, however, is i n the Pentameron which had been begun in Fiesole, though by the time of its publication i n 1837 Landor had returned to England. With memories of Boccaccio crowding so thickly upon him he conceived the work which served to distract his thoughts from the cares that weighed upon him. He depicts Boccaccio as vowing during an illness that, i f he recovers, he will acknowledge God's mercy by burning the Decameron. Having learnt of this, Petrarch comes to dissuade him from so immense a sacrifice. During his five days' visit they discuss many topics, i n the course of which Landor's conception of Boccaccio is fully revealed through Petrarch. Boccaccio is extolled as the most creative and imaginative genius that Italy has produced, one who has displayed i n his writings more character, more nature, more invention than either Greece or Italy had ever seen. I n spite of the Decameron's faults, 'Would you consume a beautiful meadow because there are reptiles in i t ; or because a few grubs hereafter may be generated by the succulence of the grass?' Petrarch recognises that some of the tales are too licentious but refuses to agree with the severe moralist i n claiming that they lead to excesses. He goes so far as to contend that some ardent spirits will be content with reading Boccaccio when they would otherwise appease their excitement by action. Nevertheless, he wishes that the indecorous element could be eliminated. Nor would this entail a drastic alteration, for only some twelve or thirteen tales would be affected. Criticism of Boccaccio's style is also implied when Petrarca advises him not to be too ceremonious i n the structure of his sentences; the modulations of voice and language being infinite, a writer should adapt himself to them with equal flexibility. He rejects Boccaccio's plea for the imitation of such authors as Cicero, declaring that to copy him would not enable a man to attain consummate mas­ tery. Rather he should enter into the mind and heart of his own creatures and, thinking of them alone, pay no heed to style i n itself. In his strictures on the lack of decorum i n the Decameron Landor is at one with Coleridge, though his condemnation is less sweeping and more reasonable. His comments on Boccaccio's style likewise have 2

1 2

Imaginary Conversations, Cf. W e l b y , i x , p. 152.

1829, i , 214. Cf. W e l b y , i i , p. 247.

360

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

much in common with those of Coleridge. On the other hand, he agrees with Hazlitt i n regarding him as a supreme artist i n portraying the emotions and above all i n conveying a sense of pathos. I n his treatment of the horrible, Landor holds that i n some ways he is to be preferred to Dante, for Ugolino affects us like a skeleton, by dry, bony verity, and if the reception of Guiscardo's heart by Ghismonda or of Lorenzo's head by Lisabetta had been so nakedly described, it would have been unbearable. But the eulogy is not undiscriminating: Lisabetta should by no means have been represented cutting off the head of her lover, 'as well as she could' w i t h a clasp-knife. This is shocking and improbable. She m i g h t have found i t already cut off by her brothers, i n order to b u r y the corpse more commodiously and expeditiously. Nor indeed is i t likely that she should have intrusted i t to her waiting-maid, who carried home i n her bosom a treasure so dear to her, and found so unexpectedly and so lately. 1

1

2

However, the criticism of such details does not blind Landor to the skill of Boccaccio i n general. He finds a conspicuous example of his art i n the tale which follows that of Lorenzo and Lisabetta. I n the story of Andrevuola and Gabriotto the narrator contrives to work upon the reader's feelings by merely suggesting the horrible, as i n a dream, when ' le pareva veder del corpo di lui uscire una cosa oscura e terribile', while he afterwards casts a spell upon him by introducing palpable forms and pleasing colours to relieve and soothe: 'E avendo molte rose bianche e vermiglie colte, perciocche la stagione era'. Landor does well to insist on this point, and his remarks show much insight. But above all it is Boccaccio's power of drawing every kind and condition of men that appeals to him. His range is astonishing; none but a genius could have exhibited the wise, the witty and the simple as he has done. Though Dante may have more fire and energy, Boccaccio has an equal command over the depths of thought and the treasure of fancy and surpasses him i n variety and animation, and in naturalness and veracity of characterisation. Landor goes still farther and asserts that in vivacity and versatility of imagination, i n the narra­ tive and the descriptive, i n the playful and the pathetic, the world never saw his equal before Shakespeare. Ariosto and Spenser may stand at no great distance from h i m i n the shadowy and unsubstantial; but m u l t i f o r m M a n was u t t e r l y u n k n o w n to t h e m . The h u m a n heart, t h r o u g h all its foldings, vibrates to Boccaccio. 3

It was chiefly these immortal creations of the Decameron that won Landor's devotion. To Boccaccio's other work he paid but little heed. 1 2

Boccaccio, of course, does not speak of a 'clasp-knife' b u t 'un coltello'. Cf. Welby, i x , p . 166. I b i d . , p . 288. 3

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS ON BOCCACCIO

361

No doubt the love of Fiammetta and Boccaccio inspired some of Landor's finest prose when he described the poet's dream of her, but the figures that hovered i n his memory were those of the hundred tales: 1

w e can scarcely w a l k i n a n y q u a r t e r f r o m t h e gates o f F l o r e n c e , w i t h o u t t h e r e c o l l e c t i o n o f some w i t t y or a f f e c t i n g s t o r y r e l a t e d b y y o u . E v e r y street, e v e r y f a r m , is p e o p l e d b y y o u r g e n i u s : a n d t h i s p o p u l a t i o n can n o t c h a n g e w i t h seasons or w i t h ages, w i t h factions o r w i t h i n c u r s i o n s . G h i b e l l i n e s a n d G u e l p h s w i l l have been contested for o n l y b y t h e w o r m s , l o n g before t h e Decameron has ceased t o be r e c i t e d o n o u r banks o f b l u e l i l i e s a n d u n d e r o u r a r c h i n g v i n e s . A n o t h e r p l a g u e m a y c o m e a m i d s t us: a n d s o m e t h i n g o f a solace i n so t e r r i b l e a v i s i t a t i o n w o u l d be f o u n d i n y o u r pages, b y those t o w h o m l e t t e r s are a refuge and relief. 2

If there were English exiles i n Italy who admired Boccaccio, they had their Italian counterparts i n England. One of the best known was Gabriele Rossetti. Under the sway of his experiences i n the insurrec­ tionary agitations that broke out i n the kingdom of Naples i n 1820 and 1821, he persuaded himself that during the Middle Ages there existed a secret movement, with ramifications i n many countries, among them Italy, France and England. He believed that it bad an anti-papal bias, and so its adherents, the Knights Templar, were severely handled with the approval of Rome. Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio were among the initiated, and Petrarch i n particular, having relations with so many writers at home and abroad, occupied a central position. According to Rossetti, it was to him that Chaucer fled from the wrath of the Catholic clergy i n England. Like the great Italian writers, Chaucer was a cryptic poet whose words conveyed to those who had the clue far more than appeared on the surface. 3

Rossetti claims that Boccaccio was well aware of the profound secret and justifies his opinion by the sympathetic attitude shown towards the Knights Templar in De casibus virorum illustrium. They were 'la nostra schiera', ' i nostri', which Rossetti takes as meaning mem­ bers of the same party. He also lends a new aspect to Boccaccio's con­ version by the Carthusian monk, Beato Petronio, when he ascribes it, 4

I t plays a part i n Landor's drama, Andrea of Hungary and Giovanna of Naples, first published i n 1839 (cf. W e l b y , x i i i , pp. 2 7 9 - 3 4 1 ) , where Boccaccio and F i a m ­ m e t t a lend a l y r i c a l quality to scenes w i t h a background of gardens. T h e y appear again i n Giovanna of Naples, also first published i n 1839 (Welby, xiv, pp. 1-44), but the love theme is here quite subordinate. T h e poem 'Departure f r o m F i a m m e t t a ' (Welby, x v i , p. 181) illustrates once more Landor's interest i n this episode of Boccaccio's career. Welby, ix, p. 251. Sullo Spirito Antipapale che produsse la Riforma, e sulla segreta influenza cK esercitd nella letteratura d'Kuropa, e specialmente d'ltalia come risulta da molti suoi classici, massime da Dante, Petrarca, Boccaccio, London, 1832. Rossetti is here quoting f r o m the chapter ' L o d i della p a t i e n t i a ' i n Book i x o f Giuseppe Betussi's translation. 1

2

3

4

1

362

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

not to remorse for the occasional indecency and the attacks on the Church in the Decameron but to the discovery of the organisation which he and Petrarch had joined. Guided by these fantastic theories, Rossetti proceeded to examine the works of Boccaccio. Everywhere, even in the Amorosa Visione and the Ninfale d'Ameto, he finds support for his views. He maintains that the Urbano is intended to relate how Frederick I , the bitter opponent of the Papacy, was the first emperor to embrace the secret society. Fiammetta consists of 'seven mystic books'; the Vita di Dante is entirely i n secret language and contains Dante's hidden life; the Filocolo is not a romance but a hieroglyphic commentary on the Divine Comedy, i n which everything, however small, holds a secret. Even more important for Rossetti, however, was De genealogia deorum. Here he found a happy hunting-ground, and he has recourse to it again and again, returning triumphant with some new booty. The fourteenth chapter was above all the one that attracted him because of its exposition of the allegorical interpretation of poetry. To what strange conclusions Rossetti was led may be seen from a consideration of his remarks on the Decameron. He saw a mystical import in the numbers seven and ten, this being the number of the women narrators and that of the days on which tales were told. He dwelt at length on the seventh tale of the third day which he insisted on regarding as an episode in the life of Dante. Nor was he i n the least perturbed by the fact that the learned Manni, who had ransacked every conceivable source for Boccaccio's tales, had failed to observe any such origin. Rossetti remarks that as a result his attribution might be thought fantastic, but he replies confidently: 'By no means; this, more than any other, has an historical foundation, since it is the life of the Florentine poet Dante as a member of the sect'. As one might expect, the three tales that mention Paradise, Purgatory and Hell, are also seized on by Rossetti, though most readers will have difficulty in seeing any mystical intention i n them, and the same is true of his attempt to twist the story of Guido Cavalcanti i n the same direction. Still more extraordinary is Rossetti's discussion of the tales of Rinaldo d'Asti and Rinieri and Elena. I n each of these the hero is exposed to the bitter cold of a snowy night, and i n the second he takes his revenge by exposing the lady that had caused his suffering to the heat of a summer sun. Rossetti will have it that the falling of snow is a symbol for papal persecution, and of the second tale he writes: ' A more bold and bitter satire was never written against the Roman Church and never will be'. Following this train of thought, he presents Griseida 1

2

3

4

1 3

Vide ante, p. 45. v i , 9.

5

2 4

i i , 2.

i i i , 4 ; i i i , 8; i i i , 10. v i i i , 7. 5

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS ON BOCCACCIO

363

as another mystical figure, the aim of the story i n which she appears being to recall the crueltv of Charles IV to the secret society. A l l writers who handled the tale of the long-suffering Griseida, and Rossetti evidently linked Chaucer with Petrarch and Boccaccio, were seeking to recommend to their persecuted sect patience for the present and hope for the future. Literary criticism practised i n the manner of Rossetti can only lead to strange vagaries, and the interpretation of the Decameron on these lines would, as he says, ' produce the most curious book in the world'! It may be doubted whether Rossetti's allegorical exposition ever was widely accepted. Nevertheless, he did find one follower in the anonymous author of Tales from Boccaccio (1846), whose antiCatholic prejudice was reinforced by Rossetti's bias. To most people, however, there can be little attraction in fantasies so ill-founded. But at least Gabriele Rossetti's studies did mean that his family grew up in an environment where Boccaccio was as familiar as Dante. Like his father, Dante Gabriel Rossetti was interested in Boccaccio, partly because of the great mediaeval writer's devotion to Dante. I n 1

his translation of the Vila Nuova

and in Dante

and his Circle

Rossetti

alludes to Boccaccio's Life and to his commentary on Dante. He is evidently attracted to him because he was 'so reverent a biographer' and dwelt on the Divine Comedy with an awe-filled admiration. I t was this association with Dante that led Rossetti to translate two sonnets by Boccaccio, 'To one who had censured his public Exposition of Dante' and 'Inscription for a Portrait of Dante, both of which bear witness to Dante's greatness. I n the Decameron too there was material that caught Rossetti's attention, because it threw light on Dante's contemporaries, Guido Cavalcanti and Cecco Angiolieri. However, he also appreciated the Decameron for its own sake and drew upon it for his pictures. The lines at the close of the seventh tale of the second day, ' Bocca baciata non perde ventura, anzi rinnuova come fa la luna', gave him the idea for his oil-painting 'Bocca Baciata' in 1859. Nine years later he made an enlarged replica in water-colour, 'Bionda del Balcone'. Undoubtedly Rossetti read his Boccaccio with the eye of a painter, and the rural scenes interspersed between the tales must have given him aesthetic satisfaction. I n a sonnet by Boccac­ cio with a setting akin to these scenes he found a 'beauty of colour' that might recall the painted pastorals of Giorgione and ' a playful charm very characteristic of the author of the Decameron': 2

3

4

5

6

1

2 3

4

6

Possibly J. C. Hobhouse. Vide post, p. 567. 'Se Dante piange, dove c h ' e l si sia.' ' D a n t e A l i g h i e r i son, M i n e r v a oscura.' Vide ante, p. 55. Dec. v i , g and i x , 4. See The Early Italian Poets. Vide ante, pp. 336, 330. Cf. M a r i l l i e r , pp. 7 6 - 7 ; 154; 159. 6

364

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

By a clear well, w i t h i n a l i t t l e field F u l l of green grass and flowers of every hue, Sat three young girls, relating (as I knew) T h e i r loves. A n d each had t w i n e d a bough to shield Her lovely face; and the green leaves did yield The golden hair their shadow; w h i l e the two Sweet colours mingled, both blown l i g h t l y t h r o u g h W i t h a soft w i n d for ever stirred and still'd. After a little w h i l e one of t h e m said, ( I heard her) ' T h i n k ! I f , ere the next hour struck, Each of our lovers should come here to-day, T h i n k you that we should fly or feel afraid?' To w h o m the others answered, ' F r o m such luck A g i r l would be a fool to r u n a w a y . ' 1

Another sonnet, translated by Rossetti, depicts a similar group in a typical Italian scene. The sun is high, the sea motionless, only a light breeze occasionally stirs the tree-tops, and as the poet takes refuge from the heat in a grove, he hears a voice so sweet that it sounds like a nymph, a goddess or an angel singing to herself. A n d there m y lady, ' m i d the shadowings Of myrtle-trees, ' m i d flowers and grassy space, S i n g i n g I saw, w i t h others w h o sat around. 2

This was the Fiammetta who kindled Rossetti's imagination. There can be no doubt that the love of Boccaccio for Fiammetta, like that of Dante for Beatrice, touched the poet who himself loved with an ardent devotion. He could therefore enter into the feelings of Boccaccio in his sonnet addressed to Dante in Paradise after Fiammetta's death, when he begs, through the great master, that she will pray for their speedy reunion. Even more, however, Rossetti was impressed by the sonnet describing Boccaccio's last glimpse of Fiammetta: 3

4

Round her red garland and her golden hair I saw a fire about Fiammetta's head; Thence to a little cloud I watched i t fade, T h a n silver or than gold more b r i g h t l y fair; A n d like a pearl that a gold r i n g doth bear, Even so an angel sat therein, who sped Alone and glorious throughout heaven, array'd I n sapphires and i n gold that l i t the air. T h e n I rejoiced i n hoping happy things, W h o rather should have then discerned how God Had haste to make m y lady all His own, T n t o r n ' ad una fonte, i n un pratello'. Cf. The Works of Dante Gabriel ed. W . M . Rossetti, London, 1911, p. 414. ' G u i d o m m i A m o r , ardendo ancora i l sole.' Cf. Works, p. 415. 'Dante, se t u n e l l ' amorosa spera.' Cf. Works, pp. 412—13. 'Sovra l i fior v e r m i g l i e' capei d'oro.' Cf. Works, p . 413. 1

2

3 1

Rossetti,

CONTEMPORARY COMMENTS ON BOCCACCIO

565

E v e n as i t c a m e t o pass. A n d w i t h these stings O f sorrow, a n d w i t h life's most w e a r y load I d w e l l , w h o f a i n w o u l d be w h e r e she is g o n e .

The surpassing loveliness and the resplendent colours of the vision, the buoyant hope too swiftly changed into bitter grief, the weary longing for reunion in Paradise—all this is faithfully conveyed by Rossetti. Some little time after the tragic death of his wife in 1862 he painted a head of Fiammetta, and i n 1878 this was followed by an oil-painting called ' A Vision of Fiammetta'. The picture sprang from the above sonnet of Boccaccio, but Rossetti treated the theme freely. The red garland and the cloud disappeared; instead we see Fiammetta standing under an apple-tree, holding i n one hand a heavily-laden branch of blossom. Against the grey trunk her dull-red robe and reddish-brown hair stand out in relief, while her bright blue eyes contrast with the pink-white apple blossoms that surround her. Two bright blue butter­ flies and an aureole round her head add still more colour, while a bird hovers over her. To accompany his picture Rossetti wrote a sonnet: 1

2

3

Behold F i a m m e t t a , shown i n Vision here. G l o o m - g i r t ' m i d S p r i n g - f l u s h e d a p p l e - g r o w t h she stands; A n d as she sways t h e b r a n c h e s w i t h h e r h a n d s , A l o n g h e r a r m t h e s u n d e r e d b l o o m falls sheer, I n separate petals shed, each l i k e a t e a r ; W h i l e f r o m t h e q u i v e r i n g b o u g h t h e b i r d expands His wings. A n d lo! t h y spirit understands L i f e shaken and shower'd and f l o w n , and D e a t h d r a w n near. A l l stirs w i t h c h a n g e . H e r g a r m e n t s beat t h e a i r : T h e angel c i r c l i n g r o u n d her aureole S h i m m e r s i n f l i g h t against t h e t r e e ' s g r e y bole.

The introduction of the tree shading the figure of Fiammetta is a deviation from Boccaccio and recalls a similar setting i n other sonnets of his translated by Rossetti. By comparison with the original poem this version seems to have lost i n glowing splendour, but to have acquired in exchange freshness and delicacy of colour. The spirit too is altered, for the simple mediaeval faith embodied i n the flight of the angel is obscured and replaced by the symbolism of the falling blossom, even as the poignant sorrow of Boccaccio is transmuted into hope and confidence: W h i l e she, w i t h r e a s s u r i n g eyes m o s t f a i r , A presage a n d a p r o m i s e stands; as ' t w e r e O n Death's dark storm the r a i n b o w of the S o u l .

4

M a r i l l i e r , p . 158. I b i d . , p . 164. I b i d . , p . 137 and the illustration facing p. 158. Also Works, p. 229. ' F i a m m e t t a (For a P i c t u r e ) ' . See Ballads and Sonnets, London, 1881, p. 329, and Works, p. 22g. 1

3 4

2

366

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

2. Tales i n Verse I n 1805, while still an undergraduate at Cambridge, John Cam Hobhouse adapted the tale of Masetto and four years later he published 1

it i n Imitations

and Translations

from

the Ancient

and Modern

Classics.

He treats the story with some freedom, placing the convent in Genoa and eliminating the steward. In some places he is more discreet, but elsewhere he introduces such terms as 'punk' and 'whore' which are at variance in their coarseness with the graceful language of the original. What is more important, however, is the liberty that Hobhouse takes in introducing matter not found i n his source. A quotation from Chaucer, a contemporary of Boccaccio, caused him no qualms, but the invocation of Pope's opinion on women he thought more daring. Chaucer, to female frailties b l i n d , A n d m u c h a f r i e n d to a l l t h e k i n d , A certain strange opinion h a t h , ( Y o u read i t i n the wife of Bath;) T n everv station, every hour, W o m a n is fondest s t i l l o f p o w e r . ' B u t Pope, a m i g h t y m a s t e r t o o , O p i n e s t h e i r r u l i n g passions t w o ; A n d says, t h a t a l l t h e sex o b e y T h e l o v e o f pleasure o r o f s w a y : T h a t is, t h e sex ( t o say n o m o r e ) M u s t play the t y r a n t or the whore. W h a t m o r a l i s t s h a l l dare decide B e t w e e n the powers of lust and pride? T h e m e n w h o s e w a n t o n w i v e s elope, A g r e e , n o d o u b t , w i t h M r . Pope. W h o s e m a t e s are chaster m u c h a n d crosser, W i l l give the preference to D a n Chaucer. 3

Such an anachronism seemed to Hobhouse to call for an apology, and he defends it on the ground that 'only the outlines of the story i n the original Italian are here imitated and preserved'. The same conten­ tion would, of course, justify his allusion to the entanglement of Frederick, duke of York, with the adventuress Mary Anne Clarke, a public scandal at the time when the translation was made. There is in fact a notable satirical bent i n Hobhouse's version, and it is not for nothing that he cites among his authorities Chaucer and Pope. I t is true that Boccaccio's tale has also an undercurrent of satire but i t lies i n a genial recognition that the weakness of the flesh is not confined to the laity. Hobhouse, on the other hand, writes as a Protes­ tant and an apostle of enlightenment. I n his hands the tale is given an anti-Catholic direction and at the close is turned into a burlesque: 1

Dec. i i i , 1.

2

Imitations and Translations

etc., 1809, pp. 117—18.

TALES I N VERSE

367

A m i g h t y miracle behold, As g r e a t as those p e r f o r m ' d o f o l d ; B y M a r y ' s h a i r s , or P e t e r ' s toe, St. B r i d g e t o r B a r r o m e o (sic!), T o us t h e h e a v e n l y m e r c i e s r e a c h , A n d g i v e t h e d u m b t h e p o w e r o f speech. (p. 127)

Moreover, the faithful, who believe i n a miracle which is no miracle but a conspicuous example of human frailty, are made the object of derisive laughter: A n d t h u s since t h e n t h e deaf a n d d u m b I n c r o w d s before t h e c o n v e n t c o m e ; I n p i o u s hopes t o g a i n t h e i r shares O f c o m f o r t b y t h e vestals p r a y e r s : A n d l i k e t h e blest M a s s e t t o p r o v e The m i g h t y power of heavenly love. (p. 128)

Some of the characteristics displayed i n this adaptation are exhibited in Tales from

the Decameron,

which appeared in 1846. I t contains

'The Abbot of Florence' and 'Salvestra'. Although the volume is anonymous, there is good reason to believe that the author was Hobhouse. His method is similar to that employed in 'The Miracle', but the practice of grafting contemporary allusions and a personal point of view on the old story is developed i n a high degree. Nor does Hobhouse now feel constrained to offer any defence, perhaps because i n the meantime Byron's Don Juan had provided a notable illustration of the brilliant success that might attend such a procedure. The choice of 'The Abbot of Florence' was governed by the same considerations as had led Hobhouse to 'The Miracle'. The tale of the pious and n a i v e Ferando, duped by a cunning abbot who takes advan­ tage of his supposed death and punishment i n Purgatory to further his designs against Ferando's wife provided similar material. And at the close, as i n the earlier poem, there was a miracle calculated to amuse the somewhat cynical translator. I n the Tales from Boccaccio, how­ ever, the Protestant bias has become more sharply defined, and the bogey of Roman Catholicism haunts Hobhouse with such persistence that even i n 'Salvestra' a wily and worldly priest, Pere Lebrun, is allowed to intrude and seek to divert the thoughts of the faithful Girolamo from his love i n Florence to the fair women of Paris. Both here and i n the first tale the ecclesiastic is depicted as abusing his power of absolution with complete lack of scruple. I n his introduction, 1

2

Dec. i i i , 8 and iv, 8. I n w h a t follows i t is assumed t h a t this is so. Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , 'John C a m Hob­ house as the author of Tales from Boccaccio with modern illustrations'', M.L.R., 1948, x l i i i , pp. 8 4 - 8 . 1 2

368

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

even more than i n the text of the poem, Hobhouse reveals his ani­ mosity, the flames of which had been fanned by the Tractarian move­ ment. He speaks bitterly of Pusey and Sewell, and although he does not mention Newman by name, it is evident that he regarded his conversion i n 1845 as a betrayal. I n these circumstances he thought the time ripe 'to review the testimony of a Boccaccio to the corruptions of the Church of Rome' and consequently he makes the extravagant assertion that ' The Abbot of Florence' is essentially a religious poem. In bis eyes Boccaccio was 'proleptically a Protestant', an enlightened thinker struggling against the forces of reaction and obscurantism. He presents the author of the Decameron as a liberator whose efforts to remedy the abuses of his age bring upon him the hatred of the religious. I n short, he paints the same picture as Byron had done i n Childe Harold and as he himself was again to paint thirteen years 1

2

later in

Italy.

3

As was only to be expected of so strong a Whig, Hobhouse imports not only his religious views but also his social and political sympathies into his versions. On occasion, with an amazing anachronism, he dis­ plays Ferando as an exponent of Tory morals and adds the comment: W e now hear more than fifteen out of t w e n t y gents, T h i n k duelling the Christian end of quarrels; A n d that by our prosperity is meant h i g h rents: I n short, that all m a n k i n d are stupid squirrels, W h o rush for ever round an iron cage Instead of going farther every age. (Canto I I , st. x l v i i )

And when Hobhouse crosses the Channel, despite the splendour of French society and its intellectual brilliance, this English Whig finds a sad falling off from the heroic courage of the Revolution. Once he had praised Napoleon at the expense of the Bourbons, but now he condemns all Frenchmen for having abandoned the ideal of liberty and surrendered to him. Hobhouse's dislike of absolute monarchy was strong, and when such a system i n the reign of Nicholas I quelled the Polish rebellion with blood and terror, it intensified his opposition, as may be judged from these lines: 4

They say, that Nicholas, the Russian czar Flogged Polish ladies at the Insurrection W h e n Warsaw t h r e w his impious chains afar, (A weak rehearsal of the resurrection), See the 'Sketch of the L i f e and W r i t i n g s of Giovanni Boccaccio', p . x l i , i n Tales from Boccaccio. Canto I V , st. l v i i i . Vide ante, p. 357. Italy: Remarks made in several visits from the year 1816 to 1854, PP- 4 9 Cf. D.N.B., A r t . 'John Cam Hobhouse'. 1

2

3

4

2

1 —

TALES I N VERSE

369

A n d tho' unarmed was maddened into war! But fate and doctors like a large dissection, So thousands died because a v i l l a i n r u l e d : W h i l e Saints maintained the h u m a n blood was cooled! (Canto I I , st. x l v ) B u t t h o u g h h e h a d l i t t l e good t o say o f k i n g s , H o b h o u s e was a n i m a t e d b y v e r y d i f f e r e n t feelings t o w a r d s Q u e e n V i c t o r i a . H e c o u l d n e v e r f o r g e t t h a t first c o u n c i l at K e n s i n g t o n Palace o n 30 l u n e

1837, o f

w h i c h h e has l e f t so e x c e l l e n t a d e s c r i p t i o n . I t c o l o u r e d his o u t l o o k i n l a t e r years a n d created i n h i m a g e n u i n e d e v o t i o n : Nations are often kept w i t h o u t their dinner— ( I wish t h e y ' d t r y this method on their kings), But not upon our Queen; I w o u l d not t h i n her Most gracious face for t w e n t y sovereigns, For, let me whisper (this ourselves between), L i k e M e l b o u r n I am too fond of the Queen! (Canto I I , st. x x x v i i i ) O f w o m e n i n g e n e r a l H o b h o u s e h a d l i t t l e good t o say. I t is s i g n i f i ­ cant t h a t i n 'Salvestra'

G i r o l a m o ' s m o t h e r is p o r t r a y e d as h a r d a n d

ambitious, w i t h her thoughts on r a n k and money rather t h a n on the happiness o f h e r son. T h e F l o r e n t i n e m e r c h a n t ' s w i d o w is t r a n s f o r m e d i n t o ' L a d y S i g h i e r i ' , a n d H o b h o u s e u n k i n d l y ascribes t h e d e a t h o f L i o n a r d o t o t h e n i g h t l y c u r t a i n - l e c t u r e s t h a t she i n f l i c t e d u p o n h i m . G e r t r u d e , t h e w i f e o f F e r a n d o , is no less u n p l e a s a n t . H e r assertion t h a t i f wedded peace were m i n e , I shoidd all wives i n piety eclipse, A n d nought save Watts' hymns should pass m y lips (Canto I , st. x x x v i ) is h a r d l y b o r n e o u t b y h e r l a t e r c o n d u c t , a n d at t h e close t h e r e is a t o u c h o f m a l i c e i n Hobhouse's account o f t h e ' g r e a t r e s i g n a t i o n ' w i t h w h i c h she bore F e r a n d o ' s r e t u r n f r o m his r e p u t e d s o j o u r n i n P u r g a t o r y . F e r a n d o t o o , h e h i n t s , has suffered f r o m t h e l o q u a c i t y o f his w i f e , w h i c h i n fact is t h e fate of a l l m a r r i e d m e n : W e left our hero i n a purgatory Where every husband is, or else w i l l be;— Should any Caudle contradict m y story, (And make an oath to his felicity—) Adding, he's married been (memento mori!) Of mortal years the space of twenty-three: I t proves he is accustomed to his Bedlam, A n d feels the butcher's knife no more than dead lamb. (Canto I I I , st. i ) 1

A n allusion to Douglas Jerrold's Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures, published like the Tales from Boccaccio i n 1846. 2B 1

370

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

In another passage he describes the awakening of the poet from a mood of imaginative ecstasy and exaltation 'to critics, taxes, wives and kings', and in an outburst of high-spirited gaiety he tells how this knowledge of the disadvantages of wedlock enabled him to resist the allurements of women: once I felt to polygamy inclined, A n d thought of taking one or two wives more, B u t very fortunately changed m y m i n d , W h e n just about to enter the Church door, By t h i n k i n g i f I had of wives a cart full, I t would be rather more than even my heart f u l l . (Canto I I , st. x i i )

It is unusual for him to speak of individual women among his con­ temporaries, but he does make an exception i n favour of Lady Hester Stanhope, whose conversational power he eulogises, though sarcasm is mingled with admiration. However, his satirical power is directed more forcibly against men of letters. Powell's tragedies are ridiculed as a patchwork of scraps from Browning and Home, and Home himself is dismissed as 'dismal'. The poetry of Rogers is summed up as 'water-gruel', and on his return from Purgatory Ferando relates that the 1

unpoetical old fellow, Beat off the Muses w i t h his silk umbrella! (Canto I I I , st. x x x i v )

He had news too of an even more prominent figure and said that W ordsworth was made beadle A n d Poet Laureate to the spinster N i n e ; Moreover, that he still would spout, and read all His ponderous verses to those nymphs divine! Apollo told his sisters they would need all T h e i r patience for his " V o l u m e on the R h i n e ; " For having there to praise Victoria's cousins, H e ' d m u l t i p l i e d his dulness by their dozens! r

Whereat the bard waxed furious, and swore T h a t future ages should read every w o r d , — I n fact, he meant to w r i t e seven volumes more! 'Tis said, when poor posterity had heard The precious legacy they had i n store, They f o r t h w i t h to Olympian Jove preferred T h e i r prayer, that i f events were thus to fall, T h e y ' d really rather not be born at all! (Canto I I I , st. xxxv, x x x v i ) Possibly lie had i n m i n d the interview between h e r and Byron i n w h i c h 'she regularly attacked h i m on the low opinion he professed of female intellect. B . . . . h a d no chance w i t h her, b u t took refuge i n gentlemanlike assent and silence' (cf. T . Moore, Memoirs, Journal and Correspondence, v, p . 270). 1

TALES 1 \ VERSE

571

W o r d s w o r t h ' s earlier poems are also glanced at, a n d t h e love-affairs of P e t e r B e l l excite t h e c r i t i c ' s l a u g h t e r . B u t w h a t i r k s h i m almost m o r e t h a n a n y t h i n g else is t h a t t h e m a n w h o m t h e Q u e e n h a d chosen as Poet L a u r e a t e i n 1843, s h o u l d have w r i t t e n t h e series o f sonnets ' praising h a n g i n g ' . T h e r e are, h o w e v e r , o t h e r E n g l i s h w r i t e r s such as B r o w n i n g a n d Blake w h o m H o b h o u s e i n t r o d u c e s i n t o his adaptations, t o praise a n d n o t t o c o n d e m n . I n his o p i n i o n B r o w n i n g far outshone W o r d s w o r t h b y reason o f his t r a g i c p o w e r . ' I once m e t h i m i n t h e f l e s h ' , he says, a n d was m u c h pleased w i t h his f i n e , earnest, m a n l y c o n v e r s a t i o n . As to his w o r k s t h e y d e c i d e d l y s t a m p h i m as t h e greatest Poet o f t h e d a y . . . A c r i t i c has d e n o m i n a t e d h i m t h e Son o f M i n e r v a , a n d t h e E u c l i d o f t h e Poets: w h a t e v e r m a y be said o f his b e i n g a n " obscure poet," h e is c e r t a i n l y t h e finest T r a g i c A u t h o r o f t h e d a y . T h e r e are n o d r a m a s o f m o d e r n t i m e s e q u a l t o t h e " R e t u r n o f t h e D r u s e s , " a n d " C o l o m b e ' s B i r t h d a y . " M r . H o r n e , i n his " l i v e l y " b o o k c a l l e d t h e " S p i r i t s o f t h e A g e , " has h i t t h e n a i l u p o n t h e h e a d i n his e s t i m a t e o f t h e g e n i u s o f R o b t . B r o w n i n g ! 1

N o t less i n t e r e s t i n g t h a n t h i s i l l u s t r a t i o n o f B r o w n i n g ' s r e p u t a t i o n i n 1846 is a t r i b u t e , e q u a l l y appreciative, t o Blake. Hobhouse considers his Songs of Innocence a n d Songs of Experience incomparable i n their ' t o u c h i n g s i m p l i c i t y a n d b r i l l i a n t w o r d - t i n t i n g ' . ' T h e most finished poet m i g h t l e a r n s o m e t h i n g f r o m these unelaborate effusions', he goes o n , ' w e r e i t not t h a t t h e p r o d u c t i o n of such pieces at a l l is l i t t l e short of m i r a c u l o u s . I t is n o t A r t , b u t I n s p i r a t i o n ' . Hobhouse was m o v e d n o t o n l y b y t h e q u a l i t y o f t h e poems b u t also b y t h e compassion w h i c h t h e y r e v e a l e d f o r t h e poor a n d t h e outcasts o f society. I t appealed t o t h e h u m a n i t a r i a n e l e m e n t i n h i m w h i c h was r e v o l t e d b y W o r d s w o r t h ' s sonnets o n capital p u n i s h m e n t . N o d o u b t i t was t h i s t r a i t i n his charac­ t e r w h i c h m a d e h i m responsive t o The Purgatory of Suicides, a p o e m w r i t t e n by T h o m a s Cooper, t h e C h a r t i s t Poet, w h i l e i n Stafford G a o l . A n d t h e c o m b i n a t i o n o f s e n t i m e n t w i t h g a i e t y i n B a r h a m evoked t h e following lines: 2

3

I n g o l d s b y , w h o s e s p i r i t n e ' e r was c o l d , W h e n w a n t a n d suffering u r g e d its story t r u e : M e t h i n k s I n o w t h y j o c u n d face b e h o l d , T h o u best a n d w i t t i e s t o f t h e m i r t h f u l c r e w . 4

Despite his h a r d - h e a d e d r a t i o n a l i s m t h e r e was a p o w e r f u l sensi­ b i l i t y i n H o b h o u s e . T h i s comes t o t h e surface i n his idealistic concep­ t i o n o f love i n t h e p o e m ' S a l v e s t r a ' . T h e r o m a n t i c tale o f Boccaccio i n some ways becomes even m o r e r o m a n t i c . I n his despair t h e f a i t h f u l l o v e r G i r o l a m o carries his d e v o t i o n t o t h e l e n g t h o f suicide, a n act 1

3 4

pp. 190—1, note to ' T h e Abbot of Florence'. p. 199, note. Published i n 1845. Cf. Tales from Boccaccio, pp. 158 and 203, note. p. 95, ' T h e Abbot of Florence', Canto I I I , st. xxxvii. 2

372

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

which Boccaccio as a good Catholic could not have con doned, and at the same time the story takes on a social value, for the lovers are pitted against the forces of an established order, and even as i n Keats's' Isabella' love is thwarted by the mercenary hostility of ambitious relatives. Allied to this sensibility is Hobhouse's love of retirement. As old age drew on, he longed for nothing more than the tranquillity of private life. He had had his fill of politics and when Lord Melbourne resigned i n 1841, Hobhouse also gave up his office. Although he was induced to resume his post i n Lord John Russell's cabinet i n 1846, six years later he practically withdrew from public affairs. I t is not fanciful to see i n some passages of the Tales from

Boccaccio

1

a reflection of his

unwillingness to abandon the peace of the countryside. I n the Pro­ logue he longs for a hermit's cell in a sequestered wood where he could meditate. Again i n 'The Abbot of Florence' he exclaims: By Heavens! i t must be a pleasant t h i n g To live and die w i t h i n a garden land,—• To see the bursting herbage i n the spring, And watch as day by day the buds expand! To hear the sweet birds i n the m o r n i n g sing, Those songs which the pure heart can understand! To sit at noon beneath the leafy tree, Whose rustling makes a music like the sea. And then to watch the t w i l i g h t shadows creep Over the m i g h t y heavens, like a thought Glooming the m i n d ; to know the world asleep And nature to the breast of m i d n i g h t caught! To feel the silence passionately deep, ' T i l l every sense is to its climax w r o u g h t ! — For one sweet year of life like this, I ' d give I n glad exchange the years I have to live. (Canto I , st. xxx, xxxi)

Hobhouse's love of Nature is not limited to the English countryside. It appears also i n his picture of the valley of the Arno covered at dawn and eve with mist, in 'Salvestra', nor grey nor sad—• But bathing all i n gold. (Canto I , st. v i )

In Florence at sunset man's handiwork combines with Nature to create a scene of memorable beauty: There, behold, Gorgeously tinted, the Duomo loom; The Campanile, i n a mist of gold, A n d the tall tower of Vecchio, i n soft gloom, (Canto I I , st. x x i i i ) I t was probably written in the latter part of 1846. Cf. H . G. Wright, xliii, pp. 8 4 - 8 . 1

M.L.R.,

TALES I N VERSE

373

while palaces and churches glitter under a cloudless sky. And at dawn the silver, misty veil is raised, W h i l e burst the soaring vapours, and dissolve Upon the pine-clad mountain-sides away, (Canto I I I , st. x)

until the music of the deep hell wakens the city from her slumbers amid her orange groves. For Florence Hobhouse had a peculiar affection. He made it the setting of his first tale, even as he had made Genoa the scene of ' The Miracle'. By comparison, Paris seems sophisticated, though he is blind neither to its charm as a focus of culture nor to the fascination of its women. Not only the artistic beauty but also the literary associations of Florence hold sway over him, and when he maintains i n ' Salvestra' 1

W h o knows not Florence, knows not I t a l y ; Not I t a l y , the w o r l d , (Canto I , st. i v )

he is thinking of the great writers whose fame is indissolubly linked with Florence. Byron too was sensitive to these memories, but it is significant that, unlike his friend, Hobhouse gives pride of place to ' our own Boccaccio' and unites himself to the author of the Decameron in the phrase ' Ego et Rex meus'. I n the survey of the life and work of Boccaccio prefixed to the Talesfrom Boccaccio he attempts an estimate of his achievements. While he admits the historical interest of some of his writings, only the Filostrato and i n a lesser degree Fiammetta appeal to him among the minor works. Without hesitation he regards the Decameron as Boccaccio's masterpiece. Despite the coarseness of certain tales which, as he points out, reflect the taste of mediaeval Italy, even as Chaucer mirrors the similar taste of mediaeval England, he is an enthusiastic admirer of 'the clearness, precision, the pleasing simplicity, and the rhythmical flow' of Boccaccio's style. And so he terms him, i n Byron's phrase, 'the Bard of Prose'. Much as he esteemed the Decameron, Hobhouse did not scruple to employ its tales for his own purpose, and there can he no doubt that Byron's Don Juan showed him the way. He holds up the narrative at will to discourse on contemporary men, women and manners, from 2

3

4

' T h e A b b o t o f Florence'. Boccaccio speaks vaguely of the abbey as being i n Tuscany. Cf. Childe Harold, i v , st. l v i i and l v i i i . H e shows h i m s e l f f a m i l i a r w i t h such I t a l i a n scholars and commentators as M a n n i , M a n e t t i , Baldelli and Tiraboschi, and as his ' I n t r o d u c t i o n Supplementary' proves, he h a d read the characterisation of the M i d d l e Ages i n Gabriele Rossetti's Comento Analitico della Divina Commedia and ho spirito antipapale di Dante. His Italy reveals his acquaintance w i t h Ugo Foscolo's 'Discorso storico' i n his 1825 edition of the Decameron, Panizzi's Essay on the Romantic Narrative Poetry of the Italians and M u r a t o r i ' s Dissertazioni sopra le antichita italiane. Tales from Boccaccio, p. x x x v i i i . 1

2

3

4

374

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

Jullien, the French conductor, to Flullah, the 'dancing-master', and fashionable ladies' low-necked dresses. He satirises the up-to-date doctor arguing about the desirability of vaccinating children, while the resurrected Ferando patiently waits for attention, and he mingles his own emotions with meditations on death and the strange medley of good and evil in the world. He passes swiftly from grave to gay, but on the whole it is the lighter vein that predominates. He surprises by his juxtapositions—' 'Tis either . . . the devil or my master' and 'Which would ashame a Bishop or a Bandit', and by his puns: A n d thus the vulgar thought h i m quite angelic, A n d deemed h i m less of Tellus than of Heaven, Hoping to get a toe some day as relic, A n d all their sins " i n t o t o " then forgiven. ( ' T h e Abbot of Florence', Canto I , st. v)

As might be expected of the robust rationalist who declared that ' piety proceeds from looking sallow', Hobhouse exerted all his satiric humour to depict the punishment of Ferando i n Purgatory: Thereon he lashed h i m w i t h most famous spite, A n d as he lashed he sung a funeral h y m n , Pausing at times to say i t served h i m r i g h t , Declaring he'd excoriate every l i m b , A n d that he must endure this every n i g h t T i l l e'en the stars of Heaven grew old and d i m ! A t this Ferando took to raving madly, A n d swore the Saints were acting very badly. "Where's Saint Ignatius? Where's Saint Jeremy? A n d where m y patron Saint old Gregory? How could he ever let the villains b u r y me? Oh! may the Saints all come to beggary, I f they don't send old Charon's boat to ferry me F r o m this vile place;—you've got m y leg awry Y o u ' l l break the bone, you villanous old goblin, A n d I t h r o ' all E t e r n i t y go hobbling." (Canto I I , st. xxxv, xxxvi)

The same burlesque tone and the same ingenious rhymes occur i n the account of the terror that seizes the monks when Ferando re-emerges into daylight: T h e jolly monks were going to their breakfast, W h e n suddenly they heard Ferando call: T h e i r first attempt was fright—a k i n d of make fast To any t h i n g , even a play-house w a l l : T h e n they began to pray aloud, and shake fast, As tho' they never meant to rest at a l l ; A n d t h e n they got into a k i n d of frantic Hopping and j u m p i n g , like the Polka antic.

TALES I N VERSE

375

T h e n they subsided to an adjuration Of sin and Satan, ghosts and heretics, Calling on Heaven to extirpate a nation, Because a deadish man was playing m e r r y tricks; One gourmand monk began a long oration On i l l results, w h e n men their sherry m i x W i t h ale, port, r u m , and stout, i n stomach vault; But, they all said, the salmon was i n fault. (Canto I I I , st. x v i , xvii) B u t t h e l a i t y come i n f o r t h e i r share of m o c k i n g l a u g h t e r w h e n t h e v a r y i n g r u m o u r s a m o n g t h e people are described after t h e d e a t h o f Ferando: Some swore they heard the clanking of his chains; A n d some swore that he had no chains at a l l : Some that he roared aloud w i t h hellish pains, W h i l e others said he let no m u r m u r fall: One lady, blest w i t h rare poetic brains, Distinctly swore, that coming from a ball She saw the goblin, miserable croaker, Dance i n his fetters Jullien's last new Polka. (Canto I I , st. x x i ) S i m i l a r l y , w h e n F e r a n d o has been restored t o l i f e , his n e i g h b o u r s as i n Boccaccio r e g a r d h i m w i t h some a l a r m at first, b u t i t is Hobhouse w h o adds w i t h sarcastic h u m o u r : One woman did not stay to pay her rent, She'd been the day before her chattels selling: Sometimes therefore a ghost may seem to play His tricks suspiciously near quarter-day. (Canto I I I , st. xxviii) Ferando's r e c e p t i o n b y his o w n servants is p o r t r a y e d w i t h a r o l l i c k i n g v e r v e c o m p a r a b l e t o t h a t o f Cowper's John Gilpin, a n a d d i t i o n a l zest b e i n g l e n t to t h e c o m i c effect b y t h e anachronistic p r e s e n t a t i o n o f t h e house as a n i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y E n g l i s h m a n s i o n : Ferando reached at last his lawful door, T h e n rang the bell and gave his usual knock: The housemaid came, but fell upon the floor I n strong hysterics at the sudden shock: The footman sprung up stairs and gave a roar, W h i c h made the house like any cradle rock: The cook rushed up to see what was the matter, A n d screamed " a ghost," then dropped her pudding batter. (Canto I I I , st. xxix) Tales from Boccaccio is a strange m e d l e y , as t y p i c a l a p r o d u c t of t h e E n g l i s h m i n d as a n y m o d e r n p a n t o m i m e . T h e a u t h o r of t h e Decameron m i g h t w e l l be astonished to see his tales d i v e r t e d to t h e

376

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

service of Protestant propaganda, utilised for a running commentary on nineteenth-century England and pressed into the tradition of English humour. But whatever liberties Hobhouse might take, he was serious enough i n his enthusiasm for Boccaccio as a literary creator and as an apostle of enlightenment. The two tales that he adapted seemed to h i m characteristic of one who not only sought to entertain but also to sweep away barriers to social progress and free men from bondage. Boccaccio was 'a great soul', a 'deathless Mind', and because he came as an emancipating force to the mediaeval world, his English admirer bade him look down with disdain O n all w h o deem t h y impulses unsound, A n d s t r i v e t o f e t t e r T h o u g h t , w h i c h n e v e r c a n be b o u n d !

Another anonymous work was Spirit

of Boccaccio's

1

Decameron

which was published i n 1812, the year of the Roxburghe sale. But here again it is possible to identify the author. He was almost certainly Thomas Moore who had a good knowledge of Italian. I n the main his claim on the title-page to have gone back to the original, is justified, but it is possible that he was i n some little measure guided by the translation of 1620. His version is divided into three days, on each of which ten tales are related, but i n two of these he weaves together two stories, so that the total is thirty-two. Every day of the Decameron is represented, though only one tale is taken from the first day and from the sixth. Moore allowed himself complete freedom, assigning the stories to whatever speaker he thought fit and employing the links between the tales only i f they happened to suit his grouping. Similarly, he did as he pleased about the election of a king or queen for each day and about the choice of a theme. Songs are used even more extensively than i n the Decameron but always the contents are independent of Boccaccio. The descriptions of the natural background are more faithful, but here too Moore goes his own way, mingling with Italian scenes English or Irish landscapes that lingered i n his memory. Another new feature is the introduction at the beginning of the 2

3

4

Cf. ' T h e Abbot of Florence'. Dedication ' T o the Spirit of Boccacio'. Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , ' Thomas Moore as the A u t h o r of Spirit of Boccaccio's Decameron', R.E.S., 1947, x x i i i , pp. 3 3 7 - 4 8 . I n w h a t follows Moore w i l l be alluded t o as the author. Certain changes for decency i n Dec. i , 4, i i i , 1 and v, 10 point to this. I n addition, the w o r d ' n o n a ' at the end of the T n t r o d u z i o n e ' is wrongly i n t e r p r e t e d as i n the translation of 1620. Moore takes i t to be 9 a.m. instead o f 3 p . m . Consequently, the characters are made to r e t i r e for sleep and rise early next m o r n i n g , instead of w i t h ­ d r a w i n g for the siesta. As a result the reference to the great heat loses its significance. T h e y are i n this order: Day I : v, 3; v, 6; i v , 2 ; v, 4 ; i i , 3; i , 4 ; v, 2 ; v i i i , 4 ; v i , 4 ; x, 6. Day I I : i i , 2 ; x, 3; i v , 5; i i i , 6, i i i , 8; v i i i , 10; i i i , 1 ; x, 2 - f i i , 4 ; i i , 10; ix, 9. Day I I I ; v i i , 1 ; v, 10; i x , 6; v i i i , 2 -f- v i i , 3 ; v i i , 6; i v , 10; v i i , 7 ; i i i , 3; v i i , 9; i i , 9. 1

2

3

4

TALES I N VERSE

377

third day of an episode i n which the ladies and gentlemen array themselves i n rich and brilliant costumes, W h i c h t h e y ' d e x h i b i t e d at balls, A t masquerades, or c a r n i v a l s . (ii, p. 1

226)

Moore clearly found pleasure i n these glowing colours and did not perceive how improbable it was that the fugitives from the plague in Florence would send there for fancy dress. But this gay attire was more to his taste than the grim scenes so vividly depicted by Boccaccio, over which he hurries as quickly as may be: W e a r y a m I o f t h i s sad t h e m e , No m o r e o n wretchedness I ' l l d w e l l . r

(h V- 3 ) 2

Quite apart from his manipulation of the general design, Moore had to consider what his attitude should be to the less seemly tales i n the Decameron. I n doing so, he did not forget the defence of Boccaccio i n the ' Conclusione dell' autore' which he translated for the benefit of the English reader. Nevertheless, he felt that some concession must be made to contemporary taste which differed from that of the Middle Ages. His scheme, as he states i n his 'Explanation to the Ladies', was to avoid anything objectionable, while at the same time he would not yield to false delicacy. I t is true that Moore eliminated certain features from a number of tales, but far from being a rigorous censor, he allowed himself considerable latitude i n working out his policy. Indeed, it may be said that what he took away with one hand, he restored with another, for i n his descriptions of the charms of Belcolore and Niccolosa there is a voluptuousness which is due solely to his fancy. Many details are modified, sometimes it may seem capriciously. Names of persons are often substituted for those i n Boccaccio's tales; others are transferred. Occasionally an alteration i n the name of a place gives rise to difficulties. Thus i n one story the husband, who, i n the original, sets out from Florence for Genoa, is made to sail from Padua to Ancona. Equally odd is the fact that the abbot of 'Cligni' is supposed to own a palace at Venice. This strange development is due to the combination of two tales, that of Ghino di Tacco and that of Landolfo Ruffolo. These characters are fused into one, and the hostility of the hero towards the Abbot arises from the opposition of the latter to his marriage with the Abbot's niece Ermilina (a figure unknown to 2

3

4

5

6

1

2

3

5

A l l quotations are f r o m the edition of 1 8 1 2 . Dec. i , 4 ; i i i , 1 and 3 ; i v , 1 0 ; v, 4 and 1 0 ; v i i , 7 and 9 ; v i i i , 1 0 ; and i x , 6 . Day i i , 6 ; and i i i , 3 . Day i i i , 8 . T h a t is, Cluny i n France, Day i i , 8 . 4

6

578

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

Boccaccio) w h o connects t h e t w o stories. A n o t h e r such f u s i o n b r i n g s t o g e t h e r t h e priest o f V a r l u n g o a n d M a d o n n a Agnesa's a d m i r e r , F r a R i n a l d o , u n d e r t h e n a m e o f G a r b i n o . S u c h a procedure M o o r e t h o u g h t l e g i t i m a t e , e v e n as he o m i t t e d a n d condensed w h e n e v e r he h e l d i t advisable. 1

N o w a n d t h e n he also v a r i e d t h e p l o t b y i n t r o d u c i n g an e n t i r e l y n e w f e a t u r e . T h i s is seen most conspicuously i n t h e beast-fable w i t h w h i c h he a d o r n e d t h e story o f t h e t r a v e l l e r s w h o v i s i t S o l o m o n at Jerusalem. As Boccaccio tells t h e tale, t h e second o f t h e m , Melisso, w as puzzled t o k n o w w h y i n spite of his l a v i s h h o s p i t a l i t y he was l o v e d b y n o n e . T h e wise k i n g gave t h e laconic advice: ' L o v e ' , a n d t h e s t o r y ends w i t h a b r i e f s t a t e m e n t t h a t he acted o n t h i s counsel w i t h h a p p y results. E v i d e n t l y M o o r e t h o u g h t t h i s too t a m e . So i n his v e r s i o n S o l o m o n advises Melisso, whose t r o u b l e lies n o t i n h i m s e l f b u t i n his e x t r a v a ­ g a n t w i f e w h o is too f o n d o f t h e c o m p a n y o f m a l e advisers, t o go t o ' P i e r i a ' s m o u n t , a n d v i e w w h a t ' s t h e r e ' . T h i s gives M o o r e a n oppor­ t u n i t y t o l e t his poetic fancy p l a y f r e e l y . W h a t Melisso finds belongs to the r e a l m of M a n d e v i l l e rather t h a n of Buffon—a cerulean-blue antelope, w i t h h o r n s t r a n s p a r e n t a n d clear as c r y s t a l . T h e S y r i a n w h o watches over t h i s b e a u t i f u l c r e a t u r e explains t h a t f o r m e r l y she was able t o r a n g e f r e e l y t h r o u g h lands r i c h i n f o u n t a i n s , flowers a n d aro­ m a t i c p l a n t s , b u t t h a t as she neglected h e r m a t e a n d w e n t g a d d i n g w i t h antelopes o f a c o m m o n breed, he p e n n e d h e r i n a n d s h u t o u t a l l others. F r o m t h i s Melisso l e a r n t h o w t o cure his f l i g h t y w i f e . I n a n o t h e r story, t h a t w h i c h contains t h e w a g e r t h e m e used b y Shakes­ peare i n Cymbeline, a change is m a d e t h a t is i n t e r e s t i n g , t h o u g h less s u b s t a n t i a l . T h e i n t r i g u e r o f Boccaccio bribes a poor w o m a n to c o n v e y h i m i n t o t h e heroine's b e d c h a m b e r , b u t M o o r e , perhaps t h i n k i n g o f t h e w e i g h t o f t h e chest, presents m a t t e r s d i f f e r e n t l y . H i s v i l l a i n buys a chest w r o u g h t w i t h Chinese characters and, d i s p a t c h i n g a note to Z i n e u r a w h i c h p u r p o r t s t o come f r o m a f o r e i g n f r i e n d o f h e r h u s b a n d B e r n a r d at M a c a o , says t h a t he is s e n d i n g h i m a chest of v e r y precious teas. T h e n , c o n c e a l i n g h i m s e l f i n i t , he lets his slave have i t c a r r i e d to Z i n e u r a ' s house b y a p o r t e r . r

2

3

T h e presence o f B e r n a r d ' s f r i e n d at Macao is c u r i o u s , a n d i f w e e n q u i r e f u r t h e r , w e discover o t h e r facts about h i m w h i c h are m o r e c u r i o u s s t i l l . H i s l e t t e r ends t h u s : A l l a h preserve thee, and t h y race. May'st t h o u the prophet's first heav'n deck, Prays at Macao Osebeck. ( i i i , p. 213) T h e j u x t a p o s i t i o n of these t w o names was p r o b a b l y i n s p i r e d b y t h e 1

Day i i i ,

4.

2

Day i i ,

10.

3

Day i i i ,

10 =

Dec. i i , 9 .

TALES I N VERSE

Voyage

to China

and the East

Indies

379

of Peter Osbeck, a Swedish

scholar, who incidentally mentions the port of Macao. But why then should 'Osebeck' be a Mohammedan? This was due to association with the Turkish name Osbech which occurs i n one of Boccaccio's tales. Moore employs it again in the story of the two travellers already men­ tioned and transforms the Giosefo of the original into ' Osbeck Goseffo', who is described as ' a mounted Mussulman'. Another such example of the introduction of Mahommedans into Boccaccio's tales is found when Paganino is referred to as a Moorish corsair, and when Chinzico tries to recover his wife whom Paganino has abducted, she quotes the prophet: 1

2

3

M a h o m e d says, ' c u r s e d are those, W h o u n t o C h r i s t i a n s eyes e x p o s e ' . ( i i , p . 181)

The Sultan who punishes the villain i n the tale of Zineura performs the same office, of course, in the Decameron. But the name Selim which Moore bestows on him is significant because it appears again in the last part of Lalla Rookh. The hero of this episode is the future emperor of India, and the poem ends with the union of Selim and Nourmahal. I n the same way Zineura is married to the Sultan, instead of being restored to her husband Bernard who, in Moore's version, by divine retribution has conveniently 'clos'd a life of pain'. The interest i n the Levant and the Orient thus revealed i n Spirit of Boccaccio''s Decameron, a tradition inherited from the eighteenth century, reveals itself in many other ways. Hence Moore's attempt to depict the Sultan's court. R i c h s h e r b e t g o l d e n goblets c r o w n ' d ; O n T u r k e y cushions S e l i m sate, S u r r o u n d e d b y his l o r d s o f state, W h o , w h i l e t h e y h e a r t h e jester j o k e , C h e w o p i u m , a n d t h r o u g h rose-pipes s m o k e . . . ( i i i , p . 232)

Some features of this mode of life could be gleaned from many works, but i n the main this picture is derived from P. Russell's Natural History of Aleppof though Moore sets aside Russell's assertion that the Turks do not chew opium but swallow it. The oriental background is again conjured up, this time more vaguely, by a simile in the tale of Rinaldo when a bath and supper are prepared for him 5

W i t h so m u c h elegance o f taste, A Q u e e n m i g h t l a v e , a n d S u l t a n feast. (ii, p. 1 3

London, 1771, i , p. 178. Dec. i i , 10.

14) 2

4

E d i t i o n of 1794, C h . i .

5

Dec. i i , 7 . Dec. i i , 2.

380

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

And the lady's bedchamber is enveloped i n an atmosphere of sensuous ease and heavy oriental perfume: mattresses o f c a m e l ' s h a i r , W e r e laid o n d o w n o f cygnets fair; O ' e r these w e r e t h r o w n f i n e I n d i a sheets, P e r f u m ' d b y a l l A r a b i a ' s sweets. A Grecian lustre all illumes, A n d urns Egyptian b u r n perfumes. (ii, pp.

21—2)

Oriental cosmetics are likewise glanced at in the story of Constantia and Martuccio. The old Saracen woman to whom the heroine is taken at Susa is depicted as having 'eyelids limn'd with blackest lead', and her attendants also have 'blacken'd eyes'. The practice is described in detail by Russell and Thomas Shaw, from whom Moore had culled his information. In other tales there are allusions to houris; the magician consulted by Ansaldo i n order to obtain a garden full of flowers i n midwinter proves to be a genie. Similarly Pietro Canigiano, who helps Salabaetto to outwit Madonna Iancofiore, is presented as the man 1

2

3

4

6

6

7

8

W h o h u m b l e d so T a r t a r i a ' s K h a n . ( i i , p . 106) r

And Moore, who had read Accounts of Independent Tatary once again mentions the Tartars in the tale where Neri degli Uberti buys an estate near Castello da Mare, 9

10

F r o m t h a t t o w n so f a r , As c o u l d a T a r t a r ' s g u t - s t r u n g b o w , A well-tipped feather'd arrow throw. ( i , p . 180)

These echoes of Moore's reading of books of oriental travel for Lalla Rookh are heard more audibly in the tale of Melisso and Goseffo who, having received wise counsel from Solomon, set out together from Jerusalem for their homes in Laiazzo and Antioch. They take 'a circuitous route' and t r a v e l u n f r e q u e n t e d roads, T o w ' r d s Bofra's m o u n t a i n o u s abodes; A desert t o t h e e a s t w a r d s t r e t c h ' d , B y w h i c h these m o u n t a i n s m u s t be r e a c h ' d . T h e second d a y its v e r g e t h e y g a i n , A n d as t h e y cross t h e p a r c h i n g p l a i n ; 1 3 4

5 8

Dec. v, 2. i , p . 146. The Natural History of Aleppo, 1794 ed., i , p. 1 1 1 . Travels or Observations relating to Barbary. Cf. Pinkerton, xv, pp. 660—1. h , PP- 37, 9 ; h i , p . 232. Dec. x, 5. i i , pp. 3 8 - 4 0 . Dec. v i i i , 10. P i n k e r t o n , i x , pp. 3 2 0 - 8 5 . Dec. i x , 6. 2

6

6

9

7

1 0

TALES I N VERSE

581

P e r c e i v i n g some w i l d A r a b bands, T h e y s w i f t l y race o'er a r i d sands, T h e i r s o b b i n g horses f o r w a r d press; A n d gain a shrubby wilderness. F r o m w h e n c e t h r o u g h t h i r s t each p a n t i n g steed Is h a r d l y able t o p r o c e e d . T h e y m o u n t e d a steep r u g g e d r i d g e , A n d saw w i t h j o y b e l o w a b r i d g e , T h r o u g h w h i c h a rapid river ran, A n d b y i t s side a c a r a v a n . H e n c e a n x i o u s l y o u r t r a v ' l l e r s speed, H e r e m u l e s a n d camels d r i n k a n d f e e d ; A n d d r i v e r s t h e i r Borroccias f i l l , Afresh w i t h water f r o m this r i l l ; A n d h e r e t h e f r i e n d s i n p a l m - t r e e shade, T h e i r o w n a n d horses t h i r s t a l l a y ' d .

( i i , pp. 196-7) The bridge is the Ponte all' Oca of Boccaccio, and here as i n the Decameron Goseffo finds the explanation of Solomon's enigmatic advice. But the 'buono uomo' sleeping by the bridge who helps h i m with the interpretation here appears as a 'dervise'. The explanation is to be found in Richard Pococke's Description of the East. Near Aleppo, which he had reached i n a caravan, Pococke noted 'a convent of dervises', and it may be surmised that it is one of these who has strayed into Boccaccio's tale. There is all the more reason to think so, because there are many features of his account of his journey which answer to those in the above description. He tells how the caravan crossed the desert and how glad he was on occasion to take shelter from the intense heat under shady trees by a rivulet. He relates also most vividly with what apprehension they journeyed because of bands of Arab marauders and how the appearance of strange horsemen made the travellers halt, i n order to proceed i n close formation or take up their arms against attack. I t is Pococke also who enables us to under­ stand the allusion i n Moore's version to Bofra, a place that seems to be otherwise unknown. Pococke observes that Aleppo is a trading-centre visited by a caravan from 'Balsora or Bosra, on the Euphrates'. Moore probably misread 'Bofra' as Bofra' and with poetic licence located it among the mountains of Syria. To another traveller i n this region, Henry Maundrell, the author of 1

2

3

A Journey

from

Aleppo

to Jerusalem,*

Moore was indebted to some

extent for his account of the route taken by Melisso and Goseffo. Moore probably read i t i n Pinkerton, x, p . 527. I n Pinkerton, x, p. 527, i t is p r i n t e d ' B o f r a ' . Pococke discusses at l e n g t h the situation of M o u n t Pieria, w h i c h was one of the goals of the travellers. Cf. Pinkerton, x, notes on 547 and 5 5 1 . Moore used i t for Lalla Rookh. Cf. his Poetical Works, v i , p. 310. I t is p r i n t e d i n P i n k e r t o n , x, pp. 3 0 5 - 7 9 . 1

2

3

4

382

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

For f i f t e e n days t h e y j o u r n e y ' d o n , T h r o u g h Balbeck to m o u n t L e b a n o n : S o m e t i m e f o r rest t h e y t h e r e d e l a y ' d , A m i d s t u p e n d o u s cedars' shade, F r o m thence t h r o u g h olive mounts t h e y r o a m , W a s h ' d b y t h e fierce O r o n t e s f o a m ; T h e y w i n d a l o n g i t s m a z y course T h r o u g h m e a d o w s sweet, a n d caverns hoarse,

( i i , pp. 200-1) a m i d slopes covered w i t h m y r t l e s a n d oleanders. T h e i m p r e s s i o n of t h e Orontes was possibly d e r i v e d f r o m Bruce's d e s c r i p t i o n o f h o w , i n t r y i n g t o f o r d t h e r i v e r s w o l l e n w i t h r a i n , he a n d his horse w e r e swept a w a y by t h e v i o l e n t c u r r e n t . Aleppo

1

F i n a l l y , i t was Russell's Natural

History

of

that inspired the lines: A l o n g this river's bank they view The Ornithoga lily blue, W i t h a z u r e petals s p r e a d i n g f a r , A n d there entitled Bethlem's star.

2

( i i , pp. 200—1)

M o o r e k n e w f u l l w e l l t h a t t h e r e was no b l u e v a r i e t y o f o r n i t h o g a l u m , e v e n as he was aware t h a t t h e S y r i a n antelope was n o t s k y - b l u e a n d t h a t t h e T u r k s d i d n o t c h e w o p i u m . Fie was n e i t h e r b o t a n i s t , zoologist n o r a n t h r o p o l o g i s t b u t a poet, a n d his a i m was n o t scientific accuracy b u t a r t i s t i c effect. F o r h i m t h i s eastern w o r l d was one o f w e a l t h , m a g i c r

and

m y s t e r y , o f p e r i l a n d h a r d s h i p , o f r i c h colour a n d

languorous

p e r f u m e . T h o u g h less fabulous, i t h a d s o m e t h i n g o f t h e f a s c i n a t i o n o f M a n d e v i l l e ' s w ondrous lands. Sensing t h i s exotic a t t r a c t i o n r

hidden

b e n e a t h t h e n a r r a t i v e of prosaic t r a v e l l e r s , M o o r e used i t t o h e i g h t e n t h e p o t e n c y o f Boccaccio's tales, r e a l i s i n g as h e d i d so, t h a t t h e a u t h o r of t h e Decameron

h i m s e l f h a d n o t b e e n i n d i f f e r e n t t o t h e appeal o f

this oriental w o r l d . E v e n i n r e a l m s less r e m o t e he f o u n d m a t e r i a l suitable f o r a r o m a n c e . H e n c e i n t h e s t o r y o f Salabaetto he makes t h e w i l y B e l c o l o r e

3

attempt

Travels to discover the Source of the Nile. T h i s w o r k was known to Moore w h o i n a note to Lalla Rookh (cf. Poetical Works, v i , p. 176) quotes h i m on the subject of Balbec. He cites h i m again i n Lalla Rookh on the subject of the ' M o u n t a i n s of the M o o n ' (cf. Poetical Works, v i , p. 165, note). A n allusion to this is likewise made i n S.O.B.D. i , p . 161, i n connexion w i t h the hideous Ciutazza (cf. Dec. v i i i , 5). I t is possible t h a t Moore w h e n speaking of ' O r n i t h o g a l i l y b l u e ' r e m e m b e r e d t h a t the blue lotos grew not far away i n Persia (cf. Lalla Rookh i n Poetical Works, vi, p . 81 and note). B u t he d i d not need any such p r o m p t i n g , as may be seen f r o m t h e fact t h a t he knew f r o m Russell (The Natural History of Aleppo, 1794, i i , p . 152) t h a t the Syrian antelope was e i t h e r l i g h t or dark b r o w n , and yet portrayed i t as ' cerulean b l u e ' . H e w o r r i e d as l i t t l e about such matters as he d i d about t u r n i n g ' o r n i t h o g a l u m ' into ' o r n i t h o g a ' or 'cereus' into ' c e r e a ' . I n Dec. v i i i , 1 0 , she is Iancofiore. 1

2

3

T A L E S T.\ V E R S E

583

to lure him on by an account of her royal birth, for she would have him believe that she is a Spanish princess, destined to marry the king of Sicily, and doomed to instant death i f any report of intimacy with a lover should be spread abroad. Her brother, according to her account, is forced by circumstances to live incognito, but when restored to power, he will shower princely riches and titles upon her friends. The whole incident is like a fairy-tale but it serves to dupe the gullible young Florentine merchant. Still more remarkable is the transformation that the episode of the magician undergoes in the tale of Ansaldo and Dianora. Far from being humane and generous, the Armenian genie of Moore's version is selfish and evil. Without warning he discloses that he himself loves Dianora, reduces his rival to statuesque immo­ bility and offers all his powers to win her. There is one limit to his magic—he cannot create a bird, as she asks. But at her request he turns himself into a linnet, when she promptly wrings his neck. The result is an upheaval i n Nature which is strongly reminiscent of the phenomena described by Dryden in 'Theodore and Honoria': 1

The day assumes a pitchy gloom, Fork'd l i g h t n i n g , the w i l d clouds i l l u m e ; L o u d thunder rolls, the garden quakes, Hoarse torrents roar, the arbour shakes, Entranc'd pale Dianora lies . . . («. P- 39)

and after these convulsions i n Nature have died away, she awakens i n sunlight to find her husband before her and Ansaldo on his knees, giving thanks for his deliverance from the spell. A combination of love and terror, though i n a less awe-inspiring form, occurs i n the tale of Ghino and Ermilina. Once the outlaw has the abbot of Cligni i n his grip, he discloses that he is Landolpho whom the ecclesiastic had caused to be thrust into a dungeon. On learning that he was to be broken on the wheel, he had slain the gaoler and escaped, and, after suffering shipwreck, assembled a mighty band of followers. But he is no common outlaw and no conventional lover. His arrest is due, not to base conduct, but to his defiance of corruption and tyranny: 2

I only v i e w ' d w i t h jealousv, The pomp, the ignorance and pride, The wealth and domineering stride, Of churchmen, who would trample down, The true supporters of the crown; The people, and their gains devour, T h e n w i t h the m i g h t y rod of pow'r, Cast shackles on that impious tongue, T h a t durst proclaim the glaring w r o n g . (ii, PL

Cf. 11. 264-6 and 3 3 6 - 7 .

2

155)

Vide ante, p . 377.

384

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

Thus the Ghino of Boccaccio, ' a man redoubtable by reason of his truculence and his high-handed deeds', is metamorphosed into the faithful lover and reforming hero, the saviour of the people. Nor does he bear any lasting rancour against the abbot but repays evil with good. At the close his merits i n true romantic fashion are rewarded by the Pope, who restores his estates and makes him captain of the guard. In some of the passages just discussed there is a certain theatrical quality. This is especially pronounced i n a number of recognition scenes. Conspicuous among these is the reunion of the long-parted Ghino and Ermilina. Wrapped i n cloak and hood, he moves slowly before her, casts off his mantle and reveals 'his dazzling vest, and sword-belt bright'. Ermilina raises her eyes and 1

' L a n d o l p h o l i v e s ! ' she cries, ' a l l ' s w e l l ! ' A n d f a i n t i n g o n his bosom fell. ( i i , P- 153) There is the same surprise i n the tale of Salbetto, when two curtains suddenly fly apart and disclose Belcolore. A similar mechanical con­ trivance lets i n the moonlight at the bagnio and reveals the identity of Lorenzo to Catella. Another dramatic device is used i n the story of Constantia , who is recognised by her foster-mother through a birth­ mark like a strawberry on her shoulder. Finally, to induce a villain to confess his crime, a ghostly apparition at midnight is employed i n the tale of Zineura. Ambrose is boasting about the stratagem with which he won the wager, when 2

3

4

5

a lamentable cry Sigh'd t h r o u g h the p i c t u r ' d tapestry; A female death-like f o r m appear'd, W r a p p ' d i n a shroud, w i t h blood besmear'd; A d v a n c i n g , h e r l e f t side u n b o u n d , R e v e a l ' d a deep a n d d e a d l y w o u n d , A p p r o a c h i n g A m b r o s e s t e r n i t stood, W h i l e h o r r o r s t a g n a t e d his b l o o d ; T h e n sadly shook i t s g h a s t l y h e a d . . . ( i i i , p . 233)

Shrinking before its glassy eye, the terrified culprit falters his confes­ sion and is carried off to a gloomy cell, where he dies of a guilty conscience. The spectre is, of course, Zineura who casts off the winding sheet and stands forth, her innocence established and her honour regained. In lighter vein disguise figures i n the story of Ferondo and the abbot who, when the time for the supposed resurrection of Ferondo has 6

1 3

J. M . Rigg's translation. I b i d . , i i , p. 9,7. Ibid., i i , p. 6 5 . 4

T h e f o r m used i n S.O.B.D. Dec. v, 2. Dec. i i i , 8 . 2

5

6

TALES I N VERSE

385

come, equips himself with Aaron's beard and rod and in this array goes to summon his dupe. The spectacular is also introduced into another tale of dupery when Fra Alberto dTmola, enraged at the betrayal of his secret relations with Lisetta, confronts her, a dagger i n one hand and a vial of poison in the other, when his threats are cut short by a knocking at the door, and an ominous situation dissolves into comedy as the friar plunges from the balcony into the water below. Moore again satisfies his taste for spectacle when he presents the narrators of the tales i n their gay fancy dress at the beginning of the third day— a scene which he himself describes as 'a rainbow troop of figurantes' or ballet-dancers. Even the landscape may acquire a theatrical air as i f to harmonise with the sensational nature of the tales as related by Moore. This is seen very clearly i n the tale of Zineura when she draws near to the dark hollow where she is to be murdered: 1

2

T h r o u g h dells a n d c r a g g y paths t h e y r i d e , W i t h s h r u b b y clifts o n e i t h e r side, F r o m w h o s e h i g h s u m m i t s p i n e s arise, D i s p l a y i n g t o t h e t r a v ' l l e r s eyes, T a l l s p i r y heads o f v e r d a n t h u e , S t r e t c h i n g t o h e a v e n ' s celestial b l u e ; T h e i r g l o o m y shade, a n d t o w ' r i n g h e i g h t , R e p e l n o w t h e last r a y o f l i g h t .

( i i i , pp. 219-20)

Equally wild is the setting of the ambuscade i n which Ghino over­ powers the abbot of Cligni and his escort. The setting sun gleams on the mountains and dances on the halberts of the cavalcade. Marble rocks and pine-covered slopes rise above the unsuspecting train. Then all at once Ghino appears, wearing black armour and a helmet adorned with blood-red hair. Like Byron's Giaour who was to win fame in 1813, one year after the publication of Moore's translation, he rides a sable steed at a furious pace, and standing with drawn sword on the highest peak, is as memorable as the Giaour halting with uplifted arm on the sea-shore: H i s sabre f r o m t h e scabbard f l e w , A n d soon a h e r a l d rose t o v i e w , W i t h brazen t r u m p , and banner bright, M o u n t e d u p o n a courser w h i t e . F r o m his s h r i l l t r u m p e t b u r s t a clang, W h i c h t h r o u g h t h e h o l l o w caverns r a n g . (ii, p. H 3 )

The creator of such a romantically dramatic episode is also quite capable of turning his hand to satire. Naturally, Moore is limited by 1

2C

Dec i v , 2.

2

i , p. 10.

586

T H E DECAMERON

IN THENINETEENTH

t h e m a t e r i a l t h a t t h e Decameron

CENTURY

affords. B u t i n one tale at least he

jests at t h e doctor's l o v e o f m o n e y , t h o u g h his l a u g h t e r is g e n i a l l i k e t h a t o f C h a u c e r w h e n w r i t i n g o n t h e same t h e m e . T h e p h y s i c i a n i n q u e s t i o n , a p p r o p r i a t e l y e n o u g h , is a p r a c t i t i o n e r at Salerno, a n d i t is his opiate w h i c h a c c i d e n t a l l y causes t h e m i s h a p t o R u g i e r o J e r o l i .

1

H e is a b o u t t o operate o n a p a t i e n t w i t h a carious bone i n his l e g , w h e n he is s u m m o n e d t o a t t e n d t o a n u m b e r of m e n w h o h a v e b e e n i n j u r e d i n a f r a y . I n a n a m u s i n g w a y M o o r e shows h o w he is t o r n b e t w e e n t h e dictates of h i s professional conscience a n d t h e desire f o r g a i n , a n d h o w i n t h e e n d he solves t h e d i l e m m a t o his o w n p r o f i t . T h e s h r e w d p h y s i c i a n , on t h i s w a r n i n g , Consider'd h o w he m i g h t t i l l m o r n i n g , Defer his operation on, T h e m a n w h o h a d t h e r o t t e n bone. As o f t h i s p a t i e n t h e was s u r e ; T h e others w e r e n o t so secure. T h i n k s h e , t o leave t h i s f r i e n d I ' m l o t h , T h e merits let m e weigh of both; M y p a t i e n t here, c a n ' t w e l l be worse, M y p a t i e n t s there, w i l l serve m y purse. O l d B r u n o here, m a y m o r t i f y . T e n t i m e s as m a n y there m a y d i e . F o o l s h o u l d I be t o reason m o r e , W h a t ' s one m a n ' s l i f e t o h a l f a score? H i s conscience l i g h t e n ' d o f its load, T o M a l f i rapidly he r o w ' d . (iii, pp. 102-3) Despite t h e r e s t r i c t i o n s i n h e r e n t i n a t r a n s l a t i o n , M o o r e ' s p e r s o n a l i t y emerges i n various ways. T h e scenery o f I t a l y , as m i g h t be expected of one w h o i n 1812 h a d n o t y e t v i s i t e d t h a t c o u n t r y , is n o t p o r t r a y e d w i t h c o n v i n c i n g i n t i m a c y . I n fact, t h e most s t r i k i n g p i c t u r e is t h a t of t h e j o u r n e y o f Alessandro t h r o u g h t h e v i n e y a r d s o f F r a n c e , u p t h r o u g h l a r c h - w o o d s t o t h e h e i g h t s w h e r e M o n t B l a n c t o w e r s aloft i n t h e s u n ­ shine a n d avalanches b u r s t a r o u n d . I t is clear t h a t A l p i n e scenery m u s t 2

h a v e fascinated M o o r e l o n g before he saw i t w i t h t h e b o d i l y

eye.

W h e n he d i d b e h o l d M o n t B l a n c w i t h Russell, w e k n o w t h a t ' he was speechless a n d i n t e a r s ' , overcome b y its s u b l i m i t y . I t a l y c u r b e d his fondness

3

His ignorance of

for description, t h o u g h here and there a

g l i m p s e is g i v e n . B u t one suspects t h a t f o r w a n t o f f a m i l i a r i t y w i t h t h e n a t u r a l s e t t i n g of t h e tales i n t h e Decameron

he was forced t o r e l y o n

his o w n experience at h o m e . H e n c e t h e r i v e r a l o n g w h i c h C h i n z i c o and his w i f e d r i f t w h i l e a n g l i n g for b r e a m 1 3 4

and the t r o u t stream w h i c h

4

S.O.B.D., Day i i i , 6. Cf. Dec. iv, 10. i , p . 118. Memoirs, Journal and Correspondence, 1853—4, d . L o r d John Russell, p. xv. S.O.B.D., i i , p . 172. 2

e

TALES I N VERSE

387

takes the place of Boccaccio's fish pond in the tale of Neri degli Uberti are probably an evocation of some scene in Ireland. The same is true of his picture of the lake at twilight towards the end of his book. The glowing splendour of the setting sun has yielded to the silver light of the moon; willows and aspens are mirrored i n the water lying at the foot of wooded hills with groups of trees on the slope, and cereus and nyctanthes, night-flowering shrubs, pour forth their fragrance, 1

2

W h i l e n o u g h t d i s t u r b s t h e sheet serene, Save n o w a n d t h e n a c y g n e t ' s f l a s h ; O r dash o f fishes as t h e y rise, A t e v e n i n g ' s g l o w i n g m o t h y flies. As these breaks u n d u l a t i n g f l o w , T h e l i q u i d landscape w a v e s b e l o w ; A n d as t h e w a t e r y ruffles cease, T h e scene r e s u m e s i t s w o n t e d peace.

( i i i , pp. 243-4)

One m a y be sure too that something of Moore's own enjoyment of choice food and drink has found its way into his translation. I t is a connoisseur who speaks of wines like Tokay, Lunelle and Christi Lachrymse, such cordials or liqueurs as Persico and Noyau. Oysters, quail pies, and, supreme delight of the epicure, ortolans with toasted cheese, enhance the festivities of Boccaccio's characters, and Moore is as little perturbed by such anachronisms as ices and pineapples as by a tea-party. Again i t is the sympathetic translator who speculates humorously on the cause of Rugiero's thirst: 3

W h e t h e r f r o m some f a t i g u e h e ' d t a k e n , O r w h e t h e r he had eaten bacon; Or rather, I ' m inclined to t h i n k , F r o m i n n a t e l o v e he b o r e f o r d r i n k , H e n e v e r c o u l d a b o t t l e spy, W i t h o u t his lips b e c o m i n g d r y . ( i i i , p . 104)

Similarly, it is not a severe teetotaller, but the translator of Anacreon, who reports Rugiero's decision after his misadventure with the doctor's opiate: F r o m this t i m e f o r t h Jeroli's b r a i n , A t s i g h t o f vials w h i r l ' d i n p a i n , A n d w h e n i n f u t u r e love he sought, H e always his o w n l i q u o r b r o u g h t . (iii, p.

122)

It would, however, be wrong to interpret Moore's love of con­ viviality as an expression of sensuous materialism. I n fact, he was an 1 2

I b i d . , i , pp. 185—6. Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , R.E.S.,

xxiii, p. 3 4 7 .

3

S.O.B.D., i i i , p . 118.

388

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

idealist whose outlook manifests itself even i n the uncongenial setting of Boccaccio's tales of amorous intrigue. I t is because he holds women in high esteem that he provides justification for the conduct of Beatrice i n the infidelity of her husband Egano, and his conception of love emerges clearly from his attitude to the swashbuckling Lambertino whose overbearing manner so terrifies Helena that she 1

H a d n o a l t e r n a t i v e t o chuse, So g a v e t h e b r u t e a r e n d e z v o u s .

To which Moore adds the revealing comment: I n t r u t h had he not been a brute, F o r c ' d c h a r m s h e ' d scorn, as acid f r u i t ; W h a t , b u t a s o t t i s h tasteless beast, C o u l d o n r e l u c t a n t b e a u t y feast? ( i i i , p . 85)

At its height Moore's idealism shines forth, not i n his versions of the tales, but i n the matter which he places before and after them. I n the dialogue between Book and Reviewers at the beginning of the book, the critics declare: S t r o n g evidence attends t h y b l u n d e r i n g t o n g u e , T h a t t h o u t o r u d e H i b e r n i a dost b e l o n g ; F r o m w h e n c e w e scarce c a n e n t e r t a i n a h o p e , A t h i n g c a n s p r i n g t h a t d o n ' t deserve t h e r o p e . T h e Scotch at p r e s e n t are, b e y o n d a l l d o u b t , A nation m o r a l , orderly, and stout. T o p r o v e w h a t n a t u r e c i v i l i z ' d m a y do, N o w Caledonia ventures to r e v i e w ; A n d S c o t l a n d ' s Poets, w h e n m a t u r ' d i n age, M a y b y t h e i r works e n r i c h Apollo's page; T h o ' t h e y w e r e b u t t w o c e n t u r i e s ago, A t u r b u l e n t ferocious b r u t a l f o e — B l o o d - t h i r s t y , fierce, i n f l e x i b l e t o b o w , As t h e w i l d I r i s h savages are n o w .

( i , pp. 12-13) A footnote makes it clear that the satirical tone of these lines was inspired by a remark in the Quarterly Review. Moore contrasts the law-abiding character of the Irish i n 1600, for which Sir John Davis vouches, with their reputed 'turbulence, ferocity and brutality' i n 1810 and exclaims ironically 'Mirabile Dictu. What gigantic strides to civilized perfection'. I f he was goaded on to refute the opinions of the Tory reviewer, it was because he resented the aspersion on his country and not because he failed to recognise the merits of leffrey and his fellows. This is made evident by a passage i n the 'Conclusion' where his heart warms at the thought of the sympathy shown to his country 2

3

1

i i i , pp. 129, 152.

2

November 1 8 1 0 , p. 542.

3

S.O.B.D.,

i , p. 15.

TALES I N VERSE

389

by Scottish critics, and his gratitude is so profound that he can even bear their condemnation of his work: H a i l ! Caledonia—learn'd Edina hail! H a i l ! Scotch reviewers, tho' you damn these sheets, Hibernia stands not l i g h t l y i n your scale, For which m y heart your minds enlighten'd greets. ( i i i , p. 248)

The emotion that had found vent i n the laughter of satire, at the close of the book gushes forth i n the eloquence of sentiment. One cannot help recalling the passion of the Irish Melodies on which Moore was still engaged when Spirit of Boccaccio''s Decameron was being composed. The immediate occasion of this overflow of feeling is the scene when the story-tellers have retired to rest at the end of the third day. Addressing his readers, Moore bids them also slumber calmly, and then the unhappy state of Ireland comes surging into his mind: W h e n shall poor E r i n so repose i n peace, W hen from her couch may be expell'd the thorn, W h e n shall blood-reeking ghastly visions cease, To let her rise refresh'd on breezy morn? W h e n persecution, ignorance, and pride, From r u l i n g councils banish'd shall go forth, She then may be by her own merits t r y ' d , And valued i n proportion to her w o r t h . W hen matricides corruption's bribes shall spurn, And patriotic principles assume, Again Ierne to those sons w i l l t u r n , Tho' Nero-like they've r i p ' d her teeming womb. W l i e n proud Britannia may i n wisdom deign, Her goading rods for silken reins to change, T h e n Erin's genius and her rosy train, O'er her green bosom joyfully shall range. r

T

(iii, pp. 247-8)

Acutely as he feels the miseries of his country, Moore nevertheless remains an optimist, for he refuses to believe that reason, tolerance and enlightenment will not one day gain the victory: The t i m e w i l l come w h e n prejudice's clouds, Dispell'd shall be by reason's cheering ray, And the dark mist which confidence enshrouds, W i l l fly before her as n i g h t flies from day. ( i i i , p. 248)

The fear that the book might meet with an unfavourable reception at the hands of the reviewers was not an expression of mock modesty. Moore was well aware of its imperfections, as is proved by his dedication to the earl of Llandaff, no less than by the motto from Voltaire on the title-page:

390

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

Censeurs malins, je vous meprise tous, Car je connais mes defauts mieux que vous. I n t h e dialogue b e t w e e n Book and Reviewers he analyses t h e m w i t h o u t m e r c y . T h e r e is some w a r r a n t f o r t h e o b j e c t i o n t o ' c l a n k i n g r e p e t i t i o n ' a n d ' f a u l t y r h y m e s ' . B o t h o r i g i n a t e i n t h e choice o f t h e octosyllabic c o u p l e t as t h e m e t r e f o r t h e tales. T h e s t r a i n o n t h e i n g e n u i t y o f t h e t r a n s l a t o r i n f i n d i n g r h y m e s is o b v i o u s l y g r e a t e r i n an extensive w o r k t h a n i f a l o n g e r l i n e h a d b e e n e m p l o y e d . T h e r e s u l t is t h a t M o o r e i n spite o f his d e x t e r i t y is o f t e n c o m p e l l e d t o resort t o a H i b e r n i a n p r o ­ n u n c i a t i o n t o secure v a r i e t y . These weaknesses are offset b y t h e m e r i t s o f his verse. I t is s m o o t h a n d f l u e n t a n d excels i n f a m i l i a r speech. T h e ease o f such a passage as t h e f o l l o w i n g c o u l d o n l y be a t t a i n e d b y a master o f c o n v e r s a t i o n : ' Y o u seem beyond all bounds distress'd; Consider not your horse and purse, B u t thank St. Julian 'tis no worse. Take comfort, Sir, w i t h i n this house, For, dress'd as m y departed spouse, To h i m you such resemblance bear, I can't but fondly on you stare. I n short, I know not what I do, A n d nearly had saluted y o u ' . ( i i , pp. 20-1) 1

A n d i n t h e tale o f L y d i a a n d Nicostratus t h e r e is a l i v e l y dialogue w h e n , i n t h e p u r s u i t o f h e r i n t r i g u e , she induces h i m t o p a r t w i t h a sound tooth: She soon to Nicostratus said, ' A t r u t h to tell I ' m half afraid, You cannot surely but observe, Your pages' conduct while they serve'. 'Yes, that I have most certainly, A n d often thought to ask t h e m w h y . ' ' M y love, the youths would deem i t treason, To let you know the real reason; But m y regard surmounts all fear, So plainly I must tell you, dear, W h a t ever lately has befel, Your breath exhales a carious smell; A grievous circumstance to me, As w e l l as to your company.' Exclaim'd he, ' W h a t ! m y breath impure, No tooth have I unsound I ' m sure.' 'Perhaps you may, love, open wide, Your m o u t h and let me look inside.' She then examin'd every part, And soon exclaim'd, ' M y precious heart! 1

Cf. Dec. i i , 2.

TALES I N VERSE So l o n g h o w c o u l d y o u w i t h i t bear, H e r e ' s one as r o t t e n as [ a ] p e a r ; I f its e x t r a c t i o n y o u d e l a y , ' T w i l l a l l y o u r s o u n d e r ones decay. So I advise, b e y o n d a d o u b t , I m m e d i a t e l y you get i t o u t .

591

1

( i i i , p p . 188—9) It is true that Boccaccio did not emerge unchanged from the process of translation. However, Moore was better qualified than most English writers for the task by his interest i n the amatory writers. He could enter with light-hearted zest into the gallant adventures of the Decameron. At the same time his own happy marriage enabled him to value those stories of true love i n which it also abounds. The result was that his work on the whole might justly claim to represent the 2

Spirit

of Boccaccio''s

Decameron.

The comic element i n the Decameron was adequately represented in the translations of Hobhouse and Moore but as a rule it is passed over in favour of tales of romantic love. However, isolated stories of an amusing or satirical kind are rendered by James Payn, Sir John Hanmer, J. R. Planche and R. B. Brough. Hanmer takes up the theme to which Rogers had alluded in Italy, the story of Frate Cipolla. However, he approached the subject, not in a mood of dogmatic acerbity, but with an air of detached amusement. This is evident from the motto, taken from Molifcre, which he prefixes to his tale: 3

4

5

A l u i n o n p l u s q u ' a son L a u r e n t Je n e m e f i e r a i , m o i , q u e s u r u n b o n g a r a n t .

The quotation is all the more apt, since the friar, on addressing the crowd outside the church of Certaldo, finding that a burning coal has been substituted for the feather of the angel Gabriel's wing that he had promised to show, promptly asserts that it is from the fire in which St. Laurence was roasted to death. But Hanmer is not concerned to attack the friars as a whole and so he suppresses the fantastic list of bogus relics that Frate Cipolla claimed to have brought back with him from Jerusalem and confines himself to the one episode in the career of the friar. Of course, he leaves no doubt that Cipolla is a rogue. But he is a lovable rogue, a sort of clerical Autolycus. Perhaps Boccaccio's Cf. Dec. v i i , g. This is true i n particular of The Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Little, Esq. Moore later pleaded for c h a r i t y towards this early volume of his, because the poems t h a t i t contains ' were . . . the productions of an age w h e n the passions very often give a colouring too w a r m to the i m a g i n a t i o n ' . Cf. the article cited above, R.E.S., xxiii, p. 344. Vide post, pp. 4 3 6 - 7 . Fra Cipolla, and other poems, London, 1839. Page references appended to quotations are to this edition. Tartuffe, I . i . 71—2. 1 2

3

4

5

392

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

d e s c r i p t i o n o f his m e r r y face c o m b i n e d w i t h his stay i n t h e v i l l a g e i n n t o c a r r y H a n m e r ' s t h o u g h t s back t o Chaucer's f r i a r H u b e r t . I n t e m p e r he a n d H a n m e r ' s

Cipolla were somewhat

a l i k e . Cipolla's v e r y n a m e

was redolent of cheer, Nor he belied i t w i t h a m i e n severe, Nor took his gettings churlishly for r i g h t , I f priest by day, he gossip was by n i g h t ; A n d all the women loved the tales he told, A n d children laughed his antics to behold. (p. 10) A g a i n , l i k e H u b e r t he d e v o t e d his a t t e n t i o n t o those w h o c o u l d afford to reward h i m w e l l . He w o u l d that all knew how the Scriptures teach 'Tis not the poor want saving, b u t the rich. (p.

10)

H o w e v e r , he avoided e x t r e m e s , n o t f r e q u e n t i n g t h e v e r y o p u l e n t b u t p a y i n g his calls i n ' s n u g s t r e e t s ' , w h e r e people k n o w t h e v a l u e o f money: He came, and preached how wealth abideth not; A n d oft a portion to his convent drew, A n d proved, at least, his saying m i g h t be true, Shriving for profit penitents like these. (p. i i ) As H a n m e r was c h i e f l y i n t e r e s t e d i n C i p o l l a , h e discarded t h e scene i n w h i c h Boccaccio h a d described how t h e f r i a r ' s s e r v a n t Guccio be­ r

came e n a m o u r e d belongings

o f N u t a a n d t h r o u g h his neglect

gave t h e

waggish

o f his

Giovanni del Bragoniera

P i z z i n i a chance to s u b s t i t u t e t h e coal for t h e feather.

master's

and He

Biagio

therefore

replaces t h i s c o m p l i c a t e d apparatus b y a single agent w h o m he p o r t r a y s thus: a boorish churl and rude W i t h leathern looks that changed not w i t h his mood, D u l l from his b i r t h , no faith inspired his brain, E'en superstition strove for h i m i n vain, D a r k is her night, but still w i t h stars supplied— His darkness was a chaos or a void. Nor signs, nor power of holy church he knew, T h a t changes hardest things, w i t h heavenly dew, E'en hearts of men, and what can harder be, Or change more great than sin to sanctity, A t things beyond h i m like an ape he mowed, A n d oft i t passed for reverence w i t h the crowd.

(pp. 16-17) I t is t h i s d u l l - w i t t e d f e l l o w w h o fills t h e sportive c o m p a n i o n s .

place o f Boccaccio's

A t t h e close, w i t h a sense o f h u m o u r ,

two

Hanmer

TALES I N VERSE

393

depicts h i m as b e l i e v i n g Cipolla's tale a n d k i s s i n g t h e coal t h a t he h i m s e l f h a d l e f t i n t h e f r i a r ' s possession. I t is possible t h a t i n his condensation o f t h i s p a r t o f t h e tale H a n m e r was actuated n o t m e r e l y b y a desire to concentrate o n Cipolla b u t also b y a l o n g i n g t o escape f r o m t h e sweat-laden atmosphere o f t h e i n n k i t c h e n i n A u g u s t , w h i c h Boccaccio describes w i t h such merciless r e a l i s m , o u t i n t o t h e o p e n air. F o r t h e E n g l i s h w r i t e r t h e s e t t i n g was almost as i m p o r t a n t as t h e s t o r y itself, and, perhaps f o l l o w i n g Chaucer's e x a m p l e at t h e o p e n i n g o f t h e Canterbury Tales, he alters t h e season o f t h e year f r o m t h e h e i g h t o f s u m m e r t o late s p r i n g w i t h a l l its fresh and verdurous beauty: ' T w a s t h e soft season w h e n t h e s y c a m o r e B u r s t s i n f u l l f o l i a g e , a n d its p e n s i l e f l o w e r D o t h a l l t h e bees w i t h its sweet b r e a t h i n v i t e , A n d f a i r y bells, so t r e m u l o u s a n d l i g h t , T i l l t w i l i g h t ushers i n t h e s u m m e r n i g h t .

(pp. 11-12)

H a n m e r , w h o was a great l o v e r o f I t a l y , sees i n a w i d e s u r v e y , not o n l y t h e landscape b u t also t h e h u m a n activities o f v i l l a g e a n d countryside: 1

stars w e r e r i s i n g o'er T h e i n n ' s l o n g g a l l e r y a n d its o p e n d o o r — A n d horseman, pacing t h r o u g h t h e a r c h w a y near, W h o back to Florence t u r n e d f r o m c o u n t r y cheer; F a r s w e l l e d t h e h o r n a l o n g t h e m o u n t a i n side, A n d goats c a m e b o u n d i n g t o t h e i r g e n t l e g u i d e , T h e peasant g i r l , w i t h distaff i n h e r h a n d , A n d h e r y o u n g sisters r o l l i n g i n t h e s a n d ; A n d f a i n t l y rose t h e e v e n i n g w i n d a l o n g T h e b r u s h w o o d paths, a n d m u r m u r e d w i t h h e r song. (p.

12)

T h e n came n i g h t , w h e n t h e cypress shadows f e l l C a l m i n the m o o n l i g h t over w a l l and w e l l ; F e w sounds a l o n g t h e scattered street w e r e h e a r d , S o m e w a n d e r i n g steps, some l a t t i c e f a i n t l y s t i r r e d ; T a l l s e e m e d each f i g u r e l i n g e r i n g i n t h e shade, A n d o'er t h e i r heads t h e l i g h t b a t f l i c k e r i n g p l a y e d .

(pp. 17-18) F i n a l l y , at b r e a k o f day vine-dressers sally f o r t h , h o o k i n h a n d , f r o m t h e v i l l a g e , w h e r e a l l is s i l e n t except f o r t h e o l d crones w h o p l y t h e i r h o u s e h o l d tasks, w h i l e t h e m u l e s a w a i t t h e bells t h a t s u m m o n t h e m o n t h e i r w a y . These sketches have an u n d e n i a b l e c h a r m , a n d t h e y can Cf. his 'Sonnets', published i n 1840, w h i c h deal chiefly w i t h I t a l i a n subjects and scenes. 1

394

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

at least be justified as a n indication of t h e background against which we can see Cipolla himself. On t h e other hand, it would seem as i f one vignette h a d b e e n introduced merely to express Hanmer's delight in the scene, as is proved b y its general character: ' T i s sweet t o w a n d e r a n d at eve b e h o l d Some s u n l i t c i t y , l o v e d a n d f a m e d o f o l d , A n d all its towers i n p u r p l e light, arrayed, A n d d a r k e r n o w , a n d r e d d e n i n g i n t o shade. A n d sweet t h e rest at n o o n t i d e , b y t h e w e l l F o r p i l g r i m s h e w n , w h e r e some o l d c i t a d e l T h r o w s i t s l o n g shadows o ' e r t h e r o a d , a n d fills T h e w i n d i n g passes o f t h e h o a r y h i l l s ; T h o s e h e a p e d u p h i l l s , w i t h m a n y a deep r a v i n e , A n d h a l f h i d village a n d its towers between, A n d w h i t e r o c k j u t t i n g f r o m t h e shadows d u n , Of rifted marble, g l i t t e r i n g i n the sun, Seen leagues a r o u n d , t h e m o u n t a i n G o n f a l o n . ( p . 20)

Apart from some careless rhymes, Hanmer uses the heroic couplet effectively, and as the last three lines just quoted indicate, he varies his metre by means of triplets. I n all probability, like other writers of the age, he learnt the device from Dryden. It may well be that he also was affected by him as a satirist, for despite Hanmer's customary genial humour, there are now and then some piercing thrusts as i n the lines when he relates how it was i n vain for any one to plead for alms when Cipolla was about: A n d g r a v e r m a t r o n s t h e procession j o i n e d , A n d beldams old, t h a t l a g g i n g l i m p e d b e h i n d ; A shadowy fatal sisterhood t h e y came, A n d g r e e t e d n o n e b u t beggars, a n d t h e l a m e ; H a l t i n g , w i t h these t h e y r a n a n e n v i o u s race, A n d gathered r o u n d t h e c h u r c h , and filled t h e place; A n d a l m s t h e y b e g g e d , b u t age h a t h l i t t l e n e e d , A n d saints c o m e first i n c h a r i t a b l e creed. ( p . 20)

The second humorous tale belongs to the same day as that of Frate Cipolla. I t is the story of Chichibio, and this version has been ascribed to J. R. Planche. The process of anglicisation which had been begun in the sixteenth century and continued in the eighteenth, is carried still further i n ' The One-Legged Goose'. The scene is transferred from Venice to Hertfordshire. The cook is not a man but a woman, and it is 1

2

3

Dec. v i , 4. Cf. Notes and Queries, 15 M a y 1909, p . 388. I t is to be found i n Routledge's Temperance Reciter, pp. 182-4. T h e B . M . Catalogue gives the date of publication as [1874]. Vide ante, pp. 163, 2 9 6 - 7 . 1 2

3

TALES I N VERSE

395

Peggy's lover John who begs for a leg of the bird that she is cooking. The bird i n question is not a crane, but a goose, and when Peggy's master is to be convinced that it had, while still alive, only one leg, they sally forth, not to the bank of a river, but to the neighbouring house of Farmer Grains. I n keeping with this background the dialogue attempts to represent the rustic speech, not only of lohn and Peggy but also of the squire himself. He is portrayed as the simple-witted country gentleman, and the emphasis here is far more on his stupidity than on the astuteness of his cook. The opening lines of the poem depict him thus: He loved to smoke his pipe w i t h jovial souls, Prided himself upon his skill at bowls, A t w h i c h he left his neighbours i n the l u r c h ; On Sundays, too, he always went to church— Took, d u r i n g sermon time, his usual snore, A n d gave his sixpence at the door. (p. 182)

The transformation is complete, and Boccaccio might well be excused if i n this homely figure he failed to recognise the noble citizen of Florence whom he had introduced into the Decameron. There was a good deal i n common between Planche and R_. B. Brough, as is shown by their production of extravaganzas and bur­ lesques for the stage. This spirit animates ' A Story from Boccaccio', published i n the first number of The Train. The tale of Pasquino and Simona was in itself serious enough, but i n Brough's hands it under­ goes a transformation, as we perceive from the tone of the opening stanzas, in which he explains that he cannot refrain from communica­ ting his pleasures, whatever they be, to others, such as his neighbour Mr. Jones: 1

2

3

So, i n Literature's garden, w h e n I've met a song or story T h a t has raised a pleasant smile, or caused a pleasant tear descend; Should you chance to call upon me, be admonish'd I should bore ye W i t h the whole of the transaction from beginning to the end. I've been reading i n Boccaccio, where I've stumbled o'er a treasure T h a t I ' d somehow overlooked, although I've loved the book for years; It's a quarter after m i d n i g h t , and I can't expect the pleasure Of a visitor to favour me w i t h sympathy and ears. 4

1

Vide post, pp. 456-7 and cf. C.B.E.L.

2

January 1856, pp. 36—40. I am indebted to Geoffrey Tillotson for pointing this

i i i , p. 6 0 1 .

out to me. Vide ante, pp. 309, 3 4 8 ; post, pp. 4 1 7 - 2 1 , 435. T h i s reference to the Decameron, as though i t were the only work of Boccaccio, provides another illustration of the pre-eminence that i t had acquired in the nine­ teenth century. 3 4

396

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

So I ' l l put the tale on paper, just as well as I can do i t (For I can't wait t i l l the m o r n i n g for a call from M r . Jones); A n d I fancy, e'en i n m y hands, y o u ' l l be able to get t h r o u g h i t , As, i n any clumsy setting, we can value precious stones. B r o u g h confesses t h a t he has n e v e r b e e n i n I t a l y a n d renounces a n y a t t e m p t at local c o l o u r . H e t h e r e f o r e transfers t h e scene f r o m F l o r e n c e to t h e A d r i a t i c , possibly u n d e r t h e i n f l u e n c e of R u s k i n ' s The Stones of Venice w h i c h h a d appeared f r o m 1851 t o 1853: a Roman villa there had stood; And w i t h moss and vines half hidden, broken columns lay a-crumbling, W h i c h I w o n ' t attempt to paint, as only M r . Raskin could. And, To All I Of

were I to t r y , the beauties of the sky, and sea, and ocean depict, our travell'd critics would be quickly down on me; want is to convey a golden, dreamy k i n d of notion a garden, i n the sunset, by the Adriatic Sea.

T h e tale does n o t e v e n m e n t i o n t h e names of t h e c h i e f figures. T h e y are s i m p l y t w o lovers, a n d t h e g a r d e n w i t h i t s crocuses a n d daisies is u n c o n v i n c i n g , as B r o u g h h i m s e l f appears t o f e e l . H o w e v e r , he t r i e s t o account f o r t h e poisonous p l a n t b y a t t r i b u t i n g t h e f o r m e r o w n e r s h i p of t h e g a r d e n t o a w i z a r d . T h e hero's s u d d e n d e a t h is described i n a stanza w h i c h b r i n g s t h e s i t u a t i o n v i v i d l y before t h e reader's eyes: Scarce w i t h i n his reach of arm, he spied a plant of curious prickle; I t was t e m p t i n g from its distance (still one hand about her head)— Could he reach it? lo, a t r i u m p h ! i t is plucked, its fibres tickle; He must chew it—he has done so—in a moment he I S D E A D ! I t is d i f f i c u l t t o believe t h a t B r o u g h was v e r y m u c h i n earnest h e r e , a n d t h e f l i p p a n c y o f t h e n e x t stanza h e i g h t e n s t h i s d o u b t . Y e t perhaps he was n o t a l t o g e t h e r w i t h o u t s y m p a t h y f o r t h e lovers, as t h e t w o f o l l o w i n g stanzas i n d i c a t e , i n spite o f t h e i r m e l o d r a m a t i c a i r : He was dead, and she was l i v i n g ! Earth and sea, and sky, and ocean, A l l were changed—the l i g h t of life was gone, rekindled ne'er to be; I n the dark she stood alone; the sun had sunk w i t h p l u m m e t motion; Not a star shone o'er the blackness of the Adriatic Sea! I t was black, and cold, and sudden—she was hopeless, calm, and frigid; Ne'er a moan escaped her bosom, on her brow was ne'er a frown; She was broken, she was frozen, she was pulseless, she was r i g i d ; Can the L i l y wave its petals when the North has blown i t down? A t a n y r a t e , t h e artist w h o p r o v i d e d i l l u s t r a t i o n s at t h e b e g i n n i n g and t h e e n d o f t h e p o e m accepted these lines i n good f a i t h a n d seized o n t h e m e t a p h o r of t h e l i l y f o r his o w n purpose. T h e r e was l i t t l e i n B r o u g h ' s vague d e s c r i p t i o n o f t h e g a r d e n w h i c h he c o u l d u t i l i s e ;

TALES I N VERSE

397

Boccaccio's sage-bush is n o t e v e n m e n t i o n e d . I n t h e first e n g r a v i n g he t h e r e f o r e depicts t h e s u n s e t t i n g over t h e sea a n d i n t h e f o r e g r o u n d t w o l i l i e s g r o w i n g o u t o f a n u r n . T h e tailpiece shows a n i n k y sky swept b y a f u r i o u s s t o r m a n d , as a s y m b o l o f t h e fate of t h e lovers, t w o l i l i e s b r o k e n a n d b e n t to t h e e a r t h . T h e l a t t e r p a r t o f Boccaccio's s t o r y — t h e charge o f m u r d e r b r o u g h t against t h e h e r o i n e , a n d h e r sudden d e a t h as she demonstrates t o h e r accusers h o w t h e c h e w i n g of t h e leaf h a d b r o u g h t such u n e x p e c t e d disaster—-is r e l a t e d b y B r o u g h i n a g r e a t l y condensed a n d s i m p l i f i e d f o r m . T h e n , as i f he feared t o be t h o u g h t s e n t i m e n t a l , he adds a postscript: T h e r e ' s m y s t o r y — d o y o u l i k e i t ? f r o m Boccaccio I ' v e d e p a r t e d I n t h e f e a t u r e s ; b u t I ' v e g i v e n y o u , at a l l events, t h e bones. I t ' s a first a t t e m p t : i f b u l l i e d , or b u t m e t w i t h praise f a i n t - h e a r t e d , W h y , i n f u t u r e , I s h a l l go t o b e d , o r k n o c k u p M r . Jones.

S u c h l i g h t - h e a r t e d a n d e v e n facetious t r e a t m e n t of one of Boccaccio's serious tales b y a n E n g l i s h w r i t e r is u n u s u a l . F a r m o r e n u m e r o u s a n d m o r e n o t a b l e , h o w e v e r , is t h e g r o u p o f tales i n verse t h a t p o r t r a y love—passionate a n d n o b l e . T o t h e m m i g h t be a p p l i e d t h e m o t t o adopted b y B . W . P r o c t e r f o r A Sicilian Story. ' N u n c scio q u i d sit a m o r ' . C e r t a i n l y i t w o u l d have b e e n a p p r o p r i a t e f o r Keats's ' I s a b e l l a ' , w h i c h he m e n t i o n s o n 27 A p r i l 1818 i n w r i t i n g to J o h n H a m i l t o n R e y n o l d s . I t was t h e n j u s t c o m p l e t e d as a c o m p l i m e n t ' t o Boccace'. As has been r e c o g n i s e d , t h e choice o f t h e t h e m e was n o d o u b t i n s p i r e d b y H a z l i t t ' s lectures t h r e e m o n t h s e a r l i e r . A t first s i g h t i t m a y appear strange t h a t o n t h i s occasion Keats s h o u l d e m p l o y t h e F r e n c h f o r m o f t h e I t a l i a n w r i t e r ' s n a m e , since H a z l i t t i n v a r i a b l y alludes t o Boccaccio, a n d t h e t r a n s l a t i o n o f t h e Decameron used b y Keats refers t o i t as t h e w o r k o f ' J o h n Boccacio'. T h e e x p l a n a t i o n p r o b a b l y lies i n Keats's d i l i g e n t s t u d y of D r y d e n ' s Fables, where 'Boccace' is always f o u n d . Keats read t h e f i f t h e d i t i o n , p u b l i s h e d b y A w n s h a m C h u r c h i l l i n 1684, o f t h e E n g l i s h t r a n s l a t i o n o f 1620. T h e n a m e ' I s a b e l l a ' is d e r i v e d f r o m t h i s source, w h i c h s u b s t i t u t e d i t f o r t h e I t a l i a n ' L i s a b e t t a ' . M o r e i m p o r t a n t , h o w e v e r , are o t h e r changes i n t h e Jacobean v e r s i o n . T h e love-affair, as r e l a t e d b y Boccaccio, was f r a n k l y sensual, a n d i t was t h e discovery o f Lisabetta's n o c t u r n a l visits to L o r e n z o t h a t enraged h e r b r o t h e r s . T h e E n g l i s h t r a n s l a t o r , o n t h e o t h e r h a n d , describes t h e m a t t e r t h u s : 1

2

3

Vide post, pp. 4 1 4 - 1 7 . First by D . N i c l i o l S m i t h who pointed i t out to H . W . G a r r o d . See the latter's c o m m u n i c a t i o n to T.L.S., 19 M a r c h 1925, p. 199. A n account of Keats's indebtedness to the E n g l i s h translation o f 1620 was given by H . G . W r i g h t , T.L.S., 17 A p r i l 1943. 1

2

3

398

T H E DECAMERON

IN THENINETEENTH

CENTURY

L o n g t i m e c o n t i n u e d t h i s A m o r o u s L e a g u e o f L o v e , y e t n o t so c u n n i n l y (sic!) concealed, b u t at l e n g t h t h e secret m e e t i n g o f Lorenzo a n d Isabella, t o ease t h e i r poor Souls o f L o v e s oppressions, was discovered b y t h e E l d e s t o f t h e Brethren. 1

T h i s is n o t v e r y precise, h u t t h e d r i f t is clear w h e n w e h e a r l a t e r t h a t t h e b r o t h e r s w e r e a l l t h e m o r e i n c l i n e d to delay t h e r e v e n g e , ' no e v i l A c t b e i n g (as y e t ) c o m m i t t e d ' . I n y e t a n o t h e r respect t h e T r a n s l a t o r e x h i b i t e d t h e c o n d u c t o f L o r e n z o a n d Isabella i n a m o r e f a v o u r a b l e l i g h t . I n t h e Decameron,

after she has seen t h e m u r d e r e d L o r e n z o i n

a v i s i o n , she is a f r a i d t o say a n y t h i n g about i t t o h e r b r o t h e r s a n d so schemes h o w t o test t h e t r u t h or falsehood o f h e r d r e a m . She t h e r e f o r e asks t h e i r leave t o go a l i t t l e w a y o u t o f t h e c i t y f o r r e c r e a t i o n , a n d b y means o f t h i s s u b t e r f u g e is able to c a r r y o u t h e r p l a n . B y contrast, t h e w o r d i n g of the translation—' H a v i n g obtained favour of her B r e t h r e n , to r i d e a days j o u r n e y f r o m t h e C i t y ' — i s s t u d i o u s l y v a g u e a n d avoids a n y conscious d e c e p t i o n o n Isabella's p a r t . V a r i o u s o t h e r features are p e c u l i a r to t h e E n g l i s h t r a n s l a t i o n . T h u s t h e a t t e n d a n t w h o accompanies Isabella is r e f e r r e d to i n g e n e r a l t e r m s b y Boccaccio as one w h o h a d f o r m e r l y b e e n w i t h t h e m ( t h a t is, t h e f a m i l y ) , w h i c h i n l e M a c o n ' s r e n d e r i n g becomes ' v n e q u i a u o i t seruy autresfois e n l e u r m a i s o n ' . T h e E n g l i s h t r a n s l a t o r is m o r e d e f i n i t e about t h e n a t u r e o f h e r service, s p e a k i n g of Isabella's ' t r u s t y N u r s e , w h o l o n g t i m e h a d a t t e n d e d o n h e r i n t h e h o u s e ' . A g a i n , t h e circumstances i n w h i c h L o r e n z o ' s b o d y is d i s i n t e r r e d are s o m e w h a t

different. I n

Boccaccio i t is Isabella alone w h o p e r f o r m s t h i s gruesome task, b u t i n t h e E n g l i s h v e r s i o n she is aided b y h e r n u r s e , a n d t h e y d i g u p t h e b o d y t o g e t h e r . B y a m i r a c l e o f t h e k i n d i n w h i c h mediaeval w r i t e r s d e l i g h t e d , t h e corpse is described b y Boccaccio as b e i n g i n no wise decayed.

2

T h e English r e n d e r i n g on the other hand introduces

an

i m p o r t a n t m o d i f i c a t i o n — t h e b o d y is ' as y e t v e r y l i t t l e c o r r u p t e d or i m p a i r e d ' . E v i d e n t l y t h e t r a n s l a t o r was too m u c h of a r a t i o n a l i s t t o accept t h e t a l e as he f o u n d i t . T h e same t e n d e n c y , aided no d o u b t b y his fondness f o r a l l i t e r a t i o n , e x p l a i n s a n o t h e r c h a n g e t h a t he

made.

I n Boccaccio t h e h e r o i n e uses a k n i f e t o sever L o r e n z o ' s head f r o m t h e b o d y a n d carries o u t t h e o p e r a t i o n b y herself. T h e p r a c t i c a l E n g l i s h t r a n s l a t o r , h o w e v e r , insists t h a t she h a d b r o u g h t ' a k e e n Razor w i t h her'

3

a n d was e n a b l e d t o c u t off t h e h e a d

' b y help of the

Nurse'.

W h e n Isabella has r e t u r n e d h o m e , i t is t o be r e m a r k e d t h a t i n Boccaccio, before p u t t i n g t h e head i n t h e p o t o f basil, she w r a p s i t i n Dec. iv, 5. E d . of 1684, p. 183. H e does not state how long the interval is between the m u r d e r and the vision, b u t he gives the impression t h a t some t i m e passes. ' R a z o r ' alliterates w i t h ' r e g a r d ' and ' w r a p p e d ' . Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , The first English translation of the 'Decameron', pp. 105-6. 1

2

3

TALES I N VERSE

399

a piece of fine cloth, which i n le Macon appears as ' v n beau drap de soye'. The English version, with its love of alliteration, makes of this ' a Silken Scarf. Subsequently, as Boccaccio's heroine sits weeping over the pot, she is observed by prying neighbours, and when her brothers note her fading beauty, these gossips inform them of what they have seen. Consequently, there is a definite connexion between the tittletattle of the neighbours and the brothers' resolve to take away the pot of basil. The same account is given by le Macon; however, his text i n certain editions translates ' disser loro' not by ' leur dirent' but by Tuy dirent'. The English translator, who here seems to have been following le Macon, found this puzzling and rendered the passage freely: 1

T h e Neighbours n o t i n g this behaviour i n her, observing the long continuance t h e r e o f , h o w m u c h h e r b r i g h t B e a u t y was defaced, a n d t h e Eyes s u n k i n t o h e r H e a d b y incessant w e e p i n g , m a d e m a n y k i n d a n d f r i e n d l y m o t i o n s , t o u n d e r s t a n d t h e reason o f h e r so v i o l e n t oppressions; b u t c o u l d n o t b y a n y m e a n s p r e v a i l w i t h h e r , o r w i n a n y d i s c o v e r y b y h e r N u r s e , so f a i t h f u l w a s she i n secresie t o h e r . H e r B r e t h r e n also w a x e d w e a r y o f t h i s c a r i a g e i n h e r . . . 2

I n this version therefore the actions of the neighbours and the brothers are dissociated. One last feature of the English translation may be mentioned—the folk-song at the close, the 'canzone' of Boccaccio, is rendered by 'an excellent Ditty'. How was Keats affected by the form i n which the story reached him? The most striking characteristic of ' Isabella' is the idealisation of the heroine's love for Lorenzo. The poem knows nothing of the incidents which gave the brothers some justification for their murder­ ous attack on Lorenzo, an attack as stealthy as his liaison with their sister had been. All hint of sensuality is banished from the lines: T h e s e b r e t h r e n h a v i n g f o u n d b y m a n y signs W h a t l o v e L o r e n z o f o r t h e i r sister h a d , A n d h o w she l o v ' d h i m t o o . (st. x x i )

Having deprived them of their reasonable grievance—-the seduction of their sister by an employee—Keats was compelled to provide another motive for their machinations, which he found i n the mercenary souls of these 'Baalites of pelf, and i n the frustration of their ambi­ tious design to marry Isabella T o some h i g h n o b l e a n d h i s o l i v e - t r e e s . (st. x x i )

This i n its turn led him to conceive of their business operations, extend­ ing as they do from the Arctic to Ceylon and Malaya, as on a scale 1 2

Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , The first English 1684 ed., p. 184.

translation

of the 'Decameron',

pp. 2 6 8 - 9 .

400

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

better suited to an English capitalist of the nineteenth century than to a Florentine trader of the fourteenth. Keats went still further. Since he was to portray an ideal passion, he made the lovers as free from blemish as possible. He was evidently perturbed by the reference to the fact that Lorenzo had at one time cast his eyes upon other 'Beauties i n the City', even though he re­ nounced all thought of them for the sake of Isabella, and so the poet suppresses all mention of these earlier episodes as incompatible with a love unique, all-absorbing and self-sufficient. Keats's Isabella also moves on a lofty plane, untouched by human frailties, and so quite consistently, he follows the English translator i n avoiding any sugges­ tion of cunning or deceit i n her. Hence, instead of hoodwinking her brothers in order to gain their consent to her departure from Florence, she h a d d e v i s e d H o w she m i g h t secret t o t h e forest h i e . (st. x l i i i )

The fact that Keats passes over some of the grim details of the disin­ terment of Lorenzo is also related to this tendency towards idealization. In particular, he abstains from mentioning the razor which Isabella, i n the version of 1620, takes with her. There was about the provision of such an instrument an air of practical calculation, as one trained i n medicine like Keats must have perceived. But he doubtless felt that what was well enough i n a surgeon was altogether inappropriate i n a heroine distraught with love and grief. I n other respects, however, he agrees closely with the English translation. His shrinking from 'wormy circumstance' in st. xlix has nothing to justify it i n the miraculous preservation related by Boccaccio and can only be accounted for by the presentation of the incident i n Keats's source. Again, he depicts Isabella as receiving the aid of her nurse i n disinterring the body and i n severing the head: W i t h d u l l e r steel t h a n t h e P e r s e a n s w o r d T h e y c u t away no formless monster's head, B u t one, w h o s e gentleness d i d w e l l accord W i t h d e a t h , as l i f e . (st. 1)

I n this fashion Keats reinforces the impression of Isabella's delicate womanliness conveyed by the poem as a whole. Similarly, he follows the version of 1620 i n making the brothers' decision to remove the basil-pot independent of any comment by outsiders. Indeed, he takes yet another step, and, still bent on idealising this love-affair, dismisses the prying neighbours who keep daily watch over Isabella's every movement. Some curiosity remains, but at least

TALES I N VERSE

401

it is the interest of relatives and not the idle and malicious talk of unsympathetic strangers. Moreover, the very words i n which this part of the poem is framed seem to elevate it above a mean and petty world: and many a curious elf, A m o n g her kindred, wonder'd that such dower Of youth and beauty should be t h r o w n aside By one m a r k ' d out to be a Noble's bride. And, furthermore, her brethren wonder'd much W h y she sat drooping by the basil green . . . (st. l v i i , l v i i i )

Like the English translator, too, Keats speaks of 'the silken scarf i n which Lorenzo's head was wrapped and of the ' ditty' sung throughout the countryside about the fate of Isabella. Her attendant too is her nurse, whom Keats pictures as an ' aged Dame' with lean hands and 'locks all hoar', so that, by this embodiment of ancient devotion, he may add pathos and indirectly enhance the attractiveness of the heroine, just as the relationship of Angela to Madeline does i n the ' The Eve of St. Agnes'. It is also possible that ' Isabella' was affected by other parts of the Decameron as well as by the tale itself i n the English version. I n par­ ticular, this applies to the scene of Lorenzo's murder. The story in the original Italian has little to say about it, for Boccaccio was above all concerned with swift narration. The event, not the place, was for him the main thing. Evidently the crime was committed somewhere near Messina, the town where Lorenzo had fallen i n love with Lisabetta, but the route taken by Lorenzo and her brothers is extremely vague. They went outside the city, and i n ' a very solitary and remote place' Lorenzo was slain and buried. When his ghost appears to Lisabetta, it makes no precise statement about the spot where the body lies, but merely indicates 'where they had interred h i m ' . Lisabetta obtains permission to go 'a little way out of the city', and when she and her attendant arrive at the scene of the murder, all we hear is that she cleared away the leaves and dug where the ground seemed less hard. On the whole, the version of 1620 follows all this faithfully enough, except that the translator, with his usual partiality to alliteration, introduces a slight modification for the sake of this literary device: 1

H a v i n g obtained favour of her Brethren, to ride a days journey from the City . . . they rode directly to the designed place, w h i c h being covered w i t h some store of dryed leaves, and more deeply sunk than any other part of the Cf. H . G . W r i g h t , 'Possible Indebtedness of Keats's " I s a b e l l a " to the Decameron', R.E.S., N e w Series, 1951, i i , pp. 248-54. 2D 1

402

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

G r o u n d thereabout, t h e y digged n o t far, b u t t h e y f o u n d t h e body of t h e murthered Lorenzo. 1

E v e n w i t h t h i s c h a n g e t h e o n l y i m p r e s s i o n t h a t Keats c o u l d

glean

f r o m t h e t a l e i t s e l f was t h a t t h e m u r d e r o c c u r r e d i n a h o l l o w i n a l o n e l y w o o d at no g r e a t distance f r o m Messina. T h e p o e m , o n t h e o t h e r h a n d , transfers t h e scene to t h e v i c i n i t y of F l o r e n c e . I n c o n s i d e r i n g w h y Keats d i d t h i s , w e c a n n o t afford t o overlook

the

variant

'Boccace o f g r e e n A r n o '

( 1 . 145)

2

which

by

associating t h e t w o n a m e s suggests t h a t i t was perhaps Boccaccio w h o i n s p i r e d t h e r e m o v a l of t h e t a l e f r o m Messina to F l o r e n c e . I n t h a t case w e are l e d t o ask w h e t h e r some h i n t s m a y n o t be d e r i v e d f r o m parts o f t h e Decameron

outside t h e t a l e . I n t h e I n d u c t i o n Boccaccio does t e l l

us s o m e t h i n g o f t h e n e i g h b o u r h o o d of F l o r e n c e w h e n he relates h o w t h e n a r r a t o r s , l e a v i n g t h e c i t y b e h i n d t h e m , a r r i v e d at t h e i r d e s t i n a ­ t i o n , ' w h i c h was seated o n a l i t t l e H i l l , d i s t a n t ( o n a l l sides) f r o m a n y High-way,

p l e n t i f u l l y stored w i t h

fair spreading Trees',

and

this

isolated d w e l l i n g , chosen because i t decreased t h e r i s k o f i n f e c t i o n b y t h e p l a g u e , w as ' d u e piccole m i g l i a ' or, as t h e v e r s i o n o f 1620 r

says,

' about a Leagues distance' f r o m Florence. A g a i n i n the links t h a t u n i t e t h e t e n days o f t h e Decameron

a n d p r o v i d e an artistic r e l i e f f r o m each

series o f tales, Boccaccio is g l a d to l i n g e r a w h i l e i n t h e pleasant g a r d e n of t h e palace w h e r e t h e n a r r a t o r s are assembled, or a m i d its

sylvan

surroundings. I n one such passage at t h e e n d o f t h e s i x t h day he depicts at l e n g t h t h e V a l l e delle d o n n e . H e r e was a s m a l l r u n n i n g B r o o k , d e s c e n d i n g f r o m one o f t h e V a l l e y s , t h a t d i v i d e d t w o of the little H i l l s , and fell directly t h r o u g h a V e i n of the i n t i r e Rock i t self, t h a t t h e f a l l a n d m u r m u r t h e r e o f was m o s t d e l i g h t f u l t o h e a r . . . a n d a r r i v i n g i n t h e P l a i n b e n e a t h , i t was t h e r e r e c e i v e d i n t o a s m a l l C h a n n e l , s w i f t l y r u n n i n g t h r o u g h t h e m i d s t o f t h e P l a i n , t o a place w h e r e i t stayed, a n d shaped i t self i n t o a L a k e o r P o n d . . . T h i s P o n d was n o deeper, t h a n t o r e a c h t h e breast o f a m a n , a n d h a v i n g n o m u d o r soil i n i t , t h e b o t t o m t h e r e o f s h e w e d l i k e s m a l l b e a t e n g r a v e l . . . A n d n o t o n l y was t h e b o t t o m t h u s a p p a r e n t l y seen, b u t also such p l e n t y o f Fishes s w i m m i n g e v e r y w a y , as t h e m i n d w as n e v e r t o be w e a r i e d i n l o o k i n g o n t h e m . N o r was t h i s w a t e r b o u n d e d i n w i t h a n y banks, b u t o n l y t h e sides o f t h e M e a d o w , w h i c h m a d e i t appear m o r e s i g h t l y as i t arose i n s w e l l i n g p l e n t y . A n d a l w a y s as i t s u p e r a b o u n d e d i n t h i s course, lest i t s h o u l d o v e r f l o w d i s o r d e r l y : i t f e l l i n t o a n o t h e r C h a n n e l , w h i c h c o n v e y i n g i t along the lower Valley, r a n f o r t h to water other needful places. r

3

1684 ed., p. 184. I n this passage 'alquanto fuor della t e r r a ' has been inaccurately rendered by 'a days journey' for the alliteration i n ' d ' . For the same reason 'dove men dura le parve la t e r r a ' is incorrectly translated by 'more deeply sunk than any other part of the Ground thereabout'. Cf. Keats, Poetical Works, ed. H . W . G a r r o d , Oxford, 1959, p. 2 2 1 . 1684 ed., pp. 2 9 1 - 2 . 1

2

3

TALES I N VERSE

403

A p a r t f r o m t h e reference to t h e pool w i t h its fish d a r t i n g about,

the

most s t r i k i n g f e a t u r e is t h e p i c t u r e o f a s t r e a m l i a b l e to g r o w t u r b u l e n t i n flood, b u t m a k i n g its w a y t h r o u g h n a r r o w channels w h i c h p r e v e n t the i n u n d a t i o n of the s u r r o u n d i n g plain. I n ' I s a b e l l a ' t h e j o u r n e y is i n t h e reverse d i r e c t i o n . A t t e n d e d b y L o r e n z o , t h e b r o t h e r s first r i d e to t h e A r n o . W h a t i n f o r m a t i o n Keats h a d about t h e r i v e r w e do n o t k n o w . B u t i t is conceivable t h a t

Gary's

somewhat inaccurate translation of Dante's ' f i u m i c e l ' b y ' b r o o k l e t ' induced h i m to believe t h a t t h e

A r n o was m u c h s m a l l e r t h a n

1

in

r e a l i t y . I t w o u l d t h e r e f o r e be easy f o r Keats to i d e n t i f y t h e r i v e r w i t h t h e b r o o k t h a t issued f r o m t h e V a l l e delle d o n n e .

B e a r i n g t h i s possi­

b i l i t y i n m i n d , w e can f o l l o w t h e course o f t h e r i d e r s to where Arno's stream Gurgles t h r o u g h straiten'd banks, and still doth fan Itself w i t h dancing bulrush, and the bream Keeps h e a d a g a i n s t t h e freshets. (st. x x v i i )

T h i s makes us w o n d e r w h e t h e r t h e ' s t r a i t e n ' d b a n k s ' w e r e n o t sug­ gested b y t h e l o w e r c h a n n e l o f Boccaccio i n t h e above d e s c r i p t i o n a n d t h e ' f r e s h e t s ' b y t h e m e n t i o n of t h e ' s w e l l i n g p l e n t y ' o f t h e b r o o k . T h e ' b r e a m ' , w h i c h perhaps is i n t r o d u c e d f o r t h e sake o f t h e r h y m e , is n o t w i t h o u t a c o u n t e r p a r t

i n Boccaccio's n a r r a t i v e , t h o u g h h e is

c o n t e n t n o t t o define t h e species o f fish v i s i b l e to t h e characters o f t h e Decameron. M o u n t i n g still higher

up the

Arno,

Lorenzo

and the

brothers

'pass'd t h e w a t e r ' and e n t e r e d a l o n e l y forest. T h i s is precisely w h a t w e s h o u l d expect, f o r t h e V a l l e delle donne, to w h i c h t h e ladies a m o n g t h e n a r r a t o r s w i t h d r a w i n o r d e r to b a t h e , is a p p r o p r i a t e l y

secluded.

H i l l s s u r r o u n d i t , ' covered w i t h s m a l l T h i c k e t s , or W oods of Oaks, T

Ashes, a n d o t h e r T r e e s ' , a n d i n t h e v a l l e y is a copse, p l a n t e d w i t h T r e e s o f F i r r , Cipress, L a u r e l , a n d Pines, so s i n g u l a r l y g r o w i n g i n f o r m a l o r d e r , as i f some a r t i f i c i a l or c u n n i n g h a n d h a d p l a n t e d t h e m , t h e Sun h a r d l y piercing t h r o u g h t h e i r Branches f r o m the top to t h e b o t t o m , even at t h e h i g h e s t , or a n y p a r t o f his c o u r s e . 2

T h e emphasis i n Boccaccio is a l l o n t h e p r i v a c y t h a t t h e w o o d affords, a n d t h e r e is no h i n t o f g l o o m or t e r r o r . B u t b y t h e a l c h e m y o f Keats's i m a g i n a t i o n t h i s sombre, sunless g r o v e , ' t h e d a r k p i n e r o o f , o m i n o u s i n its b r o o d i n g silence, t h e abode of F e a r a n d D e a t h l i k e W o r d s w o r t h ' s g r o v e o f y e w s , becomes ' a forest q u i e t f o r t h e s l a u g h t e r ' o f L o r e n z o , w h i c h is c o m m i t t e d i n ' t h e sodden t u r f e d d e l l ' , c o n j u r e d u p b y t h e Purgatory, x i v , 18. T h i s was accessible to Keats, as the whole of the Comedy i n Cary's translation had been published i n 1814. 1684 ed., p. 291. 1

2

Divine

404

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

words ' more deeply sunk than any other part of the Ground' i n the English version of the story. At the same time Keats does not forget ' other trees', and through the agency of Lorenzo's ghost he intersperses beeches and chestnuts. He also covers the ground with heather and 'red whortleberries', just as he had lined the banks of the Arno with ' dancing bulrush'. From the ghost we learn too that a sheep-fold bleat Comes from beyond the river (st. x x x v i i i )

to his grave. This may be linked with his words i n the next stanza: I am a shadow now, alas! alas! Upon the skirts of h u m a n nature dwelling Alone: I chant alone the holy mass, W h i l e little sounds of life are round me knelling, A n d glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass, And many a chapel bell the hour is telling. (st. xxxix)

The two passages, taken together, indicate that the spot where he was slain, though solitary, is not too far removed from the haunts of men, and Lorenzo's words imply that it is within reach of fields and a chapel. The essence of this passage is found i n the Induction to the eighth day, where Boccaccio relates how The Queen and her Company, being all come forth of their Chambers, and having walked a while abroad, i n the goodly Green Meadows, to taste the sweetness of the fresh and wholesom air, they returned back again into the Palace, because i t was their duty so to do. Afterward, between the hours of seven and eight they went to hear Mass, i n a fair Chappel near at hand, and thence returned to their Lodgings. 1

Here again Keats adds details i n the form of the sheep and the bees, evoked by the reference to the ' Green Meadows', but one can perceive that he drew his first sketch from the Decameron, amplifying what he found wherever he thought fit and blending the scattered details into an artistic whole in the finished picture. The removal of the tale from Messina to Florence also helped Keats to find a reason for the brothers' hatred of Lorenzo. As Florence had so long been renowned for trade and finance, Keats sought the motive i n the ambitious minds of the Florentine merchants who were anxious to make a good match for their sister. Such a marriage is, of course, a common theme, but one cannot help noticing that shortly after the tale of Lorenzo and Isabella comes that of Jeronimo and Silvestra , which has as its subject the parting of these Florentine lovers by an 2

1

1684 ed., p.

335.

3

Dec. i v , 5 .

3

Dec. iv, 8.

TALES I N VERSE

405

ambitious relative on the g r o u n d of a disparity i n r a n k and fortune. B y t h e m a c h i n a t i o n s o f his m o t h e r , J e r o n i m o , t h e son o f a w e a l t h y m e r c h a n t , is sent o n a j o u r n e y f r o m Florence to Paris, ' t o g a i n e x p e r i ­ ence i n T r a f f i c k a n d M e r c h a n d i z e ' , a n d t h o u g h t h e offence is less g r a v e t h a n t h e c r i m e o f Isabella's brothers, i t leads t o t h e same f a t a l r e s u l t , t h e d e a t h o f t h e t w o lovers. One is a l l t h e m o r e i n c l i n e d t o t h i n k t h a t Keats's ' I s a b e l l a ' m a y have been i n f l u e n c e d b y t h i s s t o r y , because J o h n H a m i l t o n R e y n o l d s , w h o u r g e d h i m t o w r i t e t h e p o e m , was especially i n t e r e s t e d i n t h e tales o f t h e f o u r t h d a y a n d h i m s e l f w r o t e a metrical version of the seventh and the n i n t h . 1

A n o t h e r possible a f f i n i t y , t h i s t i m e o f a m i n o r order, is to be observed i n t h e phrase t h a t describes t h e p l a n o f t h e b r o t h e r s t o m a r r y Isabella To some high noble and his olive-trees. (st. x x i ) T h e association o f h i g h r a n k a n d olive-trees m a y be a r e m i n i s c e n c e of t h e s i x t h tale o f t h e t e n t h day w h e r e i t is r e l a t e d h o w ' a n a n c i e n t K n i g h t n a m e d S i g n i o r Neri degli Vberti, f o r s a k i n g t h e n t h e C i t y w i t h a l l his F a m i l y a n d great store of W e a l t h ' b o u g h t some l a n d covered w i t h olives a n d o t h e r trees a n d l a i d o u t a g a r d e n w h e r e he l a t e r e n t e r ­ tained the k i n g . Once m o r e o u r eye is c a u g h t w h e n w e read o f ' t h e b r e a k - c o v e r t b l o o d - h o u n d s ' (1. 221). I t is r e m a r k a b l e , f o r whereas i t alludes m e t a ­ p h o r i c a l l y to t h e chase, t h e b l o o d h o u n d is n o t o r d i n a r i l y used f o r h u n t i n g . T h e hypothesis m a y be p u t f o r w a r d t h a t w e have h e r e a v i v i d i m p r e s s i o n r e t a i n e d b y Keats f r o m t h e e i g h t h tale o f t h e f i f t h d a y . T h e v i s i o n seen b y Anastasio of G u i d o ' s v e n g e f u l ghost, p u r s u i n g w i t h his h o u n d s t h e w o m a n w h o h a d b e e n so o b d u r a t e i n h e r l i f e t i m e , is t h u s depicted i n t h e v e r s i o n t h a t Keats r e a d : 2

he looked amazedly round about h i m , and out of a little Thicket of Bushes and Briars round i n g i r t w i t h spreading Trees, he espied a young Damosel come r u n n i n g towards h i m , Naked from the middle upward, her Hair l y i n g on her Shoulders, and her fair Skin rent and torn w i t h the Briars and Brambles, so that the blood ran t r i c k l i n g down mainly, she weeping, w r i n g i n g her Hands, and crying out for mercy so loud as she could. T w o fierce BloodHounds also followed swiftly after, and where their Teeth took hold, did most cruelly bite her. 3

N o t less m e m o r a b l e is l i n e 288, w h e r e t h e voice o f L o r e n z o ' s ghost is c o m p a r e d t o 'hoarse n i g h t - g u s t s s e p u l c h r a l b r i a r s a m o n g ' . T h e s i m i l e is as s t r i k i n g as i t is u n u s u a l . W e are perhaps at first disposed t o i n t e r p r e t ' s e p u l c h r a l b r i a r s ' as r e f e r r i n g t o some neglected c h u r c h Vide post, pp. 4 1 7 - 2 6 . Vide ante, pp. 2 7 5 - 6 , 336. I t may be noted t h a t Dryden, w h e n dealing w i t h the same incident i n 'Theodore and H o n o r i a ' , speaks of 'Mastiffs' and ' H e l l - h o u n d s ' . 1684 ed., p. 251. 1

2

3

406

T H E DECAMERON

I NTHENINETEENTH

CENTURY

y a r d . However, there are two of Boccaccio's tales which may have been the starting-point. One is the story of Gisippus, i n which the English version of 1620 describes the nocturnal wanderings of the despairing Gisippus i n Rome and his ultimate arrival in ' an old ruinous part of the City, over-spread with Briers and Bushes, and seldom resorted unto by any; where finding a hollow Cave or Vault, he entred into i t ' and later witnessed a quarrel between two robbers, of whom one was slain. The other tale is the first of the fourth day and so i n close proximity to that of Lorenzo and Isabella. Here we read how Guiscardo makes his way by night through a ' vent-light . . . overgrown with briars and bushes' to the cave which gives him access to Ghismonda. I t is on emerging from this desolate spot on the hill-side that he is seized and led away to a cruel death. I n each case we have the association of a cave with briars, night, and death. The sound of the wind that Keats calls to his aid, in either the one setting or the other, would complete the powerful simile. I n contrast to this eerie, nocturnal music is that evoked by the allusion to the tune of Boccaccio's ghittern. The Avord is rare i n the Decameron. I n fact, it occurs only in the fifth tale of the ninth day. Hence it would appear that this story must have contained some feature to hold Keats's attention. I t tells of the love of Calandrino for Nicholetta and how he tried to woo her: 1

On the morrow carrying his Gittern thither w i t h h i m , to no little delight of his Companions, he both played and sung a whole Bed-role of Songs, not addicting himself to any work all the day; but loytering fantastickly, one w h i l e he gazed out of the window, then ran to the gate, and oftentimes down into the Court, only to have a sight of his Mistress. 2

Calandrino is a burlesque figure, the butt of his friends, and Boccaccio's treatment is farcical. Nevertheless, one wonders whether this scene, transmuted so as to blend with the ardent devotion of Lorenzo, did not inspire the Pre-Raphaelite picture of stanza xxv: And as he to the court-yard pass'd along, Each t h i r d step did he pause, and listen'd oft I f he could hear his lady's matin-song, Or the light whisper of her footstep soft.

As an example of narrative 'Isabella' is not outstanding. At the beginning it moves too slowly, though later, under the guidance of Boccaccio, there is a notable improvement. What is most remarkable, however, is the enrichment of the tale with matter drawn from other parts of the Decameron and with Keats's poetic imagination. Nature is 1. 150. T h e variant spelling ' g u i t t e r n ' , recorded i n Garrod's edition of Keats's Poetical Works, closely resembles that of the Decameron known to Keats. 1684 ed., p. 408. 1

2

TALES I N VERSE

407

used to l e n d b e a u t y , b u t i t is always w e l l c o n t r o l l e d and s u b o r d i n a t e d to t h e g e n e r a l design. I t is no o r n a m e n t a l excrescence b u t a n i n t e g r a l p a r t o f t h e p o e m , closely l i n k e d to t h e e m o t i o n s of t h e h e r o i n e . As t h e t i t l e of t h e p o e m indicates, i t is she w h o is t h e c e n t r a l f i g u r e , and t h e m e l a n c h o l y t h a t is n e v e r far a w a y i n Keats finds expression as she sits l a m e n t i n g h e r loss i n a bleak s e t t i n g t h a t harmonises w i t h h e r g r i e f , e v e n as i t does w i t h t h a t of W o r d s w o r t h ' s h e r o i n e i n The Thorn. 1

A n d she f o r g o t t h e stars, t h e m o o n , a n d s u n , A n d she f o r g o t t h e b l u e above t h e trees, A n d she f o r g o t t h e dells w h e r e w a t e r s r u n , A n d she f o r g o t t h e c h i l l y a u t u m n breeze. (st. l i i i )

T h u s i f Keats lacks t h e terse m a s t e r y o f Boccaccio, his poetic v i s i o n bestows o n t h e o l d tale a n e w a n d p o i g n a n t significance b y p r e s e n t i n g h u m a n s o r r o w against t h e b a c k g r o u n d of t h e u n i v e r s e . 2

A l t h o u g h t h e i n f l u e n c e o f D r y d e n i n t u r n i n g t o Boccaccio i n t h e Babies m a y have h a d its effect o n Keats, t h a t i n f l u e n c e operates o n l y i n a g e n e r a l w a y i n ' I s a b e l l a ' . O n t h e o t h e r h a n d , i t is most palpable i n W i l l i a m W i l m o t ' s p o e m , The Tale of Gismunda & Guiscardo, p u b l i s h e d i n 1819. F o r t h e most p a r t i t is w r i t t e n i n t h e heroic couplet, interspersed w i t h t r i p l e t s a n d alexandrines. I n details w e f i n d m a n y s i m i l a r i t i e s to D r y d e n ' s ' S i g i s m o n d a a n d G u i s c a r d o ' . I n W i l m o t t h e h e r o i n e is T a n c r e d ' s ' i d o l ' ; i n D r y d e n , ' T h e w o r s h i p ' d i d o l o f h e r f a t h e r ' s eyes'. I n each v e r s i o n T a n c r e d is w o n t to visit his d a u g h t e r i n quest of r e l a x a t i o n f r o m affairs of state; i n each, o n t h e f a t e f u l day, he goes to h e r a p a r t m e n t about n o o n a n d , f i n d i n g h e r absent, as he t h i n k s , w i t h h e r t r a i n o f maidens, falls asleep i n a c h a i r e i t h e r b e h i n d , or at t h e h e a d o f h e r bed. A l t h o u g h W i l m o t r e v e r t s t o Boccaccio a n d departs f r o m D r y d e n i n m a k i n g T a n c r e d escape t h r o u g h t h e w i n d o w , he r e t u r n s t o h i m a g a i n i n t h e p i c t u r e of his s u l l e n g l o o m as he schemes r e v e n g e . H e also b o r r o w s f r o m D r y d e n t h e secret m a r r i a g e b y a priest, a n d i t is e v i d e n t t h a t he has been affected b y D r y d e n ' s l i n e : 3

T h e conscious priest, w h o was s u b o r n ' d before.

(15O 1

A n d she is known to every star, A n d every w i n d t h a t blows; A n d there, beside the T h o r n , she sits W h e n the blue daylight's i n the skies A n d w h e n the w h i r l w i n d ' s on the h i l l , O r frosty air is keen and s t i l l .

M a t t h e w A r n o l d touches on the Isabella Story i n his 1853 Preface, A r n o l d prefers Boccaccio's treatment. Page references are to this edition. 2

3

para. 2 2 .

408

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

"Whereas Dryden probably meant only 'procured', Wilmot interprets 'suborn'd' unfavourably. Hence by m a m m o n led A priest his orison had o'er t h e m read,

(p. 21)

and hence also Gismunda's declaration to her father: A n hireling priest has ratified m y vow: The man I spurn, but to the altar bow.

(p. 52)

Gismunda's sternness to the bearer of the goblet is explained by what Wilmot had read in the Fables, and his simile for her tears, ' silent as vernal shower', was probably suggested by 'a sober show'r of rain'. The closest verbal parallels occur in these passages: (a)

A n d grant t h y y o u t h was exercis'd i n arms, W h e n love no leisure found for softer charms . . . ('Sigismonda and Guiscardo' 11. 434-5) And i f t h y youth—'twas exercised i n arms, Ne'er left thee leisure for love's softer charms . . . (Gismunda

(b)

& Guiscardo,

p. 52)

her hands yet hold Close to her heart the monumental gold ('Sigismonda and Guiscardo', 11. 713—4) She instant clasped the monumental gold, And t i l l her struggling spirit sunk to rest, Held i t all fondly pressed against her breast. [Gismunda

& Guiscardo,

p. 68)

The characters are essentially the same i n both writers. Like Dryden, Wilmot emphasises the heroic mind of Gismunda, investing her at the same time with something of the temper of Cleopatra. Thus when the heart was disclosed in the goblet, Around she turned, nor shudder'd at the sight, But w i t h a marble look, unmoved, severe, W i t h o u t another groan, a sigh, a tear, Majestic rose, the golden goblet took, Raised i t aloft, and thus collected spoke. (p. 63)

Having drunk the deadly potion, she w i t h the air, the dignity of Queen, Her canopy ascended, calm, serene: There laid her down, and decently to die D r e w down her robe, and pulled the curtains n i g h , Placed on her heart the cup, wherein his clay So dear was lodged, and held i t as she lay W i t h eyes upraised—and thus composed and m u t e Awaited death—determined—resolute. ( p . 66)

TALES I N VERSE

409

Wilmot modifies slightly the death-scene i n that Gismunda, on hear­ ing the wailing of her women, turns slowly towards them and as if asking for silence gently lays her finger on her lips before she expires. More important is Wilmot's insistence on her virtue. Though he does not reject the youthful passion of Boccaccio's tale, he tones down the amorous ardour that Dryden had introduced. I t cannot be said that Gismunda's attitude to the priest conveys an impression that there was any great depth in her morality, but Wilmot does assert that she was resolved never to cast away 'sacred modesty', despite the volup­ tuous environment i n which she lived. It was evidently this aspect of her character that led him to abandon the device of the message i n the cane. How was Gismunda to inform Guiscardo of her love without appearing forward? The disclosure is arranged in this fashion. There is a report that she is to marry the prince of Pisa, and when Guiscardo observes her looking at a pocketmirror cased i n gold that Tancred had given her, he thinks it to be a portrait of the prince. She hands the mirror to him and says that i f he looks, he will see the man whom she loves. He confesses his love and at once regretting his audacity, is about to kill himself; but she restrains him and then, seized with confusion, flees. An entirely new trait i n Gismunda is her love of pensive communion with Nature. At the beginning of the tale she is seated on a cliff gazing over the sea and musing on her love. Again i n the third canto she sits in the shade of a cypress, thinking of Guiscardo who is imprisoned i n a tower, to which she proceeds in order to sing of her devotion. When he has given a sign of recognition, she takes her lute and sings again. Equally romantic is the history of Guiscardo himself. A foundling, brought up by Tancred, he was left at Salerno by crusaders returning from the wars, and when he grew up, displayed courage i n repelling corsairs who had landed. With his hyacinthine curls, Youth-blooming cheeks, two strings of orient pearls Peeping t h r o u g h lips of coral, (P- 3 3 )

he possesses godlike beauty and moves with the grace of the palm-tree waving on the mountain-top. This paragon is of English descent, and all women are pleased to behold Fair Albion's l i l y , rose, and tress of gold, Her noble frankness, that ne'er frankness shocks, Ingenuous front, bold port, and eye, that mocks T h ' i n s u l t i n g Gaul, and braves h i m to the field, Except to beauty's eye u n k n o w n to yield. (p. 10)

410

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

This strange intrusion into Boccaccio's tale only becomes intelligible if we recall that the poem was written four years after the battle of Waterloo. But leaving aside Wilmot's strutting patriotism, we can still find Guiscardo interesting as an example of romantic idealisation, since he combines every quality of body and mind. Yet in a spiritual crisis this intrepid figure is overcome by his feelings. Thus when he learns that Gismunda loves him, i f he does not grow faint like Keats's Porphyro, his agitation is equally violent: from his palsied hand the m i r r o r dropped. A t each attempt to speak his efforts vain, He pressed the throbbing arteries of his brain, T i l l slowly raising his love-streaming eyes, On her's he fixed t h e m . (P- 15) The sentimentality of the last two lines of this passage, which brings to mind the second stanza of Keats's 'Ode on Melancholy', recurs in a somewhat different form i n connexion with Tancred. His emotion i n the death scene, indicated by Boccaccio, is intensified to the point of ludicrous exaggeration:

Tears, w h i c h the world he would have given to shed, Stopped short, and refluent sought their fountain-head. His pulse scarce beat: gazing he torpid stood, As through its channels crept his curdled blood. (P- 67)

Gismunda dies, her maidens lament till one of them imposes silence by pointing to the motionless Tancred. Then suddenly

When

woe, like hurricane, was heard again. Hark! hark! whose cry is that of maddening grief Calling on God for mercy—for relief? Again i t calls, and to those accents w i l d Responsive echo cries, ' m y child! m y c h i l d ! ' Poor Tancred!—oh, lament no more the dead! She's gone! lament that now devoted head. L o n g had he sat, 'ere tears began to flow, A l i v i n g corpse—sad spectacle of woe! His chin reclining on his breast: his eye Fixt on the ground i n dumb despondency. A t l e n g t h one t r i c k l i n g tear was seen: 'he lives,' T h e y cried: another and another: 'he revives.'

(pp. 69-70)

Then at last his grief finds full vent: He felt the tempest, that w i t h i n had brewed, Burst forth, and w i t h i t life itself renewed: Roared out his woe, and frantic w i t h despair, Plucked at his beard, and tore his hoary hair,

411

TALES I N VERSE

Upon her lifeless corpse his body flung, Embraced i t , kissed i t , hugged i t , to i t clung, Implored t h e m both i n mercy to forgive, Howled out for death—and yet was doomed to live! (P- 7 ° )

Uncontrolled violence of passion is united with a mood of sentimental forgiveness at the close of Wilmot's version, as i f remorse could atone so soon for Tancred's savage crime. His appearance at the exequies of Guiscardo and Gismunda, barefoot, his head shaven, wearing a hair shirt and carrying a crucifix, draws a tear from every eye. Afterwards he turns friar and retires to a convent, where he passes away calmly on a still autumn evening. Like some of his contemporaries, Wilmot was fond of descriptions of scenery, and even in the opening lines of the poem Nature is praised as a source of inspiration to those who love her. As he had travelled i n Italy when a young man, Wilmot makes the most of his familiarity with the background of the tale. I n an autobiographical digression he describes a journey that he made from Salerno to Paestum. 1

we at eve's cool hour Salerno quit to shun day's scorching power. The moon was up: but, oh, how wond'rous fair! Far brighter there t h a n here, so pure the air; W h i l e reigned a genial w a r m t h , that breathed w i t h i n Love, but such love as only fools deem sin, A n d gave as through that Eden we were driven A n infelt bliss, a foretaste, sure, of heaven. Sometimes we passed beneath th'o'erarching vine D r a w n 'cross the road . . . 2

Sometimes we saw on mountain's pine-clad brow A lonely convent frown on us below. Sometimes would lie t h r o u g h orange groves our way, Where we heard t h r i l l the night-bird's amorous lay, While oft beneath the vine-leaf's darkened shade W e marked the fluttering m o t h so rich arrayed, W e stopped t'admire the hues its Argus-wings displayed. But for what charmed afar: woods, vallies, glades, The distant Apennines' broad lights, dark shades, I n w h i c h their Alpine scenery was dressed— These I ' l l pass o'er: they cannot be expressed. Yet would I tell thee, as adown the steep W e heard far off the mountain's torrent leap, T h e discovery of ancient Greek temples at Paestum about the m i d d l e of the eighteenth century, stimulated the interest of English travellers. Cf. T . Spencer, Fair Greece Sad Relic, London, 1954, pp. 157, 195. T h e p r i n t e d text reads ' u s ' . 1

2

412

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

H o w midst the stillness of that heavenly night Its plaintive echo filled us w i t h delight. A n d I w o u l d tell thee how, w h e n i n the grove Was hushed awhile the bulbul's tale of love, W e heard the grasshoppers o'er meads embrowned Chirp ever and anon, w h i l e all was lulled around. A n d fain of villas would I tell thee too, Seated, like those, sweet Claude enchanted drew: Of r u i n ' d aqueducts, whose arches still M a r k , where once journied many a m o u n t a i n - r i l l : Of temples lovely, though to t i m e a prey, H a n g i n g where then the wild-goat sleeping lay: Of leafy cots, at whose green porches h u n g The pond'rous pompkin, where its foliage clung: Of bubbling fountains, heard midst clumps of pine: Of grots, like those, delightful M a n t u a n , thine, Where the lone goatherd at the noon-tide heat, Sat gazing round from out his cool retreat, A n d saw his flock, where cowering kites repair, Securely climb, and seem to hang i n air. 1

(PP' 5 7 - 9 )

Conscious though he was of his inability to convey the magic of the scene, Wilmot was clearly aware of its beauty. So completely had it taken possession of him that, when he tried to depict Gismunda's vision of a Celestial Paradise where lovers would be reunited, it was tinged with the colouring of the Italian landscape. For him the view from the hill overlooking the bay of Salerno was a veritable fairyland; and he tells with infectious delight of the gardens surrounding Tancred's castle—the waterfall flowing down the rock i n the back­ ground, the meandering stream, the silver cascades, the marble foun­ tains spreading coolness i n the heat of summer, the citrons, pome­ granates, acacias, myrtles and cypresses, and the fragrance of the flowers wafted by the soft air after sunset. One walk is described with aloes basking i n the sun i n long vistas of China vases and here, i f Haroun Alrashid had strayed and heard the fountain playing, he might have thought that he had gone to take the air in his own gardens. This veil of oriental mystery is cast over the Italian scene once more when Ghismunda's maidens are seen wandering at nightfall through the gardens and relating Arabian tales, or dancing on the lawn to the sound of the clashing cymbal. The gaiety combines with the beauty of the setting to emphasise the misery of Gismunda who, meditating on death, sits i n the gloom of the cypress like a w ounded hart that has sought out a refuge: r

I n the B.M. copy of the first edition of this work, this line and the preceding one are added in autograph, with a note to the effect that they were omitted by an over­ sight of the corrector of the press. 1

TALES I N VERSE

+15

T h e s i l v e r m o o n , t h e stillness o f t h e n i g h t , T h a t w o u l d 'ere t h i s h a v e f i l l e d h e r w i t h d e l i g h t , Soon as t h e n i g h t i n g a l e ' s first t h r i l l she h e a r d , L e f t b u t a b l a n k , n o w h e a r i n g t h e sweet b i r d . T h e l i l i e s g l e a m i n g t h r o u g h t h e t w i l i g h t shade, T h e statues seen at distance t h r o u g h t h e g l a d e , G r e w pale a n d p a l e r , as she l o o k e d a r o u n d , A n d a l l seemed c h a n g e d i n h e r l o v e d p l e a s u r e - g r o u n d . ( p p . 42-3)

I t was chiefly o w i n g t o W i l m o t ' s sensitiveness t o t h e b e a u t y o f N a t u r e t h a t he was able to s w e l l Boccaccio's tale t o a p o e m o f f o u r cantos, o c c u p y i n g e i g h t y pages. B u t t h i s means a c e r t a i n d i s p r o p o r t i o n . N o r is t h i s excessive p r e o c c u p a t i o n w i t h N a t u r e his o n l y weakness. H i s n a r r a t i v e t e c h n i q u e is f a u l t y too. T h u s , w h e n he explains h o w G u i s ­ cardo was i m p e l l e d t o confess his l o v e because fear of o v e r s t e p p i n g his r a n k was overcome b y t h e t h o u g h t o f G i s m u n d a m a r r i e d t o a r i v a l , W i l m o t says: T h o u guest'st already, surely, w h a t I m e a n , H o w j e a l o u s y . . . b u t stop, I ' l l p a i n t t h e scene. ( p . 11)

H e a g a i n i n t e r v e n e s i n person to i n t r o d u c e t h e account of his j o u r n e y to P a e s t u m . I n d o i n g so he draws t h e reader's a t t e n t i o n t o t h e fact t h a t he is a b a n d o n i n g t h e story o f G i s m u n d a : A n d h e r e I ' l l l e a v e h e r too, a w h i l e t o s t r i n g A n e w m y lyre, and for a m o m e n t sing T h o s e s u m m e r - n i g h t s , w h i c h i n t h a t softer c l i m e , I ' v e f o u n d so h e a v e n l y . (P- 5 7 )

A n d t h e h e r o i n e is l e f t t o b r o o d o v e r t h e a p p r o a c h i n g d e a t h o f h e r l o v e r w h i l e W i l m o t sets o u t o n t h e r o a d t o P a e s t u m . I n t h e e n d , h a l f r e l u c t a n t l y , he breaks off t h e reminiscences of t h i s h a p p y episode a n d r e t u r n s to his story: Of these, a n d o f a h u n d r e d b e a u t i e s m o r e F a i n w o u l d I t e l l t h e e , I ' v e s u c h a m p l e store, B u t t h a t I m u s t s u c h p l e a s i n g t h e m e s forego T o s i n g G i s m u n d a ' s f a t e , a n d e n d m y t a l e of w o e . (P- 59)

T h e person w h o m he addresses at i n t e r v a l s i n t h e course o f his p o e m is ' E m m a ' . P r e s u m a b l y she was his w i f e , b u t after a sudden a n d u n e x p l a i n e d e m e r g e n c e e a r l y i n t h e p o e m , she r e t u r n s f r o m t i m e t o t i m e w i t h a d i s c o n c e r t i n g effect. One such occasion is s h o r t l y before t h e Salerno-Paestum

digression w h e n , b y w a y o f c o m m e n t o n Gis­

m u n d a ' s r e v e r i e , W i l m o t tells h o w he once d r e a m t t h a t he a n d E m m a

414

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

were seated on a stile looking at their 'old associates', the lambs, the sheep and a goat, when all at once these tame creatures began to gaze upon him fiercely until he w oke with a start. The episode is trivial and out of harmony with the heroine's grief, and its introduction as forced as the dream is irrelevant. But even more conspicuously Wilmot's inadequacy is revealed at the end of the poem when ' Emma' makes a last disastrous appearance. Like Guiscardo and Gismunda, Tancred now is dead, r

A n d o f t h e m a l l t h a t rests t o k e e p T h e i r m e m o r i e s f r o m e t e r n a l sleep, I s , E m m a , t h e sad t a l e I ' v e t o l d T h a t o n l y shows, t h e y l i v e d o f o l d . ( p . 80)

How vastly superior is Dryden's ending! But even i f Wilmot falls short of the great master in so many ways, his version is interesting as a re-presentation of 'Sigismonda and Guiscardo' i n terms of the romantic period, with all the warmth of colour derived from personal memories of the Italian scene. Some of Wilmot's defects are visible in B. W. Procter's version of the tale of Lorenzo and Isabetta which was written under the inspira­ tion of Leigh Hunt and first appeared in 1820 as A Sicilian Story. As the title indicates, this version keeps close to Boccaccio, to the extent that the scene is laid in Sicily. On the other hand, Procter makes his hero Guido a native of Milan, not Pisa. I n accordance with the author's bent, Guido develops into a romantic figure. His social status is raised, and he is depicted as the last member of a famous house, driven into exile at Genoa. His appearance is as distinguished as his lineage, and he casts a spell on all whom he encounters. I t is likely that Procter transferred Guido's home to Genoa because he wished to display him as a great seafarer. I f Guido has not known such strange adventures as Othello, he has at least travelled far and wide, and Isabel loves to hear how he entered the Pacific, 1

rolling t h r o ' the billows green, A n d shook t h a t ocean's dead t r a n q u i l l i t y . (st. i x )

Moreover, he has visited lands unknown to Boccaccio; he has mounted the St. Lawrence and stood by Niagara, and he has watched the Indians at their sun-worship and gazed on wild deer roaming amid intermin­ able forests, the lair of the serpent and the savage. Isabel too is of high rank and is first seen i n her palace, where a masque is i n progress. I n its way the scene is as romantic as those associated with Guido, and something of its beauty clings to the heroine: 1

Vide ante, p. 3 5 4 .

TALES I N VERSE

415

fresh waterfalls T h a t rose half hidden by sweet lemon bowers A low and silver-voiced music made. (st. i v )

In the distance the flame of Etna mounted skywards and overhead the stars shone through the midnight darkness. One of the most effective passages is that which describes the affliction of the heroine after she has been deprived of the heart: And then into the dreary wilderness She went alone, a craz'd, heart-broken t h i n g ; And i n the solitude she found a cave Half hidden by the wild-brier blossoming, Whereby a black and solitary pine, Struck by the fiery thunder, stood, and gave Of pow'r and death a token and a sign: And there she lived for months: She did not heed The seasons or their change, and she would feed On roots and berries, as the creatures fed W h i c h had i n woods been born and nourished. (st. xviii) Once, and once only was she seen, and then The chamois hunter started from his chace, A n d stopped to look a moment on her face, A n d could not t u r n h i m to his sports again. T h i n Famine sate upon her hollow cheek, A n d settled Madness i n her glazed eye Told of a young heart wrong'd and n i g h to break, And, as the spent winds waver ere they die, She to herself a few w i l d words did speak, A n d sung a strange and broken melody; A n d ever as she sung she strew'd the ground W i t h yellow leaves that perished 'ere their time, And well their fluttering fall did seem to chime W i t h the low music of her song. (st. x i x )

Here an intimate bond between man and Nature is implicit, and elsewhere i n A Sicilian Story the same is true. Thus Guido's account of America pictures man, untouched by civilisation, i n harmony with the primaeval forest: Nature there i n wildest guise Stands undebased and nearer to the skies; A n d 'midst her giant trees and waters wide The bones of things forgotten, buried deep, Give glimpses of an elder world. (st. i x )

Both Guido and Isabel live close to Nature, and their love unfolds

416

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

against a background of running streams and waves quivering under the breeze at sunset. Similarly, after Guido's death, it is as i f it were his spirit in the basil-tree which T o w ' r e d i n unnatural beauty, w a v i n g there And whispering to the moon and m i d n i g h t air. (st. xv)

No doubt it is an instinctive awareness of the mystic union of man and Nature that urges Isabel i n her grief to seek refuge i n mountain woods and caves. But Procter gives no palpable form to this cloudy conscious­ ness. Once, after the scene describing the ravine where Guido's body lies, he appears to be on the verge of doing so. He certainly maintains that Nature speaks to man, but the message is indefinite. The descrip­ tion is as follows: I t was a spot like those romancers paint, Or painted w h e n of dusky knights they told Wandering about i n forests old, W hen the last purple colour was w a x i n g faint And day was dying i n the west: the trees (Dark pine and chesnut, and the dwarfed oak And cedar) shook their branches ' t i l l the shade Look'd like a l i v i n g spirit, and as i t played Seem'd holding d i m communion w i t h the breeze: Below, a t u m b l i n g river rolled along, (Its course by lava rocks and branches broke) Singing for aye its fierce and noisy song; And there on shattered trunks the lichens grew And covered, w i t h their golden garments, death; And when the tempest of November blew The W i n t e r trumpet, ' t i l l its failing breath W e n t moaning into silence, every green And loose leaf of the piny boughs did tell Some t r e m b l i n g story of that mountain dell. (st. x i ) r

One perceives that something is missing. Fluently though Procter writes, the passage lacks a sense of direction. Too often he allows himself to ramble on or to stray aside, and the poem is weakened by prolixity or digression. He has no unifying philosophy and too little artistic discipline. That is why A Sicilian Story suffers from a com­ parison with Keats's 'Isabella'. I n places, as Shelley said, it is 'pretty enough', but it has no clear design, and the style is unequal. The song of Isabel is dull indeed by the side of the snatches of artless music sung by the heroine of Keats's poem, and the ending, which aims at the simplicity of the ballad, comes near to bathos: 1

1

Letters, ed. R. Ingpen, 1914, i i , p. 839.

TALES I N VERSE

417

This is the tale of "Isabel," A n d of her love the young Italian. (st. x x i )

Nevertheless, the poem appealed to the taste of romantic readers, and in two years three editions were published. A Sicilian

Story

was quickly followed by The Garden 1

of

Florence:

and other poems i n which John Hamilton Reynolds published two tales in verse, 'The Garden of Florence' and 'The Ladye of Provence', based respectively on the seventh and ninth in the fourth day of the Decameron. The Advertisement recalls that they 'were to have been associated with tales from the same source, intended to have been written by a friend', but Keats completed only one story, 'and that is to me now the most pathetic poem i n existence!' For the first poem Reynolds uses the heroic couplet i n stanzas of varying length, sometimes ending the stanza with a triplet and occa­ sionally completing it with an Alexandrine. To some extent he con­ denses the original, omitting the second pair of lovers, Lagina and Stramba and also the two men, Atticciato and Malagevole, who unite with Stramba to accuse the heroine of murdering Pasquino when he has been poisoned by the leaf of the sage i n the garden. They become merged i n the Florentine populace i n the background. On the other hand, the character of the Potestate who has to question the supposed culprit is developed. As one interested i n the law Reynolds draws a full-length portrait of this judge, who embodies all the great traditions of English justice and only i n his tearfulness departs somewhat from the customary reserve of a high legal authority. The Judge, a passionless and aged man, Look'd m i l d l y on the creature, young and wan, T h a t stood i n unmoved gloom,—as forest pines W h e n winds are still,—before the Florentines,— W h i l e t u r b u l e n t thoughts, clothed i n tumultuous breath, Clamour'd of cruel hate and desperate death. He heeded not each fierce report,—but t u r n ' d , A n d w i t h a voice that seem'd like sound i n u r n ' d , Commanded silence:—silent were the crowd Before his tone austere and visage proud! Potent i n length of days and m i g h t of m i n d , His very look could sway the people-kind! T h e n looking on Simonida,—some tears Ran down his lined cheek, his cheek of years,— A n d pity on his awful brow just brake, As m o r n first tinges night—and forth he spake. ' W e must cast rashness by:—this mute young t h i n g Claims i n her anguish, patient questioning. I n 1821. 1

2E

418

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

She l o o k e t h n o t o f g u i l t , — a n d t h e r e f o r e r u t h Should shield her sorrow, t i l l the u t t e r t r u t h Appears b y m o r e t h a n seeming circumstance.— T h e t r u t h alone I s e e k , — t i l l t h a t be k n o w n ( A n d m a y i t still c l a i m pity's gentlest tone!) I do vouchsafe t h e e t h e respect o f a l l . . . (st. x x i v , x x v )

However, Reynolds was most concerned with the lovers, and he amplifies and transforms what Boccaccio had related about them. I n the original the tale of Pasquino and Simona was expressly meant to show that love is found even i n the humblest walks of life. Boccaccio's hero is clearly an apprentice to a wool-dealer, but in Reynolds's version his social status is raised, and he becomes a y o u n g m e r c h a n t — f a i r as y o u n g — O f noble courage, eloquent of t o n g u e . . . (st. v )

When he lies dead, the tone is pitched still higher, and the poet asks: W h e r e is his g a l l a n t l i p , his f a l c o n e y e — His fair and t h o u g h t f u l forehead—calm and h i g h ! — H i s h a n d s o m e g l o o m y locks o f c u r l e d h a i r , His w a r m e m b r o w n e d cheek—his noble air A n d deep m e l o d i o u s voice—so m a n l y s w e e t ! (st. x i x )

Though Simonida, as Reynolds, following the English translation of 1620, calls Simona, still gains her living as a spinner, she too is seen with the eyes of a romantic poet. With her dark tresses, 'pearled ear', ' pearl-fair hands', rosy cheeks and lily-white brow she seems a counter­ part of Pasquino. She is all youthful innocence and gaiety, and her cheerfulness, as she sings all day, makes the work fly from her hands. I n order to display her in a pleasing domestic interior Reynolds invents a scene i n which she prepares an evening meal for her father when he returns home from labouring i n the woods. This dutiful affection is a trait which distinguishes her from her predecessor i n the Decameron. Simona consents to Pasquino's request that she shall contrive to come with him to the garden for their greater ease and security, and for this purpose she hoodwinks her father by feigning to go to San Gallo for the pardoning and then betaking herself straight to the place agreed 1

I t is possible t h a t the idea of m a k i n g h i m a woodcutter was suggested to Reynolds by the w o r d ' t i m b e r ' i n the following passage f r o m the translation of 1620 w h i c h describes t h e dawning love of Simonida for Pasquino: ' As n a t u r a l instinct was her T u t o r thereto, so wanted she not a second m a i n and u r g i n g m o t i o n , a chip hewed out of t h e l i k e t i m b e r , one no better i n b i r t h t h a n her s e l f (cf. the edition of 1684, p. 190, w h i c h was the one t h a t Reynolds, like Keats, no doubt used). 1

TALES I N VERSE

419

on with her lover. The English translation of 1620, though less definite about the heroine's stratagem, also seems to take her duplicity for granted. Reynolds's Simonida is far different. Like Keats, he idealises the lovers and insists throughout on Simonida's piety and sincerity. Every morning she says 'her young orisons with bowed heart' and on the tragic Sunday which was to witness her death After prayer She veil'd her forehead, and adown the stair W e n t , by her father's leave, for she had said The story of her love unvarnished: First to Saint Gallo, for his pardon pure, The damsel pass'd; and then, serenely sure, She met Pasquino . . . (st. x i )

Here is no concealment, for there is nothing to conceal. Indeed, the love of Pasquino and Simonida is beyond reproach: They met all innocence—and hope—and y o u t h ; A n d all their words were thoughts—their thoughts, pure t r u t h . (st. v i )

This carries one stage further the declaration of the translation of 1620 that no immodesty passed between the lovers, whereas in the Decameron their relationship is yet one more example of burning passion. Again, Reynolds's tale follows the Jacobean version in representing the visit to the garden as a sedate stroll. However, Reynolds is independent in letting it occur on the first day after the engagement of Pasquino and Simonida, and he conveys admirably the luminous joy that they feel: Their eyes i n married lustre could not part, But, lighted by the radiance of the heart, Shone on each other. (st. x i i )

Their devotion is whole-hearted like that of Lorenzo and Isabella, and no thought of others enters their minds. The numerous Florentine youths who pine for Simonida make no impression upon her, and because her love is all-absorbing, she is stunned by the death of Pasquino. Boccaccio's heroine was not slow to shriek for aid, but Simonida behaves in accordance with the account i n the translation of 1620, where she is seen ' i n a gastly amazement, all her senses meerly confounded'. She gazes at the body as if it were strange to her, as if she had ceased to exist; her voice fails and she is reduced to ' statue-like despair'. Before the Potestate she stands mute and motionless, and later when she does speak, it is with convulsive gasps. Her misery is 1

1

1684 ed., p. ig

1.

420

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

as overwhelming as that of Keats's Isabella. She dies with Pasquino's name on her lips, even as he had died with his eyes fixed on her. Reynolds intensifies the pathetic effect when he limits the interval between the flowering of their love and their death to less than twentyfour hours, i n much the same way as Shakespeare compressed events in Romeo and Juliet. He also seeks to heighten the tragedy by letting Pasquino, when about to taste the deadly leaf, deride the supposed valuable properties of sage as an old crone's superstition. Indeed, he jests only a moment before he falls dead. A sense of impending disaster has already been aroused by the poet's warnings that the lovers' happiness will be short-lived. Sadness creeps over his tale like a slow cloud, and forms A gloom like that which prophesies of storms! (st. viii)

It is probable that Reynolds had the same intention when he related the fortunes of the lovers against an autumnal background of yellowing leaves. His purpose is certainly clear when he describes the shadows of Pasquino and Simonida on the laurels as they walk to and fro i n the garden, and tells afterwards how Her solitary shape r e t u r n ' d , and gave A shade like something wandering from the grave. (st. xx)

As might he expected from the title of the poem, the garden occupies an important position. With its fragrant flowers and trees and singing-birds it lends beauty to the tale. At the same time Reynolds creates a solemn atmosphere which harmonises with the Sabbath day and the piety of Simonida: The lofty foliage lent a tender gloom, L i k e that which doth t h r o u g h holy buildings come,— Where, as adown the shafted aisles you stray, The very silence seems to feel and pray. The paths were still—save w h e n the small bird t h r e w His m o r n i n g notes around, like sprinkled dew,— A n d even the bird's l i g h t voice but seemd' to wake A h y m n to silence, even for silence' sake! (st. x i i i , x i v )

The air of sabbatical calm on this autumn morning is akin to that in Keats's 'Eve of St. Mark'. Very striking too is the way in which the birds' joyous song and the roses filled with bright dew are used to suggest the mood of the lovers before the disaster and then the con­ trasting mood of Simonida after Pasquino's death:

421

TALES I N VERSE T h e d e w was o n t h e leaf, i t l o o k ' d c h i l l t e a r s , — N o t pearls, as t o t h e lovers i t appears! T h e h a n g i n g w h i t e rose s h u d d e r ' d i n t h e a i r , As i t w e r e sick w i t h g r i e f , a n d pale w i t h c a r e ; — T h e b i r d s w e r e p a i n f u l l y a l i v e w i t h song:—• She h e a r d , — a n d , d r o w n ' d i n g r i e f , w e n t s i l e n t l y a l o n g . (st. x x i )

So intimately is this romantic garden associated with the lovers that Reynolds, departing from Boccaccio and his Jacobean authority, has them buried there and not i n the church of San Gallo. T h e l o n e l y n i g h t i n g a l e a n d w a t c h i n g star A t eve f o r e v e r t h e i r c o m p a n i o n s are! (st. x x x i i i )

From other poems i n the volume it is evident that Reynolds, whose marriage took place about 1821, was at the time of their composition much concerned with love, and one has a strong impression that his own experience sharpened his sympathies for Pasquino and Simonida. There is, for example, a personal note i n a digression on the lover, watching the moon and the stars as he lies vainly trying to sleep. And his attitude towards the dead hero and heroine is significant. Boccaccio had not disguised his tender feelings for them, but i n view of the nature of their love he leaves their fate i n the next world obscure: O h ! h a p p y souls f o r w h o m o n e a n d t h e same d a y was t h e t e r m o f a r d e n t l o v e a n d e a r t h l y l i f e ! H a p p i e r s t i l l , i f t o t h e same b o u r n y e f a r e d ! A y , a n d e v e n y e t m o r e h a p p y , i f l o v e t h e r e be i n t h e o t h e r w o r l d , a n d t h e r e , e v e n as h e r e , ye l o v e ! 1

The English translator of 1620 regards them as 'poore infortunate Louers, whose Starres were . . . inauspicious', but despite his compas­ sion he will not go further than to say: H o w t o c e n s u r e o f y o u r deaths, a n d h a p p i n e s t o ensue t h e r e o n b y a n a c c i d e n t so s t r a u n g e a n d i n e u i t a b l e : i t is n o t w i t h i n t h e compasse o f m y p o w e r , b u t t o h o p e t h e best.

Reynolds, keenly alive to the tragedy of so premature an end to the happiness of Pasquino and Simonida, also regards them as unfortunate lovers. Nevertheless, he confidently maintains: auspicious w e r e y o u r stars T o e n d y o u r m o r t a l lives a n d f e r v e n t love I n one day's space! H e a v e n h a t h y e b o t h a b o v e ! (st. x x x )

2

J. M . Rigg's translation. These lines are i m p o r t a n t because they show t h a t Reynolds was following the 1684 edition w h i c h had altered the 1620 edition and r e a d : ' O h poor unfortunate Lovers, whose Stars were so auspicious to you, as to finish b o t h your m o r t a l lives, and fervent love, i n less l i m i t a t i o n t h a n a days space.' 1

2

422

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

The theme of tragic love, this time in the highest ranks of mediaeval society, again attracted Reynolds in 'The Ladye of Provence'. Boccaccio's tale of the friendship between two knights and of how Messer Guiglielmo Rossiglione revenges himself on Messer Guiglielmo Guardastagno, when the latter falls i n love with Rossiglione's wife, by murder­ ing him and serving his heart as a dish for the lady, is one of the grimmest in the Decameron. Indeed, it is remarkable that a story which offered a parallel to some of the bloody revenge plots of Seneca should have been almost entirely neglected by the Elizabethan playwrights. Perhaps it was an instinctive awareness of its dramatic possibilities that led Reynolds to hark back to the dominant sixteenth-century tradition and choose blank verse as his medium. Rossiglione's wife, nameless i n the original, he calls Indreana, this being probably suggested by Andreana, which he found i n the English version of 1620, i n the sixth tale of the fourth day, instead of Boccaccio's Andrevuola. Another change that he made was to bestow a new name on Rossiglione, as he claimed that Rossiglione ' would not accommodate itself to metre'. He replaced it by Francesco Virgillisi, who figures in the fifth tale of the third day. The spelling of this name indicates that Reynolds had read one of the later editions of the Jacobean transla­ tion. Certainly, 'The Ladye of Provence' contains many verbal simi­ larities to this version, far more indeed than 'The Garden of Florence'. They are especially numerous in the latter part of the story after Virgillisi and Indreana have seated themselves to supper. Reynolds adds a character, Gardastagno's wife, whose devotion to her husband is intended as a contrast to the conduct of Indreana. She is a gentle, timid creature, and when for a reason which she cannot divine an estrangement springs up between her and her friend, when Indreana makes excuses and absents herself, she shuts herself up i n her chamber. Though Gardastagno has wronged her, after his death she mourns him and enters a convent. Reynolds was not without a sense of the mediaeval setting. He depicts the two ladies sitting over their broidery and talking of their ornaments

1

2

3

4

Vide ante, p . 197. T h e f o r m i n the original was ' V e r g e l l i s i ' w h i c h was followed i n the E n g l i s h translation of 1620 and i n the text of the tale i n the second edition of 1625, t h o u g h here t h e preamble has ' V e r g i l l i s i ' . T h e editions of 1634, 1637 and 1684 read ' V i r g i l l i s i ' . As Keats used the f i f t h edition of 1684, i t may w e l l be t h a t Reynolds had recourse to the same copy. A f t e r the m u r d e r V i r g i l l i s i wraps his enemy's heart i n his lance's ' b a n d e l o t ' . D u r i n g and after the supper scene the following are derived w h o l l y or i n p a r t f r o m t h e Jacobean translation: ' M a n y fair speeches', ' T r u s t me, m a d a m ' , ' I pray you, sir', ' I w i l l resolve thee q u i c k l y ' , 'Sighs vehement brake f o r t h ' , ' N o r house w i t h one, w h o fills m y thoughts w i t h b l o o d ' , 'a great gazing window ', ' L i k e a body w i t h o u t its soul, stood V i r g i l l i s i Confounded'. 'Gardastagno' is the f o r m used by Reynolds. 1 2

3

4

+23

TALES I N VERSE

and rich apparel, their hawks, palfreys and hounds, their pages and their lords. Similarly, to emphasise the intimate friendship of the knights, he portrays them as hunting the hoar together: They were as brothers i n their sports,—their joys, T h e i r wonted occupations,—and there never W e n t by the day, but the w i l d forest boar Burst from its lair, before two gallant Hunters, Mounted alike,—and habited alike, W i t h spears of the self-same fashion. Side by side They rode, like the godlike brothers of old,—and never Fail'd i n the sharing of the chase's dangers. There you should see t h e m skirting the deep wood, I n mantles greener than the sombre pine,— And cheering on the hounds w i t h voices, tuned By long society to sound as one. 1

(p. 158-9)

Perhaps it was Reynolds's fondness for the world of chivalry that caused him to alter the circumstances of the murder. I n the Decameron Rossiglione lies i n wait for his foe, and when he arrives with two servants, pierces him with his lance. Reynolds portrays Gardastagno as wandering alone i n the woods musing about Indreana, as he awaits the arrival of Virgillisi according to their agreement. Consequently, he avoids the treacherous ambush, unworthy of a knight, and produces a dramatic scene. Gardastagno decides to seek Virgillisi's castle and ask for news of him: He t u r n ' d his steed.—Hark! o'er the quiet grass Came the sound and r i n g of steeled trappings,—loud, A n d louder,—and anon a k n i g h t was seen, W i t h two attendants,—armed from the crown D o w n to the heel complete;—their faces h i d By the closed beaver;—and their steeled garments Sheening and sounding i n the golden sun. And w i t h no curbed pace the k n i g h t came on. He flash'd his sword i n the startled light—and spurr'd His black and rushing barb

(pp. 165-6) and cut the hated Gardastagno down. The woods, especially at sunset, appear to have fascinated Reynolds and from time to time he gives us glimpses of them as the background to the doings of his characters. At the very beginning he describes the two castles, lit up by the glow in the w estern sky and embedded i n the surrounding trees. Here the woodland seems to offer peace and security, but when Virgillisi withdraws thither to brood over his wrongs on long r

1

Quotations f r o m the edition of 1821.

424

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

and silent walks, it takes on a sombre air. Quite different again is the mood when Gardastagno rode abroad, thinking of Indreana, into a cool wood,—A cool enchanting wood,—where the grass spread Its gentlest verdure under arched trees, A n d the yellow lustre of the evening sun Flooded the topmost branches—and stream'd t h r o u g h T h e broken foliage, down to the green grass. He rode u n a r m ' d and tenderly along, A n d slowly, for a lustrous sunset gave Its poesy to the heart—and they who love, Cannot but idle w hen the eve is fair. r

(pp. 163-4)

The murder of Gardastagno coincides with the setting of the sun: the deep wood-shadows fell Heavily down to earth—and the n i g h t gusts Of the chilling w i n d ruffled the lofty trees, M a k i n g a dismal moaning, as for death. (p. 167)

But it is not only the death of Gardastagno that the poet has i n mind. The eerie moaning forebodes the suicide of Indreana, which is again closely associated with the giant trees and the western sky. From this moment no light shines on the forest. All we see is the figure of Vir­ gillisi, a prey to remorse, prowling and shuddering i n the woods. The circumstances leading to the suicide of Indreana and the suicide itself are described with touches of vivid detail. The heroine, dreaming in the twilight at the lattice with her lute by her side, the revelation of Virgillisi's hideous revenge, her plunge through the open window, the sound of the crashing branches, and then the sickening silence, while her scarf, caught by the casement, streams into the night. The subsequent emotions of Virgillisi are also well portrayed, though the picture of his remorse is somewhat exaggerated: t h r o u g h the n i g h t Strange phantoms trampled o'er his heart, and died Fiercely before his eyes.—His menials heard P i t i f u l screams at m i d n i g h t i n his room, B u t never m i g h t they break his solitude. A t last, grief-madden'd,—from Provence he fled,— No one knew w h i t h e r : H e r e t u r n ' d no more! (p. 174)

One of the motives for his flight, the fear of the vengeance of the country-folk, which is mentioned by Boccaccio and the English trans­ lator of 1620, is omitted by Reynolds. I n this way the action of Vir­ gillisi is due entirely to his guilt-haunted mind. What cause then had

TALES I N VERSE

425

he to feel the pangs of conscience? Boccaccio leaves no doubt that Guardastagno and Rossiglione's wife were lovers; their relations illus­ trate his belief i n the invisible power of love, regardless of law or moral code and regardless of consequence. Hence the husband's anger was fully justified, and only the means employed to wreak his vengeance could be condemned. The Jacobean translator is somewhat ambiguous. He asserts that Guardastagno 'became over fondly enamoured' but adds that he cannot say whether 'this idle love . . . sorted to effect, or no'. Later, however, he makes the heroine declare that she has not been unchaste, and this statement is accepted when Rossiglione laments the Toss of a chast and honourable Wife, and through his own overcredulous conceit'. Reynolds conforms i n a general way to this inter­ pretation, and Indreana rebuts all charges of unchastity. But he emphasises more strongly than the English translator the offence of the lovers. He chides Indreana for not repelling Gardastagno's advances and points out that 'this lawless passion', thus unchecked, 'grew on to dangerous strength'. Similarly, he is careful to express his disap­ probation of Gardastagno's longing for Indreana as he wanders i n the wood: 1

Thus did he shame, w i t h an u n w o r t h y love A n d erring speech, the ear of hallow'd eve! (p. 165)

And when Gardastagno sees Virgillisi rushing upon him, conscious of his guilt, he awaits his doom steadfastly: He knew the voice of his w r o n g ' d friend—and sought No safety—death was near—and he could die. (p. 166)

As is shown by the last words of this passage, Reynolds was not entirely hostile to Gardastagno. I n fact, the lawyer and the lover were at variance within him. On legal and ethical grounds he had to recognise that Indreana and Gardastagno were at fault. Yet he himself was young, and despite his occasional asperity, at other times he abates his rigour. I n this mood he sees those whom he had elsewhere con­ demned, as a ' wretched pair of frail fond lovers' who walk'd, and read, A n d gazed upon each other, even as two Guiltless adorers i n the heart of youth. (p. 163)

And at the close his instinctive sympathy breaks forth i n favour of 'the Unfortunates'. As this analysis shows, Reynolds's two verse tales possess a certain imaginative quality and a sense of unity and artistic design, but his 1

Quotations are from the 1684 edition.

426

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

poetic expression does not achieve the inspired perfection and intensity of his friend Keats. I f 'The Garden of Florence' and 'The Ladye of Provence' had appeared i n the same volume as 'Isabella', the dis­ parity would have been only too manifest. Unlike Reynolds, it was to the Italian text of the Decameron, the 'celebrated store-house of matter for tales, novels, and plays' that Charles Lloyd turned i n 1821 for his rhymed version of the story of Titus and Gisippus. However, he modified it so extensively that it has little i n common with Boccaccio's work. Titus never leaves Athens for Rome; nor does he make the famous speech to the Athenians. Gisippus is not sent into exile and never visits Rome. Consequently, he is not tried for murder, and the scene where Titus attempts to save him by asserting that he is the criminal, is eliminated. I n fact, everything is focused on events i n Athens. But here again the situation is different. Far from being surrounded by a circle of influential relatives, Sophronia is the daughter of a poor widow upon whom, without Sophronia's knowiedge, the benevolent Gisippus has bestowed a stipend. Moreover, the marriage is not a family arrangement, for Sophronia has her say in the matter. Titus falls i n love with her, as i n Boccaccio, on the occasion of a visit to her home with Gisippus. But Lloyd introduces an episode to explain the later violence of Titus's passion. Near Piraeus, Titus one day catches sight of Sophronia returning from Salamis i n a boat which strikes a rock. He rescues her from the rough sea, and from that moment she loves him as ardently as he loves her. Yet both are conscious of their obligation to Gisippus. Another factor that weighs with Titus is the memory of the kindness that he received from Chraemes, to whom on his death-bed he had given a solemn promise ever to remain the friend of Gisippus. He has therefore refrained from trying to see Sophronia again. However, as the story opens, Gisippus announces i n dramatic fashion that he must leave Athens that same evening, even though the nuptial feast is fixed for the very next day. Without explaining his mysterious departure he bids Titus convey the message to Sophronia. Torn between friendship for Gisippus and his secret love for Sophronia, Titus collapses on her threshold. After a painful scene, i n which both Titus and Sophronia endure great mental anguish, he rushes out into the night. Next morning Gisippus on his way encounters his friend in a state of delirium and learns the reason for his suffering. His own secret is then disclosed. Some months after he had become plighted to Sophronia, he chanced to make a voyage to Salamis where he fell i n love with an orphan called Lesbia who returned his affection. I t was 1

2

See the Advertisement to ' Titus and Gisippus' i n Desultory Thoughts on London, Titus and Gisippus, with other poems, p . 159* hbid., p. 159. 1

2

TALES I N VERSE

427

to see Lesbia who lay sick unto death as the result of her hopeless longing that he had left Athens i n such haste. Now all ends happily with the union of Gisippus and Lesbia, and Titus and Sophronia. It is above all i n the psychology of the characters that Lloyd is interested. I n keeping with the condition imposed at the end of the ninth day of the Decameron, the tale of Titus and Gisippus, like all those of the tenth day, dealt with the theme of generosity. Lloyd was an essentially serious writer, and all the characters i n his story, men and women alike, are distinguished by their high-mindedness. He maintains that O n l y m i n d s noble thus can n o b l y l o v e ; — A n d n o b l e m i n d s are t o t h e m s e l v e s a l a w ; — N o n e e v e r s u c h a n ecstasy c o u l d p r o v e W h o k n e w not virtue's consecrating awe. (st. 77)

On the other hand, he denies T h a t ever t r u e love d i d a c o m f o r t k n o w , W h e r e lawless bliss b y lawless m e a n s was g a i n ' d . (st. 87)

It is the clash between passion and principles that he seeks to depict, and he explores at length the eddies and currents of emotion that sway all his figures, but especially Titus and Sophronia. A tale of friendship becomes a study of feeling struggling with conscience, and the develop­ ment is made especially clear if we compare Sophronia with her passive counterpart i n Boccaccio. However, the whole poem is pitched i n too high a key. The outward effects of sentiment are exaggerated. I t is true that Boccaccio had described how Titus languished for unrequited love. But Lloyd intro­ duces a Lesbia who pines and wastes away until her limbs are shrunk and feeble, and his Titus behaves i n an incredible fashion. Illness follows illness. He faints at Sophronia's door, and when she has restored him to consciousness, he stands like a statue, his glazed eyes emitting an unnatural glare until he dissolves into floods of tears. Having said farewell, he foams at the mouth and i n delirium races wildly through the streets, clenching his hands and tearing his hair, until an artery bursts. Even the stout-hearted Sophronia suffers from 'faultering knees', and only Gisippus appears to face his troubles with relative equanimity. This heightening of emotion is accompanied by a corresponding manifestation of natural phenomena. Gisippus leaves Sophronia's dwelling amid the growl of thunder and the lurid glare of lightning, and next morning the sunrise is an equally lurid red. The mood of misery and ill-omen is intensified i n the stanzas that follow:

428

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

Towards w i n t e r a u t u m n then was verging:—then, For the first season, w i t h unmuffled face, Had w i n t e r dar'd to stalk t h r o ' ev'ry scene, A n d rob the pale earth of that lingering grace Of tints, of flowers, of leaves, w h i c h seem'd to lean, W i t h a meek trust, i n the prolong'd embrace Of nature: for the first time, then arose T h e distant mountains clad w i t h m o r n i n g snows. Upon the half-stripp'd branches, w h i c h did bend To the w i l d blast, here droop'd a yellow leaf, A n d there a brown one. W i t h day's l i g h t did blend A sombre shade w h i c h spoke of nature's grief.— To the eager air the season seem'd to lend A piercing shrewdness; and i f still a sheaf Broke the long furrows' level, soddening rains Had smear'd its golden hue w i t h dingy stains. T h e leaves w h i r l ' d eddying towards the plashy ground; T h e i r lustre gone, the shrivell'd flow'rets droop'd; A n d , from afar, on every side around, Were heard deep bodings, as i f tempests, coop'd I n viewless caves, thence issued w i t h profound A n d gusty menaces: the night-wolf whoop'd A dismal requiem to the w a n i n g year:— A l l sights look'd sorrow, and all sounds breath'd fear. T h ' a u t u m n a l moon w i t h pale and watery face Westward was verging, and her shadowy r i m T h i n , floating, mist-like clouds, seem'd to embrace; Hovering about her, as i f they would d i m H e r silver l i g h t ; so shorn her golden grace, So like a spectre did her glances swim O n that cold morning's brow, t h a t she m i g h t w e l l T h e demon seem that wove its b l i g h t i n g spell.

(st. 107-10)

The passage is effective i n its way, hut i n the meantime the narrative waits*, and when Lloyd resumes, one is conscious of the delay. The author himself is sometimes uncomfortably aware of such weaknesses. He indicates this uneasiness by some such phrase as ' But to return to Titus', 'Return we now to Titus', or ' I have long digress'd'. Even more marked is the awkwardness of this stanza: 1

2

3

Such T i t u s was. Such had his intercourse Been w i t h Sophronia! I w i l l not detain M y patient hearers w i t h a long discourse Touching the cause Gisippus did sustain F r o m his t r o t h ' d bride that n i g h t such strange divorce: I f ye consent to listen to m y strain, 1

st. 53.

2

st. 125.

3

st. 88.

TALES I N VERSE

429

That will, l i k e m a n y o t h e r t h i n g s , i n t i m e , Be i n t h e record of this simple r h y m e . (st. 52)

When the moment for revelation of this secret comes, Gisippus is so overcome with embarrassment that he has to hand over the task to the poet: H e spake o f t h i s , b u t so m y s t e r i o u s l y , T h a t his defects t h e b a r d m u s t n e e d s u p p l y . — T h u s s o m e w h a t s t i l l is l e f t f o r m e t o say . . .

(st. 150-1)

Again the reader is pulled up with a jerk, and this halting technique makes it evident that despite his poetic qualities and his apt quotations from Tasso and Ariosto, Lloyd had not mastered the art of the tale i n verse. The note of hysteria, rising at times to frenzy, which is audible i n Lloyd's 'Titus and Gisippus', is entirely lacking i n Coventry Patmore's poem, 'The Falcon', which also has noble love as its theme. I t was written i n haste at the publisher's request, in order to lend more 1

2

A comparison of the first tale i n Stories after Nature by Keats's friend Charles Wells exhibits a s i m i l a r defect. T h e volume was first published anonymously i n 1822, and the story i n question, w h i c h is i n prose, is a free adaptation o f the T i t u s and Gisippus t h e m e . T h e scene is laid i n Ravenna. Julia, the only daughter of a judge, falls i n love w i t h his secretary, Lysius. W h e n her affection is not reciprocated, her h e a l t h begins to f a i l . T h e judge approaches Lysius and he consents to m a r r y her, b u t on hearing t h a t a large estate i n Athens has come unexpectedly into his possession, he breaks off the m a t c h and departs to Athens. T h r e e years pass, and to prevent Julia f r o m brooding over h e r sorrow, the judge has a cell b u i l t b e h i n d a buttress near his seat i n the court of justice and provides i t w i t h curtains. One m o r n i n g a m a n i n tattered apparel is b r o u g h t i n and charged w i t h m u r d e r . Julia recognises h i m and leaves the court. T h o u g h Lysius protests his innocence, he is sentenced to death, but Julia, having dyed her face and neck and hands and t i e d her h a i r i n knots, and dressed i n ragged clothes, returns to declare herself the m u r d e r e r . N e x t m o r n i n g she is condemned to death. However, the m a n who is supposed to have been k i l l e d recovers his senses and accuses the murderers. N o t h i n g is said o f w h a t happens to t h e m ! T h e n Julia 1

took Lysius's hand and kissed i t , and a tear fell on i t ; so she departed. W h e n she touched h i m he t r e m b l e d l i k e a c h i l d (for he knew h e r ) , b u t was d u m b w i t h remorse and wonder. A f t e r this t i m e Julia became more peaceful, seeing she had saved her lover's life. Lysius is touched by her m a g n a n i m i t y and, having retrieved his fortunes i n Athens, comes back to Julia's house at Ravenna: W h e n she came into the h a l l she wondered who this stranger m i g h t be; b u t w h e n he fell at her feet, t h a n k i n g h e r for his life, asked pardon for the past, and besought h e r hand, she shouted, and fainted i n his arms. Thus Boccaccio's tale of friendship is made one of r o m a n t i c and sentimental love. As an example of narrative, i t warrants t h e opinion of Swinburne i n the prefatory note to Wells's Joseph and his Brethren i n 1876 t h a t his w o r k lacks ' t h e direct a i m and clear comprehension of story w h i c h are never w a n t i n g i n Boccaccio'. I n the original edition of 1844 the poem was called ' S i r H u b e r t ' . 2

430

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

ample proportions to the volume i n which it was to appear i n 1844. Patmore was therefore far from content with this tale, but in contrast to the figures i n Lloyd's story those of Patmore are marked by poise and restraint. The theme was well suited to his outlook on life. His comment when he intervenes i n person is characteristic: 1

2

i n noble bosoms, love once l i t can never cease. (p. 405)

He amplifies this i n the next few lines: W h o say, w h e n somewhat distanced from the heat and fiercer m i g h t , 'Love's brand burns us no longer; i t is o u t , ' use not t h e i r sight: For ever and for ever we are lighted by the l i g h t : A n d ere there be extinguish'd one minutest flame, love-fann'd, T h e Pyramids of Egypt shall have no place i n the land, B u t as a nameless portion of its ever-shifting sand. (P- 4°5)

This ideal love then is the central theme, and the unswerving devotion of Federigo to Giovanna, here called Sir Hubert and Lady Mabel, lends itself admirably to Patmore's interpretation. Nevertheless, it may be objected that his vision is now and then too romantic. He heightens the attraction of the hero by declaring that women forswore marriage, since they could not wed him. Again, i f Hubert retains his falcon when all his wealth has gone, it is solely because its eyes remind him of Mabel's, and i n poverty he finds, not only peace and freedom of the mind but plenty as well. Such improbabilities do not carry conviction. I n other directions, however, there is much to praise. One of the most striking features of the story is its condensation. Because he wishes to concentrate attention on the relationship of Hubert and Mabel, Pat­ more eliminates his servant and her brothers. Even the son, who is in the end the means of uniting the hero and heroine, barely appears. Boccaccio had much to say of the boy's acquaintance with Federigo and his consequent love of the falcon; at even greater length he records the conversation between child and mother, Giovanna's reluctance to ask Federigo for the bird, and her ultimate yielding to the entreaties of her sick boy. Patmore keeps his eyes fixed all the time on the theme of faithful love. Anything else—maternal affection, the devotion of the servant, the worldly wisdom of the brothers dissuading from marriage with a penniless man—he thrust aside. Details which i n Boccaccio's eyes were essential for verisimilitude are omitted. Patmore does not bother about the laying of the table for the meal and even leaves Cf. F. Page, Patmore A Study in Poetry, Oxford, 1933, p . 34. I n view of the circumstances i n w h i c h the poem was w r i t t e n and of Patmore's dissatisfaction w i t h i t , the text of the later version given by Basil Champneys i n the edition of 1928 has been preferred. Quotations are f r o m the 1928 ed. 1 2

TALES I N VERSE

431

Mabel, while Hubert cooks the falcon, to look after herself, without any indication of where she is or what she is doing. This terseness is reminiscent of the traditional ballad which again comes to one's mind because of the opening stanzas i n which the story is rapidly set i n motion. But an even more notable example of this technique is to be observed when we examine the lengthy explanation by Giovanna of her errand and the equally lengthy apology of Federigo for his inability to comply with her request. All this is compressed by Patmore into a few words: I n midst of this her dinner, Mabel gave her wish its w o r d : ' M y w i l f u l child, Sir Hubert, pines from fancy long deferr'd; A n d now he raves i n fever to possess your famous bird.' 'Alas!' he said, 'behold i t there.' (p.

408)

Having made his narrative so economical i n many respects, Patmore feels himself at liberty to expand it i n others. This applies especially to the ending which he invents. On leaving his house, Mabel invites Hubert to visit her, so that they may meet as friends. After the lapse of some months she sends her page to beg him again to come. As he is ignorant of her son's death, he fails at first to understand her hint that things are changed. Then his eyes chance to fall on her black dress, and all suddenly becomes clear, as when the moon, L o n g labouring to the m a r g i n of a cloud, still seeming soon About to swim beyond i t , bursts at last as bare as noon. (p. 410)

Such passages as that just quoted are also characteristic of Patmore's occasional relaxation of his severe discipline i n order to satisfy his love of natural beauty. The longest occurs just before Mabel arrives at his house i n quest of the falcon. I t is a spring morning, and the joy that is abroad harmonises with the spontaneous happiness of Hubert at the unexpected approach of the woman for whom he has sacrificed all his fortune. The w i n d was nearly risen; and the airy skies were rife W i t h fleets of sailing cloudlets, and the trees were all i n strife, Extravagantly t r i u m p h a n t at their newly gotten life. Birds wrangled i n the branches, w i t h a trouble of sweet noise; Even the conscious cuckoo, judging wisest to rejoice, Shook around his 'cuckoo, cuckoo', as i f careless of his voice. (p. 406)

Then the clouds disappear and now i n its zenith the sun shines forth in all its brilliance. The hour of dazzling splendour is well chosen to

432

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

symbolise the relationship of Mabel to Hubert. To kindle the sympathy of the reader to a still greater intensity Patmore describes the throbbing ecstasy of the nightingale's song, until it is interrupted when Mabel approaches through the myrtles. One may criticise the improbability of the nightingale's lyric rapture at high noon, but at least one can appreciate the poet's desire for a dramatic entry and his sense of unity. Another sign of his power of construction is the return, at the close, of the first stanza i n a slightly varied form which imparts an impression of completeness. In spite of the English names of the characters, the poem has an air of strange romance. This land has valleys that flow with oil and wine, and we breathe this vaguely exotic atmosphere again i n the lines: her m o u t h Was sweet beyond new honey, or the bean-perfumed South, A n d better than pomegranates to a p i l g r i m dumb for drouth! (p. 407)

These Biblical and Swinburnian overtones help to carry the reader on the wings of fancy to the realm of perfect, faithful love. It seems highly probable that when Patmore at the age of twentyone turned to Boccaccio, it was indirectly under the influence of Haz­ l i t t of whom his father was the disciple. We cannot say whether or not Emma Martin's Frederic and the Falcon, published i n 1847, was also inspired by him. I n her short prologue, however, she makes i t clear that she is writing i n the tradition of Dryden's Fables. ' M r . Dryden', she says, 'translated 1

2

three of Boccaccio's romances, but left untouched that of Frederic and the Falcon. W i t h o u t possessing the dignity of Cymon and Iphigenia, the strong personal interest of Sigismonda and Guiscardo, or the w i l d dramatic grandeur of Theodore and Honoria, i n tenderness and chivalrous feeling i t is the highest. The temptation was great, though recalling D r y d e n to the reader's memory, to translate this beautiful Italian romance into English verse.'

Her tale is a straightforward rendering of no particular interest, and the authoress was right i n alluding to her 'simple strain'. Further proof of the popularity of this story is afforded by its inclusion in James Payn's volume, Stories from Boccaccio, which appeared i n 1 8 5 2 , along with five other tales. 'Federigo and Giovanna' is quite successful. I n the original there are few figures, and the background is but lightly sketched, which enables Payn without too much effort to concentrate attention on the two central figures. However, certain features of Boccaccio's story are omitted, such as the discussion between the brothers about a second husband for the widowed Giovanna and the presence of her attendant when she visits Federigo, the second 1

Vide ante.

2

Cf. F. Page, op. c i t . , p. 21.

TALES I N VERSE

433

omission i n its turn necessitating the introduction of a moment of hesitancy on her part: A n d came unto the door of h i m she spurned A n d lifted the mean latch, and blushed, and t u r n ' d , But thought of her pale boy and entered i n . (p. 20)

On the other hand, certain descriptions are added. I n particular, there is an account of Federigo's love of hawking and his affection for his falcon. Payn pictures his feelings when he has to kill the bird and is not altogether free from sentimentality when relating its death: his brave b i r d he caught, ( I f that be caught w h i c h comes unto the breast W i t h outspread trustful wings as to its nest,) A n d slew; its large grey eyes w i t h wonder ta'en As were his own w i t h tears. (pp. 20-1)

But the most notable addition is the autumnal background that serves as a prelude to the tale with its initial narrative of Federigo's misfor­ tunes. The landscape blends with his mood of bleak dejection: A light w i n d goeth t h r o u g h the trees, A n d stirreth up along the leas A single dead leaf here and there, For the lofty heads are bare A n d the gnarled arms on h i g h Outstretch t h e m , naked, to the sky; A strange and faintly solemn sound Circleth all the landscape round, As i f the yet green fields foreknow Of blighting frost and drifting snow, A n d have their grateful grief to pour For sunlit Summer, now no more. A t i m e for pale cheeks, and d i m eyes, Despairs, and bitter memories. (P-

17)

There is a fundamental affinity between Payn's use of nature here and in ' Guiscard and Ghismond'. The love of these two famous characters flowers with the wild rose i n summer; it withers when the snows of winter fall. The footprints of Guiscard, plain for all to see, betray him, and he is slain by the waiting Tancred and his men. The discovery and the murder therefore take place i n a way quite different from that i n the original. Equally free is Payn's account of the dawning love of Ghismond. As Tancred's falconer the hero rides out with him and Ghismond who, while stroking the hawk i n Guiscard's hand, whispers her directions, unnoticed by her father. The situation is all 2F

434

TWE'_DE

CAME

RON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

the more incredible, because the opening lines of the tale describe the courtly isolation of Ghismond and the haughty vigilance of Tancred: W e l l is Salerno's palace fenced by many a n i g h t l y guard, H i g h are the walls its sentries pace, strict i n their watch and ward And o'er its fosse so broad and deep, l i g h t as his free foot springs, Never may Guiscard hope to cross . . . (p. 12)

The truth is that Payn has set out to emphasise the disparity i n rank between the lovers and to make them even more remote than i n Boccaccio's tale. His version is a romantic illustration of the triumph of love over all barriers. Apart from the glimpse of a mediasval castle with its armed warriors, we are in a vague world. Payn has removed the messenger who brings Tancred's gift of her lover's heart to Ghismond, the message being conveyed by a silver scroll round the cup of gold. He also deprives Ghismond of her attendants, so that the scene which presents their distress after their lady has poisoned herself vanishes, and with it the picture of the penitent king. There is no moving farewell between father and daughter, and the clash of personalities is to a large extent lost. The old humanistic plea for merit i n preference to ' gentle blood' is also sacrificed for the sake of romantic love, and the marshalled eloquence of Boccaccio's heroine degenerates into the incoherence of mere hysteria: Ghismond thus, w i t h eyes of fire, broke forth i n accents w i l d ; I need not, Hypocrite, t h y words to tell m y love is dead, Look on t h y hand, thou murderer, whence comes that cursed red; T a l k not to me of blood; Great God! how gentle was the pack T h a t slew m y noble Guiscard? D i d they stab h i m i n the back? How many were ye? Was i t dark? A y ! I ' m a woman; k i l l , Save me the blow, thrice valiant prince, I ' l l thank you an you w i l l . (p. 14)

In ' Girolamo and Salvestra' the omissions affect the plot i n an equally vital way. The part of Girolamo's mother i n frustrating his love of Salvestra is ignored, and his guardians are replaced by shadowy personages referred to as 'they'. Much is lost also i n the latter part of the tale with its vivid picture of the dilemma of Salvestra and her husband when Girolamo is found dead i n their bed-chamber, the sudden death of Salvestra over the body of Girolamo i n the crowded church and the interment of the lovers in a common grave. For this terse and moving sequence Payn substitutes the somewhat stagey death of Salvestra immediately after she has discovered that Girolamo is no more. A quest for romantic effect is observed also i n the changed surround­ ings of Girolamo. The well-to-do Florentine merchant of Boccaccio is

TALES I N VERSE

435

dissociated from his mercantile setting, and we read of his marble halls, his gold and gems, his gilded domes and groves and princely wares, and of the merry minstrels i n his service. His passion is as exaggerated as his wealth, for whereas Boccaccio had written soberly: 'Girolamo non sentiva ben, se non tanto, quanto costei vedeva', Payn draws a waiting Keatsian figure: 1

T h e n d a y b y d a y his eye g r e w d i m a n d t h e r e d l e f t his c h e e k , F r o m his s u n k h e a r t scarce g a t h e r e d h e t h e f a i l i n g b r e a t h t o s p e a k .

2

(P- 9 )

The solid Florentine background evaporates once more i n 'Pasquino and Simona'. Except these two all persons vanish; time and place are vague, and the characteristic Italian garden is replaced by a scene, 3

W h e r e t h e g r e e n moss a s w e l l i n g b o s o m h e a v e d , T h a t had no m e m o r y of t h e lightest tread, A n d t h e w i l d e g l a n t i n e was i n t e r l e a v e d W i t h t h e sweet s u c k l e , w h i c h h a d o v e r s p r e a d W i t h honeyed breath a streamlet bordered bower. (P- 4 )

Payn cares little for the realistic detail of Boccaccio. So careless is he in his conjuring up of a land that never was, that he calls Simona i n one line a cotton spinner and i n the next shows Pasquino bringing her wool! They seem to live i n isolation, and the sense of a social environ­ ment is lacking. Gone is the judge summoned to investigate the crime with which Simona is charged; gone too is the penitence of her accusers and their remorseful burial of the lovers, and with all this Payn sacrifices the dramatic tension, even as he does i n ' Girolamo and Salvestra'. Instead of poignancy he gives the reader pathos and senti­ ment. Simona is transformed into an orphan, and when Pasquino is overtaken by death, she goes mad and with a vacant smile she croons a 'low sad soothing song'. As a narrator Payn cannot compare with Boccaccio. I n the very first stanza he discloses that Simona is to die young and already in the twelfth he tells the secret of the poisoned sage-leaf, which Boccaccio had carefully kept back till the end. His technique is also unsatisfactory i n other respects. His lines limp, and at times he unintentionally produces a comic effect i n what aims at being a tale of high romance, as when he addresses Love: H o w w i l f u l of thee thus to enter i n her W h o was b u t a p o o r o r p h a n c o t t o n s p i n n e r ! (P- 1) ' G i r o l a m o was not at ease except w h e n he saw her.' A . de Musset wrote a tale i n verse, entitled 'Silvia', on this t h e m e . Cf. H . Hau­ vette, 'Musset et Boccace', Bulletin italien, x i , 1 9 1 1 . T h e t h e m e is treated i n de Musset's verse-tale, 'Simone'. Cf. Hauvette, loc. c i t . 1

2

3

436

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

' Gomito and Constance' is still more loosely connected with Boccac­ cio. The part of the tale which deals with the fate of the lovers after she puts out to sea is eliminated. Consequently, there is the vagueness of attachment which we have seen to be typical of Payn; the only place mentioned is Lipari; the only persons, Gomito and Constance. The story is changed from one that culminates i n a happy reunion into a narrative of misfortune. Constance sets out on her voyage, not to seek the missing Gomito, but to seek death in her despair at his failure to return; and when he does return, only to find her gone, he commits suicide by plunging into the sea. The tone is forced and unnatural as when Gomito, seized by the 'madly dear conviction' that Constance had died for him, shrieks wildly. There is also an intrusion of sentimentality i n the passage where Gomito thinks of the shallop which he had made for Constance and which was to prove her doom. He recalls: H o w she did thank me k i n d l y ('Twas on her birth-day too) A n d how we softly glided Over the calm clear blue. (P-

2

9)

However, the weakest part of the poem is the description of the rejoicing at Lipari when Gomito's ship after a prolonged absence unexpectedly reaches port: Oh and to see the landing! God, i t was good and grand, The knees that bowed before thee, There on that very strand, A n d the sweet lips that gave thee Thanks w i t h a heart-sprung prayer 'Ere w i t h a joyous throbbing Glued to a kindred pair! (P-

2

7)

It is evident from such bathos that Payn was bound to fail as a writer of serious poetry. But i n 'Isabel', the sixth of the tales from Boccaccio, he found himself. He follows his usual practice of merging the specific i n the general, with the exception, however, that instead of a whole group of strict nuns he depicts only one, the rigorous Clara. As she pries on Isabel and then denounces her to the abbess, her personality emerges clearly like that of the monk watching Brother Lawrence i n Browning's 'Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister'. Her austerity is carried to such a pitch that she demands the burial alive of 1

1

Dec. ix, 2 .

TALES I N VERSE

437

the culprit. But despite some minor alterations the ending of the tale resembles that of Boccaccio: For e ' e n t h e Abbess' self soon t o o k p r e f e r m e n t , A n d Clara, o f t h e N u n s , alone n e ' e r e a r n ' d i n t e r m e n t . (P- 36)

The dialogue is lively, easy and natural. All scathing satire on monastic abuses is avoided, and the whole is animated by a lightly ironical humour which conforms to the atmosphere of Boccaccio's story. It was a tale of generosity, the fourth of the tenth day, that gripped Tennyson. I t is embodied i n 'The Golden Supper' which has a curious history. This poem was published at the end of 1869, though the collection i n which it appeared bore the date 1870. Later it was at­ tached as a sequel to ' The Lover's Tale', which Tennyson after some hesitation had excluded from his Poems of 1833 and which did not appear t i l l 1879. The hero is lulian, who has grown up i n the same house as his cousin Camilla. The childhood friendship ripens into love on his part, but not on hers, for her choice falls on Lionel. When Julian discovers this, he sets forth to dwell i n solitude. There he is haunted by strange visions, accompanied now by the mournful sound of a tolling bell, now that of joyous wedding-bells. All this is related by Julian, but the later development, the incidents of' The Golden Supper' are told by another speaker. This sequel is introduced somewhat awkwardly by the line 1

2

H e flies t h e e v e n t ; h e leaves t h e e v e n t t o m e .

3

(P- 7 ) 2

The narrator tells how Camilla marries Lionel and how Julian then returns home. He contemplates going abroad i n order to forget hut lingers on until one day the tolling bell announces that she is dead. Now the tale is launched. Tennyson thinks it necessary to explain one feature on which Boccaccio had not commented. That is, the fact that according to the custom of the land the body was not placed i n a coffin but left i n the vault with the face exposed. Again, he accounts for Julian's ability to see where Camilla lies. The moon, shining through a grating, lights up her face. Another feature that he comments on is the reverence with which Julian kisses her, only to find that she is still alive. I n his counterpart there is more of passion than reverence, and in this alteration Tennyson shows a finer sensitiveness than Boccaccio. The rest of the tale unfolds i n much the same way as in the Decameron. However, Tennyson has lavished all his resources on the description 1

2

C. Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, London, 1949, p. 383. I b i d . , pp. 129, 375, 383, 447. Quotations f r o m the 1879 edition. 3

438

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

of the banquet and of Camilla's attire which enhances her beauty and her grace, S l o w - m o v i n g as a w a v e a g a i n s t t h e w i n d , T h a t flings a m i s t b e h i n d i t i n t h e sun. (P- 89)

Still more important is the transformation i n the atmosphere. We are no longer i n Bologna but i n a land which is waste and solitary, and when the narrator encounters Julian, it is i n A dismal hostel i n a dismal l a n d , A flat m a l a r i a n w o r l d o f reed and r u s h ! (p. 80)

This sense of abnormality pervades the poem. I t affects the guests, one of whom seeing the beautiful lady's likeness to Camilla, shudders as if she were a spectre. But that is not altogether surprising, for at one end of the hall Julian has draped two great funereal curtains round a picture of Camilla. No wonder that, despite the richness of the feast, those present refrain from jesting, partly because of Julian's eyes, partly because of ' something weird and wild about it all'. I f there is an eerie air about the banquet, the ending is no less strange. I t is clear that a figure like Julian, hypersensitive to the point of morbidity, could never settle down to live happily with the reunited husband and wife as Messer Gentil Carisendi does in close friendship with Niccoluccio Caccianimico and Madonna Catalina i n Bologna. Instead, he recoils from the display of love and gratitude, and abruptly exclaiming ' I t is over', mounts his horse and rides away for ever from his native land. While Tennyson was composing 'The Golden Supper', George Eliot was at work on another tale of generosity, How Lisa Loved the King, which appeared at Boston i n the same year as Tennyson's poem. As the envoy states, she had read the story long before and, finding pleasure i n it, resolved, like Keats i n 'Isabella', to translate it as a tribute to Boccaccio. Having visited Italy in i 8 6 0 and again in 1861 to study the background of Romola, in 1867 she went to Spain and steeped herself i n its history with an eye to the composition of The Spanish Gypsy. After its publication she turned to the tale i n the Decameron (X, vii) which appealed to her because it combined both of her interests—-Spain and Italy. The time when the events of the story occur is after Sicily has been freed from French domination and come under the rule of the king of Aragon. The very first line Six h u n d r e d years ago, i n D a n t e ' s t i m e

has a precision which can be ascribed to George Eliot's reading for the other two works, and she makes a good deal more than Boccaccio had

TALES I N VERSE

439

done of King Pedro as the heroic liberator, even returning to him and the rising of the Sicilians in the last stanza. He unites in his person the finest qualities of Spanish chivalry. I t is the nobility of this 'king of cavaliers' that accounts for his generosity and compassion towards Lisa, the young daughter of a Florentine apothecary who had settled in Palermo, when she falls in love with him. There was one feature of the original that George Eliot found unsatisfactory. That was the conclusion. I n the Italian tale the king declares that he will always be Lisa's knight, but for her husband he chooses a poor nobleman, Perdicone, and lavishes precious gifts and domains upon him. Nothing has been heard of him before, and as a mediaeval vassal he must submit to the king's will. I t is indeed a situation comparable in some ways to 1

that of Bertram and Helena i n All's

Well that Ends

Well,

with the

difference that Perdicone accepts readily enough, whereas Bertram is resentful at having a wife imposed upon him. To overcome the feeling that Perdicone may be keener on the possessions than on Lisa herself, George Eliot describes at the outset how he made overtures to her father Bernardo who approved of the match. To this extent the way is prepared for the union of Lisa and Perdicone. However, it is above all to Lisa herself that George Eliot devotes her attention. The young maiden of fifteen is pictured i n these terms: Her b o d y was so s l i g h t , I t seemed she c o u l d h a v e f l o a t e d in t h e sky, A n d w i t h t h e angelic choir made s y m p h o n y ; B u t in h e r cheek's r i c h t i n g e , a n d in t h e d a r k O f d a r k e s t h a i r a n d eyes, she b o r e a m a r k O f k i n s h i p to h e r g e n e r o u s m o t h e r e a r t h , T h e f e r v i d l a n d t h a t gives t h e p l u m y p a l m - t r e e s b i r t h .

2

(pp. 12-13)

Her emotions are skilfully analysed. Still half a child, she does not imagine that any man has ever pined for one so simple as herself, and so she dreams of loving some great hero whose achievements would compare with those of the warriors of Troy, Roland, the Cid or Amadis. She finds her romantic ideal in King Pedro. She realises, of course, that he will pay no more heed to her as he rides by than to a pigeon sitting on a wall or balcony—just a spot of colour and no more. Yet she feels herself to be as queenly as any queen: F o r t h e y t h e r o y a l - h e a r t e d w o m e n are W h o n o b l y love t h e noblest, y e t have grace; For n e e d y s u f f e r i n g l i v e s i n l o w l i e s t place, C a r r y i n g a choicer s u n l i g h t i n t h e i r smile, The heavenliest ray t h a t p i t i e t h t h e vile. 1

2

One of these, Calatabellotta, is changed into Cataletta, for the sake of the m e t r e . How Lisa loved the King, Boston, 1869.

440

T H E DECAMERON I N THE NINETEENTH CENTURY M y l o v e is s u c h , i t c a n n o t choose b u t soar U p to the highest; y e t forevermore, T h o u g h I w e r e h a p p y , t h r o n e d beside t h e k i n g , I s h o u l d be t e n d e r t o each l i t t l e t h i n g W i t h h u r t w a r m breast, t h a t h a d n o speech t o t e l l I t s i n w a r d p a n g ; a n d I w o u l d soothe i t w e l l W i t h t e n d e r t o u c h a n d w i t h a l o w soft m o a n For company.

(pp. 18-19)

Her childlike tenderness and innocence, traits created by the poet, are intensified by the imagery with its references to small birds and, above all, allusions to flowers such as wood-lilies and roses. When her frail body is wasting away for love, the watchers see how, as she sleeps, her d r o o p i n g head T u r n e d g e n t l y , as t h e t h i r s t y f l o w e r s t h a t feel S o m e m o i s t r e v i v a l t h r o u g h t h e i r petals steal. (p. 21)

She has thought of asking Minuccio to plead for her to King Pedro, and i n her dream she sees him T o u c h i n g his viola, a c h a n t i n g l o w A strain that, falling o n her brokenly, S e e m e d blossoms l i g h t l y b l o w n f r o m off a t r e e ; E a c h b u r t h e n e d w i t h a w o r d t h a t was a scent. ( p . 22)

Indirectly the fresh fragrance of the blossom becomes associated with the sleeper, and i n another passage her youthful beauty is mingled with that of the flowers at dawn, when, on the occasion of the king's visit to her, joy returns and a smile As p l a c i d as a r a y o f e a r l y m o r n O n o p e n i n g f l o w e r - c u p s o'er h e r l i p s was b o r n e . (P- 38)

Thus George Eliot bestows grace and charm on Lisa, and the harmony of her flowing couplets blends with it to create a poem of no mean artistry. I t is not surprising that Swinburne, who, like George Eliot, had come under the influence of Italy, should have been led to Boccaccio. His first attempt to turn a story from the Decameron into English verse appears to have been made about 1859. The tale that he chose 1

Cf. t h e catalogue of The Ashley Library, v o l . v i , p. 42. O f t h e t h i r t e e n leaves m e n t i o n e d by T . J. Wise as being i n his collection, the first seven correspond roughly to the first 101 lines of The Two Dreams, and pp. 1 1 , 12 and 13 seem to belong to the death scene, t h o u g h they do not follow closely t h a t i n the later poem. O n the other hand, pp. 8, 9 and 10, w h i c h have been bound w i t h the rest, appear to have no con­ nexion w i t h this tale, 1

TALES I N VERSE

441

was the sixth of the fourth day which had as its theme those whose loves had a disastrous close. Swinburne called it 'The White Hind' but later he revised it and published it i n Poems and Ballads i n 1866 as 'The Two Dreams'. As the title of the earlier version indicates, Swinburne intended to retain the essential features of Boccaccio's narrative. There Gabriotto dreams that while hunting he caught a she-goat whiter than snow, which he tamed, and then, as he lay with her head i n his lap, a black greyhound bit him to the heart. I t is impossible to say what was the nature of Andrevuola's dream in Swinburne's first draft, but in the later version it is a striking development of the original. Boccaccio contented himself with saying that the heroine saw something ' dark and frightful' issue from Gabriotto's body and carry him underground. In Swinburne this vague description becomes more concrete and detailed. Out of Gabriotto's throat Andrevuola saw crawl a live t h i n g flaked w i t h black Specks of brute slime and leper-coloured scale, A devil's hide w i t h foul flame-written grail Fashioned where hell's heat festers loathsomest. (p. 300)

1

What is more, this monster devours him before her eyes. Similarly, in picturing the after-effect of this vision Boccaccio tells simply of the haunting dread that entered her soul, whereas Swinburne enhances the feeling of horror by depicting an abnormal, menacing dawn: M y waked eyes felt the new day shuddering On their low lids, felt the whole east so beat, Pant w i t h close pulse of such a plague-struck heat, As i f the palpitating dawn drew breath For horror, breathing between life and death, T i l l the sun sprang blood-bright and violent. (p. 300)

I f there is merely a development here, the dream of Gabriotto is entirely changed and has no relationship to that i n the Decameron. Swinburne employs all his resources to create a vision of overmastering sensuous beauty. First Gabriotto relates how he perceived a smell of pounded spice and fragrance, the whole as potent as amber and rose; then a cool, naked sense of bud and blossom beneath his feet, while his veins beat like a lute and feelings ran through every limb. Rich i n colour, perfume and sweetness and sensation, i n music and flowers, this is but a prelude to the vision of women bathing, all aglow with warm light. 1

Poems and Ballads, 1866.

442

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

. . . even from w a l l t o bed, I tell y o u , was m y room transfigured so. Sweet, green a n d w a r m i t was, n o r could one know I f there were walls or leaves, or i f there was No bed's green curtain, but mere gentle grass. There were set also hard against the feet Gold plates w i t h honey and green grapes t o eat, W i t h the cool water's noise to hear i n rhymes: And a w i n d warmed me full o f furze and limes And a l l hot sweets the heavy summer fills, To the round b r i m of smooth cup-shapen hills. (PP- 3 ° 3 ~ 4 )

T h i s atmosphere, h e a v i l y c h a r g e d a n d e x q u i s i t e l y v o l u p t u o u s , p r e ­ pares t h e approach o f a w o m a n . As she stoops l o w , h e r m o u t h catches h i m l i k e t h a t o f a snake, b u t a l l he feels is a f a i n t a n d t e n d e r s t i n g , t h o u g h t h e f a n g leaves a great w o u n d . T r u l y , t h i s v i s i o n is u t t e r l y u n l i k e t h a t o f Boccaccio's G a b r i o t t o w h o suffers acute p a i n , as his breast is g n a w e d t h r o u g h a n d his h e a r t t o r n a w a y b y t h e fierce coalblack g r e y h o u n d . N o r is t h i s t h e o n l y l i b e r t y t h a t S w i n b u r n e takes. H e condenses t h e tale i n various w a y s . T h e p r e f a t o r y discussion o n t h e t r u s t w o r t h i n e s s o f dreams, a subject dear t o t h e mediaeval m i n d , is cast aside. T h e p a r t of A n d r e v u o l a ' s m a i d is r e s t r i c t e d t o a m i n i m u m . I n Boccaccio she has a large share i n t h e action. She is i n s t r u m e n t a l i n b r i n g i n g t h e lovers t o g e t h e r secretly a n d joins h e r mistress i n w e e p i n g o v e r t h e dead m a n . She advises A n d r e v u o l a w h a t t o do, t h o u g h t h e l a t t e r rejects h e r counsel, a n d helps t o w r a p G a b r i o t t o i n a s i l k e n c l o t h a n d c a r r y h i m t o ­ w a r d s his h o m e . F a i t h f u l t o t h e e n d , she retires w i t h A n d r e v u o l a to a n u n n e r y . S w i n b u r n e m e n t i o n s h e r b u t once a n d t h e n b r i e f l y , w h e n she is t o l d b y h e r mistress, w i t h o u t c o n s u l t a t i o n , h o w t o come t o h e r a i d i n t h e i n t e r m e n t o f t h e body. I f t h e m a i d is t h u s r e d u c e d to i n s i g n i f i c a n c e , a n o t h e r f i g u r e , t h a t of t h e Podesta, is r e m o v e d c o m p l e t e l y . Boccaccio relates t h a t as A n d r e v u o l a a n d h e r m a i d are c a r r y i n g G a b r i o t t o t h r o u g h t h e street, t h e y are m e t b y t h e guards a n d placed u n d e r arrest. T h e Podesta, w h o l i k e others h o l d i n g t h i s office i n t h e Decameron, abuses his powers, offers t o release h e r i f she w i l l c o m p l y w i t h his desires. W h e n she i n d i g n a n t l y rejects his i n f a m o u s proposal, he is about to use force, a n d o n l y t h e a r r i v a l o f h e r f a t h e r , Ser A v e r a r d o , saves A n d r e v u o l a . T h e r e is n o t h i n g o f a l l t h i s u n s a v o u r y episode i n S w i n ­ b u r n e , w h o l i m i t s t h e appearance o f Ser A v e r a r d o to t h r e e lines at t h e b e g i n n i n g o f t h e p o e m . Fie is o f i m p o r t a n c e o n l y as t h e heroine's f a t h e r and not i n himself. Swinburne eliminates the meeting between h i m a n d A n d r e v u o l a , h e r p r a y e r t h a t he w i l l p a r d o n h e r f o r l o v i n g G a b r i o t t o w i t h o u t his k n o w l e d g e , his r e a d y consent a n d his p r o v i s i o n f o r t h e p u b l i c f u n e r a l of t h e dead l o v e r w i t h a l l p o m p a n d c e r e m o n y .

TALES I N VERSE

443

The omission of the major part of the tale after Gabriotto's death is made possible because in Swinburne's version he is buried in the garden, and then the poem hastens to the close: A n d a f t e r w a r d she c a m e b a c k w i t h o u t w o r d T o h e r o w n h o u s e ; t w o days w e n t , a n d t h e t h i r d W e n t , a n d she s h o w e d h e r f a t h e r o f t h i s t h i n g . A n d f o r g r e a t g r i e f o f h e r soul's t r a v a i l i n g H e gave consent she s h o u l d e n d u r e i n peace T i l l h e r l i f e ' s e n d ; y e a , t i l l h e r t i m e s h o u l d cease, She s h o u l d abide i n f e l l o w s h i p o f p a i n . A n d h a v i n g l i v e d a h o l y y e a r or t w a i n She d i e d o f p u r e w a s t e h e a r t a n d w e a r i n e s s .

(p. 307-8)

Swinburne was perhaps all the more anxious to move swiftly here, because the pace in the earlier part of ' The Two Dreams' had been slowed down. He had spent some time over a description of the rosegarden and the coming of spring and lingered over a picture of Andrevuola and her home. The dawn of love in Gabriotto and the wooing were also described. But Swinburne dwelt longest on the evolution of the relationship between the lovers. Even in the opening lines of the poem he had made it clear that sorrow would be their portion: A n d t h o u g h the r a i n fall often, and w i t h r a i n L a t e a u t u m n falls o n t h e o l d r e d leaves l i k e p a i n , I d e e m t h a t G o d is n o t d i s q u i e t e d . A l s o w h i l e m e n are f e d w i t h w i n e a n d b r e a d , T h e y s h a l l be f e d w i t h s o r r o w at his h a n d . (p.

292)

Such a beginning is ominous and the course of the love of Gabriotto and Andrevuola is i n keeping. Even before the tragic death of the hero it had undergone a change; joy had given place to disillusionment. As Swinburne conceives of it, there is fever and thirst and pain in love; something of its first rapture evaporates and no devotion can recapture it. T h e y w e r e too n e a r l o v e ' s secret t o be g l a d ; As w h o s o deems t h e core w i l l s u r e l y m e l t F r o m t h e w a r m f r u i t his lips caress, h a t h f e l t Some b i t t e r k e r n e l w h e r e t h e t e e t h s h u t h a r d : O r as sweet m u s i c sharpens a f t e r w a r d , B e i n g h a l f disrelished b o t h for sharp and sweet; As sea-water, h a v i n g k i l l e d o v e r - h e a t I n a m a n ' s b o d y , c h i l l s i t w i t h f a i n t ache; So t h e i r sense, b u r d e n e d o n l y f o r l o v e ' s sake, Failed for pure love.

(PP- 95"6) The lovers reach a stage when exhilaration has given place to weari­ ness. There follow 2

444

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

Passionless months and undelighted weeks, (P-

2

97)

and pleasure has for kinsfolk sleep and death. (p. 296)

Swinburne makes the impression infinitely more potent by means of the setting in which this love waxes and wanes. The garden too under­ goes a gradual transformation. The early freshness fades as March merges into April and April into May. I t Seemed half deflowered and sick w i t h beaten leaves

and T h e flowers had lost their summer-scented cheeks, T h e i r lips were no more sweet t h a n daily breath: T h e year was plagued w i t h instances of death.

(pp. 297-8)

The interlude of Gabriotto's dream adds to the tension which mounts steadily until the death-scene. The air becomes more and more sultry and oppressive. The leaves are 'heated', noon weighs on the hot, heavy-headed flowers, the heart of the rose aches, and it seems to breathe hard w i t h heat as a m a n doth W h o feels his temples newly feverous. (p. 306)

A moment later Gabriotto is dead, even i n the midst of his burning love. After that the passion ebbs away and the air seems to clear. I n harmony the diction, strained and even precious at times i n the quest for potency, becomes simple and unadorned. So when Gabriotto is interred beneath the rose-bush and the overhanging boughs of the apple-trees: There under all the little branches sweet T h e place was shapen of his b u r i a l ; T h e y shed thereon no t h i n g funereal, But coloured leaves of latter rose-blossom, Stems of soft grass, some withered red and some Fair and fresh-blooded; and spoil splendider Of marigold and great spent sunflower. (P- 3 ° 7 )

The ending is equally simple and more austere. Andrevuola i n her convent does not linger for many a year as i n Boccaccio but dies soon after, and Swinburne for once imparts to the couplet something of that monumental terseness which it so often has i n earlier writers: This word was w r i t t e n over her tomb's head; ' H e r e dead she l i e t h , for whose sake Love is dead.' (p. 308)

TALES I N VERSE

445

'The Two Dreams' is carefully designed and executed—a highlywrought, sophisticated work of art. On it Swinburne has lavished, sometimes almost to excess, the splendour of his imagery. I t is steeped in light and rich in colour and fragrance, embellished with flowers and music. From Boccaccio's tale the sensuous element is isolated and heightened till it becomes well-nigh unendurable. At the same time Swinburne discards the sensuousness, joyous and unquestioning, of Boccaccio and invests the love of Gabriotto and Andrevuola with a disenchantment which turns its fire to ashes. Upon a totally different interpretation of life he imposes his own conception as i t is expressed in ' The Year of the Rose': The t i m e of lovers is brief; From the fair first joy to the grief T h a t tells w h e n love is grown old, F r o m the w a r m w i l d kiss to the cold, F r o m the red to the white-rose leaf, They have but a season to seem As roseleaves lost on a stream T h a t part not and pass not apart As a spirit from dream to dream, As a sorrow from heart to h e a r t . 1

(P- 53)

Even without the intervention of Fate all love is fore-doomed to speedy death. This inherent pessimism and this process of choosing only one aspect of Boccaccio's tale are again discernible i n 'The Complaint of Lisa' which was published in 1878. I n dealing with the theme that had already been treated by George Eliot, Swinburne makes a different approach. He cares nothing for the historical setting, his prime con­ cern being with Lisa's despair. I n the original tale this had been conveyed by Minuccio to the king. Swinburne lets the young girl utter her own lament, as she grieves, almost to the point of death, for unavowed and unrequited love. To this end he uses imagery which contrasts sharply with that of Boccaccio. The latter had spoken of pain and smart, burning heat and flame; Swinburne, on the other hand, uses flower imagery. This is more restricted and more definitely symbolical than the corresponding imagery of George Eliot. Like Blake, Swinburne employs the sunflower as a symbol of love, but his treatment is quite original. I n Blake it stands for frustration and barrenness, i n Swinburne for the triumphant consummation which brings to fruition. With him King Pedro is the sun-flower, 2

Poems and Ballads Second Series, 1878.

2

Vide ante, p . 438.

446

THE

DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

W i t h golden eye following the golden sun From rose-coloured to purple-pillowed bed, From birthplace to the flame-lit place of death. (p. 66)

In one passage the new image blends with the old image of fire: A kingly flower of knights, a sunflower, That shone against the sunlight like the sun, And like a fire, O heart, consuming thee, The fire of love that lights the pyre of death. (P- 64)

Lisa, who speaks these lines, has her own symbol. She too is a flower, but the flower of a weed, so utterly insignificant and so completely hidden that it passes unheeded. I n vain it gazes the livelong summer day at the sunflower. . . . the w h i t e star-flower turns and yearns to thee, The sick weak weed, not well alive or dead, T r o d underfoot i f any pass by her, Pale, w i t h o u t colour of summer or summer breath I n the shrunk shuddering petals, that have done No work but love, and die before the day. (P- 67)

To suggest this humility i n another way Swinburne once changes his image, and Lisa is compared to 'a worm in my lord's kingly way'. This evokes another train of thought, and the worm becomes a symbol of death. I n its turn this bends Lisa's thoughts to burial and so to the underworld of the Divine Comedy, where Paolo and Francesca come to her mind: I read long since the bitter tale of her Who read the tale of Launcelot on a day, And died, and had no quiet after death, But was moved ever along a weary way, Lost w i t h her love i n the underworld. (P- 63)

'Dead' and 'Death' echo like a funeral knell i n every stanza, and beat out a melancholy admonition—love must die. Like ' The Two Dreams', Lisa's plaintive song reflects Swinburne's philosophy which would not admit the facile, worldly conclusion of the tale i n the Decameron and therefore rejected all else but her lament. The poem is a lyric, not a narrative, and the double sestina replaces the heroic couplet. The imagery is far less complex than in ' The Two Dreams', and in some ways the greater simplicity is more effective. But the style is still that of a conscious artist, as may be seen from the opening lines:

447

TALES I N VERSE T h e r e is n o w o m a n l i v i n g t h a t d r a w s b r e a t h So sad as I , t h o u g h a l l t h i n g s sadden h e r . T h e r e is n o t one u p o n life's w e a r i e s t w a y W h o is w e a r y as I a m w e a r y o f a l l b u t d e a t h . T o w a r d w h o m I l o o k as looks t h e s u n f l o w e r A l l d a y w i t h a l l his w h o l e soul t o w a r d t h e s u n ; W h i l e i n t h e sun's s i g h t I m a k e m o a n a l l d a y . . . ( p . 60)

A n d i n t h e last stanza t h e devices o f a l l i t e r a t i o n a n d r e p e t i t i o n , l i n k i n g w o r d to w o r d a n d l i n e t o l i n e , are e v e n m o r e p o t e n t : S o n g , speak f o r m e w h o a m d u m b as are t h e d e a d ; F r o m m y sad b e d o f tears I send f o r t h t h e e , T o f l y a l l d a y f r o m sun's b i r t h t o sun's d e a t h D o w n t h e sun's w a y a f t e r t h e f l y i n g s u n , For love of h e r t h a t gave thee w i n g s a n d b r e a t h E r e d a y be d o n e , t o seek t h e s u n f l o w e r . ( p . 68)

L i k e S w i n b u r n e , J o h n P a y n e was a t t r a c t e d b y t h e M i d d l e Ages a n d l o v e d t h e s p i r i t o f t h e p e r i o d as i t was e m b o d i e d i n D a n t e a n d as i t l i n g e r e d , t h o u g h t r a n s f o r m e d , i n Spenser. H e t r a n s l a t e d V i l l o n a n d t h e Decameron. Six years before his v e r s i o n o f t h e l a t t e r w o r k was p u b ­ l i s h e d i n 1886, he i n c l u d e d i n his New Poems ' S a l v e s t r a ' f r o m t h e e i g h t h t a l e o f t h e f o u r t h day. I t s h i s t o r y is c u r i o u s . E v i d e n t l y i t was i n existence as e a r l y as 1871 a n d c o n t a i n e d seven stanzas, w r i t t e n j u s t before t h e c a p i t u l a t i o n o f Paris, w h i c h d e n o u n c e d t h e Prussian i n v a s i o n . These lines w e r e detached f r o m t h e i r c o n t e x t a n d p u b l i s h e d u n d e r t h e t i t l e of ' F r a n c e ' i n Songs of Life and Death, 1872. T h e y d i d n o t f i g u r e i n t h e 1880 v e r s i o n o f t h e , tale w h i c h was t h e r e f o r e n o t c o m p l e t e d u n t i l t h e Poetical Works w e r e issued i n 1902. C a r r i e d a w a y b y his f r i e n d ­ ship for c o n t e m p o r a r y F r e n c h w r i t e r s , artists a n d musicians, P a y n e d i d n o t pause t o reflect w h a t a n a n a c h r o n i s m t h e y w e r e i n a story f r o m t h e Decameron. T h i s is a l l t h e m o r e s i n g u l a r because he h a d a k e e n sense of f o r m a n d a d m i r e d t h e c r a f t s m a n s h i p o f Boccaccio. F o r h i m t h e l a t t e r was 1

t h a t e n c h a n t e r o f t h e past, w h o f i l l e d T h e ears o f m e n w i t h m u s i c sweet a n d w i l d , W h e n i n t h e w o r l d h e b r e a t h e d s t r a n g e scents u p o n T h a t sheaf o f f l o w e r s m e n c a l l e d D e c a m e r o n . 2

(P- ! 9 9 ) Cf. v o l . i i , p. 387. John Payne, New Poems, 1880. Addressing Boccaccio, Payne declares t h a t he seeks to echo the magical sweet tune 1

2

T h o u sangest i n t h e garden's golden noon, W i t h youths and maidens l y i n g , m y r t l e - c r o w n e d , Upon the flower-glad carpet o f the ground. (p. 200)

448

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

Payne esteemed the lightness of his touch i n dealing with a merry tale or an amorous adventure and the dignity, pathos and poignancy with which he handled the tragic and sentimental. His well-controlled satire and his skill in narrative and the description of natural beauty also called forth eulogies from Payne. But most of all he praises Boccaccio's power of inspiring terror i n the tale of Nastagio degli Onesti and his unsurpassed command of pathos i n the stories of Ghismonda, Lorenzo and Lisabetta, Gabriotto and Andrevuola, Pas­ quino and Simona, and Girolamo and Salvestra. However greatly Payne valued the last of these, certain features i n his opinion called for change, if the impression of an overwhelming romantic passion was to prevail throughout. Taking Florence as the setting, Boccaccio had seen no reason why he should not fit the story into a mercantile community. His Salvestra is the daughter of a tailor and Girolamo the son of a wealthy merchant. I t is about the business of the shop and i n the shop itself that Girolamo's guardians converse with him. So far as he can, Payne removes these unabashed allusions to trade. Girolamo's mother is a countess; his father had been three times ' prior' of Florence, and 1

His argosies Had swept for treasure all the I n d i a n seas, Heaping his hands w i t h gorgeous pearl and gold A n d ingots cast i n many an Orient m o u l d . (p. 210)

I n short, like the brothers in Keats's 'Isabella', he is elevated to a plane remote from the world of ordinary commerce. And although the story made it essential for Payne to maintain a disparity i n rank be­ tween the lovers, he avoids everyday associations by speaking of Salvestra's father as a clothworker, just as Keats had avoided any reference to Lorenzo as an employee i n a shop. Needless to say, Payne's hero has no connexion with a shop but lives in a palace, and if he goes to Paris, it is to gain a knowledge of 'all things liberal'. The guardians disappear, and the responsibility for sending Girolamo to Paris falls exclusively on his mother. Every suggestion of unpleasant­ ness about her i n Boccaccio is magnified and others are added. She is hard and stern, haughty and domineering; she discovers the lovers together and, crouching under the thick foliage of the wood, spies upon them. I n her guile she is resourceful and persuasive, 2

T h a t treacherous mother w i t h the red bane-mouth. (p. 227) Cf. T . W r i g h t , The Life of John Payne, London, 1919, p. 90. T h e M S . there quoted is not i n T . W r i g h t ' s collection preserved at Olney, as his widow k i n d l y i n f o r m s me. Even Payne's translation of t h e Decameron seems to s h r i n k f r o m the w o r d ' s h o p ' and i n b o t h i v , 5 and i v , 8 'fondaco' is rendered by 'warehouse'. 1

2

TALES I N VERSE

449

Thus a shrewd and unscrupulous woman of the world, sticking at nothing to secure what she considers the best interests of her son, becomes a cruel and malicious enemy to love, whom Payne curses. Another character for whom he did not care was Salvestra's husband Paolo. Boccaccio depicts him as a considerate husband and a thoroughly good fellow. Payne found him inconvenient i n the world of romance and, although he could not get rid of him, he kept Paolo i n the back­ ground and took good care that after Salvestra's death he did not appear to vent his grief and relate to his friends all that had happened. In Payne's version all sympathy is focused on the lovers, and he elaborates everything that Boccaccio had written about them. He dwells on their beauty and explains their dispositions—the one sensi­ tive and affectionate i n the highest degree, the other cold as marble. The account of their relationship as children is greatly expanded, and he adds a description of their dawning love against the idyllic back­ ground of a w ood near Girolamo's home. After the hero's return to Florence from Paris Boccaccio's account of his feelings, a masterpiece of succinctness, is developed into a lengthy analysis. Girolamo wanders aimlessly, dazed and with vacant eyes, through the halls of his palace and from there to the wood, reviving old memories. He is attacked by a fever, and it seems as i f he would succumb, but the desire to see Salvestra restores him. I t occurs to him that perhaps he has been slandered and that i f he could but see her, the old love and joy would return. He therefore haunts all the places where she was wont to pass. At last he meets her at the church-door, leaning on her husband's arm. She looks at him as a stranger and he is filled with sorrow. Then a new idea presents itself. Possibly she has failed to recognise him, wasted as he is by illness, and hope is born again. There is yet another possibility, viz. that she has been bewitched, and so he prays with intense fervour to the Holy Virgin and the saints, and not content with that, has recourse to the occult, r

C u l l i n g n i g h t - h e r b s , a n d o n a scroll b l o o d - w r i t B u r n i n g strange cipherings b e y o n d man's w i t . ( p . 238)

These fluctuating emotions, these alternations between hope and despair, culminate i n Girolamo's resolve to see Salvestra and find out the truth. Payne describes how he waits from afternoon till nightfall to enter unnoticed the house so rich i n potent association with her, and on the bedchamber scene the poet employs all his skill. Salvestra's beauty as she lies sleeping, Girolamo's entreaties, and her emotion- at the memory of the past are all related with great effect. So is the death of Girolamo—not i n a convulsion of agony as i n Boccaccio, but i n peace after 2G

450

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

one last prayer to M a r y f u l l of grace A n d one last Ave intermixed w i t h sighs. (P- 5 7 ) 2

The death of Salvestra herself, as she falls prone over the body of Girolamo i n the church, follows Boccaccio's account closely. But Payne enhances the impression of sorrow when he tells how, as she lies in silence, there comes the melancholy sound of the bell tolling for her faithful lover. To heighten the poetic quality of this tragic tale Payne introduces many references to flowers. I n fact, he is so fond of them that he occasionally gives them a space out of all proportion, as when he devotes no less than seven stanzas to flowers which are emblems of the lovers' fate. However, as a rule he uses them with artistic discretion, and nowhere more so than i n the woodland scene: F u l l of bird-song and scent of forest-flowers The coppice was, and very sweet and cool I n the hot noontide were its trellised bowers, Set by the glass of some dream-haunted pool, Whereon the sleepy sweetness of the l u l l Of silence brooded; and its every glen Was set w i t h purple of the cyclamen Or starred w i t h w h i t e of amaryllis blooms, Pale flower-dreams of the v i r g i n a l green sward, That made faint sweetness i n the emerald glooms. (P-

2 1

9)

Not only the surroundings possess this natural beauty, but Florence itself is rich i n its association with flowers, and blending with them, it has created the flowers of painting. I t is the Fair flower city, peerless i n the world, Germ-garden of the golden blooms of A r t . (p. 202)

It is therefore i n keeping that Salvestra's house should be redolent of lilies and jasmines, and that flowers should lend charm to the imagery of the bedchamber scene. Girolamo kisses the sleeping Salvestra As softly as a fallen flower, that lies A n d floats upon a river, lily-wise. (p.

248)

Similarly, after the first grey gleam of dawn has revealed the pallid face of the dead hero, the introduction of a flower-image relieves the grimness of the sight: the day began to put forth flowers, Pale buds of m o r n i n g opening f r o m the husk Of the small hours. (P- 5 8 ) 2

TALES I N VERSE

451

Girolamo is again associated with the scent of flowers and myrtles when he conceals himself i n the garden near Salvestra's home and awaits the approach of evening. He finds the time long until the glittering light fades on the Arno and the nightingales begin to sing. At the same time the fragrance of the flowers, the sunset and the waning light are made to suggest momentarily the death-scene which is soon to follow: F u l l wearily the u n w i l l i n g day wore on: I t seemed to h i m the l i g h t would never die: Across the west like blood the sunset shone; A n d to his sense, as sadly he did lie, The wafts of air seemed laden heavily W i t h incense for the dying, and the surge Of ripples sounded like a funeral dirge. A t length the lagging daylight made an end Of gradual death; and to the grateful n i g h t He heard the sweet sound of the bells ascend From many a convent-steeple i n his sight; The dusky t o w n p u t forth pale buds of l i g h t ; He heard the throb of lute-strings, and afar The silver chirp of some soft-swept guitar. (p. 241)

At the close it is appropriate that Girolamo and Salvestra, whose love had wakened to the ripple of a brook i n the greenwood, should be laid to rest, not in a tomb like Boccaccio's lovers, but under the trees beside the running waters of the Arno. The world that Payne conjures up is one of brave knights, fair ladies, and white-walled cities rich i n fragrant pleasances. Of course, he is aware that this is an incomplete picture of the Middle Ages; he had not read Villon for nothing. Yet even i f Payne was i n some degree acquainted with the graver traits of mediaeval life, it was on the whole a romantic age that his imagination called forth, and he loved to take refuge in it from nineteenth-century England where he felt singularly out of place. Three poems i n the same collection as 'Salvestra', 'Of the Singers of the Time', 'Aspect and Prospect', and 'Tournesol', illuminate his attitude and incidentally enable us to understand why he chose the tale of Girolamo and Salvestra. Like William Morris, he revolted against a period from which beauty seemed to have vanished. He was repelled by the squalor of modern towns, and so he wrote: W h a t have we done w i t h meadow and lane? Where are the flowers and the hawthorn-snow? Acres of brick i n the pitiless r a i n , — These are our gardens for thorpe and stow! (p. 128) 1

1

' O f the Singers of the T i m e ' .

452

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

In his eyes wealth and luxury, gold and gems were no compensation for hungry bodies and starving souls. He was painfully aware of 'the sordid strife for gain' and the suffering and hatred begotten of social injustice. Yet the spectacle did not provide him with a theme for poetry; i t merely rendered him unhappy. He was saddened by the stress of the time, filled with hopeless yearning and numbed as i f by icy winter. Nor was there any faith to buoy him up, for the old beliefs had fallen. I n such an age, he felt, ' Songs and singers are out of date', for no one could sing with all the sadness of the world clinging to his heart-strings. I n the following passage from ' Tournesol' something of the dissatisfaction and unrest of Matthew Arnold and William Morris is heard: . . . the folk t h r o u g h the fretful hours are hurled On the ruthless rush of the wondrous world, A n d none has leisure to lie and cull The blossoms that made life beautiful, I n that old season w h e n men could sing For dear delight i n the risen Spring A n d Summer ripening f r u i t and flower. Now carefulness cankers every hour; W e are too weary and sad to sing; Our pastime's poisoned w i t h thought-taking. The bloom is faded from all that's fair, A n d grey w i t h smoke is the grievous air. None lifts to l u t i n g his hand and voice Nor smites the strings w i t h a joyful noise; For all that sing i n the land are pale; T h e i r voice is the voice of those that wail For beauty buried, and hang the head For the dream of a day evanished. (PP- 3 - 4 )

Such a cheerless time, it seemed to Payne, was attuned neither to love nor poetry, and so he turned to the past. I n doing so he came to Boccaccio and i n ' Salvestra' once more he inveighs against his own age with its ' hard swift life' and ' unblissful toil'. As i n 'Tournesol' he contrasts the past with the present and laments that love has fled: T i m e was, fair God, w h e n t h o u heldst fuller sway, A n d all folk were t h y thralls i n gentilesse: T i m e was w h e n m e n were simpler than to-day, A n d life was not one fierce and loveless stress Of unrelenting labours i n the press Of joyless souls, w h e n men had t i m e to rest A n d toy w i t h grace and beauty, unreprest. (P-

97)

1

I n the Middle Ages men prized chivalrous deeds, and love held univer­ sal sway. It was not a matter for calculation, but

TALES I N VERSE

453

A natural impulse of untainted souls, T h a t had no thought of praise or recompense For what was but an instinct—and the goals, Towards w h i c h our life's sore-troubled current rolls, Had not yet darkened all the innocent air W i t h l u r i d lights of greed and lust and care. (p. 207)

The mediaeval spirit, Payne maintains, was embodied in Girolamo who believed i n love, pursuing it with single purpose, and was prepared to give up his life i n the quest. Hence the story of 'Salvestra' appealed to him as one 'of perfect love i n death fulfilled'. However, the total impression left on the reader by the poem is very different from that created by Boccaccio's tale, where, despite the tragic close, one feels that the beauty of life has been triumphantly vindicated. Not so with Payne, who is always haunted by the idea of death. I n ' Aspect and Prospect' he sees it looking from the lover's eyes and declares W e may not hope for peace at last Save where the shade of Sleep is cast, A n d from our eyes Death's soft hand clears The thought alike of smiles and tears. (p. 290)

Such is his obsession that i n his version of the old tale weariness clings to him, and he can but long for quiet and dreamless sleep when life is done. I n him there is no stoic endurance, no passion for reform. Nor has he the consolation of faith i n immortality: I look but for the end of wearying, For pain to cease and sorrow to be dumb. (p. 272)

Far from drawing any assurance from the devotion of Girolamo that love at least is durable, he cries: only this we k n o w , — Afar Death comes w i t h silent steps and slow. (p. 270)

But this certitude does not fill him with dismay, for he has long loved death. Therefore, I praise thee, seeing thou alone, Of all things underneath the heavens born, A r t all assured. For is i t not u n k n o w n Whether the gold sun on another m o r n Shall glitter, or the Spring come to adorn Once more the woods and fields w i t h w i n t e r pale? This but we know, T h o u Death shalt never fail! (P- 7 5 ) 2

Thus Boccaccio's tale of love ends as a pasan to Death.

454

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

For once Payne escaped from the mood of 'ces fleurs de tristesse', as he termed his collected poems i n the dedication to Stephane Mallarm^, when he translated Boccaccio's charming 'Intorn' ad una fonte, i n un pratello' which had appealed to Rossetti before him. But the grave mood is the more characteristic, and the other poems by Boccaccio that caught his eye are all i n serious vein. ' To his own soul, exhorting it to repentance' envisages the prospect of death but finds reassurance i n the thought that penitence will win pardon even at the eleventh hour. 'To Petrarch Dead' also attracted Payne. No doubt this was partly because it touched on Boccaccio's devotion to Fiammetta, the far-reaching effect of which Payne emphasises in the introduction to his translation of the Decameron. However, its main interest was the theme of death and the reunion of Petrarch with Laura, and Boc­ caccio with Fiammetta: 1

2

3

Now, dear m y lord, unto those realms of l i g h t T h o u ' r t mounted, w h i t h e r looketh still to fare Each soul of God elect unto that share, On its departure f r o m this w o r l d of spite; Now art t h o u where f u l l oft the longing spright D r e w thee, w i t h Laura to commune whilere: Now art t h o u come whereas m y lovely fair Fiammetta sitteth w i t h her i n God's sight. Yea, w i t h Sennuccio, Cino, Dante, thou Assured of ease eternal dwellest now, Things seeing our intelligence above. O h , i n this w o r l d i f I was dear to thee, D r a w thou me straight to thee, where I may see, Joyful, her face who fired me first w i t h love. 4

The same archaism of style, which also marked Payne's version of the Decameron, may be observed i n his rendering of 'Ballata', a lament for lost youth so piercing in its melancholy, that it must have stirred the translator's heart: 5

The flower, that's lost its sheen, Once faded, nevermore becometh green. M y sheen I ' v e lost; again M y beauty w i l l not be as 'twas whilere, Since their desire is vain W h o waste the t i m e and t h i n k i t to repair: I am no Spring, fore'er Each year renewing and becoming green. Poetical Works, i i , p. 186. For D . G . Rossetti's version vide ante, p. 364. ' V o l g i t i , spirto affaticato, omai.' Cf. Poetical Works, i i , pp. 185-6. E d i t i o n of 1893, pp. x v - x v i . ' O r sei salito, caro signor m i o . ' Cf. Poetical Works, i i , p. 185. ' I I fior, che'l valor perde'. Cf. Poetical Works, i i , p. 381. O t h e r examples of archaism are ' w h i l e r e ' i n ' T o Petrarch D e a d ' and ' w i l l and gree' i n ' T o his own Soul'. 1

2 3

4 5

THE

455

DRAMA

I curse the evil t i m e W h e n I the days of y o u t h let lapse away: M a i d being i n m y prime, M e t h o u g h t not yet to have been cast astray. T h e y waxen no more gay W h o lose the first flower of Love's p r i m a l sheen. Ballad, i t grieveth m e T h a t I to music may not set thee. L o ! W e l l is i t k n o w n to thee T h a t m y heart dwells w i t h sighs and tears and woe And shall be ever so T i l l m y life's candle cometh to the green. 1

I n dealing with Boccaccio, Payne is preoccupied with death, even as Swinburne was, but i n comparison he lacks energy, and i n his melan­ choly becomes a languid, low-pulsed kinsman of Matthew Arnold. 3. The Drama Garrick's Cymon, with or without change, was still popular in the nine­ teenth century. I t was acted with additions by H. R. Bishop at Covent Garden on 20 November 1815. The essential part of the action was abridged in a 'Comic Pantomime Call'd the Enchanter or Harliquin (sic!) Cymon' which was submitted to the Lord Chamberlain by J. Holt, the proprietor of the Olympick Theatre, on 19 December 1828. As the title indicates, Cymon is transformed into Harlequin. This occurs when the enamoured Urganda finds that he resists her advances. I n her rage she also turns Sylvia into Columbine. Another striking feature is the introduction of a sphinx and a 'massive Griffin', both of whom speak in oracular fashion. But it is on the pantomime figures that the author spends most of his energy. They are a strange medley—-Bohemian minstrels, a pedlar, beggars, a ballad-singer, a blind fiddler, a hatter, a fat cook, a Jew, a lobster-woman, a chimney-sweep, a fine lady, a milliner, a dancing-master, a flash coachman, a peace-officer, a gardener, an artist, a butcher, a clown, a mandarin, Chinese ladies and Eskimos, together with such classical figures as Furies, Spirits and Arcadians. A number of these sing irrelevant songs, and after the pantomime, which has no relation to the Cymon story, is ended, the 2

3

4

' i . e . be burned out, come to e x t r e m i t y , a metaphor taken f r o m the o l d usance ( s t i l l prevalent i n some parts of Scotland and England) of auction by i n c h o f candle, i t being t h e custom i n some places to colour the lower end of the candle used for the purpose g r e e n ' (Poetical Works, i i , p. 3 8 1 , note 2 ) . Cymon, probably an adaptation of the o l d play, was p e r f o r m e d on i February 1815 (cf. A . N i c o l l , A History of Early Nineteenth Century Drama, 1800-18$0, Cambridge, 1930, i i , p . 437). D.N.B., A r t . ' H . R. Bishop'. F o r m e r l y i n the L o r d Chamberlain's archives; now i n the B r i t i s h M u s e u m . 1

2

3

4

456

T H E DECAMERON

I N THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

final scene shows the defeat of Urganda by Merlin and the union of Cymon and Sylvia as the rulers of Arcadia. Yet another revision was undertaken by J. R. Planche, for a performance at the Lyceum on Easter Monday, 1 April 1850. The date suggested to him a light-hearted treatment of Garrick's romantic adaptation. I n Scene 1, after an air sung by Spring, April the First appears and with an easy touch alludes to those who had previously written on the theme: 1

On the Stage it's been put too, by Garrick, Arne, Bishop, A n d now, i n m y own way, I've ventured to dish u p — The young gudgeon, Cymon, i n hope that he w i l l Prove, as the French say, a fine "Poisson d ' A v r i l . " 2

Then April sings an air and presents the main characters one by one: First, M e r l i n , the Wizard of Wales, behold, To b r i n g h i m to Greece, M r . Garrick made bold; W i t h the story, he'd nothing on earth to do, But the greater the nonsense, the better for you. The next is Urganda, a fairy high-flown, By neither Boccaccio, nor D r y d e n k n o w n ; Her charms are so potent, that none can withstand her— But love, you w i l l find, makes a goose of Urganda. Here's Cymon, who, ' t i l l he by love was taught, K n e w nothing, and " w h i s t l e d for want of t h o u g h t ; " I f all were to whistle, who t h i n k they t h i n k , W h a t a saving there would be i n Printer's I n k . There's Iphigenia, called Sylvia—why? ' T w o u l d puzzle a conjuror to reply; For whichever you please, you may give your voice, For " y o u pays your money, and takes your choice."

3

4

Planche alters the form of the play considerably. Much of the sing­ ing is eliminated, and different songs are inserted. The ending is also modified. When Urganda is conjuring up the Black Tower, April appears and calls her an April fool. Thereupon the scene changes to the Bower of Paphos, the Abode of Love among the Roses. Cymon is dis­ covered i n the centre. Merlin enters with the shepherds and shepherd­ esses, and April concludes with a song. This way of rounding off the play is less fantastic than what had 5

T h e text is most readily accessible i n Extravaganzas, London, 1879, > 47 86. Cf. Extravaganzas, i v , p. 54. Dryden, ' C y m o n and I p h i g e n i a ' , 1. 85, ' A n d whistled as he went, for want of thought'. Cf. Extravaganzas, i v , pp. 54—5. Vide ante, p. 327. 1

1T

2

3

4

6

—

THE

DRAMA

457

been handed down to Planche, and it has some relevance to the original story, since Paphos is i n Cyprus, the background of the lovet h e m e . But Planche was a hard-headed writer, and he finds the whole tale absurd. Thus when i n his English dramatic model he reads how the love of Cymon and Sylvia is sealed by an exchange of bouquets, he cannot refrain from this satirical comment through the agency of April: N o w , t h i s is w h a t Bards h a v e t h o u g h t w o r t h y t h e i r s t r a i n s . A n d h o w C y m o n ' s supposed t o h a v e c o m e b y his b r a i n s ; W h e n , r e a l l y , I t h i n k t h a t one n e e d n ' t be c l e v e r , T o p r o v e he's a m u c h g r e a t e r f o o l , n o w , t h a n e v e r . H e r e ' s a w e n c h , t i l l t h i s m o r n i n g , a s i g h t h e n e ' e r g o t of, T h a t he'd rush i n t o c h u r c h w i t h , not k n o w i n g a jot of H e r f a m i l y t r e e , or h e r f a m i l y acres, Or, w h o is t o p a y e v e n b u t c h e r s a n d b a k e r s ! 1

The tone is antithetic to the extravagant romance of Garrick's play, especially as it had been developed by later writers. I t may be that Dryden would have approved of this ridicule. At any rate, Planche cannot have been unfamiliar with the element of satire i n the Fables, for he had studied 'Cymon and Iphigenia'. Incidentally, when speak­ ing of the heroine, he introduces a passage which throws some light on the reputation of this work i n 1850: 1

B y - t h e - b y e — y o u m a y n ' t k n o w m u c h about her yourselves, Unless y o u h a v e l a t e l y b e e n d u s t i n g y o u r shelves; For w h o , u p o n e a r t h , i n t o D r y d e n n o w looks? Or a n y such o l d m u s t y p o e t r y books. 2

In Planche's version of the play manner and comment blend admir­ ably. The jocular tone, the colloquial style, the occasional burlesque rhymes, are the very antithesis of high-flown romance. This tradition is continued by Edward J o h n Smyth Lee, though he turns his back on Garrick's time-honoured Cymon. Lee's Cymon and Iphigenia was licensed on 9 August 1864 for performance at the New Bower Operetta House. The burlesque intention is disclosed i n the opening scene where a wood with gigantic ferns and a moonlit stream appears as the curtain rises. Queen Mab converses with her fairies about the sleeping Iphigenia: 3

Cf. Extravaganzas, i v , p. 6 1 . W i t h this tone one may compare t h a t of a few lines in Planche's tale, ' T h e One-Legged Goose'. T h e squire was a butcher, 1

but w h e t h e r t h a t Argues i n favour of his understanding, Or militates against i t , is a question T h a t I would wish to have no hand i n , But leave i t to your cool digestion. 2 3

Cf. Extravaganzas, i v , p . 6 1 . A t present i n the archives of the L o r d C h a m b e r l a i n at St. James's Palace.

458

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE N I N E T E E N T H CENTURY

A pretty maiden by our royal word, To b r i n g her here I wonder what's occur'd? Sunshine Strange to find a lady sleeping i n a wood, A little tired perhaps— Brightheam or a little screwed. Sunshine {picking up a book) See, I've found the cause of all this stupor, 'Proverbial Philosophy' by Tupper. Queen

On the entry of Cymon, the comments of the fairies explain that, though he is handsome, His m i n d is dark, he hasn't any sense.

The queen continues: A h , young ladies, w i t h that we can dispense. Sense departs as soon as woman doth rule And every lover makes himself a fool.

Then, looking at Cymon, How he gapes about; he's far gone indeed And of prompt assistance stands much i n need. Sweet youth, what's up? you really look quite pale. Cymon

Have I been taking too much bitter ale? W h a t pretty girls, and what a lovely valley! I ' m at the play, and that's the corps de ballet.

The fairies wave their wands to the sound of music. Cymon, now in love with Iphigenia, kneels before her. His wooing is a parody of that of Richard I I I : Here's m y sword, it's sharp and its point is hard, Take me up or plunge i t i n m y gizzard. Iph.

L i k e lady Anne, what's i n another play.

Queen Mab bids them farewell; there is dew on the grass, and she suffers from rheumatism. There follows a duet after Cymon has de­ cided to communicate with his father: Iph.

D o n ' t give way, sweet youth, I pray, To sad procrastination, Or like the man asleep i n the t r a i n Y o u ' l l miss your destination.

Cymon

I ' l l go at once and r i n g h i m up, Not w a i t i n g invitation, The language I w i l l pour out then W i l l produce strong perspiration.

I n Scene 2 Cymon is grief-stricken on learning that Cypseus has

THE

DRAMA

459

betrothed his daughter Iphigenia to Pasimond and resolves to ask Queen Mab's advice. No sooner has he gone than Bullbracken, Tipple, and others enter with a letter from Pasimond, and the swooning Iphigenia is carried away to the ship to the sound of the sailors' chorus. Queen Mab promises her aid to Cymon in Scene 3 and urges him to set forth i n one of the ships lying i n the harbour. Scene 4 shows Cymon intercepting Bullbracken's ship when Iphigenia has barely awakened from her stupor. The fierce struggle of Boccaccio's tale is reduced to a farce. Cymon cuts Bullbracken's coat to pieces, i n order to satisfy Pasimond that a desperate struggle took place, and the whole ends with dancing to a lively polka. Scene 5 takes place i n the hall of Pasimond's house. The militia are mustered i n ludicrous array. The men are of different sizes; the tall men are dressed i n very tight clothes, the small men in clothes much too large for them. A cry is heard: ' A sail!', and the militia hastens away. Ormisda then enters and tells his brother of his despair, because Cassandra, whom he loves, is plighted to Lysima­ chus. Pasimond makes light of his troubles and bids him go to her parents and ask for the money lent them some time before. They will not be able to pay, and then Ormisda can offer to cancel the debt in return for Cassandra. After Ormisda's departure, the captain of the militia returns to announce that the Salt Sarah is about to reach port. Thereupon Bullbracken and his crew enter with large pieces of plaster on their faces, and using crutches, slings, bandages and sticks. The enraged Pasimond threatens to have them all hanged but a moment later his attention is diverted by the news that Cymon's ship has been wrecked. I n Scene 6 Cymon, Iphigenia and their crew are discovered sitting on the rocks. When a march is heard in the distance, Cymon vows to ' die game', but lets himself be arrested by a policeman. I appeal to your sense; best keep quiet. A peeler turned appealer. After this incident Ormisda tries to win Cassandra by using the argu­ ment of the bill, and she reluctantly consents. Pasimond and Ormisda decide that they shall be married next day, but Cymon and Lysi­ machus agree to carry off the brides, gaining access to the palace with the connivance of a policeman. Scene 7 presents the banquet in Pasimond's palace with the militia i n attendance. A ballet is performed and Cymon and Lysimachus enter i n the disguise of street-acrobats. Cymon seizes Iphigenia, and the soldiers run away i n terror. I n the general fight that ensues Pasimond and Ormisda, who have been drinking heavily, are knocked down, and Cymon and Lysimachus carry off the brides. I n Scene 8 all four appear i n a cave, with their escort of police! Then Pasimond and Ormisda arrive with their fol­ lowers, and a struggle seems imminent. But Queen Mab appears and Policeman Cym.

460

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

pleads for peace and friendship. The characters fall into a mocksentimental group, and Cypseus and his friend Tickletoes come i n at different entrances. They are i n travelling costume and announce that they have arrived by telegram. Finally, the scene changes to Queen Mab's abode i n fairyland. Thus, as i n some earlier versions, the English fairy tradition is mingled with Boccaccio's tale. But the heroic element i n the original is reduced to farce, and the transforming power of love and beauty is obscured i n this uncongenial atmosphere. Nevertheless, taken for what it is meant to be, this lively burlesque has many qualities. Above all it is amusing. However modest the dramatic merits of Planche and Lee may be, their work was at least seen on the stage. That is not true of certain sketches or scenes by B. W. Procter, all written in blank verse. These are 'The Two Dreams', 'The Broken Heart', 'The Falcon', 'Love Cured by Kindness', and 'The Florentine Party'. They received high praise from Charles Lamb, but their dramatic value is negligible. I n 'The Two Dreams' Andreana and Gabriello successively relate their dreams, and then the hero dies. That is all. There is no conflict, the dialogue is perfunctory, and as drama the sketch is worthless. Procter tried to eke out his material by amplifying Andreana's dream. She describes how on a sultry night she saw the stars on their course make a noise like a hissing serpent and how each i n turn came and stood over Gabriello's head and then sank in darkness, the last being Saturn, his natal star. The strange creature that carries off the hero is well portrayed, ' a shadowy thing' that rose from his body and stood in silence by him: 1

2

4

3

5

I t was n o t F l e s h , n o n o r v a p o u r ; b u t i t seemed t o be A dismal compound of the elements, H u d d l e d b y chance t o g e t h e r ere t h e f o r m O f m a n was fixed and fashioned i n t o beauty, T h e n l i k e a loathsome and unfinished t h i n g , F l u n g aside f o r e v e r . 6

The feeling of horror is intensified by attendant phenomena. As Saturn's light is extinguished, there is a hideous noise as though a globe were cracking, the sound of h o r r i d laughs, A n d shrieks a n d s y l l a b l e s — i n a n u n k n o w n t o n g u e

7

Dec. i v , 6. Cf. Dramatic Scenes, London, 1819, p. 1. Dec. i v , 8. Cf. Dramatic Scenes, p. 114. Dec. v, 9. Cf. Dramatic Scenes, 1857 ed. (not i n 1819 ed.). Dec. x, 7. Cf. Dramatic Scenes, p. 57. Dec. i i i , 2 ; v, 5. Cf. Essays and Tales in Prose, Boston, 1835, i i , pp. 233—51. ^Dramatic Scenes, 1819 ed., p. 6. I b i d . , p. 6.

1

2 3 4

5

7

THE

DRAMA

461

is heard, and vast wings beat overhead. Again, when Andreana dreams that Gabriello is snatched away into the yawning earth, there came out blue fires, and sounds of torture, Curses and shrieks—then solitary laughs. 1

Gabriello ridicules these fantasies, as he does his own dream. But he grows increasingly serious and begins to ponder on life and to wonder whether life itself is not a dream. Of one thing he is sure—the spirit is immortal: How fine And marvellous the subtile intellect is. Beauty's creator! i t adorns the body A n d lights i t like a star. I t shines for ever; And like a watch-tower, to the infidel Shows there's a land to come. 2

This passage is, of course, alien to the original story, but its insertion as an immediate prelude to Gabriello's death shows that Procter was not entirely without dramatic sense, though as a whole the sketch is too slight. There is more substance i n 'Love Cured by Kindness'. Boccaccio's tale of Lisana's love for the king of Sicily was calculated to appeal to Procter. However, he evidently thought that i n such a romantic story the figure of the apothecary was out of place, and he transforms Lisana's father into an artist, just as i n 'The Two Dreams' he had given the events a setting i n high society by an allusion to Count Strozzi as a visitor to Andreana's house. Another change was to remove the queen, no doubt because Procter thought it unseemly that Lisana should bestow her love on a married man. The sketch contains two scenes. The first shows Don Pedro with his courtiers i n the banquet-room. The king toasts the queen of Naples, Julio drinks to Lisana and in reply to Don Pedro's enquiry praises her beauty. Ippolito tells his master of Lisana's illness and its cause. At once the king sets out to visit her, taking Ippolito with him, and on the way ascertains that the young courtier has loved her all his life. The second scene is i n Lisana's bedchamber. Don Pedro graciously acknow­ ledges the devotion of Lisana and tactfully, while expressing his willingness to be her friend, pleads for Ippolito who has generously sacrificed himself by telling his lord the story of her love. Lisana is won over and agrees to marry Ippolito, who is called in to receive Don Pedro's wishes for her happiness. There is here some attempt at dramatic tension. I n particular, the creation of Ippolito is important. He takes over the functions of Minuccio and Mico da Siena. Moreover, his marriage to Lisana has a 3

1

I b i d . , p. 7.

2

Ibid., p. 11.

3

Vide ante, pp. 5 4 9 , 4 3 8 - 4 0 , 445-7.

462

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

firm foundation in his well-tried affection, whereas at the end of Boccaccio's tale, Perdicone, of whom nothing has been heard before, is married to the heroine, 'he not gainsaying'. Even so, Procter's version has something of the atmosphere of a fairy-tale. On the other hand, there is more of the stuff of drama i n 'The Broken Heart', though it is allowed to transpire far too soon that the hero will die. The first scene shows a violent clash of wills between Jeronymo and his mother. The hero has returned to Florence from Paris and with bitter jests upbraids her. She is reduced to tears, as he declares that he will die, now that he knows of Sylvestra's marriage. There is an energy i n his character that Boccaccio's Girolamo lacks, and some of his chiding vaguely recalls Hamlet's rebuke of Queen Gertrude. He completely dominates his mother. Yet despite his resentment of her actions, his parting word is to bless her. The second scene, laid i n Sylvestra's bedchamber, enhances the impression of Jeronymo's nobility. After they have indulged i n reminiscences of childhood, they discover the cause of their estrangement. Neverthe­ less, when Jeronymo lies dying, he begs Sylvestra to forgive those who have wronged them: 1

2

One's a mother, and may feel, W h e n that she knows me dead. 3

As i n 'The Two Dreams' there is a sensational strain. Quite without need, Jeronymo talks to Sylvestra of ghosts in a way that fills her with terror: spirits quit their leaden urns, to t e m p t Wretches from sin. Some have been seen o'nights To stand and point their r a t t l i n g fingers at T h e red moon as i t rose; (perhaps to t u r n Man's thoughts on h i g h ) . Some their lean arms have stretch'd 'Tween murderers and their victims: Some have laugh'd Ghastly, upon—the bed of wantonness, And touch'd the limbs w i t h death. 4

Contrasting with this macabre element, Nature is used i n a passage where Sylvestra reminds her lover: How we were wont, on A u t u m n nights, to stray, Counting the clouds that pass'd across the moon And figuring many a shape grotesque: Camels and caravans, and m i g h t y beasts, Hot prancing steeds, and warriors p l u m ' d and h e l m ' d , A l l i n the blue sky floating. 6

' n o n recusante'. I t is interesting to compare this w i t h de Musset's comedy, Carmosine, on the same theme. Cf. H . Hauvette i n Bulletin italien, x i , i g i i and L . Lafoscade, Le Theatre d'Alfred de Musset, Paris, 1901, pp. 157-67. 1819 ed., p . 124. I b i d . , p . 119. I b i d . , p. 120. 1 2

3

4

6

THE

DRAMA

465

Such lines are by no means isolated i n Procter's plays. I n fact, his love of Nature is still more obvious in the opening scene of 'The Falcon'. Frederigo is sitting outside his cottage brooding over his poverty but finds consolation for his wretchedness i n the golden silence of the sunset. The entry of Giana and her maid sets the plot moving. The women withdraw to an arbour i n the orchard after Giana has learnt casually that Frederigo was disinherited by Count Filippo because he would not marry according to his wishes. Left alone, Frederigo summons Bianca and asks what they can offer the guests. He suggests, by a singular anachronism, that he should shoot something with his gun. But Bianca replies that this would take too long, as the birds are too shy because of his falcon Mars. This gives him an idea. He kills Mars, and the scene ends with Frederigo's lament over the falcon: Mars! m y brave bird, and have I killed thee, then, W h o was the truest servant—fed me, loved me so, W h e n all the w o r l d had left me? Never more Shall thou and I i n m i m i c battle play, Nor thou pretend to die, (to die, alas!) A n d w i t h t h y quaint and frolic tricks delight T h y master i n his solitude. 1

Then, after picturing the courage with which Mars would attack the fiercest birds of prey, Frederigo concludes: for me Who k i l l ' d t h e e — m u r d e r e d thee, poor b i r d ; for thou Wast w o r t h y of h u m a n i t y , and I Feel w i t h these shaking hands, as I had done A crime against m y race.

I n the second scene Giana explains her errand, her sick boy's desire for the falcon. The suspense is well maintained until i n the end Frederigo has to relate what he has done and why. She is already pre­ disposed i n his favour by his former devotion and by what she has heard of his being disinherited. Now i n her gratitude she declares that she will marry him forthwith. This leads to long, ecstatic speeches by Frederigo, punctuated only by Giana's remark 'Oh! you rave' or 'Why, now thou'rt mad indeed'. He can hardly bear to let her go, and his feelings culminate i n another lyrical outburst. To stress the mounting emotion the last sixteen lines abandon blank verse for the heroic couplet. As i n all his dramatic sketches Procter selects carefully from Boccaccio's tale and eliminates some events and characters. Nothing is heard of the boy's death, nor of the initial opposition of Giana's brothers to her marriage with Frederigo. Thus everything is directed towards 1

For ' T h e F a l c o n ' see 1857 ed.

464

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

the portrayal of Frederigo's relationship to Giana, but opportunities for dramatic conflict are thrown away. The last of the sketches, ' The Florentine Party', takes its name from the scene—a meadow, near Florence, sloping down to a river, with Fiesole visible i n the distance. From a wood there enter the narrators of the Decameron. The opening words, spoken by Neiphila, show that Procter was not insensitive to the graceful description at the beginning of the third day. When the company is seated, Philostratus tells the second story of that day. I t is treated with some freedom but the situation remains essentially the same. At the close the feast is served, Philostratus sings a song, and then Emilia tells another story, which is a free adaptation of that related by Neifile about Giannole and Minghino on the fifth day of the Decameron. The dialogue that precedes and accompanies the tales is brisker than usual i n Procter's work, and the narrative portion is condensed, so that the whole displays a sense of proportion. However, it is evident here as elsewhere i n these 'dramatic scenes' that he had no idea of practical stagecraft. They provide yet one more illustration of the unfamiliarity of many writers at this time with the needs of the theatre. How difficult i t was for serious drama to make itself heard is illus­ trated by Gerald Griffin's Gisippus. He finished it before his twentieth year was completed and hoped to see it performed at one of the bestknown theatres when he arrived i n London i n 1823. But as the preface to the play states, 1

at t h a t t i m e , t h e p u b l i c taste was v i t i a t e d b y m a n a g e r s w h o y i e l d e d t o t h e d e p r a v e d appetites o f t h e m u l t i t u d e , i n s t e a d o f e n d e a v o u r i n g t o c o r r e c t t h e m . M e c h a n i c a l w o n d e r s , cataracts o f r e a l w a t e r , b r i l l i a n t scenic r e p r e s e n t a t i o n s a n d sights o f a n a m p h i t h e a t r i c a l a n d p o p u l a r c h a r a c t e r u s u r p e d t h e place o f t h e l e g i t i m a t e drama, and after m a n y distressing difficulties, and m u c h v a l u a b l e t i m e sacrificed i n t h e a t t e m p t , h e g a v e i t u p as hopeless.

After Griffin's death his friends approached Charles Kean unsuccess­ fully, and they again failed when they submitted the play to the manager of one of the smaller theatres who based his rejection on a cursory reading of Gisippus on the outside of an omnibus. However, in the end Macready accepted it, and i t was produced at Drury Lane on 23 February 1842, with Macready as Gisippus and Helen Faucit as Sophronia. Like Charles Lloyd i n his verse tale, Griffin felt that the manner in which Boccaccio had allowed Gisippus to substitute his friend i n the nuptial union, without the knowledge or consent of Sophronia, was intolerable. Some justification had to be found, and she had to approve. The early part of the play is devoted to this problem. I t emerges 2

1

London, 1842.

2

Vide ante, pp. 4 2 6 - g .

THE

DRAMA

465

gradually that Titus Quintus Fulvius, known in the play as Fulvius, has for some time past been absorbed in his love for a girl of Corinth, but thanks to the scoffing advice of Chremes he resolves to forget her. As for Gisippus, he has been patiently wooing Sophronia for three years, and now after much hesitation she has agreed to marry him, though he is conscious that he has still not won her confidence. In the second scene of Act I Sophronia confesses to her friend Hero that she already repents her promise: W h a t an inconstant t h i n g is woman's w i l l , On what a trifle may the happiness Of a whole existence hang. A summer w i n d That is but air—nothing—may t u r n an argosy. And the poor word i n weary weakness uttered, H a t h power to bind beyond release or hope A life's whole destiny.

Then comes the news that Fulvius has been called to Rome, not because his father has died, as i n the Decameron, but by order of the Emperor. He catches sight of Sophronia who is veiled. She exercises a strange attraction, and he sets forth the doctrine of the elective affinities which Goethe had made familiar: I know not w h y , But though we sure have never met before, T h a t form already grows upon m y soul Familiar as a memory of its childhood. Our sages teach, (and now I find t h e m reasonable.) There is between the destinies of mortals A secret and mysterious coincidence D r a w n from one m i g h t y principle of Nature; A fixed necessity—a potent " m u s t " That sways mortality t h r o u g h all its harmonies! That souls are mingled and hearts wedded, ere Those souls have felt the dawning of a thought; Before those hearts have formed a pulse, or yet Begun to beat w i t h consciousness of being! M y heart is governed by a fate like this, And d r a w n to thee, unknown—unseen. ( I . ii)

The conversation turns to the lady of Corinth whom Fulvius had known, and it is disclosed that their estrangement was due to a misunderstanding. Sophronia throws back her veil, and Fulvius recog­ nises her as the woman whom he still loves. The knowledge that she is betrothed to his friend Gisippus and regards herself as bound to obedience reduces him to despair. Despite Fulvius's resolve to control himself, he interrupts the wedding festivities and quarrels with Gisippus, only to repent and declare that the latter shall yet think 2H

466

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

nobly of him. By this time the unhappy Sophronia wishes to defer the marriage, and Gisippus promises to release her from all obligations i f he can make her happy. But she knows herself committed and is not unmindful of duty and honour. Nevertheless, she feels that they are both victims and are going to a sacrifice, though he is unaware how profound is her misery. When Fulvius comes to see her once more, it is Sophronia who exhibits the greater strength of mind. She points out that i f they were to forget their obligations to Gisippus, they would forfeit their self-respect. Fulvius's sense of honour reawakens and, saying that Gisippus must never learn of their affection, he bids her farewell. Unknown to them, Gisippus has overheard all, and though he is over­ come with distress and foreboding of trouble to come, hurries them away to a temple where the nuptial rite is performed. The third act deals with the reasons for the disaster that now over­ takes Gisippus. As in Boccaccio the relatives of Sophronia are incensed against him. They even accuse him of accepting a bribe from Fulvius. But Griffin provides another explanation. Gisippus is sued by a money­ lender who is vividly described by Pheax: B u t n o w I m e t old Davus, the r i c h usurer, T a x i n g his w i t h e r e d l i m b s , t o seek his p l e a d e r , O n e s h r i v e l l e d a r m close p i n i o n e d t o his side, T h e h a n d fast c l e n c h e d u p o n a m u s t y p a r c h m e n t , W h i c h , n e x t his s k i n , l o o k e d f a i r ; t h e o t h e r w a n d e r i n g , W i t h b o n y f i n g e r s s t r e t c h e d , i n t h e act t o grasp, (Fit emblems of the miser's double craft, Getting and keeping )—his s m a l l weasel eyes G l a n c e d e v e r y w a y at o n c e — h i s c o u n t e n a n c e L o o k e d like a mask made out of an old d r u m - h e a d , I n w h i c h t h e bones at e v e r y m o t i o n r a t t l e d F r o m m e r e s t a r v a t i o n . F l e s h is a g a r m e n t , S i r , F a r too e x p e n s i v e f o r his use. 1

(III.

i)

Another new feature is Gisippus's intended appeal to Fulvius. A meeting is arranged before Gisippus has time to convey even a hint of his troubles, but a new messenger from Rome calls Fulvius away immediately. He writes to Gisippus but the latter feels that he has been deceived. Forthwith he is arrested and sold to a Sicilian merchant. I n anger Gisippus sends the parchment declaring him a slave to Fulvius. In the last two acts the scene is transferred from Athens to Rome. In spite of his success and his election to the office of praetor, Fulvius T h e fact t h a t this phrase is italicised is clearly meant to acknowledge the b o r r o w i n g f r o m Wordsworth's sonnet ' T h e w o r l d is too m u c h w i t h us'. 1

THE

DRAMA

467

is cold in his manner to Sophronia, because he holds her family respon­ sible for the misfortunes of Gisippus whom he has been unable to trace. I n contrast to the splendour i n which Fulvius lives is the poverty of Gisippus, who stands outside the praetor's mansion. Fulvius does not recognise the haggard and unkempt Gisippus, though the latter is convinced that his former friend has ignored him deliberately. His grief is turned to indignation when he is struck by the lictors and thrust aside. Chremes, who is the living friend of Fulvius and not, as in Boc­ caccio, the dead father of Gisippus, also fails at first to recognise him; he afterwards tries to console him and ponders how the two can be reconciled. If Griffin has made a minor change by substituting Fulvius as praetor for Boccaccio's Varro, his alteration of the episode of the two robbers i n the cave is more substantial. I t is, of course, a mere coinci­ dence that Gisippus should take refuge in this spot and witness the cmarrel i n which the one robber slays the other; equally it is by chance that Titus comes to the trial when Gisippus is charged with the murder and then, recognising his friend, attempts to take the guilt upon himself. Evidently Griffin felt that in the tale this sequence of coincidence demanded too much of the reader. He therefore eliminates the cave and the robbers, and brings about the recognition i n a differ­ ent way. Gisippus wanders away from Fulvius's house i n utter dejection until he reaches a burying-ground at nightfall, where, as he leans on a tomb, he soliloquises on death: This is his court, H e r e does h e h o l d his r e i g n o f stirless fear, Silence his t h r o n e — h i s r o b e o f m a j e s t y , T h e h u e o f g a t h e r i n g darkness. H e r e , his m i n i s t e r — T h e n i g h t - b i r d screams, a n d t h e hoarse r a v e n i t e r a t e s H i s w a r n i n g f r o m t h e l e f t . Diseases f l i t L i k e spectres t h r o u g h t h e g l o o m , c l o t h e d i n d a m p m i s t A n d t a i n t e d n i g h t - a i r — y e t t h e g r i m slayer W i l l send n o k i n d l y shaft t o m e . (iv. iii)

The macabre element has dramatic point, for Gisippus has barely ended his speech and descended into the tomb, when he witnesses a murder. Chremes, who is on an errand for Fulvius, is dogged by Lycias, a servant in the praetor's household. There is a long-standing feud between Chremes and Lycias which has culminated that day i n the dismissal of the latter, who left the house of Fulvius muttering threats against Chremes. Now he takes his revenge, and Chremes has only time to hand to Gisippus certain scrolls before he dies. It might be objected that Griffin has merely replaced one coincidence by another. But he prepares the way for this incident by the offer made by Fulvius

468

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

in the preceding scene of a guard to protect Chremes as he passed the burying-ground. A similar attempt at verisimilitude occurs i n con­ nexion with the recognition. The scrolls left by Chremes are taken to Fulvius i n his capacity as praetor, who learns from them that Gisippus is i n Rome, and when he is given the bloody sword of the supposed murderer, he perceives it to be that of his old friend. In the final scene at the place of execution Gisippus speaks bitterly against the injustice and inequality of the world and is bent on death, when Fulvius rushes i n to save him. Gisippus, his soul overflowing with all his long pent-up grievances, rebuffs him angrily. I t is only with the approach of Sophronia that he grows calmer and allows him­ self to be reconciled to Fulvius, exclaiming, as he fixes his eye on Sophronia, ' All for thee!' The ending is too hasty to be quite convincing, and occasionally the dramatic machinery creaks loudly. But there are some powerful moments i n the play. The sources of conflict are varied, and Griffin shows a command of tension and surprise. The play is well linked together, and although it is obviously a product of the age, it is free from the more extreme manifestations of romantic extravagance. Nevertheless, the theme was unable to hold the audience for any length of time. The story of Griseida did not afford very promising material to a nineteenth-century dramatist, but an effort to cast it into the form of a play was made by Sir Edwin Arnold i n 1856. Strangely enough, i n spite of the happy ending he styled it 'a tragedy', which suggests some confusion of purpose. I n order to spin out the plot for five acts numerous characters are introduced. Griseida has a village friend, Lenette, who accompanies her to court, and Jacinta, a waiting-woman. In addition to a councillor, Pietro Mala, Antonio, a lord i n waiting, and Martino, the sergeant of the guard, we find Bertolo, the headfalconer and Bertram, a troubadour. Martino is, of course, the agent for carrying out Walter's orders for the removal of the children to Padua, while conveying the impression to Griseida that they are to be put to death. Most of the others have little to do, beyond bringing messages, except to comment unfavourably on the actions of the marquis and to eulogise the conduct of Griseida. An attempt to provide some relief by a clash among these minor figures is hardly successful, for most of them remain colourless. The sergeant, who under the gruff exterior that he has been commanded to display to Griseida hates the 1

A n adaptation of a G e r m a n play on the subject by ' F . H a l m ', i.e. E . F. J., F r e i h e r r von Munch-Bellinghausen, had been made by Sir R. A . Anstruther. I t was first p r i n t e d i n 1840 and performed at E d i n b u r g h on 26 January 1841 (cf. A . N i c o l l , A History of Early Nineteenth Century Drama, 1800-1850, Cambridge, 1950, i i , p. 244). 1

THE

DRAMA

469

task i m p o s e d u p o n h i m , has some v i t a l i t y , b u t he has too s l i g h t a for m o r e c a r e f u l d e l i n e a t i o n . O n l y Janicola, Griselda's aged f a t h e r , m u c h i n d i v i d u a l i t y . H e is a t t r a c t i v e i n his r o b u s t i n d e p e n d e n c e his s h r e w d peasant distrust o f t h e m a r q u i s ' s desire t o m a r r y daughter.

part has and his

A r n o l d follows Boccaccio i n p r e s e n t i n g Griselda's u n b r e a k a b l e l o v e a n d w i f e l y patience. O n l y once does i t s h o w signs o f g i v i n g w a y , a n d t h a t is w h e n she is s u m m o n e d t o r e t u r n f r o m h e r cottage t o get t h e palace r e a d y f o r t h e supposed n e w b r i d e . T h e d r a m a t i s t does his best to depict W a l t e r ' s a n g u i s h of m i n d , as he piles u p one s o r r o w after t h e o t h e r o n t h e m e e k Griselda's head. B u t his w h o l e scheme is a m y s t e r y , a n d n o t e v e n A r n o l d ' s suggestion t h a t t h e p l a n e m a n a t e d f r o m W a l t e r ' s sister can j u s t i f y his a c t i o n or r e n d e r i t palatable t o t h e m o d e r n reader. I n order t o enhance t h e v a l u e of his p l a y A r n o l d i n t r o d u c e s a n u m b e r of l y r i c s . M o s t of these are placed i n t h e m o u t h o f B e r t r a m , t h e t r o u b a ­ d o u r , b u t a stanza l i k e t h e f o l l o w i n g gives l i t t l e confidence i n his c r a f t : A l l t h e woes t h e m o r r o w s m a k e us N e v e r s p o i l e d a p r e s e n t bliss; Feres t h a t t a k e us m a y forsake us, D i o ! — d e a r e r is t h e kiss; Better t h e n to love and rue i t T h a n to never love. (II. iii)

T h o u g h he is called B e r t r a m d i Bocca d ' O r o , he h a r d l y lives u p t o his n a m e . I n fact, Griseida is q u i t e his e q u a l i n song. She sings one stanza i n A c t I , Sc. i i , j u s t before t h e first appearance o f t h e m a r q u i s at h e r h o m e , a n d t h e f u l l l y r i c , o f w h i c h t h i s stanza is a p a r t , i m m e d i a t e l y before t h e d e a t h o f h e r f a t h e r . 1

2

Griseida has t h e p o w e r o f poetic speech o n m a n y occasions and, e v e n w h e n she is p l e a d i n g w i t h B e r t r a m f o r a s i m p l e song, h e r choice o f w o r d s is o u t o f k e e p i n g w i t h h e r h u m b l e o r i g i n : I have t h o u g h t , L i s t e n i n g to m a n y a m o d e r n line and lay Of m i n s t r e l s y e x c e l l i n g , t h a t t h e i r s t r i n g s S t r o v e f o r too g r e a t a n u t t e r a n c e , a n d so m i s s e d T h e ready road t h a t q u i e t m u s i c finds R i g h t t o t h e h e a r t ; l i k e as a n o ' e r s t r a i n e d b o w Shoots past t h e b u t t . D a m e N a t u r e d o t h n o t t h u s , A n d m i n s t r e l s are h e r c h i l d r e n , a n d s h o u l d s t a n d Close at t h e i r m o t h e r ' s k n e e t o l e a r n o f h e r . L o o k ! w h e n she w i l l be b e a u t i f u l o r g r e a t , She strains n o t f o r h e r r a i n b o w or h e r stars, 1

2

B e r t r a m of the M o u t h of Gold. He comes disguised as a trader, an incident u n k n o w n to Boccaccio.

470

T H E DECAMERON I N THE NINETEENTH CENTURY B u t w i t h deft f i n g e r w o r k s h e r w o n d e r s i n W i t h an unruffled quiet, a soul-felt A n d u n r e g a r d f u l strength,—so t h a t her storms, H e r c a l m s , n i g h t , d a y , m o o n - r i s i n g s a n d sunsets, Wood-songs and river-songs, a n d waves and w i n d s , C o m e w i t h o u t noise o f c o m i n g . A h ! I l o v e , W h e n 'tis voiced t e n d e r l y — a simple song,— A song w h e r e t o t h e c a u g h t ear l i s t e n s close, T o h e a r a h e a r t , a n d n o t a c h o r d speak o u t Musical truthfulness. (II.

hi)

The voice is the voice of Griseida, but the words are those of Arnold who is satisfying his lyric instinct at the expense of his dramatic purpose. For him the mediaeval period was an age of high romance, and the trials of Griseida, like the troubadours, tournaments and merchants i n disguise i n the background of the play, belong to a pale land of wonder which is remote from the traffic of the stage. A far better play is Mary Elizabeth Braddon's Griseida, which was licensed for performance at the Princess Theatre on 8 November 1873. From the beginning it has a firmer foothold on reality. I n the opening scene i n the homely surroundings of Griselda's cottage home, her father Paolo is shown i n conversation with her mother Anna. He has just returned from Saluzzo. Fatigued by the journey, he is i n an irritable mood, for he has learnt that the handsome young cavalier, who since the spring has been paying attentions to Griseida, is none other than the marquis himself. His wife, who bustles about her preparations for their meal, agrees with him, though reluctantly, that the visits must cease. But their anxiety about Griselda's virtue is momentarily forgotten when Anna exclaims: 1

Saints I s m e l l A smell of b u r n i n g — T i s the macaroni.

This exposition is followed by the entrance of the villain, Cosmo, the cousin of the marquis. He has heard of Gualtiero's love-affair and assumes that it is a low amour. An ambitious aristocrat, he feels only contempt for any one who can stoop T o b r e a t h e l o v e w h i s p e r s i n t h e w i l l i n g ear O f some r u d e shepherds w e n c h , w i t h b l o w z y cheeks, A f l a t face t a n n e d b y s u m m e r s fiercest suns A n d r o u g h e n e d b y east w i n d s .

For his part, he will soar as high as the stars; and a king's daughter is a fitting spouse for him. At this moment Gualtiero enters and asks whether Cosmo knows the inmates of the cottage. He rejects with 1

A t present i n the L o r d Chamberlain's archives at St. James's Palace.

THE

DRAMA

471

disdain the suggestion that he could he acquainted with uncouth peasants: The male a clod, His female like h i m — a n d their spawn, young clods, Shaped the paternal image—huge rough hands— Splay feet—flat noses—swart and freckled skins, T h i c k waists—coarse h a i r — i n brief a k i n d of delf Made for the common uses of this life And of no account w h e n broken.

Gualtiero, on the other hand, maintains that God in his justice counter­ balances the hardship of poverty by compensating bounties: and among t h e m You may count beauty—on Giottos canvas The peasant g i r l w i t h lifted dovelike eyes Becomes the ideal Madonna—Your true painter Asks not the lineage of the beautiful.

With characteristic cynicism Cosmo proposes that Gualtiero should enjoy Griselda's love without marriage, but the marquis will not listen. He has long been urged to marry, but though he has sought far and wide and encountered many who were fair, and some of rank and wealth that would have doubled his own, he has found none after his own heart except Griseida. His courtiers, who have arrived, appear to agree with his romantic design, but among themselves declare him mad. He bids the ladies of the court enter the cottage and array Griseida, and when she comes out i n her bridal attire, even Cosmo is impressed: I f beauty could destroy a plain man's peace Her's is the face to do i t .

The second act presents Gualtiero and Griseida i n a terraced garden of the palace at Saluzzo. Their happiness is complete. He has lavished robes, gems and money upon her, and she i n her turn has used this wealth to relieve the wants of the poor: I scarce could bear the burden of m y gladness W e r ' t not that I can share i t w i t h the humble.

However, news comes that this joyful idyll will have to be interrupted, for the Genoese are preparing an army against the infidel pirates of Barbary, and Gualtiero's support is expected. Griseida instinctively rebels, but on reflection she feels it right that he should play his part. He contemplates entrusting her to the care of Cosmo i n his absence. Griseida has misgivings about him, but acquiesces i n the end. When Griseida has gone out, Cosmo brings i n Lelio, the steward of Gualtiero. Lelio produces his accounts and proves that the revenues have been squandered since the marriage. He complains of Griselda's extravagance:

472

T H E DECAMERON

IN T H E N I N E T E E N T H

CENTURY

she gives r i g h t and left—noon and n i g h t — I n k i n d and money—the gown off her back— The pasty from the larder. She has made Your villa on the h i l l an hospital— Adopts stray children—shelters aged beggars. I saw three i n the kitchen as I passed, Disputing for a roast k i d stuffed w i t h chesnuts. The palace is demoralised.

Quick to seize an opportunity, Cosmo declares that Griseida loves her husband only because he tolerates her lavish expenditure and insinu­ ates that her love would not stand a serious test. Gualtiero proclaims his faith i n her, but doubt has been sown i n his mind, and after some hesitation he is won over by Cosmo's proposal that he should be allowed to try her constancy. His attitude to Griseida changes abruptly, and when she returns, holding her gown full of bread which she distributes to the children and beggars that follow her, he rebukes her. Griseida is nonplussed and can only ask ' am I dreaming?' However, Gualtiero continues to speak harshly and even hints that she may help him by killing herself. Rejecting her entreaties, he tells her that he means to marry again, this time a lady of noble birth which wrings from Griseida a cry of anguish: No, not that I could not suffer that.

He then says that out of compassion, so that she may not witness this, he will send her to an ancient hunting lodge. I n a moving speech Griseida replies: L e t i t be where thou w i l t . Showed i t more fair T h a n these t h y gardens, r u n n i n g o'er w i t h flowers A n d musical w i t h nightingales, i t were A l i v i n g grave to me w i t h o u t t h y presence: But I w i l l not complain—thou hast been pleased To mock me w i t h a dream of happiness; So swift awaking dazes me; I have not all m y sense l e f t — B u t I know T h a t thou canst change m y fate, but not m y love. T h a t lives above t h y power to wound or slay A n d w i l l live on, though t h o u shouldst neer be moved F r o m this strange cruelty. I've been t h y wife Just three short months, and I shall be t h y slave To the end of life.

Gualtiero is swayed by her gentle submission and relents: M y love, awake; sweet, i t was but a jest. Shame on m y folly! I have been too hard. Look up, Griseida; I do love thee more For t h y divinest patience—if a love So full could know increase.

THE

DRAMA

475

Cosmo calls him a consummate fool and bids him complete the work by sending her to the lodge in the gloomy mountains. It is here that Act I I I takes place. Griselda's attendant, Anita, describes the noble spirit of her mistress who, i n spite of Gualtiero's strange behaviour, will hear nothing against him. She displays the courage of a Roman wife and spends her time i n prayer and i n caring for her son to whom she has given birth. On the arrival of Lelio, Griseida is eager for news of Gualtiero. But Lelio can only bring rumours of his wild revelry i n the Genoese camp and of an attempt to obtain a dispensation from the Pope, so that he may marry the daughter of Duke Malatesta. To which Griseida replies indignantly: Little know I T h e laws of c h u r c h or state—but this I k n o w — H e a v e n m a d e us one, a n d if t h e Pope can p a r t us, God a n d t h e Pope m u s t be a n t a g o n i s t s .

Once more her anger bursts forth when Lelio points out that i f Gual­ tiero marries again, her son will become illegitimate. Like Hermione in The Winter's Tale she is less concerned about herself than about the slur on her child. Her inclination is to speak out boldly and denounce Cosmo to his face for his share i n her grief. But for her son's sake she resolves to control her feelings. The entry of Cosmo leads to a scene of mounting tension. He tries to kindle her jealousy by talking of the daughter of Malatesta, but she remains meekly silent. Then he harps on the supposed desire of Gualtiero for a son of great lineage on both sides. This elicits only a calm reply: I have read history, Signor, i n m y prison A n d t h e r e I f i n d t h e greatest m e n h a v e o w e d F a m e t o t h e i r deeds, a n d n o t t h e i r ancestors.

However, when he declares his passionate love for her, she can restrain herself no more and condemns his duplicity. The arrival of Gualtiero puts an end to the wooing which Griseida now interprets as a device to test her fidelity. The two go out to see their child, but Cosmo has had him and Anita removed, i n the hope that, the child once gone, he will prevail the more easily i n his designs on Griseida. A moment later Gualtiero returns with the news that the child is missing. He is fol­ lowed by Griseida who refuses to look at Gualtiero, lest she should curse him, and wanders away distraught to seek her son among the moun­ tains. In Act IV, which opens in Paolo's cottage, Gualtiero is stricken with remorse. He has come to kneel at the feet of Griseida and to ask for pity. Gradually she regains consciousness and a reconciliation takes place. I n the second scene Lelio grumbles to Anita about the banquet that has been ordered, though no one knows what it is for. I t offends

474

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

his sense of economy. I n the final scene Cosmo reveals that he is equally puzzled, but he has determined that i f Gualtiero is to marry again, then he will take Griseida, for his evil passion has been trans­ formed into genuine love. This is part of the dramatist's preparation for a happy ending. Gualtiero has breathed threats of bloody vengeance to be inflicted on Cosmo, but in the end the punishment is psychologi­ cal. Cosmo has been sent to bring in the new marchioness. He raises her veil to present the lady to the citizens, only to find that it is Griseida. Though Gualtiero calls him a double traitor, he is content with having baffled him, and when Cosmo kneels to Griseida, she bids him rise, and the play ends on a note of forgiveness and rejoicing. By the introduction of Cosmo, Miss Braddon places the chief respon­ sibility for Griselda's trials on his shoulders. Gualtiero may seem too credulous and pliant, but he is no sadist. The reduction of the number of children to one son involves a limitation of the period of Griselda's suffering and a corresponding diminution of the strain on the spectator's sense of probability. I n every way the test is made more tolerable. However, the outstanding feature of the play is the greater importance attached to the heroine. She has a richer personality than her counter­ part i n Boccaccio. I f she is submissive, it is either because of her love of her husband or of her affection for her child. She is certainly not an automaton and has plenty of spirit beneath her self-control. I n the hour of trial her dignity and restraint are faintly reminiscent of Shakespeare's Hermione. Her care for the poor from whom she had sprung is another sympathetic trait, and her conduct justifies her claim that nobility is to be gauged not by titles, but by actions. By contrast, Lelio serves in part a comic purpose. His prosaic concern with expendi­ ture, his complaint of waste, even while he feathers his nest by exacting five per cent from all tradesmen, lets i n the air of everyday life. Thus he acts as a counterpoise to the lofty emotion of the lovers, and even i f the play as a whole is one of idealistic and romantic devo­ tion, it is not detached from reality. Though Miss Braddon modifies Boccaccio's tale considerably, her adaptation has a sound basis in the need for adjustment in the process of transferring the story into a play. She displays some grasp of the stage, and i n particular uses suspense and surprise effectively. Only the ending is somewhat tame and uncon­ vincing. In April 1882, nine years after the production of Griseida, R. Reece and H . B. Farnie wrote Boccaccio, which they described as an 'Opera Comique' in three acts, with music by F. von Suppe. I t is a fantasy, which has but the slenderest connexion with Boccaccio's life, though it does draw upon some tales of the Decameron. Boccaccio, who is 1

1

A t present i n the L o r d Chamberlain's archives at St. James's Palace.

THE

DRAMA

475

referred to as a 'Student, Romancer and Satirist', is the central figure. He revels i n disguise and is here, there and everywhere, animating all and directing the action. He is i n love with Fiametta who has been brought up as the adopted daughter of Lambertuccio, an olive-grower. Disguised as a yokel, he persuades Lambertuccio that a tree i n his garden is haunted and induces him to climb it. I n the interval he kisses Fiametta. Like his prototype Nicostratus, Lambertuccio resolves to have the tree felled. The original tale has obviously been toned down, and so has another, which is used i n Act I I . I n this episode of the opera, Pietro, prince of Palermo, woos Isabella, the wife of a cooper named Lotteringhi. When the cooper returns home, the prince is forced to hide i n a barrel. Isabella explains to her husband that she has sold the barrel to a contractor. Pietro emerges and says: 'For six crowns I expect a sound cask. Do you call this watertight, sir?' To which the intoxicated Lotteringhi replies: ' Ash watertight ash I am!' The grand duke of Florence had wished the prince of Palermo to marry his niece, and it now turns out that this is none other than Fiametta. But at the close the match is broken off, and the grand duke, anxious to make amends to his niece for her forced betrothal, gives his consent to her marriage with the man of her choice. She chooses Boccaccio. The prince is resigned to his lot, and all ends in general rejoicing. It would seem that the opera is a free adaptation of a comedy i n five acts by Bayard. This, however, is much closer in spirit to the tales of amorous adventure in the Decameron, whereas the English version conforms to the pattern of romance and culminates in the marriage of the poor man of genius to the lady of high degree. Though there was no such disparity of rank, it was a disparity of fortune i n two lovers that formed the basis of Tennyson's one-act play, The Falcon. This was accepted by the Kendals and performed for the first time at the St. lames's Theatre on 18 December 1879. I t was well received and ran for sixty-seven nights. As the dramatist was able to read Italian, it is possible that he knew the tale i n its original form. However, it is certain that he also relied on the text of the translation of 1741, as it was to he found in numerous editions. There he could find the names ' Giovanna' and ' Federigo degli Alberighi'. There is a 1

2

3

4

5

6

Dec. v i i , g. Dec. v i i , 2. T h e name is borrowed f r o m Dec. v i i , 1. Boccace, ou le Decameron, acted for the first t i m e i n Paris on 23 February 1853. Cf. Bibliotheque Dramatique, v o l . 4g. C. Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, London, i g 4 g , p. 4 4 7 ; A . N i c o l l , A History of Late Nineteenth Century Drama, Cambridge, i g 4 6 , i i , p . 594. T h e edition of 1741 reads ' F r e d e r i g o ' , b u t f r o m 1804 onwards the name was replaced i n this version by ' F e d e r i g o ' . 1

3 4

5

6

2

476

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

t e x t u a l p a r a l l e l w h e n G i o v a n n a , i n r e p l y t o Federigo's r e m a r k , ' ' T i s l o n g since w e h a v e m e t ! ' , says: To m a k e a m e n d s I c o m e t h i s d a y t o b r e a k m y fast w i t h y o u .

1

A g a i n , t h e r e is an echo of t h e t r a n s l a t i o n w h e n G i o v a n n a , c o m m e n t i n g o n h e r b r o t h e r ' s desire t o m a r r y h e r t o a r i c h m a n , observes: I t h i n k you know the saying— ' B e t t e r a m a n w i t h o u t r i c h e s , t h a n riches w i t h o u t a m a n ' . 2

I t has b e e n s u g g e s t e d t h a t T e n n y s o n was a c q u a i n t e d w i t h L o n g f e l l o w ' s 3

r h y m e d v e r s i o n ' T h e F a l c o n o f Ser F e d e r i g o ' i n Tales Inn,

of a

Wayside

b u t t h e evidence g i v e n is n o t c o n v i n c i n g . I n fact, t h e i m p r e s s i o n 4

left b y a comparison of the play w i t h earlier interpretations of the s t o r y is n o t o f T e n n y s o n ' s indebtedness, b u t o f his i n d e p e n d e n c e . T h e w o m a n t h a t F e d e r i g o h a d t o a t t e n d h i m i n his p o v e r t y is o f so l i t t l e i m p o r t a n c e i n Boccaccio t h a t she is nameless a n d is m e n t i o n e d o n l y i n a f e w w o r d s . T e n n y s o n developed h e r i n t o a c h a r a c t e r t h a t is a n y t h i n g b u t s h a d o w y . As Federigo's o l d n u r s e she is d e v o t e d to h i m b u t she

takes a d v a n t a g e o f h e r

p r i v i l e g e d p o s i t i o n t o criticise his

e x t r a v a g a n c e . T h e most conspicuous instance o f his f o l l y is t h e purchase o f a d i a m o n d necklace t h a t G i o v a n n a admires a n d his g i f t o f i t a n o n y ­ m o u s l y t o h e r . P o i n t is l e n t t o Elisabetta's s c a t h i n g c o m m e n t b y t h e s i g h t o f h e r as she sits d a r n i n g i n t h e o p e n i n g scene. She is e q u a l l y caustic i n h e r c o m m e n t s o n G i o v a n n a , t h o u g h she has a weakness f o r h e r a n d s t i l l hopes t h a t she

w i l l relent and m a r r y Federigo.

How

l i f e l i k e t h i s m i n o r f i g u r e is m a y be seen f r o m t h e f o l l o w i n g passage: I k n e w i t w o u l d c o m e t o t h i s . She has b e g g a r e d h i m . I a l w a y s k n e w i t w o u l d c o m e to t h i s ! {Goes up to table as if to resume darning, and looks out of window.) W h y , as I l i v e , t h e r e is M o n n a G i o v a n n a c o m i n g d o w n t h e h i l l f r o m t h e castle. Stops a n d stares at o u r cottage. A y , a y ! stare at i t ; i t ' s a l l y o u h a v e l e f t us. S h a m e o n y o u ! She b e a u t i f u l ! sleek as a m i l l e r ' s m o u s e ! M e a l e n o u g h , m e a t e n o u g h , w e l l f e d ; b u t b e a u t i f u l — b a h ! N a y , see, w h y she t u r n s d o w n t h e p a t h t h r o u g h o u r l i t t l e v i n e y a r d , a n d I sneezed t h r e e t i m e s t h i s m o r n i n g . C o m i n g The Falcon, 1884 ed., p . 105. Cf. 1741 translation: T a m come to make you some amends . . .' I b i d . , p . 137. Cf. 1741 translation: ' I would sooner have a m a n t h a t stands i n need of riches, t h a n riches w i t h o u t a m a n ' . R u d o l f Anschiitz, Boccaccios Novelle vom Falken und ihre Verbreitung in der Litteratur, Erlangen, 1892, p. 34. Some of Anschiitz's arguments fail because he o m i t t e d to take into account the E n g l i s h translation of 1741. As for his contention t h a t the friendship of Giovanna's l i t t l e son w i t h Federigo, and his consequent desire for the falcon t h a t he had come to know w e l l , were inspired by Longfellow, the s i m i l a r i t y is to be explained as arising f r o m t h e original tale. T h e other parallels t h a t Anschiitz traces between Tennyson and L a Fontaine, Dauvilliers, Sedaine, J. Barbier and M . Carre do not prove t h a t he h a d even heard of t h e m . 1

2

3

4

THE

DRAMA

477

to visit m y lord, for the first time i n her life too! W h y , Mess the saints! I ' l l be bound to confess her love to h i m at last. I forgive her, I forgive her! I k n e w i t would come to t h i s — I always knew i t must come to t h i s ! 1

A n o t h e r person t h a t Elisahetta rebukes is F i l i p p o . H e is Federigo's f o s t e r - b r o t h e r , a n d w h e n his t o n g u e wags too f r e e l y , she disciplines h i m as i f he w e r e s t i l l a b o y , t h o u g h he is a soldier w h o has served i n t h e w a r s . H e is ever f u l l o f l i g h t - h e a r t e d jests, a n d despite

Federigo's

e x t r e m e p o v e r t y , F i l i p p o takes i t a l l w i t h i r o n i c l a u g h t e r . T h u s

he

i n f o r m s Federigo t h a t t h e y h a v e no s i l v e r spoons l e f t : Sold! but shall I not m o u n t w i t h your lordship's leave to her ladyship's castle, i n your lordship's and her ladyship's name, and confer w i t h her ladyship's seneschal, and so descend again w i t h some of her ladyship's own appurte­ nances. 2

A g a i n , as he w a i t s o n G i o v a n n a at t a b l e , w i t h t h e same m o c k - e x a g g e r a ­ t i o n o f respect he says: Here's a fine salad for m y lady, for tho' we have been a soldier, and ridden by his lordship's side, and seen the red of the battle-field, yet are we now d r i l l sergeant to his lordship's lettuces, and profess to be great i n green things and i n garden-stuff. 3

W i t h his o u t w a r d air of nonchalance

a n d capacity f o r a h u m o r o u s

a t t i t u d e i n a desperate s i t u a t i o n he is a n o r i g i n a l c r e a t i o n . L i k e t h e s u b o r d i n a t e figures i n t h e u n d e r - p l o t s o f Shakespeare's comedies, Elisahetta a n d F i l i p p o g i v e us t h e sense o f r e a l i t y i n contrast t o t h e r o m a n c e o f t h e m a i n characters' actions. I n various w a y s T e n n y ­ son has e n r i c h e d t h i s r o m a n t i c colour. A n i m p o r t a n t device, i n v e n t e d b y h i m , is a w i t h e r e d w r e a t h t h a t hangs o n t h e w a l l w h e n t h e c u r t a i n rises. W e b e g i n t o perceive its significance about h a l f - w a y t h r o u g h t h e play. Federigo, t a k i n g i t d o w n , tells Giovanna: T h a t w i t h e r ' d w r e a t h is o f m o r e w o r t h t o m e T h a n all t h e blossom, all t h e leaf o f this New-wakening year. 4

T e n n y s o n , aware o f t h e u n d e s i r a b i l i t y of d e l a y i n g t h e a c t i o n , resists t h e t e m p t a t i o n to insert a l o n g description w h i c h w o u l d have g i v e n h i m pleasure, a n d t h e m a t e r i a l t h a t he i n t r o d u c e s is l i n k e d to t h e p l o t . F e d e r i g o recalls b r i e f l y h o w he o b t a i n e d t h e w r e a t h : A lady that was beautiful as day Sat by me at a rustic festival W i t h other beauties on a mountain meadow, A n d she was the most beautiful of a l l ; T h e n but fifteen, and still as beautiful. The mountain flowers grew thickly round about. 1 3

1884 ed., pp. 99—100. I b i d . , pp. 123—4.

2

4

I b i d . , p. 113. I b i d . , pp. 109-10.

478

T H E DECAMERON

IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

I made a wreath w i t h some of these; I ask'd A ribbon from her hair to bind i t w i t h ; I whisper'd, L e t me crown you Queen of Beauty, And softly placed the chaplet on her head. 1

The young lady was Giovanna, and it is disclosed that when she rose and the wreath fell on the ground, she was too shy to return for it, and Federigo, thinking himself scorned, went off to the wars. I n a romantic fashion that Bernard Shaw's Bluntschli would not have com­ mended, he wore the wreath like a rosary round his neck when he went into battle and, stained with his blood, i t accompanied him as a prisoner. The gradual revelation of these facts moves Giovanna pro­ foundly, but though she is now a widow and free to marry again, there is a serious obstacle. Her brother is opposed to the match for a reason unknown to Boccaccio. There is a long-standing hostility between their families, like that which separates Romeo from Juliet. As Giovanna explains, His grandsire struck m y grandsire i n a brawl A t Florence, and m y grandsire stabb'd h i m there. The feud between our houses is the bar I cannot cross. 2

Nevertheless, her emotion grows slowly more intense, and when she learns that Federigo has sacrificed his beloved falcon to provide her with a meal, her love triumphs. Tennyson gives the play a happy ending, for he refuses to let Giovanna's son die, Federigo declaring: W e two together W i l l help to heal your son—your son and m i n e — W e shall do i t — w e shall do i t ! 3

These words show how far apart are Tennyson and Boccaccio, for even in his tales of romance the latter did not shrink from grief and pain. Yet even i f this Tennysonian romance does not ring quite true, and even i f there is substance i n Fanny Kemble's criticism that it is ' an exquisite little poem i n action', at least he has succeeded in imparting to i t by means of his humorous and lifelike characters an air of greater reality than we can find i n many of the nineteenth-century plays on themes taken from the Decameron. 4

1 4

1884 ed., pp. 110—11. I b i d . , p . 104. I b i d . , p. 145. Alfred Lord Tennyson a Memoir by his Son, London, 1897, i i , p . 242. 2

3

CONCLUSION S a result of our investigation i t is clear that Boccaccio's influence extended in many directions and penetrated into the most -L A.remote nooks and crannies. I t affected the ruler and his courtiers as well as the humble listeners to the ballad; it absorbed the scholar i n his study no less than the crowd in the theatre. At the same time we observe how the interest i n his writings shifts from period to period, focusing now on one form, now on another, so that as we proceed from the Middle Ages to the end of the nineteenth century, the pageant of literary modes unfolds before us i n response to the subtle variations of taste and the cultural forces of successive eras. At the beginning, as in France and Spain, it was the Latin works that predominated. They brought the mythology of the ancient world within the scope of a wider circle of readers and helped to lay the foundations of literary criticism. Still more important i n some respects, they presented a gallery of portraits of the great figures of classical antiquity; the vicissitudes i n their careers were traced, and they became living models of vices to be shunned and virtues to be extolled. Through the agency of Lydgate working on the authors of The Mirror for Magistrates other exemplars were found in the annals of Britain, which prepared the way for the history play and, when the mechanical conception of Fortune's wheel had yielded place to the mysteries of Fate and human character, opened up the possibilities of Elizabethan 1

tragedy. The illustrious figures of De casibus and De claris

mulieribus

provided material for the great controversy on the merits and de­ merits of women, and the disputants found ample support for their opposing points of view i n Boccaccio. However, the power of his learned compilations had begun to wane by the end of the sixteenth century and was soon to be exhausted, though the awe-inspiring figure of Demogorgon was to emerge once more at the command of Shelley. It was hut natural that the Latin writings should at first be those most commonly read, since their language was the international medium of communication. The knowledge of Italian, on the other hand, was a much rarer accomplishment. Hence the wonderful good fortune for English literature that its first great poet was sent on O n the importance of this see F. B r i e , ' M i t t e l a l t e r u n d A n t i k e bei L y d g a t e ' , Englische Studien, 1929, lxiv, pp. 2 6 1 - 3 0 1 . 1

480

CONCLUSION

missions in the course of which he could hear the tongue of Boccaccio and obtain the manuscripts of the Teseida and the Filostrato which inspired the Knightes

Tale

and Troilus

and Criseyde.

But it was

not

until the sixteenth century was well advanced that a greater proficiency in Italian became more usual, though even then French often served as an intermediary. Still, before 1600 Fiammetta,

the Ninfale

Fiesolano

and a part of the Filocolo had been given to the English public. On the other hand, the Decameron was relatively slow i n making itself felt, and i n this respect sixteenth-century England offers a striking contrast to Italy and Germany. There is no English writer who has recourse to the hundred tales so frequently as Hans Sachs, and the impact on the period as a whole is less massive than i n these two countries. This phenomenon can be explained to some extent by the lack of a translation of the whole work till 1620. Nevertheless, stimu­ lated by Chaucer's example as a narrator of tales in verse, three stories had found their way into English through French or Latin versions i n the fifteenth century; others followed i n the sixteenth, again through the old channels, but also, in the latter part of the age, direct from the Italian. Many of them were regarded as examples of the caprices of Fortune, and therefore in keeping with those afforded by De casibus and A Mirror for Magistrates. The writers who retold Boccaccio's tales were also familiar with this English continuation, and one of them found nothing incongruous in the embodiment of a stanza from it i n a story from the Decameron. Serious tales such as those of Grisild, Titus and Gisippus, and Guiscardo and Ghismonda were used for early experiments i n drama. Towards the end of the period, however, signs of an interest i n more light-hearted themes were evident i n prose versions and i n plays. But it remained for the seventeenth century, especially after the translation of 1620 had appeared, to exploit the tales of amorous intrigue in numerous comedies. Some of them, which introduced low life, were utilised for under-plots that served as a counterpart to the subject-matter of the main action. In the eighteenth century, as Italian literary influence declined while that of France grew in importance, Boccaccio lost something of his popularity. The more serious tone in the drama militated against the choice of themes from the Decameron. I n spite of this, a few play­ wrights maintained the tradition, and Garrick struck out a new path with his Cymon, from which, even i f its aesthetic value is slight, sprang a long succession of farces and pantomimes extending well into the 1

2

For an account of the influence of the Decameron i n I t a l y , vide post, p. 4 8 2 . Cf. Julius H a r t m a n , Das Verhaltnis von Hans Sachs zur sogenannten Steinhowelschen Decameronubersetzung {Acta Germanica, ed. R . Henning, Neue Reihe, Heft 2 ) , B e r l i n , 1 9 1 2 , and i n p a r t i c u l a r the ' U b e r s i c h t iiber die auf die Decameron-Ubersetzung zuriickgehende deutsche L i t e r a t u r des X V I . Jahrhunderts' (pp. 5—18). 1 2

CONCLUSION

481

nineteenth century. The falling off i n eighteenth-century drama was accompanied by vigorous development elsewhere, and the preoccupa­ tion with low life expanded from comedy to prose narrative, when Smith and Johnson pilfered the Decameron for adventures which they ascribed to English highwaymen. The tale i n verse, aided by La Fontaine, received a powerful stimulus from Dryden's Fables, and the example set by him of introducing allusions to contemporary affairs reinforced the well-established tendency to assimilate Boccaccio's stories to English surroundings. When joined with more personal comment i n the manner of Byron, this practice later created a medley as strange as anything i n an English pantomime. I n the Fables too the eighteenth-century bent for satire found expression through the medium of the Decameron, and i n other hands than those of Dryden it became yet more active. An anti-clerical bias which had peeped through i n the sixteenth century now at times came into the open and lingered there into the Victorian era. The sentimental love-story did not thrive in the eighteenth century, though ' The Unfortunate Lovers' combined an emotional appeal with the age-old lament over the fickleness of Fortune. However, it was i n the nineteenth century that the romantic tales in the Decameron flourished most freely, ranging from gentle idealism and unswerving devotion to fierce passion and the bitter-sweet of love, and i n this sphere Hazlitt's advocacy moved both poets and dramatists. The story of the falcon i n particular enjoyed a popularity which had a parallel on the Continent and i n America. A new impetus was derived from a group of writers who were familiar with Italy, some of them with Boccaccio's native haunts. But whether the poets themselves had visited Florence, Naples and Fiesole or not, as was to be expected of an age that delighted i n Nature, they adorned their verse with landscape descrip­ tions. Occasionally these are employed with great effect as i n Keats's 'Isabella', but more often they are developed to excess, and the narrators are as uncontrolled i n their design as in their display of senti­ ment. Not unconnected with this phenomenon is the new interest in the background of Boccaccio's masterpiece. To this earlier writers had apparently remained insensitive, though Henry Tilney is a notable exception. For the most part they regarded the Decameron merely as a treasury of good tales. Coleridge, however, was quick to realise the delicate charm of the rural setting, and engravers like Stothard and Turner were soon invited to embellish the Italian scene by their art. It is likely that the idea of such book-illustration was suggested by the work of some of the most famous French engravers i n eighteenthcentury editions of the Decameron. I t is also conceivable that Hogarth 1

1

21

Vide ante, p. 309.

482

CONCLUSION

and Fuseli were inspired i n the same way to portray on canvas striking figures or episodes in the tales, this tradition being sustained and reanimated by the Pre-Raphaelites. What with one cause and another, the Decameron had by now ousted all the other works from the mind of the public at large, so that Hobhouse could write ' I t is almost forgotten that Boccaccio was a poet'. Yet as we look back, we perceive that i n England there is no such array of prose imitators as i n Italy. I t was above all the poets and dramatists who entered into contact with the complex series of Boccaccio's works. To mention only Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Jonson, Dryden, Coleridge, Keats and Shelley is a roll-call of most of the illustrious names i n English literature. I f we add to these Lyly and Sidney, Hazlitt, Landor, Rossetti, Tennyson and Swinburne, the assembly is still more dazzling. Even the grave Bacon and Wordsworth, and perhaps Marlowe and Milton, were aware of Boccaccio from afar, and the quicksilver of his mind ran towards a host of minor figures. It may be conceded that much of what he inspired is neither sublime nor profound, for he was neither mystic nor philosopher. Moreover, in passing beyond the Alps and the Rhine to the 1

2

h o r r i b i l e m insulam ultimosque Britannos,

his work underwent a sea-change. Nevertheless, he had a rare narrative power, great love of beauty, a keen sense of form and an intimate knowledge of the human heart, all of which survived the long journey and remained to speak from mediaeval Italy i n accents audible across the centuries to many generations of Englishmen, from Chaucer to Tennyson. 3

Italy, 1859, P- 4 Cf. A . C h i a r i , ' L a fortuna del Boccaccio', i n Questioni e correnti di storia letteraria, ed. A . M o m i g l i a n o , M i l a n , 1949, pp. 2 7 5 - 3 4 8 . This study also records plays and tales i n verse inspired by Boccaccio. See f u r t h e r V . Branca, Linee di una storia della critica al 'Decameron', M i l a n , 1939. A sketchy account o f the European indebtedness to Boccaccio is given by F. N . Jones, Boccaccio and his Imitators . . . Chicago, 1910. For references to studies dealing w i t h various aspects of the subject see G . Traversari, Bibliografia boccacesca, C i t t a di Castello, 1907, and the Appendice Bibliografica to V . Branca's w o r k mentioned above. 1

2

3

2

2

INDEX i . General Abbot, George, archbishop of Canter­ bury, 191 Academy, the Royal, 335, 341 Academy, the Royal Scottish, 335 Academy della Crusca, 190 Academy of the I n t r o n a t i , 196 Acciaiuoli, Andreina, Countess degli, 33 A c c o l t i , Bernardo, Virginia, 213, 215, 216 Accounts of Independent Tatary, 380 jEneas Sylvius, see Pius I I Agincourt, 4 Agreeable Companion, The, 313 A g r i p p a , Henricus Cornelius, De nobilitate et prcecellentia foeminei sexus, 3 5 ; Of the vanitie and vncertaintie of Arts and Sciences, 116 Alcibiades, 15-16 Alexandria, 6 A l i g h i e r i , Dante, see Dante Alonso of Cartagena, 4 Alphonsus, Petrus, Disciplina Clericalis, "•34 Allhaea, g, 37 A l t h o r p , L o r d , 331 Amadis, 115, 43g A m e r i c a , 415 A m s t e r d a m , 113, 2 6 1 , 263 Anacreon, 387 Ancona, 377 A n g i o l i e r i , Cecco, 363 Anne, Queen, 280, 282, 283, 322 Anne, queen of France, 28 Apennines, the, 3 5 1 , 411 Aragon, 22, 438 A r e t i n o , Pietro, 194 Arezzo, Antonio d', 113 ' A r i g o ' , 113 Ariosto, Lodovico, 38, 339, 340, 343, 349, 3 5 , 35 > 3 5 , 3 > 4 9 Aristotle, 2 5 0 ; Politics, 115 A r n e , Thomas, D r . , 328, 456 A r n o , 350, 3 5 1 , 372, 402, 403, 404, 451 A r n o l d , Sir E d w i n , Griseida, 468—70 A r n o l d , M a t t h e w , 407, 452, 455 1

2

8

6 o

2

A r t e g a l l , 34 A r t h u r , K i n g , 1 1 , 12, 19, 21 Ascham, Roger, 115 Asinari, Federico, 184 Athens, 6 [Audinot, N . M . , and Quetant, F. A . ] , Le Tonnellier, 328 Augsburg, 113, 213 Ayala, Pedro Lopez de, 3 A y l m e r , John, bishop of London, 115 Ayre, W i l l i a m , The Saint, 300-2 Babington Plot, 150 Bacchus, 37 Bacon, Francis, De sapientia veterum, 43 Baldelli, Giovanni Battista, Count, Vita di Boccaccio, 350, 3 5 1 , 373 Baldwin, archbishop of Canterbury, 212 B a l d w i n , W i l l i a m , 23, 25 Balguy, Charles, 262 Ballads, 170—3 Banester, G i l b e r t , 122-6, 128, 130, 131 Banquet for Gentlemen and Ladies, A, 3° "9 B a r h a m , R i c h a r d Harris, The Ingoldsby Legends, 371 Barnfield, R i c h a r d , 57, 40 Barry, M r s . , 205 Bangor, 199 Basle, 83, 115, 2 1 1 , 213 Bayard, Jean F. A . , Boccace, 475 Beaton, D a v i d , archbishop of St. A n ­ drews, 25 Beauclerk, T o p h a m , 263 Beaumont, Francis, ' T h e T r i u m p h o f H o n o r ' , ' T h e T r i u m p h of L o v e ' , 229-30 Beauvau, Louis de, 59 Beccaria, Antonio, 44 Bee, The, 316 Behn, A p h r a , The Rover, 246, 329 Benoit de Ste. M o r e , 6 i , 74, 83—7 Bercher, William, The Nobility of Women, 35 Bernard de Ventadour, 73 8

484 IN Beroaldo (Beroaldus), 115, 133, 134, 194, 264 Berry, John, duke of, 4, 113 Betussi, Giuseppe, 33, 36, 37, 4 1 , 42, f 63, 537, 361 Bevis of Southampton, 115 Beza (Theodore de Beze), 183 Biblioteca Ambrosiana, 331 Bibliotheque Nationale, 114, 531 B i r c k , Sixt, 215 Bishop, Sir H e n r y Rowley, 455 B l a c k m a n , W i l l i a m , 108 Blackmore, Sir R i c h a r d , 303 Blake, W i l l i a m , 3 7 1 , 445 Blanca, queen of Aragon, 22 Blanchefleur, 1, 115 Blandford, marquis of, 331 Blennerhassett, Thomas, 24 Blount, Sir Thomas Pope, De Re Poetica, 189, 190 Blurt Master-Constable, 2 1 7 - 1 8 , 246, 247 Boccaccio (Boccacio, Boccace, Bocace, Boccas, Bocase, Bocasse, Bocas, Bochas, Bokase, Boocas), Giovanni, De casibus virorum illustrium, 2, 3, 4, 5 - > 33, 3 > 5 , 3 De claris mulieribus, 2, 3, 4, 5, 28—36, 8 1 , 103, 263 De genealogia deorum, 2, 3, 35, 34, 3 6 a 8

1 0

1

6

2 6

43, 3 , 3 5 7 - > 55 > 3 De montibus, 2, 5, 36 Ameto, 1, 44, 352, 362 Amorosa visione, 1, 44, 362 Corbaccio, 2, 9, 35, 44, 99, 338 Decameron, 1, 2, 17, 33, 8 1 , 103, 104, 110, 112, 113—478; see also Part 2 of Index ' T r a n s l a t i o n o f 1620', 114, 185, i g i , 199, 200, 244, 253-4, 265, 270, 275, 277, > 5 ° 9 , 3 > 3 9> 333, 554, 349, 3 7 , 597-9, 4 ° ° , 4 > 4 ° , 4°3> 404, 405, 406, 418, 419, 4 2 1 , 422, 424, 425 ' T r a n s l a t i o n of 1702', 2 6 1 - 2 , 315, 317 ' T r a n s l a t i o n of 1 7 4 1 ' , 262, 333, 475' T r a n s l a t i o n of Antoine le M a c o n ' , 113, 157, o , 191, 215, 598, 399 ' T r a n s l a t i o n of John Payne', 354 P i c t o r i a l representations of the De­ cameron (wood-cuts, engravings, paint­ ings, designs, fresco), 191, 2 6 1 , 263, 264, 265, 3 3 3 - 4 , 335, 3 4 , 343, 344, 3 6 3 -5 M i n o r poems of Boccaccio, 33, 363, 3 6 4 - 5, 4 5 4 - 5 Bodleian L i b r a r y , 5, 125, 142, 170, 253 1 0

8

2 8 6

2

1 0

6

6 2

2

0 1

2

6

l 6

1

EX Boiardo, Matteo M a r i a , 58, 349 Braddon, M a r y Elizabeth, Griseida, 470-4 Breugel, G e r r i t Hendricx, van, 114 B r i t i s h M u s e u m , 2 1 , 28, 123, 162, 194, !95, 6 2 , 328, 3 3 1 , 332, 394, 412, 455 Browne, Sir Thomas, Religio Medici, 190—1 B r o w n i n g , Robert, 370, 3 7 1 , 436 Bruce, James, Travels to discover the Source of the Nile, 382 B r u n i , Leonardo, 115, 123, 151, 172 Bruno, Giordano, 194, 343 Buchanan, George, 183 B u c k i n g h a m , George V i l l i e r s , duke of, 26 B u c k i n g h a m , H e n r y Stafford, duke of, 23 B u c k i n g h a m Palace, 265 Burdet, Sir Nicholas, 23 B u r g h , Benedict, 22 Burgundy, 3, 4 B u r l e i , Sir Simon, 25 Burns, Robert, 175 B u r t o n , Robert, The Anatomy of Melan­ choly, 190, 194 Byron, L o r d , 336, 346, 350, 3 7 3 ; Don Juan, 3 6 7 ; Childe Harold, 368, 373 2

C,

H . [? Care, H e n r y ] , Female Pre­ eminence, 35 C , H . , The Forrest of Fancy, 156-7 C , H . [? Crompton, H u g h ] , The Glory of Women, 35 C , I . [? Cumber, John], The Two Merry Milke-Maids, 2 3 6 - 8 , 254 C , T . , Galesus Cymon and Iphigenia, 142-6, 147, 149 Cambridge, 184, 185, 187 Camiola, 34 C a m m e l l i , Antonio, 184 Camoens, Luiz de, 540 Canterbury, 7 Carew, Thomas, 40 C a r t w r i g h t , W i l l i a m , The Siedge, 241—4 Cary, H e n r y Francis, 403 Castiglione, Baldassare, The Courtier, 104 Castille, 3 Catanensi, Philippa, 12, 17, 26 Catherine, Queen, 125 Catullus, 294—5 Cavalcanti, Guido, 556, 362, 363 Caxton, W i l l i a m , prologue to King Arthur, 2 1 ; Historie of Jason, 3 7 ; Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye, 37 Cecil, Sir W i l l i a m , 108 Celestina, 4 Centlivre, Susannah, The Cruel Gift, 318—23; The Busie Body, 329-30

485

INDEX Certaine Worthye Manuscript Poems, 126 Certaldo, 33, 37, 189 Chappuys, Gabriel, 103, 107 Charles of Orleans, 4 Charles I I , 266 Charles V , k i n g of France, 113 Chastellain, Georges, 3, 4 Chaucer, Geoffrey, 9, 44, 114, 165, 2 1 1 , 264, 345, 347, 353, 358, 3 6 1 , 363, 3 > 373, 3 9 Anelida and Arcite, 45 The Booke of the Duchesse, 123 Canterbury Tales, 45, 114, 395 Clerk's Tale, 116-22, 138, 142, 171, 6 6

2

Franklin s Tale, 229, 236 Knight's Tale, 4 5 - 5 8 , 89, 100, 352, 353 Merchant's Tale, 122 Monk's Tale, 5, 21 Squire's Tale, 345 Wife of Bath's Tale, 117, 345 The House of Fame, 45 Parlement of Foules, 45 Troilus and Criseyde, 19, 56, 59—101, 105, 121, 170 Chettle, Henry, see Dekker, Thomas, Patient Grissell Chloris, 34 C h u r c h i l l , Charles, 2 6 4 - 5 Churchyard, Thomas, Churchyards Chal­ lenge, 25, 26 Cicero, 6, 1 1 , 3 5 9 ; Orations, 115; De Officiis, 159 Cid, the, 439 Clapam, David, A Treatise of the Nobilitie of Woman Kynde, 35 Clarke, M a r y Anne, 366 C l i m of the Clough, 165 Cobler of Caunterburie, The, 164—5, 9 Coleridge, Ernest Hartley, 341 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 337—43, 560; Biographia Literaria, 338; ' T h e Gar­ den o f Boccaccio', 342—5 Collection of Poems, A, 297—300 Collier, Jeremy, 266, 267, 280, 282 Collier, John Payne, 108; The Poetical Decameron, 332 Cologne, 131 Colonne, Guido delle, 36, 74, 8 3 - 4 Companion for the Fire-Side, A, 317—18 Concini, Concino, 25 Constantine, the Emperor, 10 Cooper, The, 528 Cooper, Thomas, The Purgatory of Sui­ cides, 371 Cope, Charles West, 335 1

2

Coplande, Robert, 132 Coriolanus, 12 Cornhert, D i r c k , 114 Cornwall, Barry, see Procter, B . W . Cotswolds, 7 Cox, Captain, 161 Craftsman, The, 298 Crane, The, 296—7 Cristine de Pisan, The boke of the Cyte of Ladyes, 35 C r o m w e l l , Henry, alias W i l l i a m s , 212 Da

Montemagno, Bonaccorso, Controversia de Nobilitate, 212, 213 Dante, 1, 7, 33, 115, 116, 117, 189, 2 1 1 , 337, 33 > 343, 347, 549 3 5 ° , 5 5 , 360, 3 6 1 , 362, 363, 364, 403, 4 3 8 ; The Divine Comedy, 4 4 6 ; the episode of Paolo and Francesca, 446 Davenport, Robert, The City-Night-Cap, 170, 238—40 Davis, Sir John, 388 D'Estrees, Gabrielle, 198 De Hooge, Romain, 261 De Musset, A l f r e d , 'Silvia', 435; ' S i m o n e ' , 4 3 5 ; Carmosine, 462 De Vega, Lope, 294 Decameron, The Spanish, 190 Defoe, Daniel, Journal of the Plague, 289 Dekker, Thomas, The Roaring Girle, 2 7 ; Patient Grissell, 207—11 De la Pole, W i l l i a m , 212 D e l i l a h , 18 Deloney, Thomas, The Garland of Good Will, 170 Demogorgon, 3 7 - 4 1 , 337, 352 Devonshire, the duke of, 151, 133 D i b d i n , Thomas Frognall, The Biblio­ graphical Decameron, 330 Dolben, David, bishop of Bangor, 199 Dolce, Lodovico, Didone, 179, 184 D o m e n i c h i , Lodovico, La nobilta delle donne, 35 Donne, John, 107 Douglas, Gavin, 42 Downes, Joseph, The Mountain Decam­ eron, 332 Dryden, John, ALneis, dedication of the, 265 Albion and Albanius, preface to, 189 All for Love, 254, 259 Fables, 57, 264, 265, 277, 292, 307, 312, 8

8

555, 3 5 , 355, 3 9 7 , . 4 3 ' C y m o n and I p h i g e n i a ' , 264—77, 55^, 348, 456, 457 'Sigismonda and Guiscardo', 204, 218, 6

2 6

2

4 - 7 7 , 3 3> 3 4 , 4 ° 7 - 9 , 4 H 2

8

INDEX 'Theodore and H o n o r i a ' , 2 6 4 - 7 7 , 336, 3 4 5 - 6 , 348, 383, 405 ' T h e Flower and t h e L e a f , 40 The Pilgrim, Epilogue to, 266 ' T h r e n o d i a Augustalis', 266 Troilus and Cressida, 101 D u Bartas, G u i l l a u m e de Saluste, seign­ eur, 190 Dubois, E d w a r d , 333, 534 D i i r e r , A l b r e c h t , 32 Durfey, Thomas, Squire Oldsapp, 247—8; The Royalist, 248-9, 314; Tales Tragical and Comical, 277—84 Edinburgh Review, The, 334, 347 Edward I I I , 7 Edward I V , 4 E d w a r d , the B l a c k Prince, prince of Wales, 6 Edwardes, R i c h a r d , Damon and Pithias, 178 Eleanor, duchess of Austria, 28 E l e c t o r Palatine, the, 237 E l i o t , George, How Lisa Loved the King, 438-40 Elizabeth, Princess, 237 Elizabeth, Queen, 167, 178, 183 Elyot, Sir Thomas, 133-6, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 170, 195 Erasmus, Desiderius, 104; Epistolae, 192; De Ratione Studii, 37 Essex, R o b e r t Devereux, earl of, 212 Estienne, H e n r i , see Stephen, H e n r i e Eurydice, g Evelyn, John, 189 E y b , A l b r e c h t von, Clarissimarum feminarum laudatio, 35 Fabyan, Robert, 23 Faivre, Pierre, 3, 4 Fancies ague-fittes, or beauties nettle-bed, 115 Fane, Sir Francis, Love in the Dark, 245—6 Farmer, John, An Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare, 58 Farnese, Alessandro, Pope Paul I I I , 166 Farnie, H e n r y B r o u g h a m , 474-5 Faucit, Helen, 464 Ferdinand, archduke of Austria, 32 Ferrers, George, 23 Field, M a r t i n , see H u n t e r , Joseph Fiesole, 2, 111, 350, 3 5 1 , 357, 359, 464 Findlay, J., 333 F l e m y n g , Robert, dean of L i n c o l n , 5 Fletcher, John, The Two Noble Kinsmen, 5 7 ; Monsieur Thomas, 2 3 0 - 1 ; Women P Z « w ' r f , 2 3 i - 3 , 2 4 o , 2 4 i ; The Knight of

Malta, 233—4, 3 6 ; The Widdow, see Jonson, B . , and M i d d l e t o n , T . , 234—6 Flora, 34 Florence, 1, 2, 111, 2 1 1 , 263, 296, 318, 543, 349, 3 5 ° , 3 5 , 55 > 357, 3 > 3 7 2 - 3 , 377, 3 9 , 4 ° 2 , 4°4, 4*7, 4 4 , 449, 45o, 462, 4 4 Florio, John, 191 Floris, 1,115 Fluellen, 211 Foreign Quarterly Review, The, 558 Foscolo, Ugo, 355, 334, 3 4 1 , 373 France, 7, 12, 35, 56, 44, 105, 113 Francis I , k i n g of France, 113 Fraunce, A b r a h a m , 3 7 ; Pretoria, 184, 187-8 Frederick, duke of Y o r k , 366 Frederyke of Jennen, 2 2 1 , 223 French Revolution, the, 326, 345, 368 Fuessli, Johann H e i n r i c h [Fuseli, H e n r y ] , 535 2

1

6

6

6 l

8

6

Galigai, Leonora, 25 Galileo, Galilei, 114 G a r r i c k , David, 2 0 6 ; Cymon, 3 2 6 - 8 , 455-7 G a r t h , Sir Samuel, 290—1 Gellius, Aulus, 6 Genoa, 350, 373, 377, 414 G e n t i l i , Alberico, 184 Gentleman s Magazine, The, 296, 531 Gentleness and Nobility, 213 George I , 322 George, prince of Wales, 322—3 Germany, 35, 36, 113, 116, 212 G i a n n i n i , Giuseppe, 263 Gibbon, E d w a r d , 263 Gifford, H u m p h r e y , 102 G i l l m a n , M r s . , 341 G i o l i t o , Gabriele, 106 G i u n t i , the, 263, 302 Godly Queene Hester, 213 Goethe, Johann W o l f g a n g von, 294, 465 G o l d s m i t h , Oliver, 316—17 Goubourne, Jo., 108-112 Graie, Lady Anne, 183 G r a n t h a m , Henry, 102, 103 Gray, Thomas, 263 Greathead, Robert, The Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs the Sons of Jacob, Greene, Robert, Alcida, 105; Ciceronis Amor, 168; Frier Bacon and Frier Bongay, 37, 58, 2 0 7 ; Morando, The Tritameron of Loue, 168; Perimedes the Blacke-Smith, 168; Philomela, 169 170; The Spanish Masquerado, 167

487

INDEX G r e i g , G a v i n , 173 Greneacres, 22 G r i e g , E d v a r d , 175 G r i f f i n , Gerald, Gisippus, 464—8 G r i f f i n , James, 333 G r i f f i t h , Rev. Roger, 284 Grosseteste, Robert, bishop of L i n c o l n , 212 G u a r i n i , Baptista, 184 G u e r c i n , Antoine, 108—11 Hagedorn, F r i e d r i c h von, 2g4 H a l l , E d w a r d , 23 H a l l , Joseph, 107 Hanmer, Sir John, Fra Cipolla, and other poems, 3 9 1 - 4 Harley, Robert, earl of Oxford, 322 Harvey, G a b r i e l , 114-15 Hastings, W i l l i a m , lord, 143, 147 Hatton, Sir Christopher, 106, 178 H a t t o n , Sir W i l l i a m , 106 Haughton, W i l l i a m , see Dekker, T h o m a s , Patient Grissell Hauvette, H e n r i , 110 Hawes, Stephen, 42, 44 Hawkins, Sir Thomas, Vnhappy Prosperitie, 26 Hazlitt, W i l l i a m , 335, 3 4 4 - 9 , 360, 397, 432 Head, R i c h a r d , The English Rogue, 310 Hearne, Thomas, 296 Hebrasus, Leo, 38 Heerstraten, Egidius, van der, 33 Henry I V , k i n g of France, 198 H e n r y V , 7, 11 H e n r y V I , 23 H e n r y V I I , 4, 42 Henry V I I I , 32, 35 Henryson, Robert, 100 Hercules, 34 Hervey, John, lord, 297 Heywood, Thomas, Gunaikeion, 35, 37 Higgins, John, 23, 24 Hobbes, Thomas, Decameron Physiologicum, 190 Hobhouse, John Cam, 58, 363, 4 8 2 ; i n Imitations and Translations, 366—7; Italy, 3 7 3 ; [Tales from Boccaccio], 367-76 Hoby, Sir Thomas, 33, 34, 37 H o g a r t h , W i l l i a m , 264-5 Holland, 113 H o m e r , 57, 342, 355 Hood, Robin, 162, 165 H o m e , R i c h a r d Henry, 570 Hortis, A t t i l i o , 26 H o w a r d , Frederick, earl of Carlisle, 323-6

H o w a r d , Sir George, 157 H u l l a h , (?) John Pyke, 374 H u m p h r e y , duke of Gloucester, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 11, 22, 29, 36, 44, 114 H u n t , W i l l i a m H o l m a n , 335 H u n t , L e i g h , 58, 336, 3 4 9 - 5 4 , 414 Hunter, Joseph, A Shakespear Decameron, 33 H u n t i n g t o n L i b r a r y , 196 Hymenozus, 184—7 2

Idley, Peter, Instructions to his Son, 22 Iole, 34 I r e l a n d , 387, 388-9 I t a l y , 35, 36, 109, 116, 209, 210, 2 1 1 , 4 > 343, 3 , 3 9 3 - 4 , 43 > 44° 2 2

8 6

8

Jacob, Sir Hildebrand, 263 James I , 236 James I of Scotland, 28 Jeffrey, Francis, l o r d , 388 Jenynges, E d w a r d , Alfagus and Archelaus, J37-4 Jerrold, Douglas, Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures, 369 Joan o f A r c , 7 Joan, Pope, 35 Job, 119 Johanna, queen of Sicily, 33 John X I I , Pope, 10 John the Fearless, duke of Burgundy, 4 John the Good, k i n g o f France, 6, 7, 113 John Rylands L i b r a r y , 331 Johnson, Charles, A General History Of The Lives and Adventures Of the Most Famous Highwaymen, 311-15 Johnson, Samuel, 263, 264, 323 Johnstone, W i l l i a m B o r t h w i c k , 3 5 5 Jones, David, 278-9 Jones, John, Adrasta, 240—1 Jones, W i l l i a m , 212 Jonson, Ben, The Alchemist, 37, 3 8 ; The Devil is an Ass, 227—8; Time Vindi­ cated, 199; The Widdow, see Fletcher, J., and M i d d l e t o n , T . , 234-6 Joseph of Exeter, 83 Jovius, Paulus, 105 Julian, the E m p e r o r , 11 Julius Caesar, 7, 23, 24 2

E . , 34, 37, 44 Kean, Charles, 464 Keats, John, 353, 358, 4 2 9 ; ' T h e Eve of St. Agnes', 105; ' I s a b e l l a ' , 3 9 7 - 4 0 7 , 416, 417, 419, 420, 4 4 8 ; ' O d e on M e l a n c h o l y ' , 4 1 0 ; ' T h e Eve of St. M a r k ' , 420 Keepsake, The, 3 4 1 , 542

488

INDEX

K e l l e r m a n , Francois Christophe, M a r ­ shal, 345 Kelly, W . K . , 333 Kemble, Fanny, 478 Kemble, John P h i l i p , 329 Kendals, the, 475 K i n g , John, bishop of London, 191 Kirkcaldy, 173 Knights T e m p l a r , 11-12 L a Fontaine, Jean de, 263, 294, 295, 312, 3 1 7 - 1 8 , 476 L a m b , Charles, 460 L a n c i l o t du Lake (Launcelote), 115, 116 Landor, W a l t e r Savage, The Pentameron, 353> 3 5 9 ; Andrea of Hungary and Giovanna of Naples, 3 6 1 ; Giovanna of Naples, 361 L a n e h a m , Robert, 161 Langbaine, Gerard, 240, 241 Lansdowne, H e n r y Petty-Fitzmaurice, l o r d , 336 Lazarillo de Tormes, 217 L e Macon, Antoine, see Boccaccio, Decameron Lee, A l f r e d Collingwood, 508 Legenda Sismond, 122 Leghorn, 263 Leicester, Robert Dudley, earl of, 3 L e i g h t o n , Frederic, lord, 335 Leonora, queen of Aragon, 22 Lessing, G o t t h o l d E p h r a i m , Nathan der Weise, 194 L e u b i n g , H e i n r i c h , 113 L e w i c k e , E d w a r d , Titus and Gisippus, 136-7 Lewis, Clive Staples, 9 1 , 94 Lignano ( L i n i a n ) , Giovanni d i , 122 Llandaff (Landaff), Francis James M a t h e w , earl of, 589 Lodge, Thomas, 190 Lollards, the, 11 London Gazette, The, 254 London Magazine, The, 334, 339, 547 London Weekly Review, The, 346 Longfellow, Henry W a d s w o r t h , Tales of a Wayside Inn, 476 Louis X I I I , 25 Louvain, 28, 33 Lover's Stratagem, The, 253—60 L u c a n , 37, 39 L u n n , Joseph, Horae Jocosae; or the Dog­ gerel Decameron, 332 Lycurgus, k i n g of Thrace, 37 Lydgate, John, The Fall of Princes, 5-22, 23, 24, 26, 29, 36, 129, 156; The Siege of Thebes, 33, 3 6 - 7 , 98

L y l y , John, Loves Metamorphosis, 104—5; Euphues, 134 Lyndesay, Sir David, 25 L y n n , 143 Lyons, 34, 105, 108, 109, 115, 191 M a b , Queen, 457, 459, 460 Macao, 378—9 Mace, Rene, Les Trois Anneaux, 194 M a c h i a v e l l i , Niccolo, 194, 224 Mackenzie, Henry, The Man of Feeling, 289 Macready, W i l l i a m Charles, 464 Maiano, 344, 350-2 M a l l a r m e , Stephane, 454 M a n e t t i , Giannozzo, 373 Manlius, Marcus, 21 M a n n i , Domenico M a r i a , 362, 373 Mannyng, Robert, of Brunne, Handlyng Synne, 21 M a r g a r e t of Anjou, 23 Margaret, queen of Navarre, 113 M a r i a d'Aquino, 1 M a r i a , queen of Navarre, 22 M a r i e de' M e d i c i , queen-regent, 25 M a r l b o r o u g h , John C h u r c h i l l , duke of, 280 M a r l o w e , Christopher, Dr. Faustus, 39, 37 Marnej', Sir Henry, 131 Marshe, Thomas, 143 Marston, John, Parasitaster, 218—19 M a r t i n , E m m a , Frederic and the Falcon, 43 M a r t i n e l l i , Vincenzio, 263 M a r y , queen of Scots, 150 Massinger, P h i l i p , The Maid of Honour, 3 4 ; The Guardian, 240 M a t t h i e u , Pierre, Aelius Sejanus and Histoire des Prosperitez Malheureuses, 25—6 M a u n d r e l l , Henry, A Journey from Aleppo to Jerusalem, 381—2 Mead, R i c h a r d , 263 M e d w a l l , Henry, Fulgens and Lucres, 213 Melbancke, B r i a n , Philotimus, 104 Melbourne, W i l l i a m L a m b , l o r d , 369, 57 Meleager, 9, 37 M e r l i n ( M e r l y n ) , 2 5 6 - 7 , 284, 3 2 6 - 7 , 456 M e r t o n College, O x f o r d , 296 Messina, 7, 402, 404 M e t z , 101 Mexia, Fernan, Libro yntitulado nobillario, 3 M i d d l e t o n , Thomas, The Widdow, see Fletcher, J., and Jonson, B . , 2 3 4 - 6 M i e l o t , Jean, 212 2

2

2

INDEX M i l a n , 414 M i l l a i s , Sir John Everett, 535 M i l t o n , John, 114, 2 9 2 ; Paradise Lost, 40, 4 1 , 276 Mirror for Magistrates, A, 22, 23, 24, 25, 6 , 27, 143, 146, 147 M o d r e d , 11, 12 M o l i e r e , Jean Baptiste Poquelin, Tartuff e, 391 M o n t Blanc, 386 Monte Asinaio, 318 Monthly Review, The, 264 Montjoy, Christopher, 213 M o n t u c c i , Antonio, 58, 108, 333 Moore, Thomas, 3 3 6 ; Lalla Rookh, 379, 380, 3 8 1 , 382; Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Little, 3 9 1 ; [Spirit of Boccaccio's Decameron], 376—91 M o r e , John, 114 M o r e , Sir Thomas, 114 M o r l e y , Henry, 333 Morning Chronicle, The, 346 M o r r i s , W i l l i a m , 4 5 1 , 432 Morte Arthure, 8 1 , 115, 116 M o r t o n , James Douglas, earl of M o r t o n , 26 M o u n t Etna, 415 Mugnone, 2, 318, 350, 351 M u r a t o r i , Ludovico Antonio, 373 Murmurers, The, 191 2

Naples, 1, 111, 3 5 4 - 5 , 356 Napoleon I , 331 N a r d i n i , Leonardo, 333 Nelson, Horatio, lord, 80 Nenna, Giovanni Battista, II Nennio, N e w m a n , Thomas, 106, 107 Niagara, 4 1 4 Niccols, R i c h a r d , 24, 27 Nicholas I , tsar of Russia, 368—9 Nightingale, The, 294—5 N i i r n h e r g , 32

212

Oedipus, 8, 15, 17 Ogle, George, Gualtherus and Griseida, 3°7 Oldfield, M r s . , 323 Orpheus, 9 Osbeck, Peter, Voyage to China and the East Indies, 378—9 O v i d , 30, 105; Ars amandi, 3 4 1 , 342 Oxford, 114, 184 Padua, 115, 187, 377 Paestum, 4 1 1 , 413 Painter, W i l l i a m , The Palace of Pleasure, 54,. H7> ! 5 7 - , 3 , Panixzi, Antonio, 58, 573 6 1

2 1

2

2

1

489

Paolo and Francesca, see Dante Paris, 7, 28, 105, 115, 263, 373, 448, 449, 4 Parker, Henry, l o r d M o r l e y , 32—3 Parnaso Italiano, 349 Patmore, Coventry, ' T h e F a l c o n ' , 429— 43 Payn, James, Stories from Boccaccio, 3 9 1 , 6 2

2

43 ~7 Payne, John, 'Salvestra', 4 4 7 - 5 3 ; trans­ lation of Decameron, 334, 4 5 4 ; trans­ lation of poems by Boccaccio, 454—5 Peacham, Henry, The Compleat Gentle­ man, 194 Pearl, 43 Pedro, Don, constable o f Portugal, Tragedia de la insigne Reyna Isabel, 23 Peend, Thomas, 172 Pembroke, M a r y Herbert, countess of, 57 Pepys, Samuel, 244 Percy, W i l l i a m , A Forrest Tragaedye in Vacunium, 196—9 Peter, Lady M a r i e , 183 P e t r a r c h (Petrak, Petrarca), Francesco, 5, 33, 37, "06, 107, 115, 116-22, 196, 264, 307, 337, 347, 350, 3 5 1 , 353, 555, 3 5 , 358, 359, 5 > 5 3 P h i l i p I I , k i n g o f Spain, 3 P h i l l i p , John, Patient Grissell, 173—8 P h i l l i p s , E d w a r d , Theatrum Poetarum, 189 P i c k e r i n g , W i l l i a m , 533 Pierce the Ploughman's Crede, 212 Pinkerton, John, A General Collection of Voyages and Travels, 380, 381 Pisa, 350, 414 Pistoia, 351 Pius I I , Pope, 5g, 115, 116; Euryalus, 115 Pius V , Pope, 167 Pix, M a r y , Violenta, 284-92 Plague of 1665, the, 279, 289—go Planche, James Robinson, ' T h e OneLegged Goose', 3 9 4 - 5 , 4 5 7 ; re­ vision of G a r r i c k ' s Cymon, 456—7 Plato, 115 Pleasaunt disport of diuers noble personages, A, 102 Pliny, 191 P l u t a r c h , 56 Pococke, R i c h a r d , A Description of the East, 381 Poggio, Bracciolini, Facetiae, 115 Pope, Alexander, 263, 505, 346 Pope, W a l t e r , Select Novels, 196 Portugal, 4, 23 Powell, Thomas, 370 P r e m i e r f a i t , Laurent de, 4, 6, 7, 10, 11, 2

6

!3> H> 7> ° , l

2

6 l

1 J

4

6

INDEX

490

P r i o r , M a t t h e w , ' A Tale f r o m Boccace', 292-4 Procter, B r y a n W a l l e r , 353, 3 5 4 - 7 ; ' T h e L e t t e r of Boccaccio', 3 5 4 ; A Sicilian Story, 397, 4 1 4 - 1 7 ; ' T h e T w o Dreams', ' T h e Broken Heart', ' T h e F a l c o n ' , ' L o v e cured by Kindness', ' T h e Florentine P a r t y ' , 4 6 0 - 4 Ptolemy I I , 6 P u l c i , L u i g i , 349 Pulteney, W i l l i a m , earl of B a t h , 2 9 7 - g Pusey, E d w a r d Bouverie, 368 Pynson, R i c h a r d , 22 Pyramus, 115, 172 Quarterly Review, The, 388 Queen's College, Oxford, 184 Q u i n , James, 522 Radcliffe, R a l p h , De patientia Griselidis, 173; De Titi et Gisippi amicitia, 178 Radigund, 34 Raleigh, Sir W a l t e r , 40 Ravenna, 146, 336 Ravenscroft, E d w a r d , The London Cuck­ olds, 249—50 Redi, Francesco, 353 Reece, Robert, 474—5 Regimen Sanitatis Salerni, 187 Rene, k i n g of Sicily, 59 Reynolds, Frederick Mansel, 341 Reynolds, John H a m i l t o n , 3 9 7 ; The Gar­ den of Florence and other poems, 405, 417-26 Rhodes, Richard, Flora's Vagaries, 244-5 R i c h , Barnaby, 172 Richard I , 7 R i c h a r d I I , 54 R i c h a r d I I I , 129 Richardson, Samuel, 94, 107; Clarissa Harlowe, 57 Robert, k i n g o f Anjou, 1 Roberto, k i n g of Sicily, 34 Rogers, Samuel, 335, 338, 5 4 3 - 4 , 3 7 0 ; haly, 343-4- 3 9 Roland, 439 Roman de la Rose, 7 Rome, 20—1, 166, 168 Romeo, 130, 172 Roscoe, Thomas, Italian Novelists, 334 Rossetti, Dante G a b r i e l , 335—6, 363—5, 454 Rossetti, Gabriele, 43, 361—3, 373 R o t t e r d a m , 113 Rowe, Nicholas, 322 Rowland, D a v i d , 217 1

Rowlands, Samuel, 3 8 ; The Knave of Clubbes, 195 Ruscelli, G i r o l a m o , 157 Ruskin, John, The Stones of Venice, 396 Russell, John, bishop of L i n c o l n , 5 Russell, l o r d John, 372, 386 Russell, Patrick, The Natural History of Aleppo, 379, 380, 382 Russell, Thomas, 58, 277 Sachs, Hans, 113, 294 Sack-Full of Newes, The, 161, 163 Sackville, Thomas, earl of Dorset, 23, 24 Sacrificio, II, 196 St. Alban's, 3 Saint Augustine, 4 St. James's Palace, 457, 470, 474 St. John's College, Cambridge, 184 St. Lawrence, River, 414 Salamanca, 105 Salerno, 187, 4 1 1 , 412, 413 Sallust, 30 Salter, Thomas, A Mirrhor made for all Mothers, 36 Salutati, Coluccio, 5 Salviati, Lionardo, 184, l g i , 275, 303 Sandford, James, 116 Santillana, marquis of, Comedieta de Ponga, 22—3 Saragossa, 28 Schlegel, F r i e d r i c h von, 58 Scole House of Women, The, 35 Scotland, Royal L i b r a r y of, 36, 114 Scotland, Union w i t h , 283 Selimus, 37, 3g Seneca, 3; Thyestes, 197, 422 Seville, 105 Sevin, A d r i e n , 101 Sewell, W i l l i a m , 368 Shakespeare, W i l l i a m , 360 The Two Gentlemen of Verona, 66 A Midsummer Night's Dream, 34, 57 The Merry Wives of Windsor, 233 Romeo and Juliet, 420 Richard III, 458 Henry V, 210, 211 All's Well that Ends Well, 2 1 1 - 1 6 , 348, 439 Troilus and Cressida, 101, 192 Measure for Measure, 217, 238—9 Hamlet, 257 Othello, 224 Cymbeline, 193, 2 2 0 - 6 , 2 5 0 - 3 , 378 The Winter's Tale, 220, 473 Sharp, W i l l i a m , 333 Sharpham, E d w a r d , Cupid's Whirligig, 219

INDEX Shaw, Thomas, Travels or Observations re­ lating to Barbary, 380 Shelley, M a r y Wollstonecraft, 349 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 336, 349, 350, 4 1 6 ; Peter Bell the Third, 3 3 6 ; Hellas, 3 5 7 ; Prometheus Unbound, 40, 4 1 , 357 Shirley, James, 27 Shore, Jane, 25 Shrewsbury, A d e l h i d a Talbot, duchess of, 292 Sicily, 33, 34, 59, 4 3 Sidney, Sir P h i l i p , 184; An Apologye for Poetrye, 43 Siena, 196 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, 54 Sismondi, Jean Charles Leonard Simonde de, Literature of the South of Europe, 8

347 S m i t h , Alexander, A History of the most Noted Highway-Men, 309—11 S m i t h , Joseph, 263 S m y t h , W a l t e r , 114 Sotheby, Miss, Patient Griseida, 308 Southerne, Thomas, The Fatall Marriage, 205—6 South-Sea Bubble, the, 306 Spain, 35, 44, 101, 102, 105, 113, 172, 438 Spanish A r m a d a , the, 34, 167 Spartacus, 12 Spectacle of Louers, The, 132 Spencer, E a r l , 331 Spenser, E d m u n d , 126, 3 6 0 ; The Shepheardes Calender, 34, 37, 4 4 ; The Faerie Queene, 34, 38, 39, 4 1 , 108 Spirit of Boccaccio's Decameron, see Moore, Thomas Stanhope, Lady Hester, 370 Stein, Charlotte, Frau von, 294 Steinhowel (Steinhovel), H e i n r i c h , 28, 113, 116 Stephen, Henrie, A World of Wonders, *93, 9 4 Sterne, Laurence, 263 Steward, M r s . , 265 Stothard, Thomas, 333, 3 4 1 , 343, 344 Strassburg, 28 Strode, R a l p h , 60 Summonte, Giovanni Antonio, Istoria della citta e regno di Napoli, 26 Suppe, Franz von, 474 Swift (Swif), Jonathan, A Tale of a Tub, J

94 Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 432, 4 5 5 ; prefatory note to Charles Wells's Joseph and his Brethren, 4 2 g ; ' T h e Two Dreams' ('The W h i t e H i n d ' ) , J

491

440—5; ' T h e Complaint o f L i s a ' , 445-7 Sylvester, Joshua, 190 T . , C , Nastagio and Trauersari, 146—g Tales from the Decameron, see Hobhouse, J. C. Tarltons newes out of Purgatorie, 162—4 Tasso, Torquato, 34, 42g Tate Gallery, the, 264 T e m p l e , Sir W i l l i a m , i 8 g Tennyson, A l f r e d , l o r d , ' T h e Golden Supper', 4 3 7 - 8 Themistocles, 12 Theodosius, the E m p e r o r , 11 T h i r k e l l , Angela, The Brandons, 345 Thisbe, 115, 172 Thomas, W i l l i a m , 115 Thucydides, 290 T i l n e y , E d m u n d , The Flower of Friend­ ship, 103—4, 481 Tincker of Turvey, The, 195 T i p t o f t , John, earl of Worcester, 23, 212 Tiraboschi, G i r o l a m o , 573 Titus and Gisippus, 178 T i v o l i (Tiuoly), 166 Toledo, 3 Tonson, Jacob, 302 T o t t e l , R i c h a r d , 22 Tourneur, C y r i l , The Atheist's Tragedie, 204-5 T r a c t a r i a n movement, the, 368 Trece questiones muy graciosas, 102 Treize elegantes demandes damours, 102 T r i n i t y College, Cambridge, 126, 127, 192 T r i s t a n ( T r i s t r a m ) , 115, 116 Troy, 459 Tupper, M a r t i n Farquhar, Proverbial Philosophy, 458 Turbervile, George, Tragical Tales, H9-5 T u r n e r , Sir James, 28, 37, 189 Twyne, Thomas, The Schoolemaster, 162 T y r w h i t t , Thomas, 58 6

U l m , 28, 113 Valdarfer, Christopher, 3 3 1 , 334 Valle delle donne, 112, 344, 350, 3 5 1 , 357; 4 ° Vallensis, Robert, 38 Vallon, Annette, 101 V a l m y , 345 Venice, 34, 37, 108, 263, 296, 336, 377, 2

394 V e r a r d , Antoine, 28, 113

INDEX

492

Verseline, Frauncis, 108-9 V e r z e l l i n i , James (Jakob), 108-9 V i c t o r i a , Queen, 569, 370, 371 V i l l o n , Francois, 451 V i r g i l , Alneid, 30, 32, 42, 57, 293 Vives, Juan Luis, 104, 115 Voltaire, Francois Arouet de, 389—90 Wales, 210, 2 1 1 , 226, 284, 332, 456 W a l k e r A r t Gallery, Liverpool, 335 W a l p o l e , Horace, 323, 328 W a l p o l e , Sir Robert, 2 9 7 - 9 W a l t e r , W i l l i a m , Guystarde and Sygys­ monde, 131—3; Tytus and Gesyppus, "•33i ' 3 4

W a l t o n , Izaak, 184 Warner, William, Albions England, 162 W a r t o n , Thomas, 58 W a r w i c k , Guy of, 115 W a r w i c k , R i c h a r d de Beauchamp, earl of, 114 W a r w i c k , Ambrose Dudley, earl of, 147, 158 Waterloo, 410 Watts, George Frederic, 335 W a t t s , Isaac, Hymns, 369 W a y l a n d , John, 22 W e l l s , Charles, Joseph and his Brethren, 4 2 9 ; Stories after Nature, 429 West, R i c h a r d , 263 Westward for Smelts, 192-3, 221 Whethamstede, John, abbot o f St. Alban's, 3 Whetstone, George, Heptameron of Ciuill Discourses, 165—7

W h i t g i f t , John, archbishop o f Canter­ bury, 115 W i l l i a m s , H u g h , 199 W i l m o t , Robert, 178, 181-5, 196, 199 W i l m o t , W i l l i a m , The Tale of Gismunda & Guiscardo, 407—14 Winstanley, W i l l i a m , 1 9 5 - 6 Wise, Thomas James, The Ashley Library, 440 W i t a r t , Claude, 4 - 5 W i t h e r , George, Britain's Remembrancer, "99 W o l f e , John, 115 Wollstonecraft, M a r y , A Vindication of the rights of Woman, 308 W o m e n , attacks on, and sympathy w i t h , 9-10, 2 1 - 2 , 29, 3 5 - 6 Worcester College, Oxford, 108 W o r d s w o r t h , W i l l i a m , 536, 5 7 0 - 1 , 405, 466; Lyrical Ballads, 101; 'The T h o r n ' , 4 0 7 ; 'Troilus and Cresida', 101 W o t t o n , Sir Henry, Tancredo, 184, 196 W o t t o n , W i l l i a m , 189 W r i g h t , Thomas, 333, 354 W r i g h t , Thomas (of Olney), 448 W y e r , Nicolas, 142 W y l e , Nicolaus von, 35 W y n k y n de W o r d e , 1 3 1 , 135 Xerxes, 15 York, 7 Young, Bartholomew, Amorous 105-8, 115

Fiammetta,

Zenobia, 5 Zieriksee, Kornelius von, 131

2 . Borrowings from and allusions to particular tales i n the Decameron Day I , i , A y r e , W . , The Saint, 3 0 0 - 2 Day I , i i i , Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 1 5 7 - 6 1 ; B u r t o n , Robert, The Anatomy of Melancholy, 194 Day I , iv, [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day I , v, Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 1 5 7 - 6 1 ; The Agreeable Com­ panion, 315 Day I , v i i , A Collection of Poems, 297—9 Day I , v i i i , Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 157—61 Day I , x, Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 157—61 Day I I , i i , Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 1 5 7 - 6 1 ; Fletcher, J., w i t h Jonson, B . , and M i d d l e t o n , T . , The

Widdow, 2 3 4 - 6 ; Johnson, C , A General History . . . Of the Most Famous Highwaymen, 313—14; Ros­ setti, G . , 362; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376

Day I I , i i i , Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 157-61; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day I I , i v , Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 157-61; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day I I , v, Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 157—61; Fraunce, A . , Vic­ toria, 187—8; Blurt Master-Constable, 2 1 7 - 1 8 ; Behn, A . , The Rover, 2 4 6 - 7 ; S m i t h , A . , History of the most Noted Highway-Men, 3 1 0 ; Johnson, C , A

INDEX General History . . . Of the Most Famous Highwaymen, 510—11 Day I I , v i , Greene, R., Perimedes the Blacke-Smith, 168 Day I I , v i i , Rossetti, D . G . , 563 Day I I , v i i i , Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 157—61; The Forrest of Fancy 157; Pix, M . , Violenta, 284—92 Day I I , i x , Westward for Smelts, 192; Stephen, H . , A World of Wonders, 194; Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale, 220, Cymbeline, 2 2 0 - 6 ; Durfey, T . , The Injured Princess, 250—3; The Agreeable Companion, 315; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day I I , x, [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day I I I , i , Hobhouse, J. C , i n Imitations and Translations, 566—7; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 576. Day I I I , i i , Procter, B . W . , ' T h e Floren­ tine P a r t y ' , 464 Day I I I , i i i , " Stephen, H . , A World of Wonders, 193; Marston, J., Parasitaster, 218—19; Jonson, B . , The Devil is an Ass, 2 2 7 - 8 ; Fletcher, J., w i t h Jon­ son, B . , and M i d d l e t o n , T . , The Widdow, 234—6; Rhodes, R., Flora's Vagaries, 244—5; Fane, Sir F., Dove in the Dark, 2 4 5 - 6 ; Centlivre, S., The Busie Body, 3 2 9 - 3 0 ; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day I I I , i v , Rossetti, G . , 362 Day I I I , v, The Forrest of Fancy, 157; Jonson, B . , The Devil is an Ass, 227—8; Rhodes, R., Flora's Vagaries, 244—5; Centlivre, S., The Busie Body, 329 Day I I I , v i , [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day I I I , v i i , Rossetti, G . , 362 Day I I I , v i i i , The Cobler of Caunterburie, 165; Southerne, T . , The Fatall Mar­ riage, 206; A Banquet for Gentlemen and Ladies, 3og; Rossetti, G . , 362; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376; [Hob­ house, J. C ] , Tales from the De­ cameron, 367—76 Day I I I , i x , Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 1 5 7 - 6 1 ; Shakespeare, All's Well, 211—17 Day I I I , x, Rossetti, G . , 362 Day I V , Preamble, A Companion for the Fire-Side, 317-18 Day I V , i , Banester, G . , Legenda Sis­ mond, 122—6; Certaine Worthye Manu­ script Poems, 1 2 6 - 3 1 ; W a l t e r , W . , Guy star de and Sygysmonde, 131—2;

493

Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 157—61; Deloney, T . , The Garland of Good Will, 1 7 1 - 3 ; W i l m o t , R., H a t ­ ton, C , and others, Gismond of Salem, 178—81; The Tragedie of Tancred and Gismund, 181—4; W o t t o n , H . , Tancredo, 184; Percy, W . , A Forrest Tragaedye, 196—9; Ghismonda, 199— 204; Dryden, Fables, 'Sigismonda and Guiscardo', 2 6 5 - 7 7 ; Centlivre, S., The Cruel Gift, 3 1 8 - 2 3 ; Howard. F., The Father's Revenge, 323—6; H a z l i t t , W . , 348; Landor, W . S., 360; W i l m o t , W . , The Tale of Gis­ munda & Guiscardo, 407—14; Payn, J., Stories from Boccaccio, 433—4 Day I V , i i , Tarltons newes out of Purgatorie, 162; Whetstone, G . , Hepta­ meron of Ciuill Discourses, 166; Greene, R., The Spanish Masquerado, 167; Hazlitt, W . , 345; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 _ Day I V , i v , T u r b e r v i l e , G . , Tragical Tales, 150—1 Day I V , v, Turbervile, G . , Tragical Tales, 153; Hazlitt, W . , 544, 345, 3 4 8 ; H u n t , L e i g h , 349, 3 5 1 ; Landor, W . S., 560; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376; Keats, J., ' I s a b e l l a ' , 3 9 7 - 4 0 7 ; A r n o l d , M . , 407; Procter, B . W . , A Sicilian Story, 414—17 Day I V , v i , Landor, W . S., 360; Swin­ burne, A . C , ' T h e T w o D r e a m s ' ( ' T h e W h i t e H i n d ' ) , 4 4 0 - 5 ; Proc­ ter, B . W . , Dramatic Scenes, 460—1 Day I V , v i i , T u r b e r v i l e , G . , Tragical Tales, 153—4; A Banquet for Gentle­ men and Ladies, 309; Hazlitt, W . , 348; B r o u g h , R. B . , ' A Story f r o m Boccaccio', 395—7; Reynolds, J. H . , The Garden of Florence and other poems, 417—21; Payn, J., Stories from Boccac­ cio, 435 Day I V , v i i i , Turbervile, G . , Tragical Tales, 1 5 2 - 3 ; Hazlitt, W . , 348; H u n t , L e i g h , 349; [Hobhouse, J. C ] , Tales from the Decameron, 367—76; Payn, J., Stories from Boccaccio, 434—5 ; Payne, J., 'Salvestra', 4 4 7 - 5 3 ; Procter, B. W . , Dramatic Scenes, 462 Day I V , i x , Turbervile, G . , Tragical Tales, 1 5 1 - 2 ; Percy, W . , A Forrest Tragaedye, 1 9 6 - g ; Reynolds, J. H . , The Garden of Florence and other poems, 422—5 Day I V , x, Hymenozus, 185; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376

494

INDEX

Day V , i , C , T . , Galesus Cymon and Iphigenia, 142—6; Greene, R., Morando, 168; Ciceronis Amor, 168; B u r ­ ton, R., The Anatomy of Melancholy, 194; Dryden, Fables, ' Cymon and I p h i g e n i a ' , 265—77; G a r r i c k , D . , Cymon, 3 2 6 - 8 , 4 5 5 - 7 ; H a z l i t t , W . , 344, 348; Planche, J. R., 4 5 6 - 7 ; Lee, E . J. S., Cymon and Iphigenia, 457—60 Day V , i i , The Cobler of Caunterburie, 164; Greene, R., Perimedes the BlackeSmith, 168; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376; Payn, J., Stories from Boccaccio, 43 Day V , i i i , [ M o o r e , T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day V , i v , The Nightingale, 294; [ M o o r e , T . ] , S.O.B.D., 576 Day V , v, Procter, B . W . , ' T h e Florentine P a r t y ' , 464 Day V , v i , The Cobler of Caunterburie, 164; [ M o o r e , T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day V , v i i , The Forrest of Fancy, 157; Beaumont, F., ' T h e T r i u m p h of Love', 229-30 Day V , v i i i , T . , C , Nastagio and Trauersari, 1 4 6 - 9 ; T u r b e r v i l e , G . , Tragical Tales, 154—5; The Forrest of Fancy, 157; D r y d e n , Fables, ' T h e o d o r e and H o n o r i a ' , 265—77; Byron, L o r d , 336; H a z l i t t , W . , 345, 348 Day V , ix, Prior, M a t t h e w , ' A Tale f r o m Boccace', 292—4; H a z l i t t , W . , 344, 345. 347. 548; H u n t , L e i g h , 349, 351; Patmore, C , ' T h e Falcon', 429—32; M a r t i n , E . , Frederic and the Falcon, 4 3 2 ; Payn, J., Stories from Boccaccio, 432—3; Procter, B . W . , Dramatic Scenes, 463—4; Tennyson, The Falcon, 475—8 Day V , x, [ M o o r e , T . ] , S.O.B.D., 6

37

6

Day V I , i v , Tarltons newes out of Purgatorie, 163; The Crane, 296—7; [ M o o r e , T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376; [Planche, J. R . ] , ' T h e One-Legged Goose', 394-5 Day V I , i x , Rossetti, G . , 3 6 2 ; Rossetti, D . G . , 363 Day V I , x, Tarltons newes out of Purgatorie, 1 6 2 - 3 ; Greene, R., The Spanish Masquerado, 167; Stephen, H . , A World of Wonders, 193; Fra Cipolla, 302—5; The Popish Impostor, 3 5 - 7 ; Rogers, S., 3 4 3 ; H a z l i t t , W . , 3 4 7 ; H a n m e r , Sir J., Fra Cipolla, and other poems, 391—4 0

Day V I I , i , The Cobler of Caunterburie, 165; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day V I I , i i , The Cooper, 3 2 8 ; Reece, R. and Farnie, H . B . , Boccaccio, 475 Day V I I , i i i , Stephen, H . , A World of Wonders, 193; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 37 Day V I I , i v , Fletcher, J., Monsieur Thomas, 231 Day V I I , v, Rhodes, R., Flora's Vagaries, 244—5; A Banquet for Gentlemen and Ladies, 309 Day V I I , v i , T w y n e , T . , The Schoolemaster, 162; Tarltons newes out of Purgatorie, 163; Stephen, H . , A World of Wonders, 193; Rowlands, S., The Knave of Clubbes, 195; Tourneur, C , The Atheist's Tragedie, 204—5; Flet­ cher, J., Women Pleas'd, 232; Ravens­ croft, E . , The London Cuckolds, 2 4 9 - 5 0 ; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day V I I , v i i , The Sack-Full of Newes, 161 ; Davenport, R., The City-Night-Cap, 2 3 9 - 4 0 ; Fane, Sir F., Love in the Dark, 2 4 5 - 6 ; Durfey, T . , Squire Old­ sapp, 2 4 7 - 8 ; Ravenscroft, E . , The London Cuckolds, 249—50; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 576 Day V I I , v i i i , The Cobler of Caunterburie, 165; Fletcher, J., Women Pleas'd, 2 3 2 ; Massinger, P., The Guardian, 240; Durfey, T . , Squire Oldsapp, 247- 8 Day V I I , ix, Durfey, T . , The Royalist, 248— 9; Johnson, C , A General His­ tory . . . Of the Most Famous Highway­ men, 314; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376; Reece, R. and Farnie, H . B . , Boccaccio, 475 6

Day V I I I , i , Johnson, C , A General His­ tory . . . Of the Most Famous Highway­ men, 315 Day V I I I , i i , [ M o o r e , T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day V I I I , i i i , Peacham, H . , The Compleat Gentleman, 194 Day V I I I , i v , Whetstone, G . , Hepta­ meron of Ciuill Discourses, 167; Fletcher, J., Monsieur Thomas, 2 5 1 ; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day V I I I , v i , Peacham, H . , The Compleat Gentleman, 194 Day V I I I , v i i , Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 157—61; The Cobler of Caun­ terburie, 164; Rossetti, G . , 362 Day V I I I , v i i i , Fletcher, J., Women Pleas'd, 232; Jones, J., Adrasta, 2 4 1 ;

INDEX S m i t h , A . , History of the most Noted Highway-Men, 3 1 0 - 1 1 ; Johnson, C , A General History . . . Of the Most Famous Highwaymen, 313 Day V I I I , i x , Peacham, H . , The Compleat Gentleman, 194; Coleridge, S. T . , 339 Day V I I I , x, [ M o o r e , T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day I X , i , C a r t w r i g h t , W . , The Siedge, 242-4 Day I X , i i , Twyne, T . , The Schoolemaster, 162; W a r n e r , W . , Albions England, 162; Stephen, H . , A World of Won­ ders, 193; B u r t o n , R., The Anatomy of Melancholy, 194; Fletcher, J., Mon­ sieur Thomas, 2 3 1 ; A Collection of Poems, 299—300; Payn, J., Stories from Boccaccio, 436—7 Day I X , i i i , Peacham, H . , The Compleat Gentleman, 194 Day I X , iv, Rossetti, D . G . , 365 Day I X , v, Peacham, H . , The Compleat Gentleman, 194 Day I X , v i , Durfey, T . , Tales Tragical and Comical, 2 7 7 - 8 0 ; Johnson, C , A General History . . . Of the Most Famous Highwaymen, 3 1 3 ; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day I X , ix, [ M o o r e , T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day I X , x, S m i t h , A . , History of the most Noted Highway-Men, 3 1 1 ; Johnson, C , A General History . . . Of the Most Famous Highwaymen, 313 Day X , i i , [ M o o r e , T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day X , i i i , Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 157-61 Day X , iv, T u r b e r v i l e , G . , Tragical Tales, 1 5 1 ; Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 1 5 7 - 6 1 ; Fletcher, J., The Knight of Malta, 2 3 3 - 4 ; Tennyson, ' T h e Golden Supper', 4 3 7 - 8 Day X , v, Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 1 5 7 - 6 1 ; C , I . , [? Cumber,

495

John], The Two Merry Milke-Maids, 236—8 ; The Lover's Stratagem, 253—60 ; [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day X , v i , [Moore, T . ] , S.O.B.D., 376 Day X , v i i , H u n t , L e i g h , 549; E l i o t , George, How Lisa Loved the King, 438—40; Swinburne, A . C , 'The Complaint of L i s a ' , 4 4 5 - 7 ; Procter, B. W . , Dramatic Scenes, 461—2 Day X , v i i i , W a l t e r , W . , Tytus and Gesyppus, 133; E l y o t , Sir T . , The Gouernour, 133—6; L e w i c k e , E . , Titus and Gisippus, 136—7; Jenynges, E . , Alfagus and Archelaus, 157—42; Greene, R., Philomela, 169; De­ loney, T . , The Garland of Good Will, 170; Radcliffe, R., De Titi et Gisippi amicitia, 178; Titus and Gisippus, 178; Winstanley, W . , 195—6; Davenport, R., The City-Night-Cap, 238; Dur­ fey, T . , Stories, Moral and Comical, 2 8 0 - 4 ; G o l d s m i t h , O., i n The Bee, 5 1 6 - 1 7 ; L l o y d , C , Desultory Thoughts on London, Titus and Gisippus, with other poems, 426—9; Wells, C, Stories after Nature, 4 2 9 ; G r i f f i n , G . , Gisippus, 464—8 Day X , ix, Painter, W . , The Palace of Pleasure, 157—61 Day X , x, Chaucer, The Clerk's Tale, 116—22; Deloney, T . , The Garland of Good Will, 1 7 1 ; Radcliffe, R., De patientia Griselidis, 173; P h i l l i p , J., Patient Grissell, 1 7 3 - 8 ; Pope, W . , Select Novels, 196; Chettle, H . , Haughton, W . , and Dekker, T . , Patient Grissell, 207—11; 216; Patient Grissel (a puppet-play), 2 4 4 ; Ogle, G . , Gualtherus and Griseida, 307; Sotheby, Miss, Patient Griseida, 308; H u n t , L e i g h , 350; Rossetti, G . , 363; A r n o l d , Sir E . , Griseida, 468-70; [Anstruther, Sir R. A . ] , 4 6 8 ; B r a d don, M . E . , Griseida, 470—4