THE FIRST AND THIRD CANTOS OF

RICHARDETTO,

FREELY TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL BURLESQUE POEM

OF NICCOLO FORTIGUERRA, OTHERWISE

CARTEROMACO.

PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION OF 1820.

CONCERNING the Author of the Poem of Ricciardetto, the last and most amusing of that long train of serious, and comical, and serio-comical epics, to which the Orlando Innamorato of Boyardo and Berni, and the Orlando Furioso of Ariosto gave rise, the general biographical dictionaries are full of falsehood. His real history, together with that of the aforesaid whimsical production of his inventive genius, (as the writer of the following pages has received it on the unquestionable authority of a name, the highest in Italian literature of the present day,*) is as follows:

"Niccolo Fortiguerra was born at Pistoja, of a noble family. He was carefully educated, and, having devoted himself to the study of jurisprudence, took his degrees in that science at the university of Pisa. When he attained twenty-one,

* The late Ugo Foscolo.

he went to Rome, on the invitation of one of his uncles, who enjoyed the favour of Innocent XII. The funeral oration which he composed on the occasion of the death of that Pontiff, laid the first foundation of his literary fame. He was then nominated Secretary of Legation, but his health required the climate of Italy, and he renounced the career of diplomacy. His uncle, having been created a cardinal, procured him in compensation, the title of Prelate, together with the office of Papal Chamberlain. On the election of Benedict XIII., Fortune, which had begun by smiling upon him, abandoned him, and his uncle's death obliged Fortiguerra to rest contented with mediocrity. He found consolation in composing fugitive pieces in prose and verse, and reciting them to his friends. One evening having imprudently asserted to them that a romantic poem which admits all manner of fictions, is not an undertaking of so much difficulty as is supposed, he pledged himself to make the experiment; and in the course of the very same night he wrote the first canto of Ricciardetto. But, having discovered that, instead of composing a fine poem, he had succeeded only in producing a burlesque parody, he continued in the same strain that he had begun. Still his self-love would not suffer him to lose the desire, and the hope of coming in competition with the serious poets; and hence we perceive occasionally in his poem a certain want of harmony in the colouring, and the efforts of the author to appear more sublime than he is in fact.

He was displeased at the appellation of a burlesque author; and, in order to give his contemporaries a proof to the contrary, he undertook to write a regular epic poem, entitled Bajazet. In this he preserved a tone of solemnity till he got to the fourth canto; but as soon as it came to him to describe the cage in which Bajazet was confined, he burst out laughing, and found he could proceed no further without giving free scope to his inclination for farce and pleasantry. He therefore abandoned the enterprise, and took care that neither his manuscript nor the anecdote connected with it should be known till after his death.

"It was to the liveliness and pleasantry of Ricciardetto that Fortiguerra owed his popularity and the re-establishment of his fortune. For Clement XII., who succeeded Benedict XIII., took so much delight in the recitation of that poem, that he caused the author to be brought to his palace privately, for the purpose of reading to him detached passages ; and he was accustomed to say that Ricciardetto rendered more easy to him the double burthen of his years and of the papacy. He likewise heaped upon the poet all the honours and benefices that are compatible with the rank of prelate ;—for the assertion in the biographical dictionaries, where Fortiguerra is called Bishop of Faenza, is absolutely destitute of reality. It is even uncertain that he ever received canonical orders; and the appellation of prelate at the court of Rome is no more than an honorary title, which opens the road to

political offices, and to the administration of the temporal government.

"During the period of his disgrace under Benedict XIII., Fortiguerra composed satires, which, if they are not worthy to be compared with those of Ariosto for style and spirit, are not, however, without merit, and serve to throw some light upon the manners of Rome at that day, and upon the principles and character of the author. It seems that he was possessed of a generous spirit, and that he remarked upon human vices without misanthropy, and censured them without acrimony. In short, the whole of his conduct through life was that of a worthy man; ambitious from education and circumstance, but, in point of real feeling, and through a natural moderation of temper, practically a philosopher. Adversity, however, which had made him wise, gave place to prosperity only to render him unhappy. Perhaps neither the innate principles of wisdom, nor a fortunate disposition, can resist the passion for honours and riches which is produced in a country where it is easy to ascend with rapidity to the summit of greatness. Clement XII. offered Fortiguerra a place which united dignity with great emolument; and Fortiguerra, aware that the Cardinal Corsini (the Pope's nephew) had solicited the same place for a friend of his own, had the generosity to yield it to him, and the simplicity to believe that he should receive a compensation for it. He was deceived; his mind was strongly

affected by the disappointment. From thenceforward he lost his natural gaiety, together with his health; and, after six or seven months of hopeless decline, he expired in the year 1735, the sixty-first of his age."

It has generally been reputed a very difficult task so to transfuse the native humour of one age or country as to make it at all fall in with the taste, or meet the comprehension of another succeeding to, or differing from, it; and it is said, that very small indeed is the number of authors who, in this respect, can stand the test of translation. Still, it would appear to be something extraordinary, if that which is peculiar to Italy is the only species of humour which is incapable of being adapted to the English taste, especially since, in so many respects, the genius of English literature more nearly assimilates with that of the Italian than of any other European nation.

It is not presumed the following stanzas will be fortunate enough to decide the question. They formed the amusement of the writer during the tedious hours of slow recovery from a late severe illness; and his end will be answered if they afford a portion of similar gratification to any of his readers. Those among them who are acquainted with Italian poetry, will easily discover where he has followed, and where deviated from his original, by others this will probably be thought a matter of little consequence.