 | Songs of the sea, with other poems |  |
GONELLO.
This is a true story. Gonello, the son of a glover, in Florence, was born between the years 1390 and 1400. While still a young man, he was received into the service of Nicolo the Third, Marquis of Ferrara, who installed him as his Fool, and became so much attached to him, that he surrounded him with favors, and even consulted him, sometimes, in state affairs. The traits of Gonello's character, and the events of his history and death, as I have metrically described them, are almost literally accordant with the historical account. He was convicted of lèze-majesté, inasmuch as he had laid violent hands on his sovereign; was seized and punished in the manner narrated in the poem. The marquis ordered a pompous funeral; nor was any circumstance omitted that could evince his respect for the memory of the jester. The life of Gonello, forming a considerable volume, was written by one Bartolomeo del Uomo.
This is a true story. Gonello, the son of a glover, in Florence, was born between the years 1390 and 1400. While still a young man, he was received into the service of Nicolo the Third, Marquis of Ferrara, who installed him as his Fool, and became so much attached to him, that he surrounded him with favors, and even consulted him, sometimes, in state affairs. The traits of Gonello's character, and the events of his history and death, as I have metrically described them, are almost literally accordant with the historical account. He was convicted of lèze-majesté, inasmuch as he had laid violent hands on his sovereign; was seized and punished in the manner narrated in the poem. The marquis ordered a pompous funeral; nor was any circumstance omitted that could evince his respect for the memory of the jester. The life of Gonello, forming a considerable volume, was written by one Bartolomeo del Uomo.
'Twas in fair Florence, in the olden time,
A wight, Gonello named, was born and bred;
A famous jester, an unequalled mime,
Sworn foe to dulness of the heart and head.
Sunny his spirits as his own fair clime;
Mirth was his raiment, and on mirth he fed:
In truth, he was a most diverting fellow;
No cross-grained Æsop, but—in short, Gonello.
A wight, Gonello named, was born and bred;
A famous jester, an unequalled mime,
Sworn foe to dulness of the heart and head.
Sunny his spirits as his own fair clime;
Mirth was his raiment, and on mirth he fed:
In truth, he was a most diverting fellow;
No cross-grained Æsop, but—in short, Gonello.
But Dulness holds it treason to be witty;
And, having ridiculed some dolt of rank,
Gonello was condemned to leave the city,—
A hard return for such a harmless prank.
Neither his jokes nor tears could gain him pity,
And all his friends were busy or looked blank,
When he drew near to ask them for assistance,
Telling him, by their shrugs, to keep his distance.
And, having ridiculed some dolt of rank,
Gonello was condemned to leave the city,—
A hard return for such a harmless prank.
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And all his friends were busy or looked blank,
When he drew near to ask them for assistance,
Telling him, by their shrugs, to keep his distance.
He turned away in loneliness of heart,
Bestowing many a bitter gibe on those
Who, because Folly feared some random dart
While Wit was foraging, had grown his foes.
“Dear Florence,” quoth he, “must I then depart?
O Fun and Fortune, spare me further blows!”
Was it not Vandal cruelty to pester
With banishment so capital a jester?
Bestowing many a bitter gibe on those
Who, because Folly feared some random dart
While Wit was foraging, had grown his foes.
“Dear Florence,” quoth he, “must I then depart?
O Fun and Fortune, spare me further blows!”
Was it not Vandal cruelty to pester
With banishment so capital a jester?
Gonello shook the dust from off his shoes,
And the ungrateful city jokeless left.
One friend, please Fortune, he would never lose—
A merry heart—that still remained uncleft.
What should he do? what fit employment choose,—
Of home, of patron, and of means bereft?
At length he recollected a report,
A fool was wanted at Ferrara's court.
And the ungrateful city jokeless left.
One friend, please Fortune, he would never lose—
A merry heart—that still remained uncleft.
What should he do? what fit employment choose,—
Of home, of patron, and of means bereft?
At length he recollected a report,
A fool was wanted at Ferrara's court.
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Thither he went to seek the situation,
And urged his claims with such a comic face,
That he was made, by formal installation,
Prime fool and licensed jester to his grace;
And, having settled down in this vocation,
He put on motley as became his place;
And thenceforth passed his precious time in joking,
Punning and quizzing, revelling and smoking.
And urged his claims with such a comic face,
That he was made, by formal installation,
Prime fool and licensed jester to his grace;
And, having settled down in this vocation,
He put on motley as became his place;
And thenceforth passed his precious time in joking,
Punning and quizzing, revelling and smoking.
His jests, unlike some jests that we might name,
Had nothing in them of a mouldy savor;
But fresh, and apt, and tipped with point they came,
To put grim Melancholy out of favor;
To drive Imposture to his den of shame,
To scourge Pretence, and make true Merit braver:
So that you granted, after you had laughed,
Though Wit had feathered, Truth had barbed the shaft.
Had nothing in them of a mouldy savor;
But fresh, and apt, and tipped with point they came,
To put grim Melancholy out of favor;
To drive Imposture to his den of shame,
To scourge Pretence, and make true Merit braver:
So that you granted, after you had laughed,
Though Wit had feathered, Truth had barbed the shaft.
The marquis held him in esteem so great,
That, spite of motley wear, the jester soon
Became a dabster in affairs of state,
Though frowned upon by many a pompous loon
'Twas an odd combination of his fate—
A politician, honest man, buffoon!
But he was frank—rare trait in an adviser;
And, though a fool, no senator was wiser.
That, spite of motley wear, the jester soon
Became a dabster in affairs of state,
Though frowned upon by many a pompous loon
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A politician, honest man, buffoon!
But he was frank—rare trait in an adviser;
And, though a fool, no senator was wiser.
And so, on rapid wing, his days flew by.
What though a league of dunces might oppose?
From modest Worth he never drew the sigh,
And never added to Affliction's woes.
But, ah! securest joy, mishap is nigh;
The storm condenses while the noontide glows:
The marquis failed in health—grew more unwell;
And, thereupon, a strange event befell.
What though a league of dunces might oppose?
From modest Worth he never drew the sigh,
And never added to Affliction's woes.
But, ah! securest joy, mishap is nigh;
The storm condenses while the noontide glows:
The marquis failed in health—grew more unwell;
And, thereupon, a strange event befell.
His grace's illness was a quartan ague,
Which the physicians tried in vain to cure.
I hope, dear reader, it may never plague you:
Doubtless 'tis quite unpleasant to endure.
Should this digression seem a little vague, you
Will see how hard it is a rhyme to lure,
And pardon me the fault; or, what is better,
Remould the stanza, and make me your debtor.
Which the physicians tried in vain to cure.
I hope, dear reader, it may never plague you:
Doubtless 'tis quite unpleasant to endure.
Should this digression seem a little vague, you
Will see how hard it is a rhyme to lure,
And pardon me the fault; or, what is better,
Remould the stanza, and make me your debtor.
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One remedy there was; but who would dare
Apply it, hazarding the patient's wrath?
'Twas simply this,—to take him unaware
And throw him overboard, by way of bath;—
A liberty he might not tamely bear,
But sweep the rash adventurer from his path.
Since the physicians would not then apply it,
Gonello secretly resolved to try it.
Apply it, hazarding the patient's wrath?
'Twas simply this,—to take him unaware
And throw him overboard, by way of bath;—
A liberty he might not tamely bear,
But sweep the rash adventurer from his path.
Since the physicians would not then apply it,
Gonello secretly resolved to try it.
No great regard had he for outward rank;
And as the marquis strolled with him one day,
In idle mood, along the river's bank,
He pushed him over headlong from the quay;
Then, seeing him drawn out ere thrice he sank,
Turned a droll somerset, and ran away;
Knowing, unless he vanished with velocity,
His priceless ears might pay for the atrocity.
And as the marquis strolled with him one day,
In idle mood, along the river's bank,
He pushed him over headlong from the quay;
Then, seeing him drawn out ere thrice he sank,
Turned a droll somerset, and ran away;
Knowing, unless he vanished with velocity,
His priceless ears might pay for the atrocity.
The marquis was pulled out, all wet and dripping,
Enraged at having been so vilely treated;
Albeit, indeed, the unexpected dipping
Had, strange to say, his malady unseated.
But still he swore, the knave should catch a whipping.
In this he quickly found himself defeated;—
His followers said, Gonello had decamped;
On learning which, his highness swore and stamped.
Enraged at having been so vilely treated;
Albeit, indeed, the unexpected dipping
Had, strange to say, his malady unseated.
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In this he quickly found himself defeated;—
His followers said, Gonello had decamped;
On learning which, his highness swore and stamped.
All with responsive choler were inflamed—
At least they said so—at the daring deed;
And, the next day, an edict was proclaimed,
In which 'twas by authority decreed,
Gonello was a traitor, who had aimed
Even at his liege's life;—and so, “take heed,
All ye whom it concerns, he dies, if found,
Ever again, upon Ferrara ground.”
At least they said so—at the daring deed;
And, the next day, an edict was proclaimed,
In which 'twas by authority decreed,
Gonello was a traitor, who had aimed
Even at his liege's life;—and so, “take heed,
All ye whom it concerns, he dies, if found,
Ever again, upon Ferrara ground.”
Gonello read the merciless decree,
Then critically conned it o'er and o'er,
And pondered every syllable, to see
If no equivocal intent it bore.
Some subtle quirk, he thought, some jesting plea,
Might help his fame and favor to restore.
Yes! he has wrested an equivocation,
After hard study, from the proclamation.
Then critically conned it o'er and o'er,
And pondered every syllable, to see
If no equivocal intent it bore.
Some subtle quirk, he thought, some jesting plea,
Might help his fame and favor to restore.
Yes! he has wrested an equivocation,
After hard study, from the proclamation.
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“'Tis only on Ferrara ground,” he said,
“The penalty here threatened can befall;
On ground of friendly Padua if I tread,
Do I infringe the edict? Not at all!”
So, without fear of jeoparding his head,
He went to give his grace a morning call,
And crossed in motley state Ferrara's bound,
Perched on a wagon, labelled “Paduan Ground.”
“The penalty here threatened can befall;
On ground of friendly Padua if I tread,
Do I infringe the edict? Not at all!”
So, without fear of jeoparding his head,
He went to give his grace a morning call,
And crossed in motley state Ferrara's bound,
Perched on a wagon, labelled “Paduan Ground.”
By this device he hoped to have evaded
The clutches of the prowling men of law;
But, ah! he did not view the thing as they did,
Who stood not for entreaty or for flaw,
But pulled him down, unpitied and unaided,
And thrust him in a prison's greedy maw,—
Assuring him that, spite of needful haste,
The “affair” should be conducted in good taste.
The clutches of the prowling men of law;
But, ah! he did not view the thing as they did,
Who stood not for entreaty or for flaw,
But pulled him down, unpitied and unaided,
And thrust him in a prison's greedy maw,—
Assuring him that, spite of needful haste,
The “affair” should be conducted in good taste.
“The affair? Ha! what affair?” Gonello cried;
“Can it then be I'm under mortal ban?
Is this the way 'gainst lapses to provide,—
To cut the head off of the erring man?
To make the law a ruthless homicide?
Is this the wisest, most remedial plan?
If I escape this sentence of impiety,
I'll found an anti-blood-spilling society.”
“Can it then be I'm under mortal ban?
Is this the way 'gainst lapses to provide,—
To cut the head off of the erring man?
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Is this the wisest, most remedial plan?
If I escape this sentence of impiety,
I'll found an anti-blood-spilling society.”
Alas! 'tis only when the mischief reaches
Our own quick sense of wrong, we feel for others;
'Tis then Experience, the laggard, teaches
A truth the unfeeling world too often smothers,—
And yet a truth which conscience ever preaches,—
The good of all is lodged in one poor brother's.
O! when mankind shall feel this truth aright,
No Fourier need scheme, no Taylor fight.
Our own quick sense of wrong, we feel for others;
'Tis then Experience, the laggard, teaches
A truth the unfeeling world too often smothers,—
And yet a truth which conscience ever preaches,—
The good of all is lodged in one poor brother's.
O! when mankind shall feel this truth aright,
No Fourier need scheme, no Taylor fight.
But where's Gonello? To his dungeon-cell
A priest has come to give him absolution.
“Good father,” quoth the jester, “all is well;—
The spirit carries its own retribution;—
Yes, its own bias is its heaven or hell.
But hark! the signal for my execution!
The knell of fun! Lead on! Though I'm a sinner,
By this fair light, I hope to be the winner!”
A priest has come to give him absolution.
“Good father,” quoth the jester, “all is well;—
The spirit carries its own retribution;—
Yes, its own bias is its heaven or hell.
But hark! the signal for my execution!
The knell of fun! Lead on! Though I'm a sinner,
By this fair light, I hope to be the winner!”
75
There stands the scaffold—there the fatal block!
What crowds have gathered to the scene of blood!
Gonello bows his head, and waits the shock
That shall unseal the life-encircling flood.
An interval succeeds, that seems to mock
The horror of the gasping multitude;
When, lo! the grinning minister of slaughter
Dashes upon the block a pail of water!
What crowds have gathered to the scene of blood!
Gonello bows his head, and waits the shock
That shall unseal the life-encircling flood.
An interval succeeds, that seems to mock
The horror of the gasping multitude;
When, lo! the grinning minister of slaughter
Dashes upon the block a pail of water!
An uproar of applauses rends the air;—
“Long live the marquis, and Gonello long!
'Twas a sham sentence! O, requital fair!
And Mercy has but worn the mask of wrong!”
Thus, while rebounding joy succeeds despair,
Exclaim, 'mid wild hurrahs, the hustling throng;
And Laughter treads on Grief's receding heel,
Stunning the fugitive with peal on peal.
“Long live the marquis, and Gonello long!
'Twas a sham sentence! O, requital fair!
And Mercy has but worn the mask of wrong!”
Thus, while rebounding joy succeeds despair,
Exclaim, 'mid wild hurrahs, the hustling throng;
And Laughter treads on Grief's receding heel,
Stunning the fugitive with peal on peal.
But soft! the jester—why does he remain,
On the uncrimsoned platform, mute and still?
Has agonizing terror stunned his brain,
Or sudden gladness sent too fierce a thrill?
Faints he from rapture or excess of pain?
His heart beats not—his brow is pale and chill—
Light from his eyes, heat from his limbs has fled;—
Jesu Maria! he is dead—is dead!
On the uncrimsoned platform, mute and still?
Has agonizing terror stunned his brain,
Or sudden gladness sent too fierce a thrill?
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His heart beats not—his brow is pale and chill—
Light from his eyes, heat from his limbs has fled;—
Jesu Maria! he is dead—is dead!
Ay, the wrought spirit, straining for the light,
And fixed in its conceit that death was near,
Felt the sharp steel in harmless water smite,
Heard the air part as no one else could hear.
Its own volition was its power of flight
Above this gross, material atmosphere.
A phantom axe was wielded to forestall
The stroke it deemed the headsman would let fall.
And fixed in its conceit that death was near,
Felt the sharp steel in harmless water smite,
Heard the air part as no one else could hear.
Its own volition was its power of flight
Above this gross, material atmosphere.
A phantom axe was wielded to forestall
The stroke it deemed the headsman would let fall.
And so the farce became a tragedy.
The moral of it you may briefly read;—
Carried too far, jokes practical may be
Edge tools to make the meddlers' fingers bleed.
But, poor Gonello! spendthrift child of glee!
Wit's bounteous almoner! 'twas hard indeed,
That thou, the prime dispenser of good jokes,
Should fall at last the victim of a hoax!
The moral of it you may briefly read;—
Carried too far, jokes practical may be
Edge tools to make the meddlers' fingers bleed.
But, poor Gonello! spendthrift child of glee!
Wit's bounteous almoner! 'twas hard indeed,
That thou, the prime dispenser of good jokes,
Should fall at last the victim of a hoax!
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And yet the marquis, who had but designed
Rough trick for trick, deserves our pity more;
For, from that hour of grief, his peace of mind
Incurably was wounded at the core.
Mirth bade his heart farewell—he pined and pined,
As though Life held no further joy in store.
Gonello had both balked him of his jest,
And himself played his last one and his best.
Rough trick for trick, deserves our pity more;
For, from that hour of grief, his peace of mind
Incurably was wounded at the core.
Mirth bade his heart farewell—he pined and pined,
As though Life held no further joy in store.
Gonello had both balked him of his jest,
And himself played his last one and his best.
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