"That pictured wheel, I own, annoys me sorely,
Which every master paints in the same way,
And such agreement cannot be a lie,
—When that which sits aloft they make an ass.
Now every one may understand this riddle,
Without the sphinx to interpret;—for, mark well,
Each, as he climbs, begins to assify
From top to toe; head, shoulders, arms, thence downward;
The limbs below remaining human still:"[105]
that is, till having reached the summit, the man has the felicity to find himself an accomplished ass. The poet, immediately afterwards, applies this unlucky hieroglyphic to himself and his journey to Rome, to congratulate Leo X. on his accession to the triple crown. His services, expectations, and disappointments, while a worshipper of that golden calf of literary idolatry (whose rites have not yet ceased), are humorously but vindictively recapitulated. Illustrative of these, he introduces another fable in his own free and easy manner. La Fontaine himself might have borrowed from Ariosto the idea of that simple yet facetious style which distinguishes his fables. To the disgrace of both, the Frenchman seems likewise to have borrowed from the Italian the model, as well as some of the materials, for his profligate tales. "My hope," says the forlorn satirist, "came with the first leaves and blossoms of spring, but withered without waiting for September. It came on the day when the church was given for a spouse to Leo, when I saw so many of my friends clad in scarlet at the nuptials. It came with the calends, and fled with the ides: remembering this, I can never again put confidence in man. My silly hope shot up to heaven, and spread over unknown lands, when the holy father took me by the hand and kissed me on the cheeks; but high as it rose, so low it fell, and oh! in how short space of time!"
"There was a gourd which grew so lustily,
That in few days its foliage over-ran
The loftiest branches of a neighbouring pear-tree.
One morn, the latter, opening wide its eyes
After a long sound nap, beheld new fruits
Clustering luxuriantly around its head.
'Holla!' it cried; 'who are you? and how came you?
Where were you when these wretched eyes of mine
To slumber I resign'd?' The gourd replied
Frankly; declared its name and kindred; show'd
How it was planted at his honour's foot,
And in three months had thriven to that height.
'And I,' the pear-tree answer'd, 'hardly climb'd
To this pre-eminence, through heat and cold,
And wars with all the winds, in thirty years!
But you, who in the twinkling of an eye
Have sprung to heaven, shall, with the self-same speed
As you have risen, down dwindle to the root.'"
Notwithstanding the neglect which he experienced at Rome, Ariosto was now enjoying ease and dignity at the court of Alfonso, compared with the servitude, or rather the servility, which Hippolito formerly exacted of his retainers. During this prosperous period of his life, he was appointed by his patron to a post of honour and difficulty, if not of emolument, which required the exercise of certain politic talents rarely possessed by poets, but which he must have possessed in no inconsiderable measure, judging by the trusts so repeatedly reposed in him. Graffagnana, a mountainous district lying between Modena and Lucca, and which had been wrested some years before by the pope from the duke of Ferrara, threw off the yoke, and returned to its former lord, upon the demise of Leo X. This tract of debateable land was occupied by a people proverbially rude, factious, and turbulent among themselves, as well as refractory towards the ill-established authorities set over them from time to time by their temporary sovereigns. Hence the woodlands and glens on the Apennine slopes, where their country was situated, were infested with banditti; and the inhabitants were embroiled in perpetual lawsuits before tribunals where little justice was to be obtained, or else at open variance with their own bands, determining right by might. To that dreary province, in such a hideous state of affairs, Ariosto was sent to redress grievances, restore quiet, and advance the semi-barbarians a step or two in civilisation. This task,—on the face of it more fitted to the talents of an Orpheus or Amphion, than those of a modern minstrel; unless, like the one, he was master of the lost art of teaching stones to build themselves into temples and palaces, or, like the other, could draw rocks and forests, with their population of lions and tigers, after him, by the enchantment of his lyre,—he seems to have accomplished with moderate success among a tribe already acquainted with his romantic poetry, and prepared to honour the author. Sir John Harrington says, that "he so orderly governed, and so well quieted," these riotous hordes by his wisdom and equity, that "he left them all in good peace and concord; winning not only the love of the better sort, but also a wonderful reverence of the wilder people, and a great awe even in robbers and thieves." The latter phrase alludes to a story which has been differently told, but may be received as substantially true, of a rencontre which he had with some of his more uncouth neighbours. One day traversing a forest, accompanied by five or six horsemen, the little party was startled by the appearance of a body of armed men breaking cover, and coming suddenly upon them; these belonged to one of the gangs of brigands, which, under two audacious leaders—Domenico Marotto and Philippo Pachione—divided the peace of the country between them, allowing none to each other, and depriving every one else of it. The expected assailants, however, after curiously eying the governor and his train, permitted them to pass; which his excellency was very willing to do, though, as chief magistrate, he had found a whole nest of outlaws. Having formerly signalised himself in the river fight with the Venetians, and there being no occasion to exercise any other than "the better part of valour—discretion"—in this affair, Ariosto felt his honour as safe as his life, in riding on without offering molestation where he experienced none. But the captain of the band, being struck with his superior presence, demanded of the hindmost of his attendants what was his master's name. "Ludovico Ariosto," replied the other: whereupon, galloping up to him, the freebooter hailed the poet (who expected a very different salutation) with the most profound respect and courtesy, introducing himself as Philippo Pachione, and regretting that, from not having previously known his person, he and his troop had not done due honour to him in passing. He then launched out into vehement praises of the "Orlando Furioso" (a poem likely enough to be the delight of such adventurers), and with all humility and frankness offered his most devoted services to its author. Baretti's version of the anecdote is to the following effect:—Ariosto one morning happened to take a walk in his night-gown and slippers beyond the castle where he resided, fell into a fit of thought, and forgot himself so much, that step after step he found himself, when he recovered, already far from home, and surrounded on a sudden by a troop of desperadoes; who certainly would have ill used, and perhaps murdered him, had not his face been known by one of the gang, who, informing his comrades that it was signor Ariosto, the chief of the banditti addressed him with intrepid gallantry, and told him, that since his excellency was the author of "Orlando Furioso," he might be sure that none of his company would injure him, but would see him, on the contrary, safe to the castle. This they did, entertaining him all the way with the passages which they most admired in his poem." Ariosto himself seems to allude to some such circumstance in the Epistle to S. Maleguccio (Satire V.), written during his residence in Graffagnana.
"Saggio chi dal castel poco si scosta."
"He's wise who strays but little from the castle."
Two of his epistolary Satires are dated from that province; where he seems to have been as little at home as Ovid in Pontus. In that first quoted, to Sigismondo Maleguccio, at the end of the first year of his honourable exile, he says,—
"This is the earliest note, in all the time,
Which I have warbled to the nymphs that guard
The tree, whose leaves I once so long'd to wear:
Such is the strangeness of the place to me,
That I am like a bird, whose cage is changed,
And many a day refrains his wonted song:
My cousin, wonder not that I am mute;
The wonder's greater that I'm not dead with spleen—
Shut as I am, a hundred miles and more,
By Alps and snow, and streams and woods, from her
Who holds alone the reins of my affection."
Satire V.
Sancho Panza, in his island of Barataria, neither administered justice more wisely, nor was interrupted more provokingly in his personal indulgences, than Ariosto in his government of Graffagnana; and, unfortunately for his comfort, the stronghold of Castelnuovo was not stormed at midnight by some friendly enemy, nor himself ejected by violence, to his heart's content. The poet's miserable reign lasted three long years; while the squire of Don Quixote had the happiness to be relieved from the cares of state in less than as many days. How unfit for the management of a brute people he deemed himself, may be judged from the story with which he closes this epistle.