Il Cavalier d’ Anglante ove pui spesse Vide le genti e l’arme, abbasso l’asta, Ed uno in quella, e poscia un altro messe E un altro, e un altro, che sembrar di pasta, E fino a sei ve n’infilzò, e li resse Tutti una lancia; e perche’ ella non basta A piu Capir, lasciò il settimo fuore Ferito si che di quel colpo muore.
This stanza our declaimer had no occasion to comment upon, as Ariosto has thought fit to illustrate it in a manner which seemed highly to the taste of this audience. For, in the verse immediately following, Orlando is compared to a man killing frogs in marshy ground, with a bow and arrow made for that purpose; an amusement very common in Italy, and still more so in France.
Non altrimente nell’ estrema arena Veggiam le rane de’ canali e fosse Dal cauto arcier ne i fianchi, e nella schiena L’una vicina all’ altera esser percosse, Ne dalla freccia, fin che tutta piena Non sia da un capo all’ altero esser rimosse.
I must however do this audience the justice to acknowledge, that they seemed to feel the pathetic and sublime, as well as the ludicrous, parts of the ancient Bard.
This practice of rehearsing the verses of Ariosto, Tasso, and other poets, in the street, I have not observed in any other town of Italy; and I am told it is less common here than it was formerly. I remember indeed, at Venice, to have frequently seen mountebanks, who gained their livelihood by amusing the populace at St. Mark’s Place, with wonderful and romantic stories in prose.—“Listen, Gentlemen,” said one of them; “let me crave your attention, ye beautiful and virtuous ladies; I have something equally affecting and wonderful to tell you; a strange and stupendous adventure, which happened to a gallant knight.”—Perceiving that this did not sufficiently interest the hearers, he exalted his voice, calling out that his Knight was uno Cavalliero Cristiano. The audience seemed still a little fluctuating. He raised his voice a note higher, telling them that this Christian Knight was one of their own victorious countrymen, “un’ Eroe Veneziano.” This fixed them; and he proceeded to relate how the Knight, going to join the Christian army, which was on its march to recover the Sepulchre of Christ from the hands of the Infidels, lost his way in a vast wood, and wandered at length to a castle, in which a lady of transcendent beauty was kept prisoner by a gigantic Saracen, who, having failed in all his endeavours to gain the heart of this peerless damsel, resolved to gratify his passion by force; and had actually begun the horrid attempt, when the shrieks of this chaste maiden reached the ears of the Venetian hero; who, ever ready to relieve virgins in distress, rushed into the apartment from whence the cries issued. The brutal ravisher, alarmed at the noise, quits the struggling lady, at the very instant when her strength began to fail; draws his flaming sword; and a dreadful combat begins between him and the Christian Knight, who performs miracles of courage and address in resisting the blows of this mighty giant; till, his foot unfortunately slipping in the blood which flowed on the pavement, he fell at the feet of the Saracen; who, immediately seizing the advantage which chance gave him, raised his sword with all his might, and—Here the orator’s hat flew to the ground, open to receive the contributions of the listeners; and he continued repeating, “raised his sword over the head of the Christian Knight”—“raised his bloody, murderous brand, to destroy your noble, valiant countryman.”—But he proceeded no farther in his narrative, till all who seemed interested in it had thrown something into the hat. He then pocketed the money with great gravity, and went on to inform them, that, at this critical moment, the Lady, seeing the danger which threatened her deliverer, redoubled her prayers to the Blessed Mary, who, a virgin herself, is peculiarly attentive and propitious to the prayers of virgins. Just as the Saracen’s sword was descending on the head of the Venetian, a large bee flew, quick as thought, in at the window, stung the former very smartly on the left temple, diverted the blow, and gave the Christian Knight time to recover himself. The fight then recommenced with fresh fury; but, after the Virgin Mary had taken such a decided part, you may believe it was no match. The Infidel soon fell dead at the feet of the Believer. But who do you think this beauteous maiden was, on whose account the combat had begun? Why no other than the sister of the Venetian Hero.—This young lady had been stolen from her father’s house, while she was yet a child, by an Armenian merchant, who dealt in no other goods than women.