The family of Giovanni Boccaccio derived itself originally from the
Ardovini and Bertaldi, of the castle of Certaldo, a fortress of Val
d'Elsa, ten miles distant from Florence. His progenitors migrated to
that town, and became citizens of the republic. His father's name was
Boccaccio di Chellino, derived from that of his father Michele,
diminished to Michellino or Chellino; such, as in the Highlands of
Scotland and other places in the infancy of society, was the mode by
which the Italians formed their names; with the exception of a few, who
retained the appellation of some illustrious ancestor. The son of
Boccaccio was named Giovanni, and he always designated himself at full
length, as Giovanni di Boccaccio da Certaldo.
Little is known of the early life of Boccaccio, except the slender and
vague details which he has interspersed in his works. His father was a
merchant; he was a man in good repute, and had filled several offices
under the Florentine government. His commercial speculations caused him
to make frequent journeys, and he lived at one time for some years at
Paris. Boccaccio was most probably born in that city. His mother was a
French girl of highly respectable family, though not noble. It has been
disputed whether in the sequel Boccaccio di Chellino married her; but it
seems likely that she died soon after the birth of her son, and never
became his wife. It is certain that Giovanni was illegitimate; as he was
obliged to obtain a bull to legitimise himself, when late in life he
entered the ecclesiastical profession.
[Sidenote: 1313.]
Boccaccio was born in the year 1313, and at the age of seven accompanied
his father to Florence. He tells us of himself that he gave early tokens
of his future inventive and romantic talents. When seven years old a
desire of inventing fictions seized him, and he even then fabricated
tales, childish and inartificial it is true, though he had never heard
any stories or fables, nor frequented the society of literary men; and
though he was scarcely acquainted with the first elements of
letters.[58] His father had, however, plans with regard to him wholly at
variance with these tastes.
[Sidenote: 1323.
Ætat.
10.]
For a short time he gave him Giovanni da Strada, father of the poet
Zenobio, for an instructor in the rudiments of learning, and then placed
him under the charge of a merchant, from whom he was to learn
arithmetic, and to be initiated in other parts of knowledge appertaining
to commerce. In this way, to use his own words, he lost six valuable and
irrecoverable years. Some friends then assured his father that he was
better fitted for literature than trade, and his parent yielded so far
to these remonstrances, as to permit him to enter on the study of the
canonical law, placing him under a celebrated professor.
[Sidenote: 1329.
Ætat.
16.]
It is very uncertain in what country he resided during this time. He
travelled a good deal, and we have evidence of his visiting Ravenna,
Naples, and Paris, both while he was with his mercantile instructor, and
afterwards. It has been conjectured that at the former place he, as a
child, knew Dante, who discovered and cherished his infant talents. But
this idea rests on a very slender foundation, arising from Boccaccio
speaking of him as his guide from whom he derived all good; and
Petrarch, alluding to him in a letter to Boccaccio, as "he who was in
your youth the first leader, the first torch that led you to study."
Dante died in 1321, when Boccaccio was only eight years old; it seems
probable, therefore, that Boccaccio looked on Dante as his master and
guide from the reasons that made Dante give those names to Virgil; and
the works of the Italian poet formed the torch that lighted his
countryman in his search after knowledge. Another discussion has arisen
concerning who his master of canonical law was; it is known that he
passed much time in Paris, and was familiar with the language, manners,
and customs of the French; and as he was intimate with Dionisio
Robertis, the friend of Petrarch, it is supposed that he studied under
him.[59] It is certain, from his own words, that he was at that time at
a distance from home, and that his father, discontented with the career
he was pursuing, vexed him with reproachful letters. It would seem that
Boccaccio di Chellino was a penurious and ill-tempered man.
The project of making him a lawyer did not succeed better than the
former one. The imaginative youth was disgusted with the hard dry study;
nor could the counsels of his preceptor, nor the continual admonitions
of his parent, nor the reproaches of his friends, induce him to pursue
his new career with any industry.
[Sidenote: 1333.
Ætat.
20.]
Displeased by the little progress he made, his father put an end to the
experiment, and bringing him back to his commercial pursuits, sent him
to Naples, ordering him there to remain; or, as it would appear, from
some allusions in his works, recalled him to his home, which was then in
that city; as at one time it is certain Boccaccio lived under the
paternal roof at Naples; and it is also known that at a later period he
continued there, while his father lived at Florence.
Boccaccio describes himself as very happy at this time, associating on
equal terms with the young nobles, with whom he practised a system of
great reserve, fearing to have his independence infringed upon. But his
society was courted, and his disposition and manners were formed by a
familiar intercourse with the licentious but refined nobility of king
Robert's court. Yet he had better thoughts and more worthy talents
dormant in his heart, which only required a slight spark to kindle into
an inextinguishable flame. One day, by chance, he visited the tomb of
Virgil.[60] The tomb of the Mantuan poet is situated on the height of
Pausilippo: it consists of a small structure shaped, like a rude hut,
but evidently of ancient date.
[Sidenote: 1338.
Ætat.
25.]
It is overgrown with rich vegetation; the wild aloe and prickly pear
issue from its clefts, and ivy and other parasites climb up its sides
and cling thickly to its summit. A dark rock rises immediately before;
it is shut in, secluded and tranquil: but at the distance of only a few
yards, a short ascent leads to the top of the hill, where the whole of
the hay of Naples opens itself to the eye. The exceeding beauty of this
scene fills every gazer with delight; the wide-spread sea is adorned by
various islands, and by picturesque promontories, which shut in secluded
bays; the earth is varied by hills, dells, and lakes, by towering
heights and woody ravines; the sky, serenely though darkly blue, imparts
matchless hues to the elements beneath. Nature presents her most
enchanting aspect; and the voice of human genius breathing from the
silent tomb, speaks of the influence of the imagination of man, and of
the power which he possesses to communicate his ideas in all their
warmth and beauty to his fellow creatures. Such is the tomb of Virgil
now--such was it five hundred years ago, when Boccaccio's heart glowed
with new-born enthusiasm as he gazed upon it. He remained long
contemplating the spot, and calling to mind with admiration the fame of
him whose ashes reposed in the structure before him: then he began to
lament his evil fortune, which obliged him to give up his faculties to
baser pursuits. Touched suddenly and deeply by an ardent desire of
cultivating poetry, he, on his return home, cast aside all thoughts of
business, and eagerly gave himself up to the Muses. And thus, at nearly
mature age, impelled by his own wishes only, excited and led by none,
his father averse, and always vituperating literature, he, untaught by
any, applied to the cultivation of his understanding, devoting himself
to the study of such authors as he could comprehend, with the greatest
avidity and delight.[61] His genius and fervour conjoined to facilitate
his progress; and his father, become aware of the inutility of
opposition, at length consented that he should follow his own
inclinations, and gave him the necessary assistance.
Another circumstance occurred not long after to confirm his predilection
for literature, and to exalt it in his eyes. He was present when
Petrarch was examined by Robert, king of Naples, previous to his
coronation in the Capitol.
[Sidenote: 1341.
Ætat.
28.]
King Robert was a philosopher, a physician, and an astrologer, but
hitherto he had despised poetry, being only acquainted with some
Sicilian rhymes, and a few of the compositions of the Troubadours.
Petrarch, discovering the ignorance of his royal patron, took an
opportunity, at the conclusion of his examination, to deliver an oration
in praise of poetry, setting forth its magical beauty and its beneficent
influence over the minds and manners of men; and so exalted his art,
that the king said, in Boccaccio's hearing[62], that he had never before
suspected that the foolish rind of verse enclosed matter so lofty and
sublime; and declared that now, in his old age, he would learn to
appreciate and understand it, asking Petrarch, as an honour which he
coveted, to dedicate his poem of Africa to him. From this time the lover
of Laura became the Magnus Apollo of the more youthful Boccaccio: he
named him his guide and preceptor, and became, in process of time, his
most intimate friend.
The liberal tastes and generous patronage of king Robert drew to his
court many of the most illustrious men of the age. Boccaccio was
exceedingly desirous, from boyhood, of seeing men celebrated for
learning[63], and he cultivated a friendship with many of those who
lived at Naples. Under the Calabrian Barlaam he studied Greek. Barbato,
the chancellor of the king, Dionisio Robertis, bishop of Monopoli, Paolo
Perugini, royal librarian, Giovanni Barrili,--these were all his
particular friends; conversing with whom, he cultivated the literary
tastes to which he entirely devoted himself.
An ardent love of poetry, and an assiduous cultivation of his
imagination, made the study of his own nature and its impulses a
principal subject of contemplation; and thus softening his heart, opened
an easy entrance to the passion of love. He became attached to a lady of
high rank at Naples, whom he has celebrated in many of his works.
He relates the commencement of this attachment in various and
contradictory ways; on which account a celebrated Italian critic has
doubted whether the truth is contained in any of his narrations[64]; it
is more credible that they are founded on fact. The object of his
passion, as is proved by a variety of circumstances, and by his own
express declaration[65], was a natural daughter of Robert king of
Naples. To prevent the injury which would have accrued to her mother's
name, had her parentage been avowed, her royal father caused her to be
adopted by a noble of the house of Achino. She was educated with extreme
care, and married, when very young, to a Neapolitan noble.
[Sidenote: April
7.
1341.
Ætat.
28.]
They first saw each other at the church of San Lorenzo, on a day of high
festival. She was in all the bloom of youth and beauty, dressed with
splendour, and surrounded by all that rank and prosperity can impart of
brilliancy. The passion was sudden and mutual.[66]
But it is in vain that he endeavours to engage our sympathy. In spite of
all the interest which he tries to throw over their attachment, it bears
the appearance of a mere intrigue. The lady Mary was a wife, and, in all
probability, a mother. Her lover makes her relate, in one of his
works[67], that she was married to a noble of equal age; that until she
saw Boccaccio, they were happy in each other; her husband adoring her,
and she affectionately attached to him. A passion which could disturb
such an union appears a phrensy as well as a crime. That the lovers
suffered great misery, may serve as a warning, as well as an example, of
how such attachments, from their very nature, from the separations,
suspicions, and violations of delicacy and truth entailed upon them,
must, under the most favourable auspices, be fruitful of solicitude and
wretchedness. An adherence to truth is the noblest attribute of human
nature. The perpetual infringement which results from a secret intrigue
degrades in their own eyes those who practise the falsehood. In the
details which Boccaccio has given of his passion, we perceive the
violation of the most beautiful of social ties; while deceit is
substituted for sincerity, and mystery for frankness. The lover
perceived a perpetual lie on the lips of her he loved; and, had his
attachment been of an ennobling nature, he would rather have given up
its gratification, than have sought it in the humiliation and error of
its object.
The lady Mary was eminently beautiful. Her hair, of the palest gold,
shaded a forehead remarkable for its ample proportion; her brows were
black and delicately marked; her eyes bright and expressive; her
beautiful mouth was terminated by a small, round, and dimpled chin; her
complexion was brilliant, her person well formed and elegant. She
excelled in the dance and song, and, above all, in the vivacious, airy
spirit of conversation. Her disposition was generous and magnificent.
Boccaccio himself was handsome: his good looks were too early injured by
plumpness; but, at this time, being only twenty-eight years of age, he
was in the pride of life. His eyes were full of vivacity; his features
regular; he was peculiarly agreeable and lively in society; his manners
were polite and noble; he was proud, taking his origin from a republic
where equality of rank prevailed; but, frequenting the society of the
Neapolitan nobility, he preserved a dignified independence and courteous
reserve, which commanded respect.
Hitherto Boccaccio had been collecting materials, by study, for future
composition; but he had written nothing. According to his own
declaration, his mind had become sluggish and debased through frivolity
and indolence, when his love for the lady Mary awoke him to
exertion[68], and incited him to pursue that career which has caused his
name to be numbered among the illustrious writers of his country. His
first work, written at the request of his fair mistress, in the early
days of their passion, was the "Filocopo." The foundation of this tale
resembles St. John's tales--those of "The Seven Wise Masters," &c.,
which were adopted from Arabia, and coloured, in their details, by
descriptions of Eastern manners, with which the conquest of Granada by
the Moors, and the expeditions of the crusaders, varied the rude
chivalry of the North. A Roman noble and his wife make a pilgrimage to
Spain. The husband dies fighting against the Mahometan Felix, king of
Marmorina. His wife fell into the hands of the victor, and died at the
court of Felix, on giving birth to her daughter Biancafiore, on the very
day on which Florio, the son of Felix, was born. The children were
educated together. The parentage of Biancafiore was unknown, her parents
having died without declaring their names and descent from the Scipios
and Cæsars; but, despite her obscure origin. Florio becomes enamoured
of his lovely companion; and his father, enraged by this ill-assorted
attachment, separates them; and, after cruelly persecuting the
unfortunate girl, at last sells her to a merchant, who takes her to
Alexandria, where she is bought by a noble, who shuts her up in a tower.
Florio wanders into various countries to seek her; they go through a
variety of disasters, which end in their happy marriage; and, the birth
of Biancafiore being discovered, they are converted to the Christian
faith. The story is long drawn out and very unreadable; though
interspersed by traits of genius peculiar to Boccaccio, natural touches
of genuine feeling, and charming descriptions. Florio, during his
erratic travels in search of Biancafiore, arrives at Naples: the author
introduces him into the company of his lady and himself, under the names
of Fiammetta and Caleone.
Having once engaged in writing, Boccaccio became very diligent: his next
work was a poem, entitled the "Teseide," or the "Thesiad." The subject
is familiar to the English reader, as the "Knight's Tale" in Chaucer,
modernised by Dryden, under the title of "Palamon and Arcite." Boccaccio
was, if not the inventor of the _ottava rima_, or octave stanza (some
Sicilian and French poets are supposed to have preceded him in the use
of it), yet the first to render it familiar to the Italians. It has been
duly appreciated by them, and used, as peculiarly adapted to narrative
poetry. The ease with which the Italian language lends itself to rhythm
and to rhyme, enabled Boccaccio to dress his thoughts in the guise of
poetry; but he was, essentially, not a poet. It were too long to enter
here into the distinction between the power of the imagination which
creates fable and character, and even produces ideal imagery, and the
peculiar attributes of poetry, which consists in a greater force and
concentration of language, and an ear for the framing poetic numbers.
The sublimity, yet delicacy, of Dante, the grace and harmony of
Petrarch, are quite unapproached by Boccaccio: nor, indeed, can he
compete with even the second and third rate of Italian poets. His style
is diffuse and incult, and altogether wanting in the higher graces of
poetic diction. Still, there is nature, pathos, and beauty in the
narration. The story of the "Thesiad," if unborrowed,--and there is no
previous trace of it,--is worthy of the author of the "Decameron:" it is
full of passion and variety. He had the merit, also, of discarding the
machinery of dreams and visions, then so much in vogue among his
countrymen, which took from their compositions all reality and truth of
feeling--giving us empty personifications, instead of fellow-creatures,
formed of flesh and blood.
[Sidenote: 1342.
Ætat.
29.]
Boccaccio had not long enjoyed the favour of his lady, when he was
obliged to return to Florence. His father had lost his wife and
children, and recalled his son, to be the companion of his declining
years. He separated himself from the lady Mary with infinite regret; a
feeling which she so fully shared, that he afterwards wrote a work,
entitled "La Fiammetta," in which she, as the narratress, gives the
history of their attachment, and complains bitterly of the misery they
suffered during their separation. There is less of redundancy, and more
unaffected nature in this work than in his former; and the commencement
calls up forcibly the author of the "Decameron," from the vividness and
strength of the language. In one respect, his visit to Florence, at this
time, was evidently beneficial: it familiarised him with the pure and
elegant language of Tuscany: he does not allude to it; but the barbarous
dialect of Naples must have injured his style; and we cannot doubt that
he recognised at once, and adopted, the expressive idiom of his native
town. The "Decameron" is a model of the Tuscan dialect, if such a name
can be given to a tongue differing from the Italian spoken in every
other portion of the peninsula, and infinitely superior to all in grace,
energy, and conciseness.
He found his home, with his father, sufficiently disagreeable.[69] The
house was gloomy and silent; nor was the sound of gaiety ever heard
within its walls. His father was far advanced in years, and had grown,
if he had not always been, avaricious and discourteous, discontented and
reproachful; so that the necessity of seeing him every day, of each
evening returning to his melancholy abode, cast a shadow over
Boccaccio's life. "Ah!" he exclaims, "how happy are the independent, who
possess themselves in freedom!" To add to his dissatisfaction, Florence
was suffering under the oppression of Walter de Brienne, duke of Athens;
whom the people had, in a moment of despondency, set over themselves,
and who proved a cruel and gloomy tyrant; till, unable to endure any
longer his sanguinary despotism, the citizens rose against him, and
regained their liberty.
Boccaccio's chief amusement was derived from his pen. He wrote the
"Ameto," a composition of mingled prose and verse, the first of a kind,
since adopted by Sannazaro and sir Philip Sidney. The "Ameto" is a story
somewhat resembling "Cymon and Iphigenia," in which he again introduces
himself and his lady, as he informs the reader, bidding those attend who
have a clear understanding, and they will find a hidden truth disclosed
in his verses. But a more agreeable change was at hand, to relieve him
from his painful position. His father married again, and he was
permitted to return to Naples.
[Sidenote: 1344.
Ætat.
31.]
He found great alterations in this city. King Robert was dead. His
daughter Jane succeeded to him: her dissentions with her husband
produced a violent party spirit among the courtiers, while the pursuit
of pleasure was the order of the day. A Court of Love, in imitation of
those held in Provence, was instituted, over which the lady Mary
presided. The lovers continued fondly attached to each other, though
jealousies and trifling quarrels somewhat diversified the otherwise even
course of their loves. The lady passed several months each summer at
Baiæ, amidst a society given up to amusement, and to the indulgence of
the greatest libertinism. From some unknown cause, Boccaccio did not
accompany her on these occasions, and he was tormented by a thousand
doubts, fearing that the dissolute manners of the court would corrupt
her, whom he calls a mirror of chaste love, and injure her faith towards
him. During one of these absences he wrote his poem of "Filostrato," on
the subject of Troilus and Cressida, which he dedicated as a kind of
peace-offering to his lady. He wrote also the "Amorosa Fiammetta," which
is her fancied complaint, while he was at Florence, and the "Amorosa
Visione," or Vision of Love; which is more poetic in its diction than
any of his previous works in verse, though it labours under the
disadvantage of being an acrostic; the initial letters of each verse
forming a series of sonnets and canzoni, addressed in the same initials
to "Madonna Maria."
[Sidenote: 1345.
Ætat.
35.]
During the period when the plague desolated the world, Boccaccio
occupied himself by writing the "Decameron," to amuse, it is said, queen
Jane and her court. He gives a somewhat different account in the
preface. He tells us in it: "From my youth until the present time, I
have been inflamed by an aspiring love for one more noble perhaps than
befitted my obscure birth; for which passion I was praised even by the
more discreet among those who knew of it, and held in high repute; and
yet it was the cause to me of much trouble and suffering,--not certainly
through the cruelty of the lady I loved, but from the pain I endured
when separated from her. During which time I enjoyed so much relief from
the agreeable conversation and kind consolations of a friend, that I
truly believe, that but for them I had died. But it has pleased him, who
decreed that all earthly things should have an end, that my attachment,
which no fear, shame, nor advice could lessen, has by course of time so
abated, that, while I still love, I am no longer the victim of
uncontrollable passion. Yet I still remember the benefits I formerly
received from those who sympathised in my pains; and I propose to
myself, as a mark of gratitude to them, to afford to others, labouring
as I once did, the same relief which was before bestowed upon me. And
who will deny that this book belongs rather to women than men. Fearfully
and with shame they conceal within their tender hearts that flame which
is fiercer when hidden; and who, besides this, are so restrained from
the enjoyment of pleasure by the will of those around them, that they
most frequently struggle with their feelings, and revolve divers
thoughts, which cannot be all gay, within the little circuit of their
chamber, which must occasion heavy grief and melancholy, if unrelieved
by conversation. All which things do not happen to men; who, if
afflicted, can frequent society--hunt, shoot, ride, and play--and have a
thousand modes of amusing themselves. And, therefore, to counterbalance
the unequal award of fortune, who gives most to bear to those who are
weakest, I intend to relate, for the amusement and refuge of gentle
ladies who love, one hundred stories, fables, parables, or histories, or
whatever you please to call them, narrated, during the course of ten
days, by seven ladies and three cavaliers, who assembled together at a
villa during the late pestilence."
His description of the plague in Florence, in the introduction, is the
finest piece of writing that Boccaccio ever composed: it presents a
pathetic, eloquent, and vivid picture of the sufferings induced by that
remorseless malady. It is a curious fact, that there is every proof that
Boccaccio was residing at Naples during the visitation of the plague in
1348; but it required no violent effort of the imagination to paint the
disasters of his native city, as Naples itself presented a similar
tragedy: nor is there any thing in the description that stamps it as
peculiarly belonging to Florence.
The seven young ladies of the tales meet on a Wednesday morning in the
church of Santa Maria Novella, and there agree to leave the miserable
city, and to betake themselves, with three gentlemen from among their
friends, to one of the villas in the environs, and, shutting out all
sight and memory of the frightful disasters they had witnessed, to
strive, in the enjoyment of innocent pleasures, to escape from
danger.--"Nor," the lady says, who proposed this plan, "can we be said
to abandon any one, for it is we who are abandoned; and remember, that
our innocent flight is less blamable than the guilty remaining of
others."
The Italians have taken great pains to discover the exact spots to which
the company of the Decameron retreated. They are found not far from
Florence.[70] The father of Boccaccio possessed a small villa in the
village of Majano, and his son pleased himself by describing the
adjacent country; and in particular, the pleasant uplands and fertile
valleys of the hills around Fiesole, which are in the neighbourhood. It
is said that Villa Gherardi was the first place to which the ladies
betook themselves; and Villa Palmieri is recognised in the description
of the sumptuous abode to which they afterwards removed, to escape being
disturbed by visiters. In the exquisite description of the narrow valley
to which Eliza conducts her companions; and where they bathe; we discern
the little plain surrounded by hills; through which the Affrico flows;
when; after having divided two hills; and descended from the rocky
heights, it collects itself into a gentle stream; under the Claustro
della Doccia of Fiesole.
The assembly being gathered together in this delightful spot; among
other modes of amusing themselves; they agree that each one should
narrate a tale every day; and during the ten days which form the
"Decameron," a hundred tales are thus related. They give some kind of
rule to their amusement; by fixing on a subject for each tale; as for
instance, on one day each person is to tell a story in which, after much
suffering, the disasters of the hero or heroine come to a happy
conclusion. In another, the tale is to end unhappily. The stories vary
from gay to pathetic, and in the last, Boccaccio is inimitable in
delicacy and tenderness of feeling.
All the other works of Boccaccio would have fallen into oblivion, had he
not written the "Decameron:" they are scarcely read, even though bearing
his name; they are heavy and uninteresting; his poetry is not poetry;
his prose is long-winded; but the "Decameron;" bears the undoubted stamp
of genius. His language is a "well of Tuscan undefiled," whence, as from
its purest source, all future writers have drawn the rules and examples
which form the correct and elegant Italian style. It possesses, to an
extraordinary degree, the charm of eloquence. It imports little whence
he drew the groundwork of his tales; yet, as far as we know, many of
them are original, and the stories of Griselda and Cymon, of the pot of
Bazil, and the sorrows of Ghismonda, are unborrowed from any other
writer. The tenderness, the passion, the enthusiasm, the pathos, and
above all, the heartfelt nature of his best tales, raise him to the
highest rank of writers of any age or country. His defects were of the
age. Boccaccio's mind was tarnished by the profligacy of the court of
Naples. He mirrors the licentious manners of the people about him in his
"Decameron:" it were better for human nature, that neither the reality
nor the reflection had ever existed.
The faults of the hook rendered it obnoxious, especially to the priests,
whom he, in common with all the novelists of his time, treats with
galling ridicule. Salvanorola preached against it, and so excited the
minds of his fellow citizens, that they brought all their copies of the
"Decameron," as well as of, it may be remarked, the blameless poetry of
Petrarch and Dante, into the Piazza de' Signori on the last day of the
carnival of 1497, and made a bonfire of them: on which account the
earlier editions of these books are very rare. After Salvanorola, it
continued on the list of prohibited books. This occasioned emended
editions to be published,--some of which were so altered as scarcely to
retain any thing of the original. It was after many years and with great
industry, that the "Decameron" was restored. The first entire edition
was published through the care of a society of young Florentines, who
were ashamed of the disgraceful condition to which this celebrated work
was reduced: this was published in 1527, and goes by the name of the
"Ventisettana," or twenty-seventh, and of the "Delphin." After this,
however, only mutilated editions were printed, and even now, as it still
continues a prohibited book, any perfect edition bears on the title-page
the name of some protestant town, London or Amsterdam, as the place
where it is printed.
[Sidenote: 1350.
Ætat.
37.]
To return to the author. During the year of the jubilee Boccaccio
returned to Florence, and the lady Mary was spoken of no more, except in
a sonnet, written many years after, on the death of Petrarch, which
alludes to her death. He addresses his lost friend as having entered
that heavenly kingdom after which he had long aspired, that he might
again see Laura, and where his beautiful Fiammetta sat with her before
God. Whether the lady died, therefore, before or after his removal to
Florence cannot be told; we have his own authority for knowing, that by
this time his ardent passion was subdued into calm affection. His father
as well as his mother-in-law was dead, and they had left a young son
Jacopo, to whom Boccaccio became guardian. His pecuniary resources had
been derived through his father from Florence, and it became necessary
to take his place in that city. From this time he continued to reside in
Tuscany, and to fulfil the duties of a citizen. One of the occurrences
that marked his return, was a visit from Petrarch, who passed through
Florence on his return from his pilgrimage to Rome, on occasion of the
jubilee. They were already in correspondence; and Boccaccio had seen the
poet in his glory nine years before at Naples. But now they met for the
first time as friends, and that intimacy commenced which lasted till the
end of their lives.
Boccaccio, on returning to his native city, entered on a busier scene of
life from that which he led among the Neapolitan nobles. He was sent
almost immediately on various embassies to the Ordelaffi, to Malalesta,
and to Polenta, lords of various towns of Romagna, for the purpose of
engaging them in a league against the Visconti, who, being lords of the
powerful city of Milan, and having lately acquired the signorship of
Bologna, were desirous of extending their princely dominions beyond the
Apennines.
He had soon after the happiness of being the bearer to Petrarch of the
decree of the republic of Florence, which restored his patrimony, and
the letters which invited him to fill a professor's chair in their new
university.
[Sidenote: 1351.
Ætat.
38.]
During this visit they cemented their friendship. Petrarch was then
residing at Padua, and his friend remained some weeks in his house.
Boccaccio read or copied Petrarch's works, while the other pursued his
ordinary studies; and in the evening they sat in the poet's garden,
which was adorned with the flowers and verdure of spring, and spent
hours in delightful conversation. Their hearts were laid bare to each
other, they sympathised in their taste for ancient learning, in their
love for their country, and in the views they entertained for the
welfare of Italy.[71] Boccaccio brought back to Florence Petrarch's
expressed intention to visit his native city. But other feelings
interposed--probably the poet was averse to mingle too nearly with the
violent factions that agitated the republic. He soon after made a
journey to Vaucluse, and never again entered Tuscany.
Boccaccio was more of a citizen than his friend, and he fulfilled
several offices intrusted to him by the government. Florence was at that
time a little empire in itself, agitated by tumults, divided by
intestine quarrels, and disturbed by wars with the neighbouring states.
Scarce a day passed without an event. The citizens were full of energy
and fire; volatile and rash, sometimes they acted a cowardly, sometimes
a magnanimous part. They were restless and versatile--but ambitious, and
full of that quick intuitive genius which, even now, in their fallen
state, belongs to them. They were at enmity with the Visconti, who
incited against them the hostility of the great company, a band of
mercenary troops, the off-pourings of the invasion of France by the
English, which had entered Italy, and sold their services to different
standards, or made war on their own account for booty only. The peasants
of the Florentine territory had gone out valiantly against them, and
afterwards, assisted by the whole forces of the state, they attacked and
destroyed these pernicious bandits. Still the Visconti continued
powerful and implacable enemies.
[Sidenote: 1353.
Ætat.
40.]
Boccaccio was sent to Bohemia to invite Louis of Bavaria, Marquis of
Brandenburgh, to come to the assistance of Florence and its league.
[Sidenote: 1354.
Ætat.
41.]
At another time he was despatched to Avignon, on occasion of the
entrance of the emperor Charles into Italy, to discover the intentions
of the pope with regard to this monarch.
These political negotiations could not be carried on by Boccaccio
without inspiring him with violent party feelings: he hated the Visconti
as tyrants, and as disturbers of the peace of Italy. He heard with pain
and indignation that Petrarch had taken up his abode at Milan, under the
protection of its archbishop and lord, Giovanni Visconti. He wrote to
his friend to express his regret and disapprobation. "I would be
silent," he wrote, "but I cannot; reverence restrains, but indignation
impels me to speak. How has Petrarch forgotten his dignity, the
conversations which we have held together concerning the state of Italy,
his hatred of the archbishop, his love of solitude and independence, so
far as to imprison himself at the court of Milan? As easily could I
believe that the wolf fled the lamb, and the tiger became the prey of
the fawn, as that Petrarch should act against the dictates of his
conscience; and that he who called the Visconti a Polyphemus, and a
monster of pride, cruelty, and despotism, should place himself under his
yoke. How could Visconti win that which no pontiff, which neither Robert
of Naples nor the emperor could obtain? Have you done this because the
citizens of your native town have treated you with contempt, and taken
back the patrimony which they at one time restored?"[72]
Petrarch's answer was moderate; his habits were peaceful and recluse,
and he preferred trusting an absolute prince who was attached to him,
with his safety, to confiding to the caprice of a mob. Personal
intercourse also had shown him that the man whom he had denounced so
bitterly from political animosity, was worthy of private friendship: he
Avas unwilling to enter the very focus of dissention, such as Florence
then was, and he sacrificed his public hatred to the gentler feelings of
personal friendship and gratitude. "It is not likely," he says in his
answer, "that I should learn servitude in my old age; but if I become
dependent, is it not better to submit to one, than, like you, to a whole
people of tyrants?" Petrarch was a patriot in an elevated sense of the
word: he exerted himself to civilise his country, and to spread abroad
the blessings of knowledge; peace was his perpetual cry; but in the
various tyrannies that distracted Italy, he saw the same ambition under
different forms; and taking no part with one against the other, but with
the general good against them all, he held himself free to select his
friends as sympathy and kindness dictated.
Boccaccio continued to correct and add to his Decameron, which it is
conjectured was published at this time. It spread rapidly through Italy;
its popularity astounded even the author, and must have gratified him,
though aware of its errors, and tendency to injure the principles of
social life. This sentiment increased in after-times, so that he
reproached his friend Mainardo de' Cavalcanti, a Florentine by birth,
but living at the court of the queen of Naples, for having promised his
wife and other ladies of his house that they should read the Decameron.
He entreats him to revoke this promise for his own sake, and theirs,
that their minds might not be contaminated by narrations in which
delicacy and even decency were forgotten; "and if not for their sake,"
he continues, "for the sake of my honour. They will, on reading it,
think me the most wicked and licentious of men; for who will be near to
allege in my excuse that I wrote it while young, and urged to the work
by commands not to be disobeyed?"
Worse for the fame of Boccaccio than the blots that slur the beauty of
the Decameron, is a work, which it is to be lamented fell from his pen.
This was entitled the "Corbaccio." He fell in love with a beautiful and
noble widow of Florence, who treated him with scorn and derision, and he
revenged himself by this production, in which he vilifies the whole sex
in general, and this lady in particular, in a style that prevents any
one of the present day from attempting to read it.
While we lament such gross ill taste, it is agreeable to forget it, and
to record and remember the vast benefits which Boccaccio bestowed on
mankind, through his ardent and disinterested love of letters, and
especially his extraordinary efforts to create and diffuse a knowledge
of the Greek language and writers. In this labour he far excelled
Petrarch, who possessed a Homer, but was unable to read it.
He proved his enthusiasm in the most undeniable manner. He was born
poor, even to privation; yet he spent large sums of money in the
acquisition of ancient manuscripts: he transcribed many with his own
hand. His labours in this way were immense: many volumes of the poets,
orators, and historians, were copied by him: among these are mentioned
the whole of the works of Tacitus and Livy, Terence and Boetius, with
various treatises of Cicero and Varro, besides many of the productions
of the fathers. He made journeys in search of manuscripts, and records
one anecdote, which shows how often disappointment must have attended
his labours. He visited the celebrated convent of Monte Cassino, under
the idea that he might find some ancient manuscripts, hitherto unknown.
He asked for the library, and was taken up a ladder into a loft, exposed
to the weather, where the books were lying on the floor moth-eaten, and
covered with damp mould. While he indignantly regarded the materials of
learning which lay desolate before him, he was told, to add to his
horror, that the monks were in the habit of effacing the writing from
their venerable parchments, and of replacing it by scraps from the
ritual, for which they found a ready sale among the neighbouring
villagers.
Nor was his enthusiasm, like Petrarch's, confined to the ancients. He
could not only feel and appreciate the genius of Dante, but exerted
himself to inspire others with the admiration with which he was filled.
He awoke the Florentines to a just sense of the merits of this sublime
poet, and persuaded them to erect a professorship in their university
for the explanation of the Divina Commedia. He himself first filled the
chair, and wrote a commentary on several of the books, besides a Life of
Dante. This has been usually considered unauthentic, but it is difficult
to see on what grounds this judgment rests. He takes the account of
Dante's love of Beatrice from his own work of the Vita Nuova; and in all
other particulars of his life the information he gives is slight; but,
as far as we are enabled to form an opinion, correct. His genuine
enthusiasm for the beauties of his favourite author led him to regret
that Petrarch did not sufficiently admire him. He copied for his use the
whole of his poem with care and elegance, and sent it to the laureate,
with a poetic epistle, in which he besought him to bestow more attention
and admiration on their illustrious countryman. Petrarch was bigoted to
the notion that any thing written in the vulgar tongue was beneath the
regard of a learned man; and received his present with a coldness that
penetrates through his assumed praises. This celebrated manuscript
belongs to the Vatican library. The epistle mentioned is addressed "To
Francis Petrarch, illustrious and only poet," and is subscribed "thy
Giovanni da Certaldo." The manuscript is illuminated, and the arms of
Petrarch, consisting of a gold bar in an azure field, with a star,
adorns the head of each canto. There are a few notes of emendation, and
the whole is written in a clear and beautiful hand. By a strange
oversight, no care has been taken to collate any modern edition of Dante
with this celebrated copy.
Boccaccio's endeavours to promote the study of Greek were still more
eminent and singular. At a time when literature was just struggling into
notice, it was not strange that a foreign tongue should be entirely
forgotten. The knowledge of Greek had been slightly spread during the
crusades, when the inhabitants of the West frequently visited
Constantinople; and afterwards the commercial relations of Venice and
Genoa prevented it from being wholly extinguished. But the language thus
brought into use was merely colloquial, and was to a great degree
superseded by the Lingua Franca. Petrarch had read a few of the
dialogues of Plato with bishop Barlaam, but his knowledge was very
slight. To Boccaccio the praise is due of unwearied and successful
labour in the cause of Hellenic literature. He had studied, while at
Naples, under Barlaam and Paolo Perugino; but his chief efforts had
their date from the period of his establishing himself at Florence. Poor
as he was, he spared no expense in collecting manuscripts, so that it is
suspected that all the Greek books possessed by the Tuscans, and all the
knowledge of them diffused through Europe, before the taking of
Constantinople, which was extensive, at least in Italy, was derived from
the labours, and procured at the expense, of Boccaccio. When he visited
Petrarch at Milan, the laureate mentioned to him incidentally, one
Leonzio Pilato, a Calabrian, who, having spent almost all his life in
Greece, called himself a native of that country. This man possessed a
perfect knowledge of the language: Petrarch had met him at Verona, and
they read a few passages of Homer together. Boccaccio saw in this a
favourable opportunity for facilitating his laudable attempt to make the
Greek language a part of the liberal education of his countrymen. Pilato
was at Venice: Boccaccio obtained a decree from the Florentine
government for the erection of a Greek professorship in their
university, carried it to Venice, and persuaded Pilato to accept the
office, and to return with him to Florence, where he lodged him at his
own house.[73] They laboured together to make a Latin translation of
Homer, which Boccaccio transcribed with his own hand. The total want of
lexicons and grammars rendered the undertaking inconceivably arduous;
and not least among the difficulties with which Boccaccio had to
struggle was the violent, untameable, and morose disposition of his
guest. This was the man whom Petrarch supposed could never have smiled,
and whose manners were so savage, that he declared that not even his
love of Greek could induce him to invite him a second time to his house.
His aspect was repulsive, his habits disgusting, his conversation gloomy
and unsocial. He was proud and violent, and, detesting the Italians,
made no secret of his abhorrence; and, discontented with himself and
others, he was always wishing himself elsewhere than where he was. Yet
the courteous and amiable Boccaccio, who was accustomed to the
refinement of a court, and who loved the elegance and gaiety of society,
kept him under his roof for three years, humouring his whims, and
studying in his company.
Meanwhile his moral habits underwent a beneficial change, owing to the
admonitions and example of Petrarch.
[Sidenote: 1359.
Ætat.
46.]
He visited this excellent man at Milan, and spent several weeks in an
intimate intercourse, which was of the greatest service to him to the
end of his days. Petrarch, whose soul was purified by the struggles of
his passion for a noble-minded woman, taught him that learning was of
small avail to its possessor, unless combined with moral principle and
virtuous habits. These conversations awoke in Boccaccio's mind a desire
to vanquish his passions. He saw and loved the example of delicacy and
honour set him by his friend; and although he could not all at once
succeed in imitating him, he became aware of what his duties were: his
conscience awoke, and a love of right was engendered, which enabled him,
in process of time, to triumph over the habits and vices by which he had
hitherto been enslaved.
A singular circumstance achieved the work begun by his inestimable
friend. Boccaccio's vivacious and sensitive mind could with difficulty
be brought to act from the mere influence of reason. But the change
which a love of moral truth and the dictates of good taste were
inefficacious to operate, was brought about by the agency of
superstition and fear.
[Sidenote: 1361.
Ætat.
48.]
One day a Carthusian monk arrived at Certaldo, and demanded an interview
with Boccaccio, who received him with kindness, and listened to him with
attention. The monk first related, that there had lately lived in his
convent at Siena a brother named Pietro Petroni, a man of singular
piety, who was accustomed to pray with extreme fervour for the
conversion of the wicked. On his death-bed he had called his companion,
Giovacchino Ciani, to his bedside, and gave him various messages, to be
delivered to a number of persons, to the purport that they should change
their lives, and study how to be saved. As soon as the monk was dead,
Ciani departed to fulfil his commission, and in the first place came to
Certaldo. He then made an exposition of Boccaccio's errors, and above
all of the wide-spreading evils occasioned by his writings, and which
were a snare and a temptation to the young, imploring him to turn his
talents, which he had hitherto exerted in the service of the spirit of
evil, to the glory of God and the saints; telling him that he had been
incited by a vain glory, which made him rather seek the applause of the
world than the favour of his Creator; and what reward could he expect,
except eternal punishment hereafter? "I do not spare your ears,"
continued the zealous Ciani, "and am the less scrupulous, because
Petroni speaks through me, who is now looking down from heaven upon us.
Therefore, in the words of that blessed man, I exhort, entreat, and
command you to change your sinful course of life, to cast aside your
poetical studies, and to become a disciple and inculcator of divine
truth. If you refuse to obey my voice, I predict, in his name, a
miserable end to your depravity, and a speedier death than you
anticipate; so that your profane studies and life shall at once be
brought to an end;" and to add the force of supernatural revelation to
his words, he communicated to Boccaccio several events of his life,
which he presumed to be only known to himself, but which had been
revealed to the monk by Petroni; and then he took his leave, saying,
that he was about to fulfil a similar mission to several others, and
that among them he should visit Petrarch.
Boccaccio was aghast. Superstitious fear shook his soul; he gave
credulous ear to what he was told, and resolved to give himself up to
sacred studies and penitence. His first impulse was to sell his library
and to abandon poetry altogether: meanwhile he communicated the visit he
had received, and the effect that it had on him, to his dear friend and
monitor, Petrarch.
Petrarch had subjected himself, during all his life, to moral
discipline; he was a self-seeker and a self-reprover. He was not so
easily shaken from the calm tenor of his piety and faith by prognostics
and denunciations; he replied to his friend in a letter full of good
sense and kind feeling. In those days a letter was a treatise; ancient
history was ransacked, and the whole learning of the writer poured out
in a torrent. But there are passages which deserve to be quoted.
"Falsehood and imposture," he wrote, "often disguise themselves in the
habit of religion; but I will not pronounce any decided opinion till I
have seen the messenger. The age of the man, his countenance, eyes,
manners, gestures, his voice and words, and, above all, the sum and
purport of what he says, will serve to enlighten me. It is announced to
you that you have but a short time to live, and that you must renounce
poetry and profane literature. These words at first filled me with
consternation and grief. How could I anticipate your death without
tears? But, on further reflection, I am led to consider that you look
with terror and regret on what ought really to be a matter of rejoicing,
for thus you are detached from the world, and brought, as we all ought,
to meditate upon death, and to aspire to that height where no worldly
temptation intrudes to contaminate the soul. You will learn from these
admonitions to control your passions, and to reform your habits of life.
But I exhort you not to abandon hooks and learning, which nauseate and
injure the weak only, but which invigorate and comfort the
strong-minded."
After placing these considerations in various and strong lights,
Petrarch concludes by saying, "If you continue to adhere to your
purpose, and determine not only to relinquish study, but to cast aside
the instruments of learning, I shall be delighted to possess your books;
and I would rather buy them, than that the library of so great a man
should be scattered abroad in the world.[74] I cannot name a price, not
knowing their value nor number. Think of these things, and reflect
whether you cannot, as I have long wished, pass the remainder of your
days with me. As to your debt to me, I do not know of it, nor understand
this foolish scruple of conscience. You owe me nothing except love; nor
that, since each day you pay me: except, indeed, that, receiving
continually from me, you still continue to owe. You complain of poverty.
I will not bring forward the usual consolations, nor allege the examples
of illustrious men, for you know them already. I applaud you for having
preferred poverty, combined with independence, to the riches and slavery
that were offered you; but I do not praise you for refusing the
solicitations of a friend. I am not able to enrich you; if I were I
should use neither words nor pen, but speak to you in deeds. But what is
sufficient for one is enough for two; one house may surely suffice for
those who have but one heart. Your disinclination to come injures me,
and it is more injurious if you doubt my sincerity."
Boccaccio was convinced by his friend, and the excess of his penitence
and zeal died away; but the reform of his moral character was permanent.
He adopted the clerical dress, and endeavoured to suppress those
writings which scandalised the pious.
He was very poor: his patrimony was slender, and shared with his brother
Jacopo, and diminished also by various expenses incurred in his zeal to
procure books and advance learning. He had passed a life of freedom,
however, and shrunk from servitude. The passage in Petrarch's letter
which refers to this, concerns his having refused the honourable and
lucrative, but onerous post, of apostolic secretary; nor was he tempted
by Petrarch's invitation, being unwilling to burthen one whose means
were very limited. He, however, fell into a most painful mistake when he
accepted the offer of a wealthy patron, which originated pride, and not
affection.
The seneschal Acciajuolo was a Florentine, settled at Naples; he had
long been the counsellor and friend of Louis, prince of Tarento, second
husband of queen Jane. He had accompanied him in his flight to France,
and stood by him during his adversity. When the affairs of Naples were
settled, and Jane and Louis restored to the throne, Acciajuolo became
the first man in the kingdom: he was made seneschal; but his power and
influence were limited by no mere place.
[Sidenote: 1363.
Ætat.
50.]
He had pretensions to learning, and was the friend and correspondent of
Petrarch: he was proud and arrogant, and wished to be esteemed a
munificent man. He invited Boccaccio to come and take up his abode in
his palace at Naples, and to employ himself in writing a history of the
seneschal's life. Boccaccio was seduced, by a belief in the reality of
his friendship and the nobleness of his generosity, to accept his offer.
He was received by the great man with apparent pleasure, and with many
promises of future benefit; but he was undeceived as to the kindness of
his welcome, when he was led to the chamber destined for his
accommodation. The seneschal lived in a magnificent palace, adorned with
all the luxuries known in those days: the room assigned to Boccaccio was
mean and squalid; it contained one dirty, ill-furnished bed, for himself
and his brother Jacopo, and he was placed at the same table with the
stable boys and the lower servants of the house, together with a whole
host of needy hangers-on. Boccaccio's necessities were not so great as
to force him to endure this unworthy treatment, and his spirit revolted
against it. He removed at once to the house of his friend, Mainardo de'
Cavalcanti, by whom he was cordially and honourably received; and
finding, on a second trial, to which he was urged by the servile advice
of some friends, that Acciajuolo was wholly ignorant of the duties of
hospitality, and totally deficient in generosity and delicacy, he left
Naples and proceeded to Venice.
He here passed three happy months with Petrarch. The Greek, Leonzio
Pilato, joined them. Their society consisted of either learned men, or
the Venetian nobility; and the friends reaped great enjoyment from the
intimacy and unreserve of their intercourse. After the lapse of three
months Boccaccio returned to Florence, though the plague was raging
there, and Petrarch entertained a thousand fears on his account.
An abode in Florence was nevertheless ill suited to the new course of
life which he proposed to himself. The city was perpetually disturbed by
domestic strife, or the treachery of the foreign princes, whom they
called in to their assistance in time of war. Boccaccio retreated from
this scene of discord, and took up his abode at the castle of Certaldo,
where he gave himself entirely up to study: his house there is still to
be seen. Certaldo is situated on a hill, and looks down on the fertile
valley watered by the river Elsa.[75] The country around is picturesque,
adorned by various castles and rustic villages. The culture of corn,
vines, and olives, adorns the depth of the valley and the uplands; and
three successive harvests are brought in by the husbandman. Here
Boccaccio composed most of his later works, and the influence of
Petrarch is perceptible in his choice of subjects and language. This is
to be greatly lamented, since his desertion of Italian was founded upon
a mistake, which has given us, instead of works of imagination and
genius, heavy treatises and inaccurate histories. Boccaccio's Latin is
bald and tame; he knew nothing of the structure, and was unable to
clothe his thoughts with the eloquence natural to him: he rattled the
dry bones of the skeleton of a dead language, instead of making use of
the young and vigorous tongue to which he had given birth.
His first work, under this new direction, was one of great labour and
erudition for those times, and was entered upon at the suggestion of Ugo
IV., king of Cyprus and Jerusalem. It treats of the genealogy of the
gods, and relates the connection between the various deities of the
beautiful Greek mythology. For many years it continued to be a standard
book, whence the Italians drew all their knowledge of the subject; and
it was doubtless a useful production. In pursuance of his plan of being
the schoolmaster of his age, and introducing his countrymen to the
knowledge of forgotten lore, he afterwards composed a dictionary of
ancient rivers, mountains, and forests. His active mind was always
finding new subjects for his pen. He discovered that the female sex
possessed no historian, and he dedicated himself to their service by
writing the lives of illustrious women. In this he describes the ideal
of a virtuous matron, and goes to the extreme usual to a reformed
libertine. Her conduct must not only be strictly correct, but she must
not even look about her; she must speak little, eat little, and avoid
singing and dancing. Given up to domestic cares, she must be simple in
her dress, and even love her husband moderately. He wrote after this a
work entitled, "De Casibus Virorum et Fæminarum Illustrium," in which
he records the disasters and adversity which history relates to have
befallen royal or noble personages. Thus his time was entirely spent
among his books, and he acquired a reputation for learning and purity of
life, which raised him high in the opinion of his fellow citizens.
He was, in consequence, appointed, on two occasions, ambassador to pope
Urban V.
[Sidenote: 1365.
Ætat.
52.]
In fulfilment of the first mission, he went to Avignon, where he was
honourably received, especially by Philip de Cabassoles, the intimate
and beloved friend of Petrarch. On his return, he was very desirous of
passing from Genoa to Pavia, to see the laureate; but the duties of his
embassy forbade. To indemnify himself, he projected a visit to him at
Venice. There is a Latin letter of his extant, which gives an
interesting account of this latter journey: it is addressed to Petrarch,
whom he missed, as he was again gone to Pavia. Boccaccio did not hear of
this circumstance till he reached Bologna; and it almost made him give
up his journey. "On my road," he writes, "I encountered Francesco (_the
son-in-law of Petrarch_), to my great delight. After a glad and friendly
meeting, I began to observe the person of this man. His placid
countenance, measured language, and mild manners pleased me: I praised
your choice, as I praise all you do." On his arrival at Venice, "I
received," he says, "many invitations, and accepted that of Francesco
Allegri. I would not avail myself of your kind offer, and take up my
abode under your daughter's roof, during the absence of her husband. I
should have preferred going to an inn to being the cause of the scandal
that might have arisen, despite my grey hairs and fat unwieldy figure."
"I went, however, to see Francesca; who, when she heard of my arrival,
came to meet me with gladness, as if you yourself had returned: yet,
when she saw me, she was abashed, blushed, and cast down her eyes; and
then, after a timid welcome, she embraced me with filial and modest
affection. After conversing together some little time, we went into your
garden, and found several of your friends assembled. Here, in explicit
and kind terms, she offered me your house, your books, and every thing
belonging to you, in a matronly and becoming manner. While we were
conversing, your beloved little granddaughter came up: she looked
smilingly at me, and I took her with delight in my arms. At first,
methought I saw my own child[76]: her face resembles hers--the same
smile, the same laughing eyes; the gestures, gait, and carriage of her
person, though a little taller--for mine was only five years and a half
old when I last saw her--were all similar: if their dialect had been the
same, their expressions would have resembled in their simplicity. I saw
no difference, except that yours has golden hair, and that of mine was
black. Alas! while caressing and charmed by her talk, the recollection
of my loss drew tears from my eyes; so that I turned my face away, to
conceal my emotion."
"I cannot tell you all that Francesco said and did upon his return; his
frequent visits when he found that I would not remove to his house; and
how hospitably he entertained me. One incident will suffice: knowing
that I was poor, which I never denied, on my departure from Venice, at a
late hour, he withdrew with me into another part of his house; and,
after taking leave, he stretched out his long arms, and, putting a purse
into my hands, made his escape, before I could expostulate with or thank
him."
After having been gratified by these tokens of real friendship,
Boccaccio suffered one of those mortifying disappointments which too
often occur to those who are ready to trust to the good-will and offers
of assistance of men who call themselves their friends. Niccolo di
Montefalcone, abbot of the celebrated Carthusian monastery of San
Stefano in Calabria, invited him to take up his abode with him,
describing the agreeable situation of his house, its select library, and
the leisure to be enjoyed there.
[Sidenote: 1370.
Ætat.
57.]
Boccaccio accepted the invitation, and made the journey. He arrived late
at night before the gates of the secluded monastery; but, instead of the
welcome he expected, he found that the abbot had left the convent
hastily, in the middle of the night, on purpose to avoid him. Boccaccio,
justly indignant, wrote an angry letter, and, leaving the inhospitable
retreat, repaired to Naples, where he was again cordially received by
his friend Mainardo de' Cavalcanti.
During his visit to Naples, Boccaccio received many offers of
hospitality and patronage: among others, queen Jane of Naples, and
Giacomo king of Majorca, endeavoured to persuade him to enter into their
service; but Boccaccio was naturally proud and independent: he had been
duped by an appearance of friendship, but recoiled from a state of
servitude: he preferred his quiet home at Certaldo to the favours of the
great; nor could the renewed solicitations of Petrarch induce him to
change his mind; and he returned to Tuscany.
[Sidenote: 1372.
Ætat.
59.]
[Sidenote: 1373.
Ætat.
60.]
When he visited Naples again, it was merely for the sake of seeing his
friends, without any ulterior view, and he quickly returned to the quiet
of Certaldo, where he busied himself in the publication of his work of
the "Genealogy of the Gods."
Age and infirmity advanced on him before their time: he was attacked by
a painful and disagreeable disease, which rendered life a burthen to
him. He lost his strength, and the powers of his understanding; his
limbs became heavy, and the light of heaven intolerable; his memory was
impaired, and his books no longer afforded him any pleasure. His
thoughts were fixed upon the tomb, towards which he believed himself to
be rapidly approaching. After having continued in this state for several
months, he was one day seized with a violent fever, which increased
towards night. His disturbed thoughts turned towards the past: his life
appeared to him to have been wasted, and fruitful only of remorse. No
friend was near him: his sole attendant was an old nurse, who, unable to
penetrate the cause of his disquietude, annoyed him by her meaningless
and vulgar consolations. His fever increased; he believed himself to be
dying, and he feared to die. His courage, which had until now sustained,
all at once deserted him. Hitherto he had avoided physicians, having no
faith in the art: he was now driven to send for one, whose remedies
afforded him relief, and restored him to some portion of health.[77]
The energy of his mind returned with his bodily strength. He had
laboured long to induce the Florentine government to bestow some
honourable testimonial on the memory of the illustrious Dante. At
length, a decree was promulgated, instituting a professorship for the
public explanation of the "Divina Commedia," so to promote, as it was
expressed, the advancement of learning and virtue among the living and
their posterity. The professorship was bestowed upon Boccaccio: he
received a salary of one hundred florins a year, and delivered his
lectures in the church of San Stefano. The result was his commentary on
the first seventeen cantos of the "Inferno," written in a clear, simple,
and elegant style, full of excellent criticism and valuable
illustrations.
Thus the remnants of his failing strength were spent upon doing honour
to the memory of the celebrated poet, whose genius he so warmly and
generously admired, and a depreciation of whom is the sole blot on the
otherwise faultless character of Petrarch: but, while he roused his
intellects to understand and comment upon the delicate and sublime
beauties of Dante, his physical strength decayed, and his sensibility
received a severe shock from the death of his beloved friend Petrarch.
[Sidenote: 1374.
Ætat.
61.]
He heard it first by public report; and it was afterwards confirmed to
him in a letter from Francesco Brossano, the laureate's son-in-law, who
transmitted to him the legacy of fifty florins, for the purchase of a
fur dress for his winter studies. Boccaccio wrote, in return, a letter
full of grief and admiration. "He did not mourn," he said, "for the
dead, who was receiving the reward of his virtues, but for those who
survived him, and were abandoned to the tempestuous sea of life without
a pilot." He would have visited his tomb had his health permitted; and
he besought Brossano to take care of his posthumous reputation, and to
publish his poem of "Africa," which was only known to the world in
fragments. In compliance with his request, Brossano had the poem copied,
and sent it to him; but he did not live to receive it.
He felt his end approaching, and Petrarch's death loosened his last tie
to earth. He made his will, and named the sons of his brother Jacopo his
heirs. He left legacies to those to whom he owed return for friendship
and services; and he concluded, by leaving his library, in the first
instance, to his spiritual director, Martino da Signa, to go, after his
death, to the convent of the Spirito Santo, at Florence, for the benefit
of the studious.
He survived Petrarch one year only, and died at Certaldo, on the 21st
December, 1375, in the 63d year of his age. His death was occasioned by
a malady of small moment in itself, but fatal in his debilitated state,
and aggravated by his continual application. He was buried at Certaldo,
in the church of SS. Jacopo and Filippo. His son presided at his
funeral, and erected a tomb, on which was inscribed a Latin epitaph,
composed by Boccaccio himself, in which he mentions that honourable love
of literature which characterised him through life:--"_Patria Certaldum;
studium fuit alma poesis._" He was lamented throughout Italy; but his
loss was chiefly deplored in his native city, as, during his residence
there, he had redeemed his early follies by a course of life devoted to
the cultivation of literature and religion, and the duties of a citizen.
While all read with delight the purer productions of his imaginative
genius, the learned of every age must feel grateful to his unwearied
labours in the preservation of the ancient manuscripts, many of which,
but for him, had been lost for ever to the world.
[Footnote 58: Genealogia Deorum.]
[Footnote 59: Baldelli.]
[Footnote 60: Filippo Villani.]
[Footnote 61: Geneal. Deor.]
[Footnote 62: Geneal. Deor.]
[Footnote 63: Ibid.]
[Footnote 64: Tiraboschi.]
[Footnote 65: Filocopo.]
[Footnote 66: This lady Mary cannot be the princess Mary, an
acknowledged natural daughter of king Robert. The latter was beheaded
during the troubles at Naples, a year after Boccaccio's death. The poems
of Boccaccio declare that he outlived his lady Mary, Fiammetta, as he
called her, many years; and his writings give proof that her royal and
illegitimate origin was always preserved a secret.]
[Footnote 67: La Fiammetta.]
[Footnote 68: Rime.]
[Footnote 69: Ameto.]
[Footnote 70: Baldelli.]
[Footnote 71: Petrarch's Letters.]
[Footnote 72: This singular circumstance is not noticed by Petrarch in
any of his letters. Did the Florentines act thus to punish him for his
journey to Avignon, at the time they had invited him to take up his
abode among them? Yet, on another occasion, the citizens petitioned the
pope to give the poet a benefice within their walls, and so induce him
to inhabit their city. Perhaps the expression used in Boccaccio's letter
is ironical.]
[Footnote 73: Guignenè.]
[Footnote 74: It is not creditable to the learning of those times to
learn, that the libraries of these two great revivers of knowledge were
lost to the world soon after their deaths. Boccaccio's, it is true, was
destroyed by an accident, being burnt when the convent to which he had
left it was consumed by fire. But Petrarch's mouldered away in the
palace given by the republic of Venice for its reception and
preservation, so that dusty fragments were afterwards found to be all
that remained of the venerable parchments which the laureate had
expended so much time and labour in collecting.]
[Footnote 75: Baldelli.]
[Footnote 76: It is unknown who was the mother of this child, or
grandchild, who died so young. Boccaccio had, besides, one son
established at Florence, whom he does not mention in his will, but who
presided at his funeral, and erected a tomb over his remains.]
[Footnote 77: Baldelli, Cod. San. Epist. I.]