The servant took the girl and reported to Walter what the lady had said. He, marveling greatly at her constancy, sent both servant and child to a certain lady in Bologna, a relative of his, begging her to bring it up and educate it carefully, without, however, revealing its parentage.

Some years after this Griselda gave birth to a son, to the great joy of Walter. But not being satisfied with what he already had done, he wounded Griselda's feelings still more, saying to her one day, "My lady, since this our child was born, I have not been able to live with my subjects, so bitterly do they rebel against the thought that some day a grandson of Giannucolo shall rule over them. Wherefore, if I do not wish to be driven out, I shall have to leave you and take another wife." Griselda heard these words with patient mind, and only answered: "My lord, do you think how you may best satisfy your own pleasure; have no thought concerning me, for I desire only to see you happy."

A few days after, Walter sent for the son as he had done for the daughter before, and feigning again to have it slain, he sent it to Bologna to be brought up together with his daughter. At all of which Griselda made no other sign, nor said anything more than she had done when her daughter had been taken away. And once more Walter marveled to himself and declared that no other woman could do what she did, for he knew well that she loved her children dearly. His va.s.sals, believing that he had put his children to death, blamed him strongly as a most cruel man, and had great compa.s.sion on their lady. She, however, never complained, but said always to those who condoled with her on the loss of her children, that what seemed good to their father seemed good to her.

Many years after the birth of his daughter, Walter, thinking it time to make a final test of Griselda's long suffering, declared openly that he could endure her no longer as his wife, and that he had acted as a foolish boy when he had taken her. Wherefore he would now make overtures to the pope for leave to divorce her, and take another wife. The lady, hearing these things, and foreseeing that she should have to return to her father's house, and perchance keep sheep as before, seeing another woman married to him whom she loved so much, grieved deeply in her heart.

Nevertheless, as in the other blows of fortune, she disposed herself to bear this also with firm countenance.

Not long after, Walter caused false letters to come from Rome, and told his subjects that the pope had granted him a dispensation to leave Griselda and take a new wife. Then calling her before him in the presence of many others, he said to her: "Griselda, by special dispensation granted me by the pope, I am able now to leave you and take another wife; and inasmuch as my ancestors have been great gentlemen and lords of this country, while yours have always been laborers, I intend that you shall no longer be my wife, but shall return to your father's house, bearing with you the dowry which you brought." Hearing these words, Griselda, with the greatest difficulty, kept back her tears, being in this stronger than the common run of women, and answered: "My lord, I have always known that my humble condition was in no wise suited to your exalted rank; and what I have been to you, I recognize as coming from G.o.d and your courtesy. Nor have I ever regarded all these honors as given to me, but only loaned. If it please you then to take them back, it is my duty to be willing to give them up. Here is the ring with which you married me; take it."

Walter, who had more desire to weep than anything else, stood there with hard face and said: "Go, but see to it that you take with you one garment only." Whereupon she, dressed in a single garment, barefooted and bareheaded, left her husband's castle, and returned to her father, followed by the tears and compa.s.sion of all who saw her. Giannucolo, who had never been quite able to believe that Walter could be content to take his daughter as his wife, and who expected her return every day, had kept her clothes which she had put off on the morning of her marriage.

Now Griselda put them on again and gave herself up to the little duties of her father's house, bearing the cruel a.s.saults of hostile fortune with firm mind.

In the meantime Walter declared to his va.s.sals that he had chosen for his wife the daughter of a certain count of Panago (who was the husband of the lady in Bologna, to whom he had sent his children); and ordering great preparations for the wedding to be made, he sent for Griselda, and when she had come, he said: "I am about to bring home the lady whom I have chosen for my wife. You know that I have no one here who can arrange all the things needful for so great a feast. Wherefore do you put everything in order, and call in to help you the women you think best, and receive them as if you were still the lady here. Then after the wedding is all over you may return home."

Although these words were like so many stabs to the heart of Griselda, who could not lay aside her love for him as easily as she had laid aside her good fortune, she answered: "My lord, I am ready." And dressed in her peasant costume, she entered the house, whence she had shortly before gone forth, and began to sweep and put in order the rooms, and to prepare the food, setting her own hands to everything as if she were but a common servant of the house. Nor did she rest till all was properly arranged and prepared for the wedding. And then, inviting in the name of Walter all the ladies of the country round about, she began to prepare the feast, and when the wedding day had come, although she was dressed in coa.r.s.e garments, she received all the ladies who came with ladylike bearing and smiling face.

Walter, who had caused his children to be diligently brought up in Bologna in the house of his relative, wife of the count of Panago (his son being six years old and his daughter twelve, the latter being the most beautiful creature ever seen), had sent to the count of Panago, begging him to bring his children to Saluzzo, and to say to all that the girl was to marry Walter.

The count did as he was requested, and with the two children and a n.o.ble company arrived about noon at Saluzzo, where all the peasants and neighbors from round about were waiting for the new bride. She was received by the ladies, and Griselda, dressed as she was, came forward to meet her cheerfully, saying: "Welcome to my lady."

Walter, who now thought he had sufficient evidence of the long-suffering of his wife, called her to him, and in the presence of all, said to her: "What think you of our bride?" "My lord," said Griselda, "she seems fair indeed to look upon; and if she is as wise as beautiful, which I well believe, I doubt not that you will live with her the happiest gentleman in the world. But I beseech you for one thing: do not wound her spirit, as you have that of your other wife. For I do not believe she can stand it, young as she is, and so delicately brought up."

Walter, seeing that she firmly believed the girl was to be his wife, and that yet she spoke thus kindly of her, set her down beside him, and said: "Griselda, it is time now that you receive the rewards of your patience, and that those who have reputed me cruel, may know that what I did was to teach you how to be a wife, and to prepare for myself a life of perpetual peace and quiet with you as my loving and faithful companion. Therefore take with joyful mind this girl, whom you thought to be my bride, and her brother, for your children and mine. These are they whom you and many others long have thought I had cruelly slain. I am your husband, who love you above all things else; and I indeed can boast that no other man has so great reason to be content with his wife as I;" and thus speaking he embraced and kissed her, and raising her who was now weeping for joy, he led her to where the daughter sat, listening in amazement to all these things, and embraced her and her brother tenderly. Then all the ladies, rejoicing greatly, rose from the table and went with Griselda to her room, and dressed her in a rich gown, such as befitted a lady, which she ever seemed, even in her rags, and led her back again to the hall, and then all, rejoicing, continued the feast. The count of Panago went back to Bologna, and Walter, taking Giannucolo from his work-shop, kept him in state as his father-in-law, so that he lived in great comfort and honor to the end of his life. And the marquis himself, having found his daughter a n.o.ble husband, lived long and happily with Griselda, holding her ever in love and esteem.

SUMMARY AND QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW

Development of Italian prose later than that of poetry--Boccaccio its founder (1313-75)--Friendship for Petrarch--Service in introducing Greek language into Western Europe--His influence upon Chaucer and Shakespeare--The Decameron--He founds Italian prose style and the modern novel.

1. Which is usually developed first, prose or poetry?

2. Give sketch of the life of Boccaccio.

3. Describe his character.

4. Tell the story of his conversion.

5. Give a list of Boccaccio's chief works in Latin and Italian.

6. Which one is his greatest work?

7. What is the general framework of the Decameron?

8. Its popularity and influence.

9. Tell briefly the story of patient Griselda.

10. What is your opinion of this story?

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Owing to the immorality of some of the stories of the Decameron the English translations of the whole book are not to be recommended. A selection, however, fit for the general public has been made by Joseph Jacobs, and published by John Lane.

CHAPTER VI

THE RENAISSANCE AND ARIOSTO

We have seen that Petrarch is considered the founder of the Renaissance in Italy. He died in 1374, and it took a century and more to complete the work he inaugurated. The whole of the fifteenth century is of importance in the history of Italian literature, not so much for what it produced, as for the fact that it prepared the way for the so-called "Golden Age" of the sixteenth century. During these hundred years cla.s.sical scholarship became more and more widely diffused, being no longer confined to a few cities or princely courts, but spread over all Italy and through all cla.s.ses of society.

Yet Florence still remained the great center of this influence. Under the powerful family of the Medici the city had risen to great power and prosperity, and amid all the political confusion of the times it continued to be characterized by a keen intellectual and aesthetic life.

The immediate successors of Petrarch and Boccaccio in the spread of the new learning, Luigi Marsili and Coluccio Salutati, lived and worked at Florence. Later came Poggio Bracciolini, who equaled Petrarch himself as an eager and successful collector of ma.n.u.scripts; Marsilio Ficino, who founded under Cosimo de' Medici the famous Platonic academy; Pico della Mirandola, the youthful prodigy of learning and mystical enthusiast; and Politian, the greatest scholar and most elegant poet of his day. These men studied not only Latin as Petrarch had done, but obtained a good knowledge of Greek. They plunged eagerly into the study of Plato, who for so many centuries had been unknown to western Europe, and who now threatened to take the place of Aristotle in the world of philosophy.

They gathered statues, coins, and inscriptions, and studied ruins in order to obtain as clear an idea as possible of the ancient world. It is hard for us to-day to get an idea of the eager enthusiasm and intense delight in study of these men of the Renaissance; they must have felt as Wordsworth did when he cried out:

"Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven."

The scholars of the time enjoyed an immense popularity. A new caste of society arose, not dependent on birth or wealth, but on learning and intelligence. Princes and cities sought for their services, for which they paid large sums. Everywhere they were received as equal to the n.o.blest in the land. The movement reached its highest point in the first half of the sixteenth century, when the intellectual and artistic life of Italy was of almost incredible greatness. In proof of this statement we need only mention a few names, such as Michel Angelo, Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Ariosto, and Macchiavelli; Ta.s.so belongs to the same group, though born out of due season.

Naturally enough the early Humanists wrote for the most part in Latin, which they still looked upon as the language of their ancestors and thus, in a certain sense, their mother-tongue. Indeed, many at first despised the vernacular as a base corruption. Later, however, a reaction set in; the example of Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio induced others to write in Italian, which now became more and more polished and adapted to become the medium of a great literature. This new impulse toward a national literature was first given at Florence, at the court of Lorenzo the Magnificent, who himself, next to Politian, was the greatest poet of his day. We cannot linger, however, over these fifteenth century writers, but must hasten on to the next century and to the consideration of Ariosto, the supreme poet of the Renaissance.

In discussing the romantic poetry of Ariosto, however, we must go back a number of years in order to get the proper perspective. Among the brilliant men of letters of the court of the Medici was a certain Luigi Pulci, of a poor but n.o.ble family. It was he who was the first to introduce into elegant literature the old romances of the Carlovingian cycle, which for centuries had been sung and recited by rude, wandering minstrels in the public streets of Italy.

We have seen in Chapter I. how in the thirteenth century the old French _chansons de gestes_ had been introduced into North Italy and had there become popular; these had been rewritten and worked over in rude forms for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the common folk, but up to the time of Pulci had found no place in literature proper. Now it is the glory of Pulci to have brought this popular material into the realm of artistic poetry.

This he is said to have done at the request of Lorenzo's mother, the result being the poem known as Morgante. In this poem Pulci introduces as the chief character Orlando, the Italian form of Roland, the nephew of Charlemagne, and the hero of Roncesvalles, who plays so large a role in the French romances. The t.i.tle is derived from the name of a giant whose life has been saved by Orlando, whom he, in grat.i.tude therefor, follows as a faithful servant; he drops out of the story in the twentieth canto.

Pulci, in his Morgante, follows closely the popular poetry of his predecessors, but differs from them in language, style, and especially in the comic treatment of his theme; in all these respects he is the forerunner of Boiardo and Ariosto. As we have seen, he was a native of Florence, which, up to the end of the fifteenth century, had been the chief center of the literary glory of Italy. The scene now changes to Ferrara, where the house of Este had for generations held a brilliant court. It was here that the three great poets, Boiardo, Ariosto, and Ta.s.so, lived and produced their works.

Boiardo has been so eclipsed by Ariosto that he is not known as well as he ought to be, when we consider his services to Italian literature. To him belongs the credit of having invented the romantic epic, and Ariosto, who followed in the same lines, added but little to the general groundwork of his predecessor.

Matteo Maria Boiardo was born of a n.o.ble family at Reggio in 1434, and having early gone to Ferrara, remained there till his death in 1494. A scholar, poet, administrator, and courtier, his position at the court of the duke of Este reminds us involuntarily of that of Goethe, three hundred years later, at Weimar. His first essays in literature were in Latin, but when he was about forty years old he began his poem of Orlando Innamorato (Roland in Love). He was led naturally thereto.

Ferrara had early favored chivalrous poetry, and the library of the duke contained a large number of romances, belonging especially to the Arthurian cycle, which pleased the elegant society of the court more than the Carlovingian stories so popular with the common people. These romances of King Arthur and the Round Table, however, were in French.

Boiardo's great merit consists in the fact that he united in one the various characteristics of both the Carlovingian and the Arthurian romances, and thus combined the popular and the courtly element. He chose the characters of his poem from the former, but changed them to true knights of chivalry, and added all the paraphernalia of the Arthurian tales. Of especial importance was the introduction of romantic love as the motive of all action.

The general theme of Orlando Innamorato is the war between Charlemagne and the Saracens, yet there is no one definite action, as in the case of the regular epic. Rather the poem consists of a series of independent, or at least very loosely connected, episodes, in which the adventures of the various knights errant are recounted with great skill and interest.

Chief among these episodes is that of Orlando and his love for Angelica, the daughter of the king of Cathay, who comes to the court of Charlemagne in Paris, and by means of her beauty and coquetry succeeds in drawing away a number of the best Christian warriors. Other important characters are Astolfo, Rodomonte, Rinaldo, and the latter's sister, Brandiamente, who falls in love with the pagan Roger, who, according to Boiardo, was the founder of the house of Este. Vast as the poem is in its present state, Boiardo left it only half finished when he died in 1494.

At the time of Boiardo's death Ludovico Ariosto was a youth of twenty.

Born in Reggio, in 1474, of a family that had long been in the service of the Este family, he too, after an irregular and tardy education came to Ferrara and entered the service of the Cardinal Este. At the death of his father, in 1500, Ariosto found himself at the head of a family of ten, and n.o.bly performed his duty by caring and providing for all his brothers and sisters. His position in the household of the cardinal was not at all to his liking; he was often sent on emba.s.sies and business trips, a function which, to a man who loved quiet and leisure as much as Ariosto did, was utterly distasteful. In 1517 he refused to accompany the cardinal to Hungary, on the ground of ill-health, and was thereupon summarily dismissed. He found soon, however, more congenial employment in the household of Duke Alfonso. His life now was more quiet and afforded him more opportunity for study and writing. Yet even here he was not content. His inclinations were all against court life, and he only retained his position on account of his poverty. His character, as depicted in his satires, was very different from that of Petrarch, who was a successful courtier. Ariosto could not bow and smile and make himself agreeable. He was sincere and independent by nature, modest in his desires, kindly and amiable, loved nature, quiet study, and rural occupations. In 1527 he succeeded in saving enough to buy a small house at Ferrara, with a garden attached. Over the door he placed the inscription which has become famous: "Small, but suited to me; harmful to no one; bought with my own money." Here he spent the remainder of his days, happy and contented, amusing himself with almost childish joy in the cultivation of his garden. He died June 6, 1533.

Ariosto's literary work consists of comedies, which are among the very first of modern literature; satires and the Orlando Furioso (Mad Roland). The satires rank next in literary value to his masterpiece, and are charming examples of the poetic epistle rather than biting satire.

They contain many details of the society of the day, and are our best source for the life and character of their author. They are all inspired with kindly humor and full of worldly wisdom and common sense. No one can read these satires without feeling a respect and affection for the poet who wrote them.

Ariosto's most famous work, however, is the Orlando Furioso. When he came to Ferrara everybody was talking about the Orlando Innamorato of Boiardo. Ariosto himself admired it immensely, for it harmonized perfectly with his own genius and literary tastes. Hence when there came to him that mysterious command, "Write," which all men of poetical genius hear some day or other, it was only natural that he should turn to the unfinished poem of his predecessor, with the thought of completing it.