by Lord Byron
That they are dead, and have no further fear
To wander solitary this desert in,
And that they may perceive my spirit clear
By the Lord’s grace, who hath withdrawn the curtain
Of darkness, making His bright realm appear.”
He cut his brethren’s hands off at these words,
And left them to the savage beasts and birds.
LV.
Then to the abbey they went on together,
Where waited them the Abbot in great doubt.
The monks, who knew not yet the fact, ran thither
To their superior, all in breathless rout,
Saying with tremor, “Please to tell us whether
You wish to have this person in or out?”
The Abbot, looking through upon the Giant,
Too greatly feared, at first, to be compliant.
LVI.
Orlando seeing him thus agitated,
Said quickly, “Abbot, be thou of good cheer;
He Christ believes, as Christian must be rated,
And hath renounced his Macon false;” which here
Morgante with the hands corroborated,
A proof of both the giants’ fate quite clear:
Thence, with due thanks, the Abbot God adored,
Saying, “Thou hast contented me, O Lord!”
LVII.
He gazed; Morgante’s height he calculated,
And more than once contemplated his size;
And then he said, “O Giant celebrated!
Know, that no more my wonder will arise,
How you could tear and fling the trees you late did,
When I behold your form with my own eyes.
You now a true and perfect friend will show
Yourself to Christ, as once you were a foe.
LVIII.
“And one of our apostles, Saul once named,
Long persecuted sore the faith of Christ,
Till, one day, by the Spirit being inflamed,
‘Why dost thou persecute me thus?’ said Christ;
And then from his offence he was reclaimed,
And went for ever after preaching Christ,
And of the faith became a trump, whose sounding
O’er the whole earth is echoing and rebounding.
LIX.
“So, my Morgante, you may do likewise:
He who repents — thus writes the Evangelist —
Occasions more rejoicing in the skies
Than ninety-nine of the celestial list.
You may be sure, should each desire arise
With just zeal for the Lord, that you’ll exist
Among the happy saints for evermore;
But you were lost and damned to Hell before!”
LX.
And thus great honour to Morgante paid
The Abbot: many days they did repose.
One day, as with Orlando they both strayed,
And sauntered here and there, where’er they chose,
The Abbot showed a chamber, where arrayed
Much armour was, and hung up certain bows;
And one of these Morgante for a whim
Girt on, though useless, he believed, to him.
LXI.
There being a want of water in the place,
Orlando, like a worthy brother, said,
“Morgante, I could wish you in this case
To go for water.” “You shall be obeyed
In all commands,” was the reply, “straight ways.”
Upon his shoulder a great tub he laid,
And went out on his way unto a fountain,
Where he was wont to drink, below the mountain.
LXII.
Arrived there, a prodigious noise he hears,
Which suddenly along the forest spread;
Whereat from out his quiver he prepares
An arrow for his bow, and lifts his head;
And lo! a monstrous herd of swine appears,
And onward rushes with tempestuous tread,
And to the fountain’s brink precisely pours;
So that the Giant’s joined by all the boars.
LXIII.
Morgante at a venture shot an arrow,
Which pierced a pig precisely in the ear,
And passed unto the other side quite through;
So that the boar, defunct, lay tripped up near.
Another, to revenge his fellow farrow,
Against the Giant rushed in fierce career,
And reached the passage with so swift a foot,
Morgante was not now in time to shoot.
LXIV.
Perceiving that the pig was on him close,
He gave him such a punch upon the head,
As floored him so that he no more arose,
Smashing the very bone; and he fell dead
Next to the other. Having seen such blows,
The other pigs along the valley fled;
Morgante on his neck the bucket took,
Full from the spring, which neither swerved nor shook.
LXV.
The tub was on one shoulder, and there were
The hogs on t’other, and he brushed apace
On to the abbey, though by no means near,
Nor spilt one drop of water in his race.
Orlando, seeing him so soon appear
With the dead boars, and with that brimful vase,
Marvelled to see his strength so very great;
So did the Abbot, and set wide the gate.
LXVI.
The monks, who saw the water fresh and good,
Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the pork;
All animals are glad at sight of food:
They lay their breviaries to sleep, and work
With greedy pleasure, and in such a mood,
That the flesh needs no salt beneath their fork.
Of rankness and of rot there is no fear,
For all the fasts are now left in arrear.
LXVII.
As though they wished to burst at once, they ate;
And gorged so that, as if the bones had been
In water, sorely grieved the dog and cat,
Perceiving that they all were picked too clean.
The Abbot, who to all did honour great,
A few days after this convivial scene,
Gave to Morgante a fine horse, well trained,
Which he long time had for himself maintained.
LXVIII.
The horse Morgante to a meadow led,
To gallop, and to put him to the proof,
Thinking that he a back of iron had,
Or to skim eggs unbroke was light enough;
But the horse, sinking with the pain, fell dead,
And burst, while cold on earth lay head and hoof.
Morgante said, “Get up, thou sulky cur!”
And still continued pricking with the spur.
LXIX.
But finally he thought fit to dismount,
And said, “I am as light as any feather,
And he has burst; — to this what say you, Count?”
Orlando answered, “Like a ship’s mast rather
You seem to me, and with the truck for front:
Let him go! Fortune wills that we together
Should march, but you on foot Morgante still.”
To which the Giant answered,” So I will.
LXX.
“When there shall be occasion, you will see
How I approve my courage in the fight.”
Orlando said, “I really think you’ll be,
If it should prove God’s will, a goodly knight;
Nor will you napping there discover me.
But never mind your horse, though out of sight
‘Twere best to carry him into some wood,
If but the means or way I understood.”
LXXI.
The Giant said, “Then carry him I will,
Since that to carry me he was so slack —
To render, as the gods do, good for ill;
But lend a hand to place him on my back.”
Orlando answered, “If my counsel still
May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake
To lift or carry this dead courser, who,
As you have done to him, will do to you.
LXXII.
“Take care he don’t revenge himself, though dead,
As Nessus did of old beyond all cure.
I don’t know if the fact you’ve heard or read;
But he will make you burst, you may be sure.”
“But help him on my back,” Morgante said,
“And you shall see what weight I can endure.
In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey,
With all the bells, I’d carry yonder belfry.”
LXXIII.
The Abbot said, “The steeple may do well,
But for the bells, you’ve broken them, I wot.”
Morgante answered, “Let them pay in Hell
The penalty who lie dead in yon grot;”
And hoisting up the horse from where he fell,
He said, “Now look if I the gout have got,
Orlando, in the legs, — or if I have force;” —
And then he made two gambols with the horse.
LXXIV.
Morgante was like any mountain framed;
So if he did this ‘tis no prodigy;
But secretly himself Orlando blamed,
Because he was one of his family;
And fearing that he might be hurt or maimed,
Once more he bade him lay his burden by:
“Put down, nor bear him further the desert in.”
Morgante said, “I’ll carry him for certain.”
LXXV.
He did; and stowed him in some nook away,
And to the abbey then returned with speed.
Orlando said, “Why longer do we stay?
Morgante, here is nought to do indeed.”
The Abbot by the hand he took one day,
And said, with great respect, he had agreed
To leave his reverence; but for this decision
He wished to have his pardon and permission.
LXXVI.
The honours they continued to receive
Perhaps exceeded what his merits claimed:
He said, “I mean, and quickly, to retrieve
The lost days of time past, which may be blamed;
Some days ago I should have asked your leave,
Kind father, but I really was ashamed,
And know not how to show my sentiment,
So much I see you with our stay content.
LXXVII.
“But in my heart I bear through every clime
The Abbot, abbey, and this solitude —
So much I love you in so short a time;
For me, from Heaven reward you with all good
The God so true, the eternal Lord sublime!
Whose kingdom at the last hath open stood.
Meantime we stand expectant of your blessing.
And recommend us to your prayers with pressing.”
LXXVIII.
Now when the Abbot Count Orlando heard,
His heart grew soft with inner tenderness,
Such fervour in his bosom bred each word;
And, “Cavalier,” he said, “if I have less
Courteous and kind to your great worth appeared,
Than fits me for such gentle blood to express,
I know I have done too little in this case;
But blame our ignorance, and this poor place.
LXXIX.
“We can indeed but honour you with masses,
And sermons, thanksgivings, and pater-nosters,
Hot suppers, dinners (fitting other places
In verity much rather than the cloisters);
But such a love for you my heart embraces,
For thousand virtues which your bosom fosters,
That wheresoe’er you go I too shall be,
And, on the other part, you rest with me.
LXXX.
“This may involve a seeming contradiction;
But you I know are sage, and feel, and taste,
And understand my speech with full conviction.
For your just pious deeds may you be graced
With the Lord’s great reward and benediction,
By whom you were directed to this waste:
To His high mercy is our freedom due,
For which we render thanks to Him and you.
LXXXI.
“You saved at once our life and soul: such fear
The Giants caused us, that the way was lost
By which we could pursue a fit career
In search of Jesus and the saintly Host;
And your departure breeds such sorrow here,
That comfortless we all are to our cost;
But months and years you would not stay in sloth,
Nor are you formed to wear our sober cloth,
LXXXII.
“But to bear arms, and wield the lance; indeed,
With these as much is done as with this cowl;
In proof of which the Scripture you may read,
This Giant up to Heaven may bear his soul
By your compassion: now in peace proceed.
Your state and name I seek not to unroll;
But, if I’m asked, this answer shall be given,
That here an angel was sent down from Heaven.
LXXXIII.
“If you want armour or aught else, go in,
Look o’er the wardrobe, and take what you choose,
And cover with it o’er this Giant’s skin.”
Orlando answered, “If there should lie loose
Some armour, ere our journey we begin,
Which might be turned to my companion’s use,
The gift would be acceptable to me.”
The Abbot said to him, “Come in and see.”
LXXXIV.
And in a certain closet, where the wall
Was covered with old armour like a crust,
The Abbot said to them, “I give you all.”
Morgante rummaged piecemeal from the dust
The whole, which, save one cuirass, was too small,
And that too had the mail inlaid with rust.
They wondered how it fitted him exactly,
Which ne’er had suited others so compactly.
LXXXV.
‘Twas an immeasurable Giant’s, who
By the great Milo of Agrante fell
Before the abbey many years ago.
The story on the wall was figured well;
In the last moment of the abbey’s foe,
Who long had waged a war implacable:
Precisely as the war occurred they drew him,
And there was Milo as he overthrew him.
LXXXVI.
Seeing this history, Count Orlando said
In his own heart, “O God who in the sky
Know’st all things! how was Milo hither led?
Who caused the Giant in this place to die?”
And certain letters, weeping, then he read,
So that he could not keep his visage dry, —
As I will tell in the ensuing story:
From evil keep you the high King of Glory!
[Note to Stanza v. Lines 1, 2. — In an Edition of the Morgante Maggiore issued at Florence by G. Pulci, in 1900, line 2 of stanza v. runs thus —
“Com’ egli ebbe un Ormanno e ‘l suo Turpino.”
The allusion to “Ormanno,” who has been identified with a mythical chronicler, “Urmano from Paris
” (see Rajna’s Ricerche sui Reali di Francia, 1872, p. 51), and the appeal to the authority of Leonardo Aretino, must not be taken au pied de la lettre. At the same time, the opinion attributed to Leonardo is in accordance with contemporary sentiment and phraseology. Compare “Horum res gestas si qui auctores digni celebrassent, quam magnæ, quam admirabiles, quam veteribus illis similes viderentur.” — B. Accolti Aretini (ob. 1466) Dialogus de Præstantiâ Virorum sui Ævi. P. Villani, Liber de Florentiæ Famosis Civibus, 1847, p. 112. From information kindly supplied by Professor V. Rossi, of the University of Pavia.]
FRANCESCA OF RIMINI
INTRODUCTION
The MS. of “a literal translation, word for word (versed like the original), of the episode of Francesca of Rimini” (Letter March 23, 1820, Letters, 1900, iv. 421), was sent to Murray from Ravenna, March 20, 1820 (ibid., p. 419), a week after Byron had forwarded the MS. of the Prophecy of Dante. Presumably the translation had been made in the interval by way of illustrating and justifying the unfamiliar metre of the “Dante Imitation.” In the letter which accompanied the translation he writes, “Enclosed you will find, line for line, in third rhyme (terza rima,) of which your British Blackguard reader as yet understands nothing, Fanny of Rimini. You know that she was born here, and married, and slain, from Cary, Boyd, and such people already. I have done it into cramp English, line for line, and rhyme for rhyme, to try the possibility. You had best append it to the poems already sent by last three posts.”
In the matter of the “British Blackguard,” that is, the general reader, Byron spoke by the card. Hayley’s excellent translation of the three first cantos of the Inferno, which must have been known to a previous generation, was forgotten, and with earlier experiments in terza rima, by Chaucer and the sixteenth and seventeenth century poets, neither Byron nor the British public had any familiar or definite acquaintance. But of late some interest had been awakened or revived in Dante and the Divina Commedia.
Cary’s translation — begun in 1796, but not published as a whole till 1814 — had met with a sudden and remarkable success. “The work, which had been published four years, but had remained in utter obscurity, was at once eagerly sought after. About a thousand copies of the first edition, that remained on hand, were immediately disposed of; in less than three months a new edition was called for.” Moreover, the Quarterly and Edinburgh Reviews were loud in its praises (Memoir of H. F. Cary, 1847, ii. 28). Byron seems to have thought that a fragment of the Inferno, “versed like the original,” would challenge comparison with Cary’s rendering in blank verse, and would lend an additional interest to the “Pulci Translations, and the Dante Imitation.” Dîs aliter visum, and Byron’s translation of the episode of Francesca of Rimini, remained unpublished till it appeared in the pages of The Letters and Journals of Lord Byron, 1830, ii. 309-311. (For separate translations of the episode, see Stories of the Italian Poets, by Leigh Hunt, 1846, i. 393-395, and for a rendering in blank verse by Lord [John] Russell, see Literary Souvenir, 1830, pp. 285-287.)