I have finished the first eight cantos of Orlando Innamorato, which brings us up to almost one hundred pages of A. S. Kline’s translation. That should put us well on track to finish the book before Easter on April 9th, which is our goal.
I think I made the right decision in buying this edition. Further checking has confirmed that Kline’s is one of only two complete translations of the Orlando Innamorato into English and the only one that attempts to imitate the original’s rhyming scheme. However, Kline’s translation varies considerably in quality and is often clunky. It’s entertaining, but I admit I’m looking forward to finishing it so I can get to Barbara Reynolds’s acclaimed translation of Orlando Furioso, which is a much more readable version of a more famous epic.
Historical Background
I neglected to note in my earlier post that these two works are based on another epic called the Song of Roland, written in Old French in the eleventh century, which is in turn loosely based on a real historical event, the Battle of Roncevaux Pass, which took place in AD 778. The situation described in the Song of Roland is unhistorical, though the battle itself really happened. In real life, Basques attacked Charlemagne’s forces in the Pyrenees during their return to France because, after unsuccessfully besieging Saragossa, Charlemagne tore down the walls of Pamplona. All of Charlemagne’s rearguard was slaughtered, including Roland, who subsequently became the subject of epic poetry. As portrayed in the Song of Roland, however, Charlemagne and his twelve paladins have conquered all of Spain except Saragossa, whose king Marsile first sues for peace but then treacherously attacks the retreating French thanks to Roland’s turncoat stepfather.
Summary
The story as Matteo Maria Boiardo and his successor Ludovic Oriosto tell it is even more convoluted and complicated.
A hundred pages in, and we are still a long, long way from the battle that will form the climax of the second of these two poems. Boiardo goes wherever his imagination happens to take him and does not particularly care if all the various adventures and subplots form a cohesive whole. With his tongue no doubt firmly in his cheek, he tells us that his outlandish tale is definitely true because he has it directly from Archbishop Turpin. Turpin is another real historical figure who entered myth, and is in the Matter of France one of fiercest of Charlemagne’s twelve paladins. Boiardo appeals to his authority whenever the details of his poem get especially ridiculous.
The story starts by introducing a great Saracen emperor, Gradasso, who reigns somewhere beyond India. Most of the world is at his feet, but he covets two things, both of which belong to Charlemagne’s paladins: One is the super-sharp sword Durindana, wielded by Orlando (the Italian name of Roland); it can cut through steel or stone, and its hilt (says the Song of Roland) contains several priceless relics. The second is Rinaldo’s steed Baiardo, the fastest runner and highest jumper of all the world’s warhorses. To secure the world’s greatest sword and its greatest horse, Gradasso plans a military campaign to conquer first Spain and then France. Why would someone from, presumably, the area of Myanmar attack France by way of Spain? Don’t ask questions like that; from Boiardo point of view, there is Christendom in Western Europe and outside of that a great, amorphous mass that might be termed Pagandom, the geographical features of which are malleable.
After Gradasso’s brief introduction, the story starts where it properly should, at a jousting tournament: Charlemagne has invited all the greatest warriors in the world, both Christian and Saracen, to compete. Although the poem is greatly concerned with the defense of Christendom against her powerful enemies, it is not especially pious: When a visiting Saracen king asks Rinaldo how to pay honor to Christian noblemen, Rinaldo promptly replies that Christians are gluttons at table and whores in bed, but above all admire martial prowess. One wonders if Bishop Turpin would approve.
The festivities are interrupted by the arrival of Angelica, a princess of Cathay, who offers to marry any man who can defeat her brother in combat. Cathay, by the way, is ordinarily a name for northern China, but Boiardo seems to think it is a city in India. We may envision Angelica as either a Chinese or Indian princess, depending on our preference.
In any case, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world and the paladins fall instantly in love with her, especially the titular Orlando. Charlemagne’s court wizard Malagigi, however, discovers that Angelica is part of a convoluted plot to destroy France. Shenanigans ensue, and when the dust settles, Angelica has disappeared, Orlando and Rinaldo have ridden off in search of her, and Astolfo—the worst warrior but biggest braggart among the paladins—has come into possession of a magic lance that can instantly unseat any opponent. Astolfo then unexpectedly dominates the jousting tournament, leading to further shenanigans that end with Astolfo imprisoned for brawling.
Meanwhile, Rinaldo drinks from a magic fountain that causes him to hate Angelica, but Angelica drinks from a different fountain that causes her to love Rinaldo. Further shenanigans ensue. Angelica’s lament, when Rinaldo flees from her, results in some of Kline’s best poetry:
Should he not offer me a glimpse, at least,
Of his fair face, so that by gazing there,
I might upon those handsome features feast,
Or quench love’s fire, and so no longer care?
Reason would wish to find desire had ceased,
And yet reason has no place in this affair.
I call him cruel, of harsh unbending will,
Yet, be that as it may, I love him still.
The solitary adventures are momentarily interrupted when Gradasso’s forces arrive in Spain. France comes to Spain’s aid but then Spain allies with Gradasso and the united forces attack France, besieging Paris. Charlemagne’s forces are almost defeated but Astolfo is released from prison and, riding forth with his magic lance, challenges Gradasso to single combat, which he wins. Gradasso, surprisingly good-natured about the whole business, turns around and goes home.
Orlando, meanwhile, slays his way through the wilderness, encountering giants and ogres every few steps. As an example of both Boiardo’s use of classical material and his sense of humor, Orlando helps a pilgrim who thanks him by giving him a magic book that can solve any riddle. Soon after, Orlando encounters the Sphinx, who tells him of Angelica’s whereabouts but then demands that he answer a riddle. Orlando, unable to answer the riddle, attacks the Sphinx, kills it after a long and brutal battle, and only afterward remembers the magic book in his possession.
While Orlando—supposedly the greatest of the Paladins even though he’s never where he should be—is dithering around, Rinaldo is abducted by the lovelorn Angelica. Despite her machinations, he easily escapes her. He has various adventures almost indiscernible from Orlando’s and finally arrives at the hair-raising Castle Cruel, where a withered crone and her army of giants feed captured knights to an invincible monster born from a corpse. Rinaldo is thrown into a pit with the monster. He is fighting for his life and bleeding from several wounds. A cliff-hanger ends the eighth canto.
Discussion
Boiardo borrows from anything and everything. The backstory of Castle Cruel pulls from the Metamorphoses and other sources of Greek mythology. The Sphinx from the legend of Oedipus gets a cameo. Tristan and Isolde get a mention. There are probably other references I didn’t recognize.
The story is absolutely all over the place. I wonder if Boiardo had an outline or simply went where his fancy took him. But in either case, he’s very good at remembering his various plotlines. He hasn’t dropped a thread yet, and he has several of them going simultaneously.
But I think what most fascinates me is how all this grew out of a real historical event. If we knew nothing about the Battle of Roncevaux Pass, we might assume the Orlando Innamorato is pure fantasy. But as it turns out, it has an historical core, albeit a deeply buried one. I may muse on that more in a later post.
